ArchivedLogs:Angels

From X-Men: rEvolution
Angels
Dramatis Personae

Shane, Jax, Micah

24 January 2015


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Location

<NYC> Evolve Nightclub - Lower East Side


Accessible up a flight of stairs from the coffeeshop below, Evolve's nightclub is only open Thursday-Sunday nights. The bar stretches wide along the back wall, polished dark wood with an abundance of drinks available behind, their selection none too high-end. A balcony overlooks the dancefloor, filled with plush black and green couches and armchairs and small black-wood and glass tables between them. The stark white and black walls encourage graffiti, paint markers of all shades hung around the walls by chains.

It's thumpity up here, out on the dance floor especially. A heavy dancey beat, a flush of lights. Over by the bar a it's at least not getting the /full/ force of the speaker blasting; even so Shane has earplugs in his over-sensitive ears. He's not exactly dressed in what most people would consider /club/wear, trim slacks and a neatly tailored dark vest together with a crisplypressed Mandarin-collared dress shirt, a faint sheen to its silvery-gray fabric. He's bringing up a case of fresh limes from downstairs, nudging his way up to the bar to set them down, slide them across with a toothy-bright smile. Leeeeaning in to chirrup hopefully (together with a /signed/ request to join his spoken): "-- You want to make me a mojito?"

Jax /is/ dressed for clubbing. Very snug-fitting white jeans decorated with a peacock-feather patterning in glittering silver, an equally snug white sleeveless top dotted with silver studs around its neck and arms; his own arms glisten with a shimmer of silver, his own tattoos faintly iridescent, faintly /glowing/. His hair has been dyed blue, streaked through with metallic-chrome shade that is definitely not achieved by hair dye. He's moving deeeefinitely kind of stiffly as he shifts aside from sliding a young woman a beer and takes the limes with a smile, a small peck on Shane's cheek, but the brazen request just gets a /snort/. A lift of brows, an /amused/: "You got ID?"

In all likelihood, Micah has never looked /precisely/ dressed for clubbing about /ever/. He has at least discarded his layers of outerwear to storage in the office, leaving him in jeans, sneakers, and a black tee on which Impressionist-styled Serenity flies through a Starry Night sky. His hair looks like he might have combed it before coming out, at least. This evening he's providing distraction to the bartender, mostly taking up one of the stools at the end of the bar while making his way /slowly/ through a hard cider. His arm slips around Shane's shoulders to give him a quick hug as he drops off the limes. The request and reply both earn a snort. "I'm tryin' t'count the number of dif'rent ways that'd get you into trouble all at once. It's a few."

Shane opens his mouth briefly. Closes his mouth again /sharply/ for a looong pause, glancing between his dads with a small twist of lips. "... Theeeoretically," he says with a small crooked smile, a /bounce/ up onto his toes as he leans into Micah's hug, "if I /did/ happen to have an ID that did happen to say I was twenty-one, how likely would you be to confiscate it from me?"

Jax presses his knuckles to his lips, stifling a laugh. His head shakes as he disappears briefly to stash the limes beneath the bar. "Ah --" His brows have pulled together when he reappears. "Where'd you get a -- I still wouldn't make you a mojito, you know."

Micah's lips twitch over to one side at this question, half-concerned and half-amused. “Oh, y'messed up m'count. That'd add another one.” He squeezes a little more firmly at Shane's lean, his other hand moving to scruff at the boy's spiky-hair. “Y'know we'd make you a drink at /home/. Not in the common areas, but home. No need for ID there.”

"I know." Shane's grin returns again, cheerful once more. "If you /did/ make me one I'd have to fire you." He clambers up onto a stool, settling in beside Micah. "But I'll take a cranberry and seven-up, twist of lime. -- B makes them. It's not like I use it anyway, come on, I look /twelve/. Anyone who's going to sell me alcohol really doesn't give a fuck about my ID they just want me to get out before I bite their face."

Jax blushes, nose crinkling up as his head shakes. "Micah, my boss is kind of a brat." He turns aside, both to make Shane's drink and take an order from pair of men waiting a short ways down the bar. It's a minute before he returns, setting a glass of fizzy red drink down on the bar in front of Shane and tucking a slice of lime on the glasses edge. "B? For serious? Just for you, or --?"

“Oh, man. Settin' up your own /pa/, Shane. That's kinda /cold/.” For all of this, Micah is actually grinning, a hint of laughter dancing in his eyes. “Y'don't look twelve, y'just look...you. Though I s'pose if folks is judgin' just based on height.” Shrug. Then /eyebrow/ at the talk of manufacturing ID's. “I'm not surprised that ze /could/. I'd just be a little surprised if ze /was/. Other'n maybe for you.”

"I don't know what I look like. I mean it's not like I have --" Shane shakes his head, shoulder hitching up. He curls a hand around his glass, squeezing the lime into it. He curls his lips around the straw, taking a small sip. "Surprised? Why? It's high school. And I mean it's high school where half our classmates don't even /have/ parents. Kind of more of a need than most kids."

"Right now, y'look like extremely dapper. Most times, really." As happens in conversations at work Jax is pulled away again, scooting down the bar for a minute and returning only after another round of drinks. "... our place is kinda full of unusual custodial situations, that's true. But --" He stops, not finishing this sentence. Just biting down on his lip. "Yeah."

Micah nods in Jax's direction to second the assessment of Shane's appearance. "I dunno...just. Not somethin' I'd really imagined, I guess." His shoulders tense just a /little/ uncomfortably. "Y'all...not just B. But ev'ryone involved. Are bein' extremely careful? It's just...I mean, it'd be a heap of trouble for anyone, but particularly... I just hope y'all are /all/ bein' careful."

Shane brightens, sitting just a little taller on his stool. He plucks at his straw, stirring gently at his drink. "Careful? I dunno. Come on. Have you /met/ my classmates? Getting into trouble is basically what we're best it." He is nonchalant with this. "But seriously when we do all end up in jail it's probably just going to be for existing. I'm less worried about it being, like, Malik pretending to be older to have a shitty summer job last year without anybody hassling him about how old he was or Xerox being able to /pawn/ his own junk for clothes-money without a legal guardian there."

Jax winces at this first answer, teeth sinking harder against his lip. "Mmngh." The sound is mostly lost in the thumping music though his expression is easy enough to read. "... feel like there's so much we could be doin' for kids that we don't even --" He exhales hard, shaking his head. "Kinda always feel like school ain't enough."

“Honey, please... It's... I know y'all have high chances of gettin' into legal trouble /not/ doin' anythin', but that just makes doin' anythin' illegal that much more... Ev'ryone understands how serious this is and t'be /careful/, right?” Micah's brow furrows deeply, hands fidgeting with his bottle on the bar. “Things like...needin' t'pawn things an' whatnot. If it's stuff that we can get around legally. I'm sure either of us would help with that. Prob'ly other staff, too. At least for those things.” His frown betrays that he knows those probably aren't a /lot/ of the things. But some, at least.

Shane's brows lift, head tilting slightly to one side. He just shrugs again, sipping at his drink. "Yeah, but, no." His hand turns up, fingers spreading. "I mean, like, some people might be okay asking you guys for help with that kind of thing, but some people /don't/ want to ask staff for help with it so --" Another shrug. "Sure there's risks but whatever. Being a minor is kind of an assload of bullshit, you know? Like okay you've gotta ask some random fucking adult for permission just to live because you can't be trusted with your own freaking life, no thanks. If there's people who aren't comfortable with that, then --" He shakes his head, taking a longer pull from his drink. "'sides on the scale of high-risk things my classmates are getting up to let me tell you that barely ranks." His fingers flick towards Jax, smile crooked. "School's not enough but pfft. Unless you're going to change the whole damn /world/ to stop treating kids like the goddamn property of their parents or the state or who-the-hell ever you're kind of stuck with what you're stuck with."

Jax's face has just pulled into a definite frown at all this, teeth worrying further and faster at his lipring. "... would if I could. Ain't nothin' /ever/ made me comfortable about how we treat kids in -- anywhere. Only but I don't got some magical autonomy-grantin'-wand t'wave so I --" Am darting off, again, midsentence, to slide down the bar, frown transforming swiftly into a bright smile. Work is calling.

"It's one thing that they're willin' t'take that risk on themselves, but /possessin'/ a fake ID ain't nothin' on makin' 'em. Makin' /lots/ of 'em." Micah's hands rake through his hair to stop himself from continuing down that road. "I do understand. An' agree that it's...so incredibly stupid an' unfair the way that we treat kids through our institutions, it's just. So unlikely t'get better the way things're... Y'know there was a study out recently that the majority of adults in the U.S. think kids under 12 shouldn't be able t'play in a park without adult supervision? /Twelve/. That's almost a teenager." Clearly, he doesn't have any good answers for this. "Okay. I get that some folks is uncomfortable. But the ones who ain't? We're an option. If they don't know. Y'can let 'em know. That much."

"Twelve? Like seriously?" Shane's eyes widen somewhat incredulously. "Jesus. Spence is nine and he could probably /babysit/ Tola at home now that she can eat foods. He's definitely been okay to /play/ on his /own/ for a longass while now. I think people have a really dumb idea of how stupid kids are. Cuz they're -- not." He bobs his head, nodding at Micah. "Cool. I'll let people know. Gets hard. Especially the other labrats? Most of us just don't want anyone in our shit, you know. But even if it's not a question of uncomfortable sometimes it's just. Hard to know. Like who's okay to trust. Or talk to."

"I'm tryin' t'remember the exact percentage an' it was somethin' like 63 percent that said they shouldn't. An' there's constantly stories of parents gettin' into legal trouble for lettin' kids Spence's age walk somewhere or play in a park alone. It's kind of insane. Not ev'rybody's got a fenced-in yard for their kids t'play in, on top of..." Micah's head shakes, frustrated. "I won't say how young I was an' other folks were babysittin' when I was younger, just as a matter of course." He manages a small upward curl of his lips, not quite a smile, before pausing to sip at his cider. "Yeah, it's... I get that. But Jax done been there. An' was there for gettin' 'em out, too. Maybe that'll help. Um...y'can also let 'em know it's okay if they want him but not me. They can just...say. If they need that."

"Embleer Frith." Shane's head shakes, knuckles scrubbing against his jaw. He sucks at his straw again, nostrils flaring briefly. "Maybe that's just more common out in the sticks? I mean, our place was middle-of-nowhere too and B and I were pretty much taking care of ourselves just fine from young as -- not," he admits slowly, "that we're exactly the ideal case."

Jax returns in time to catch the last of this, arms crossing on the top of the bar as he leans down against it. His brows pull down again, furrowing briefly behind his sunglasses. "... nnno. Not. Hardly. Ideal." There's a small edge of strain in his voice, a not-so-small tension cording up his muscles (which, really, just makes them /shimmer/ with their glitter-sheen in the dancing club-lights.) "But I was pretty self-sufficient from pretty young, too. Maybe the world's jus' gettin' more paranoid."

"Some's paranoia, but the rest seems t'be a trend of infantilisin'. 'Shieldin' kids from things longer'n longer. Not lettin' folks work. Not teachin' real sex ed. Even the trend of wantin' /all/ teenagers t'go spend time in college 'fore they hit the 'real world'? 'Cause all jobs slowly require it, whether or not they actually /require/ it. S'just keepin' folks dependent longer'n longer." Micah's head shakes, another sip stolen from his bottle. "Seems like the only thing we're willin' t'do younger'n younger is put folks in prison like adults. But that's just keepin' folks dependent, too." Reaching out a hand, he rubs at Shane's back. "Yeah, can't say as I'd use y'all's childhood as a model for anythin'. Y'all /had/ t'learn how t'take care of yourselves early."

"Yeah. But. On the plus side," Shane slurps down the rest of his drink, hopping off the barstool and waving a hand around his club. "/Look/ how goddamn independent we got." He bonks his head lightly against Micah's shoulders. "Though, funnily enough, I'm not /actually/ technically allowed in the club I sort-of-own. Speaking of bullshit. For another couple months, anyway." His teeth flash in a quick grin, and he stretches up onto his toes, leaning over the bar to bonk his head lightly against Jax's forehead, too. "Take off early tonight you look sore as fuck." He slides his glass back across the counter with a rattle of ice, turning to trot away back down the stairs to the cafe.

Jax winces, shaking his head /fiercely/. "Y'all are brilliant cuz y'all are /brilliant/. Ain't gonna waste one-single-breath thankin' folks for puttin' you through --" He stops, /shuddering/, teeth clenching hard; it's only Shane's small headbonk that relaxes him back with a sudden expellation of breath. He manages a veeery tentative smile. "Tiiiny bit sore. I s'pose Scramble can hold down the fort the last li'l bit."

Micah tugs Shane into a full-on hug at the headbonk. "I don't think we can just blame adversity for y'all. You kids got somethin' /special/. That's all. Love you." This last is a little /fierce/ in tone, coupled with a stronger squeeze of his arms before letting Shane go. "Yeah. You /bein'/ up here at all was part'a the factorin' I was havin' t'do earlier." He finds a little smile for Shane and Jax, as well. "Get m'husband home early t'night? Guess the boss ain't /that/ bad."

Jax's smile relaxes into something easier, fonder, as Shane trots off. "Are pretty special, ain't they." /He/ leans across the bar, too, forehead touching lightly to Micah's. Then a small peck on the nose before he rocks back down to his feet. "I feel like m'whole back's on fire, right now I'm kinda thinkin' he's a angel."

Micah nuzzles gently against Jax at the lean-in. “Kinda a theme with the angels,” is /maybe/ a gentle tease at the source of Jax's sore-back. “Can get some lotion on y'when we get home. Gentle-like. If they're ready for that?”

Jax blushes, deep crimson flooding into his cheeks. "/Real/ real gentle," he agrees. "Think I'd like that." He reaches across to squeeze at Micah's hand, turning aside to go let Scramble know he is clocking out. A pair of wings sprouts from his back as he turns, huge and wide and feathery, a faint glimmer of silver dusted over the white feathers.

Micah's hand squeezes back gently, a broader smile spreading across his lips. “I'm usually a pretty soft touch, y'know.” He brushes a kiss across Jax's knuckles before releasing him to extricate himself from work. A head shake and a chuckle respond to the illusion-wings. “See? Angels.”

Jax is smiling bright when he returns, slipping out from under the bar to snake a hand around Micah's waist. He nuzzles in against his husband's neck (prooobably leaving some glitter behind), pressing a kiss to the angle of his jaw. "Now I jus' want t'use some cheesy pick-up line on you but I can't think of a /one/. You'd think all this time I spent bartendin' I'd have a /stock/ of 'em you have no /idea/ how many times a night I got 'em down at Heaven. But nope. Blank. Jus' gonna hafta ask y'polite-like if y'want t'come home with me."

Micah's arm circles Jax, as well, more at the level of his hips to avoid the newly-inked areas. "The only disappointment there would be the amusement in which one y'picked. I actually prefer not-pickup-lines in m'pickups." He places another kiss to the corner of Jax's lips. "You'd be amazed how far askin' nicely can get you."

Jax's mouth curls up into a bright grin. "Well then. Micah Holland-Zedner, would you like t'come home with me?" He pecks lightly at Micah's cheek, adding in another nuzzle after. "I'm thinkin' maybe some cocoa, maybe some snugglin'."

Micah blushes very softly-pink at the invitation. Leaning into the nuzzle, he nuzzles /back/ at Jax's shoulder. “Thinkin' that sounds like a lovely evenin'.” Never mind that 'evening' has long come and gone. “Real gentle snugglin',” he reassures, his hand rubbing gently against Jax's hip where it rests.

Jax tips his head down, this time catching Micah's mouth against his for a soft kiss. "Mmm." His smile has not dimmed in its brightness. Behind him the illusion-wings flutter gently. He slips his hand into Micah's, squeezing gently as he tugs lightly to lead his husband off. Towards home.