ArchivedLogs:Anchors

Anchors
Dramatis Personae Shane, Sebastian, Micah	Sunday, 29 March 2015 Part of the Future Past TP.
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Music Room - Lower East Side
Small and soundproofed, this room is a comfortable place to come practice music in relative peace. A large digital keyboard stands in one corner; opposite it are a number of speakers and amps available for use. There are a cluster of chairs in the center of the room, with music stands set up in front of them. On the far back wall, a tall painted-black cube-shaped block of shelving leaves plenty of room for storing music and equipment; a row of lockers flanking it leave space for instrument storage as well. The last side of the room has more comfortable seats along the wall; a pair of deep crimson microsuede couches, a low-slung table between them, an armchair similarly upholstered. It is late, on a Sunday night. Possibly (probably) the children should be getting back to school but /eh/, possibly also they can travel in in the morning with Jax. Almost certainly though here on a schoolnight it'd be /wise/ to be in /bed/ by now -- and yet. It's late enough that the Common House is largely empty -- somewhere in the kitchen Rachel and Zombie are chatting over tea, somewhere in the Game Room Ines has fallen asleep on one of the couches with a book, but outside of that it is mostly deserted. Except for the very very faint strains of music just barely audible through the music room's soundproofing. It's violin, a swift somewhat turbulent piece in minor key, stormy and thrashing. No readily identifiable composer -- this time it's a piece Shane's working on himself, an original composition that he isn't /quite/ entirely satisfied with just yet, at least judging by how intermittently he lowers his bow to frown, back up a few measures, try something a little bit different. He is dressed in his typical style, stripy vest, bowtie, dark slacks, button-down; the violin in his hands is an electric one, a professional grade Jordan instrument in deep satin-black with blue accents, its odd hollow half-body rather less traditional-looking in his hands than a regular violin. It's hooked into his laptop, at the moment, dutifully recording and transcribing what he plays. B is quiet as ze slips back into the music room. It's evident over by the couches that ze's been here already -- hir laptop is set up there with its projector currently hibernating, and hir backpack sits beside one of the couches, open and heavy-laden with textbooks inside. There's a tray in hir hands -- mugs of tea that smell a lot like mint and lavender. Three of them -- perhaps ze's expecting /company/ to return with hir. B takes the tray over by the couches, quiet so as not to interrupt Shane just yet, setting the tea down on the table and settling down onto the end of a couch. In contrast to hir twin ze's brightly colourful, very bright pleated skirt in purple with green plaid between the pleats, velvety-soft sleeveless top in black swirled with silver, a lighter green sweater worn over top. Micah was on the second floor on a cleaning mission through the playroom, late at night being the best time to find it empty of smallchildren. The game and media rooms, of course, are a best bet in the early mornings. The quiet strains of violin just sneaking through the floorboards lure him up before he heads back to Lighthaus for the night. He still has a faint odour of disinfectant lingering about him, a small trash bag tied in his hand which he deposits near the doorway as he enters. His auburn hair is shaggy, a tousled mop this late in the day. His feet are covered in TARDIS-blue socks with 'I <3 <3 the Doctor' written on them in white and red, his shoes left in a rack by an entrance downstairs. The rest of him is covered in a pair of faded bluejeans and a navy blue T-shirt on which, comic style, a penguin hatches from an egg, grows up from a puffball, tries to fly, and eventually succeeds via /jetpack/. Lingering a moment by the door, he looks over the tray of mugs with a lopsided grin at the lavender mint tea there. "Ohgosh, am I /that/ predictable?" he asks softly, chuckling as he moves to the couch. He pulls a little bottle of lemony-scented hand sanitiser from his pocket to rub over his hands before he sits next to B. Shane draws in a deep breath as B enters, eyes shuttering closed and a slow smile spreading warm across his face. His song is slipping into a slower interlude, less tumultuous-stormy and more softly haunting. His eyes open again to light on the tea, the smile he wears widening. Still playing, he doesn't answer Micah, but the amusement in his expression just might. "Kinda, a little bit, yeah." Sebastian has turned wide bright eyes to Micah, curling in smaller against the side of the couch; hir posture relaxes happily when Micah takes a seat close by, though. Taking this proximity as invitation, ze uncurls to lean forward and pick up a mug of tea and then nestle at hir father's side instead, quietly settling the mug on Micah's knee. The flutter of gills at the sides of hir neck is slow and contented, cheek finding a comfortable nestling spot on Micah's shoulder. "/I'm/ tentatively calling this one Darkwing," ze informs Micah, with an uncurling flick of webbed fingers towards Shane's violin as he plays. As B settles in close, Micah wraps an arm around hir, one hand petting at the fluttering gills idly while his other reaches to take hold of the mug's handle. "Little bit a creature of habit sometimes, I guess," he play-grumbles at the twins' amusement, arm squeezing fond-tight at B's shoulders. The title first earns a warm grin, though this quickly falls into a more wistful expression. "S'pretty. Sad." "/I'm/," Shane announces as he drops his bow and sets his violin down on the unoccupied couch, "tentatively calling it a piece of fucking /crap/ till I can get the ending right." He pads barefoot over towards the others, settling down onto the other side of the couch and nabbing a mug for himself before slinging one leg lazily over Micah's. "Because it can't /end/ sad, that's the problem. It's not that kind of story. It's chaos, but it's chaos that's --" The quick flutter of his own gills is a little sharper. He takes a slow sip of tea. "Purposeful?" B suggests. "-- /Alive/." Hir eyes close, slight form relaxing comfortably under Micah's arm. "What would Ba's story sound like?" "How 'bout we call it /unfinished/ while you're still workin' on it, honey?" Micah suggests softly, sparing the hand from petting at B's gills long enough to give a pat to Shane's knee. "Lost an' hurt an' angry an'...lonely," he adds to the list of adjectives, though it may be fairly clear he's not describing the music anymore. He brings his mug to his lips to sip from it, resting it back on his knee with a soft 'hm' at B's question. "Mmm." Shane gives a small curl of smile at B's answers. He draws in another long drink of tea, nestling closer to Micah for /his/ answers, brow creasing slowly and his, "mmm," also affirmative but softer, this time. "Powerful," he adds his own. "And fierce. Just -- stormy. Adrift." He exhales quickly, tucking his head against Micah's /other/ shoulder and lapsing into silence. Thoughtful silence. His gills work slowly, eyes closing and his hand falling to rest fingertips lightly over Micah's knuckles, tracing gently against the back of his father's hand. "I don't know about that." B shakes hir head slightly, frowning at these addenda, Micah's answers and the last of Shane's. "I think it's the /world/ that's kind of lost." Micah's hand stills where it holds the handle of his mug, letting Shane's fingertips trace it unimpeded. His other hand continues its slow stroking of B's gills, like the idle strumming of a guitar while lounging around a campfire. "World's lost, for sure. But we all got certain...anchors. That remind us who we are an' tell us where we belong. Y'can only pull but so many of those away at a time before..." The strumming hand briefly lifts to make a 'poof' sort of gesture. Shane's lips curl up, into a brief bright smile. He turns, pressing a kiss to Micah's temple and then standing. He sets his mug back down on the tray it came from, slipping back off the couch to return to the other and pick up his violin again. He tucks it beneath his chin, switching the speakers back on. His eyes fix on the couch, watching Micah and B as he sets his bow back to strings. The piece he starts in on is new, too. Lighter than the last, it starts out in a cheerful-playful trill of notes, light and warm and dancing fluidly from one bright peak to the next. It spirals up into a stronger crescendo, though; there's still a cheer to it but there's a deep strong pulse carried through it. "What if you're not pulling them? What if you've found new anchors to replace them? I think," B says quietly, "he knows exactly who he is and where he belongs. Maybe the world needs /more/ --" Ze exhales sharply, pressing hir cheek firmer against Micah's shoulder. Hir eyes close, gills slowly flattening beneath Micah's fingers. A quiet happy purring starts up in B's throat, whether from the petting or from Shane's music. The kiss brightens Micah's wistful look into a warmer smile, hazel eyes tracking Shane back to his place with his violin. He listens quietly for some time, until the last statement from B. His brow creases faintly, fingers press a little more firmly, head shaking just slightly with a gentle 'shh' just barely passing through his lips. Shane's playing continues, quiet echoes of the songs original playful motif reiterated throughout even through the fiercer stronger swell of music. He stops kind of /abruptly/ with a very sheepish dip of his head. "-- I don't know what comes next yet," he admits. "I guess I'll have to wait and watch you and see. But maybe that's -- what you are. Just warm and – anchoring." "But it's /true/. As crazy as everything's going -- maybe s'not lost. Just -- sees a /clearer/ path." B's lips press together at the quiet shh. Ze leans forward to pick up hir mug, drinking slow from it throughout Shane's playing. Ze lowers the mug to hir lap when the music cuts off, smiling soft at the explanation and turning to nuzzle briefly in at Micah's shoulder. Micah nods at Shane's explanation. “Thanks, honey, that was nice. Just wish that was...enough. More often.” He sips from his tea before returning the mug to the table, then waves Shane back over to the sleepy cuddlepile on the couch. Shane actually puts his violin /away/, this time, unplugging it from his computer and returning it to its case and setting his laptop to hibernate. He slips back over to the couch, tucking himself into a ball on his side and resting his head in Micah's lap. "I don't know if it'll ever be /enough/. But it's still kind of essential. We'd /all/ be lost otherwise. I can't even imagine where Pa --" He closes his eyes, curling his arm around Micah's knees. "{Love you,}" he finishes in quiet Vietnamese. "A foundation isn't enough to live in either," B points out lightly. "But our houses would be /pretty/ boned without them." Ze finishes hir tea, setting the empty mug down and curling in snugger and closer against Micah's side. Freed up, each of Micah's arms curls around a sharktwin and pulls them in closer, fingers petting gills. “Love you both.”