ArchivedLogs:An Invitation to Fret

From X-Men: rEvolution
An Invitation to Fret
Dramatis Personae

Jackson, Micah, Lucien, Melinda

20 December 2013

A simple invitation proves a little worrying.


<NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village

This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too.

Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within.

Late at night on Friday, two texts go out to Jackson, Melinda, and Micah. They're brief, bland, and entirely unremarkable, really, save for how /rarely/ Lucien bothers to /be/ the one initiating socializing.

  • (Lucien --> Jax, Melinda, Micah): Are you free tomorrow afternoon?
  • (Lucien --> Jax, Melinda, Micah): If so, would you like to join me for lunch?
  • (Micah --> Jax, Melinda, Lucien): I have an a.m. shift at the shop but should be free after that, if you're talking an after-noon kind of lunch.
  • (Jax --> Lucien, Melinda, Micah): I've got morning shift at the clinic, I don't get off till four. :(
  • (Lucien --> Jax, Melinda, Micah): More of a noon lunch. Some other time, perhaps.
  • (Micah --> Jax, Melinda, Lucien): I could probably pull off that early, but I figure most people don't want me as a meal partner until /after/ I've gone home and showered from work. Which would put me closer to 1:00.
  • (Lucien --> Jax, Melinda, Micah): Goodness, you needn't leave work early on my account. There will be other afternoons.
  • (Micah --> Jax, Melinda, Lucien): Wouldn't be /leaving/ early, but thanks for the invite, anyhow. ^_^
  • (Jax --> Lucien, Melinda, Micah): Aaa sorry honey-honey. :( Maybe Sunday?
  • (Lucien --> Jax, Melinda, Micah): Sunday I work. Some other weekend, though, certainly.
  • (Melinda --> Lucien, Jax, Micah): Sorry! Just got off work. I'm available if this is still happening. If you wanted to coordinate a group lunch, then I can email you my schedule.
  • (Lucien --> Jax, Melinda, Micah): No, that's quite alright.

In the bedroom, Jackson has been painting, his portrait of Dusk progressing now into distinctly recognizable stages. The glow of his computer, the distinctive dark sweep of his wings. He's stopped, though, paintbrush still in his left hand and his phone tucked into his right. Its case has a few /new/ speckles of paint added to the /many/ speckles of paint it's already collected over the months. Right now he's staring down at it, teeth dragging against his lip and a distinct look of /concern/ in his expression. "... has Luci ever just invited you over before?"

Micah's computer is also glowing, lighting his face from where it sits in his lap. He is in bed with pillows behind his back and has some sort of work-related spreadsheet open on the screen. Being after dinnertime, it has already reached Pajama O'clock, and Micah is appropriately dressed for the times in a long-sleeved forest green T-shirt over a pair of green plaid flannel pants and fuzzy socks. His phone finds its way back into the pants' pocket. “Just...randomly? Without running into him in person or having been talking over something else or actually proposing to see him first? No.” His eyebrows dip toward one another. “I'm kind of worried. Should I go check on him? With tea?”

"Mmn." Jackson's brow has furrowed deep, too. He sets his phone aside on the desk, rubbing his knuckles against his cheek. "Well. He does love tea, but he does hate /fussing/." He glances over at Micah, a small smile tugging at his lips. "You gonna fuss?" He lifts his palette off his lap and slides down off his stool. "I'd go with you, only but /twice/ the fuss'd probably just irritate him. Plus I think I'm actually," he's a little wide-eyed with this declaration, "gonna go t'sleep early tonight."

Micah saves the spreadsheet, closing his computer and setting it aside. “Not gonna fuss /directly/. Just gonna show up with some tea...I think maybe that spiced pear white, it's pretty low on caffeine. An' Present. In case somethin' is /up/. 'Cause I feel like somethin' is up.” His own eyes go wide at Jax's pronouncement. “You're gonna go t'bed early. Now I feel like somethin' is up with /you/. You okay? Not feelin' sick or anythin'?” Lucien might not be planned for /fuss/, but Jax is another matter altogether.

Jackson's nose crinkles up, his smile amused; he gives a small laugh as he carefully wraps his palette in plastic wrap. "/I'm/ fine, honey-honey. We've run straight into the shortest days of the year. Longest /dark/ of the year. And grey and rainy half the time on top. Can't count on the sun powering me for days 'less we actually /see/ some sun." He heads over to the bed, leaning in to press a light kiss to Micah's forehead. "M'skeptical, though. You are pretty much an /expert/ fusser, got my doubts you can go worry over someone an' not let a little fuss slip through."

The explanation earns a nod in reply, Micah even smiling a bit at the kiss. He reaches up to run fingertips along Jax's jaw. “I know. I just got some of the fuss out of my system here. An' then I get t'take out a little more in makin' the tea. An' then...maybe...just. Tinyfuss? About the facial expression, a little bit. An' tea. I'll try t'be quiet when I come back in so's not t'wake you. Shouldn't be /too/ awful long. Got the kinda pre-dawn shift over the shop in the mornin', m'self.” With that, he stands to head off into the kitchen. For that tea-making part.

Jackson turns his face in to Micah's touch, brushing a soft kiss against the other man's palm. "Good. Y'can fuss at /me/ all you like," he allows cheerfully. He darts another peck in against Micah's hand. "Ohgosh, predawn. I'll set the coffeemaker to dispense /all/ the caffeine 'fore you go." He heads out, too, though in his case to the bathroom, to wash his paintbrushes and brush his teeth and generally Prepare Self for all the sleeps, Ridiculously Early for once.

Or at least some of the sleeps. He /might/ get up crazy-early, too, so that there can be fresh hot grits to go with Micah's coffee.