ArchivedLogs:Armour

Armour
Dramatis Personae Micah, Shane	11 January 2014 A calmer night.
Location <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. The day has passed in a grey and rainy way, though unseasonably warm for January, and the evening is growing long in the tooth, as well. Pajama o'clock struck many hours ago, and Micah is fittingly dressed in a leaf green henley shirt and black pajama pants decorated with the Mane Six's cutie marks. Without the high-collared shirts he's been wearing since Thursday night, a plethora of richly blue-purple and barely faded bruises stand in stark contrast on the pale skin over most of his neck and dipping down toward his chest, at least as far as the scoop neck of his shirt will show. His hair is a mess that would be better suited to having been already abed. In truth, he doesn't seem far from it, curled up on the beanbag he's claimed for a bed of late with a half-finished mug of lavender-mint tea at his side and an e-reader in his hands. While Sebastian has been out and about today, Shane hasn't been seen except by his brother and Rasa after ze stopped by from school. But with the late hour B and Rasa are now asleep, the sounds of talking from the twins' room quiet. The door cracks open slowly, Shane very quiet himself as he slips out of it, dressed in long black pajama pants and a Xavier's hoodie thrown on without a shirt beneath it. He's zipping it up quickly once he's out of his room, with a brief guilty glance at Micah. The fact that he has not been out of his room yet today /shows/, uncomfortably, in the matte grey tinge to his blue skin, ashy-dry and starting to crack in thin hairline marks across its usually-gleamy surface. His gills are closed flat against his neck, a dry crust halfway sealing them that way. He closes the door very gently behind himself and turns, starting to edge along the wall towards the bathroom but stopping to look at Micah's neck. Then up to his face. His cheeks flush darker. "You're awake." Micah's sleepy absorption in his short story leads him not to notice Shane's stealthy movements until he finally speaks. He sets the e-reader down beside him, looking up. “Oh...yeah, I am. Sleepin's been...better'n the pretty much none I was gettin' there for awhile, but it's still hard t'make it start up on the regular without a lot of distraction first.” He gestures at the e-reader as the distraction of choice for the evening. After observing Shane more closely, he frowns. “Honey, y'look like y'ain't seen water all day. An' I ain't seen /you/ all day while I was in, neither. What's up? Are you sick?” Shane winces, looking rather pained at Micah's admission of sleep being hard. "-- You shouldn't be /alone/ out here," he answers this miserably, head bowing. "I -- no. Not -- sick I'm not. Sick I just was in bed." He shakes his head quickly, gesturing towards the bathroom door. "I came out to -- I have to pee. And shower." Micah shakes his head at the mention of being alone. "It's not that, honey, don't worry. I /been/ sleepin' alone out here. An' it's not like I can't fall asleep on my own. As crazy as Jax's schedule is, it happened often enough before anyhow. It's okay. S'just a matter of arrangements for beds. All the others is full up." He nods at the assertion that Shane is not, in fact, ill. "Well, that's good, at least. Y'look...a little under the weather s'all. Please, go ahead, y'gotta be terribly uncomfortable." His hand lifts to gesture toward the bathroom and he reaches for his e-reader again. Shane doesn't look particularly reassured, head ducking in time with an uncomfortable fidget; there's a shift at the side of his neck as his gills /attempt/ to open, though this is not actually successful. He nods at the gesture to go ahead, ducking the rest of the way into the bathroom and shutting the door behind himself. The shower starts running soon after that. Toilet flushes. He's in the shower about twelve minutes before the water shuts off. Sink runs, with scrubby teeth-brushing noises. He's still damp when he emerges, leaving faintly wet footprints on the wood, but he's pulled his sweatshirt back on already anyway and is picking uncomfortably at its sides. There are still thin cracks in his skin, not yet healed over, but it looks back to its usual blue shade, a faint sheen to it once more in place of the previous ashy-matte. He stops outside the bathroom door, tugging at his sweatshirt and looking over towards Micah's beanbag and not yet heading back to his room. Once again, Micah looks up at sounds from the hallway, setting his e-reader aside. He offers a small smile at Shane's improved appearance, though some concern lingers in his expression at the sight of lingering cracks. “S'there any kind of...ointment or skin crème that works for y'all when it gets that bad?” he asks softly. "Yeah, there's a -- Pa gets us this -- um I mean it's just lotion I guess. From Lush but it helps -- when things are. Really chapped." Shane slips back into the bathroom, returning with a black tub that claims SYMPATHY FOR THE SKIN on the label. His cheeks are flushed again when he adds: "But this isn't. /This/ isn't that bad, uhm, you can tell because when it's really bad there's blood. And it doesn't look cracked like this so much as like -- angry volcano rock. Big -- splits open and all red underneath." He shudders slightly, wringing the tub in his hands to twist the cap looser and then tighter again. "Couldn't you at least -- /go/ in there? Even if just -- on the floor I don't know." He nods towards Hive's temporary-room. "Then you'd have someone." “Oh, that's good,” Micah says of the lotion. He frowns at the description of Shane's skin in worse conditions. “I know it's not /terrible/ right now, but y'look uncomfortable, so if there's a simple way t'fix it, that's good.” His head shakes at the recommendation to move back into his room with Hive. “No, honey. He gets so little privacy in his life, he should have...some small space. Rest of this place is just crawlin' with people all the time. If he /wanted/ me to for /his/ sake, I'd move back in with m'sleepin' bag, but. He should have /some/ space.” Shane's shoulders droop, his hands ceasing their wringing to just clench around the tub. His mouth opens, but it takes two tries before it actually produces /sound/, just, "-- okay," in a small whisper. His gills are now moving more freely, fluttering open against the sides of his neck. He squirms uncomfortably where they rub against the sweatshirt. His eyes lower to the floor. "Okay." Still just a small unsteady whisper. "Um -- okay. Then. You -- okay. Good -- night. Goodnight." Micah looks physically pained at Shane's droopy, unsteady discomfort. “Shane, honey, please... When you're ready. Can you come talk t'me? I hate...seein' you hurtin' this bad an'...I want t'help, honey, but I can't if y'won't talk t'me.” His hand rakes through his hair, not really affecting its level of muss any. “An' y'don't have t'wear a shirt, honey. Y'got pants on. An'...there's nobody even out here but us anyhow. Y'just look /so/ uncomfortable, hon. I really...I'm not sure I understand what you're doin' anymore.” "I never understand." Shane's eyes don't leave the floor, though as he blinks they are starting to grow a glistening wetness. His bare feet slide against the wood, inching closer to Micah, but then he stops. "I'm not doing /anything/ that's the /point/. I don't -- want to. Do -- anything." He starts to wring at the tub again, twisting its lid restlessly. "Everything's hurting. Every/one/'s hurting. I'm not -- I'm just trying. To. Be -- /good/, there's nothing. To help." Micah's teeth dig at his lower lip as Shane starts to blink away tears. “Shane, honey, can you /please/ come sit for a little bit. Y'don't /have/ to...even sit /next/ t'me if y'don't want to, though I'd like that.” He takes in a deep breath, letting it sigh back out. “You're good, honey. You're good. Y'can't not do /anythin'/, that's no way t'live. Please...please just come sit an' talk t'me?” Shane stays frozen in place, eyes still fixed on the floor. His gills flutter faster, but then he slides forward another step. Then another, until he's approached the beanbag. He settles down slowly onto his knees in front of it, resting the tub on his knees. "I don't know if I want to live," he admits. "I mean, I don't -- /not/ want to -- I just. Don't know if I want to --" His eyes are now locked down on his knees. "This whole /world/ is no way to live, Ba." When Shane settles closer, Micah offers him a little smile. This quickly disappears at the boy's words, eyes widening and jaw tensing and a breath coming somewhat raggedly. He steels himself against the worst of the reaction, however, trying to stay as calm as possible for the boy. “Honey, no. Honey, it's not...everythin' isn't always like this. We're workin' an' it'll get better an' it would be /so much worse/ without you here. Don't /say/ that.” He scoots forward in the beanbag to better be able to reach Shane, hauling him into a fierce hug. “I love you. You know that, right? I love you an' I love you /for/ you.” "Ba, you say everything isn't always like this but I don't -- know how to believe it, when it isn't Pa being in jail for things he didn't /do/ it's the cops locking us in cages to fight to death or the labs kidnapping our friends and killing them or cutting /off/ my gills or -- even our /parents/ didn't want -- it's just. /Always/. It's not always like /this/, usually it's /worse/ and I don't --" Shane's words cut off into a ragged gasp, and he /wilts/ into the hug, crumpling forward bonelessly in Micah's arms. His face presses to Micah's shoulder, the rapid flutter of his gills rendering his tears silent. "I know, honey. I know it's been horrible. All kinds of unimaginable horrible. But we're workin' on makin' it better. We're the closest we've ever /been/ t'gettin' those labs shut down. An' we're workin' t'get Jax an' Dusk an' Flicker cleared an' home." Micah's arms crush tighter against Shane at that crumpling. He arranges them in such a way as to be able to reach fingertips up to brush down the gills at his neck. "We just need t'get you back into the things that are /good/, so y'can remember the parts of life that are worth it. T'get you seein' your friends an' swimmin' an' huntin' with B an' eatin' food you like. An' tomorrow we're just s'posed t'watch TV an' movies with Spence an' B an' have a pajama day. I'm gonna make tofu scramble for breakfast..." Shane lifts his arms, curling them tight around Micah. His fingers clench into the henley shirt, nails prickling through the fabric. His tears fall to dampen Micah's shirt, wet his neck, crying silent and oddly /still/ with no breaths to shake his frame. "Oh," he finally gasps, as Micah's fingers brush along his gills, "oh -- no I'm sorry I'm not. I didn't mean to. Do /this/, I was trying. To avoid." /Now/ his shoulders shake, ragged sobbing breaths shuddering through him. "It just. Feels really -- pointless. Even if all /this/ -- terrible. Passes. There'll always still be -- I'm never going to /fit/ in the world anywhere. I look wrong and I /think/ wrong and even surrounded by freaks all the /time/ I'm still. /Wrong/." “Shh. Shh,” Micah shushes Shane softly, fingers not hesitating in stroking down his gills. “Honey, there is nothin' wrong with this. We're allowed t'hug an' I'm allowed t'hold you an' it's /good/ t'help you breathe, okay?” His head shakes in denial of all the remaining words. “No, honey. You fit /here/. Y'fit with B an' Spence an' me an' Jax an' we love /you/. We love /all/ of you. We love how y'look an' how y'think an' /none/ of that is wrong.” At the ongoing shuddering of Shane's breathing, he frowns down at the hoodie. “Shane, honey, I'm takin' this /off/. So you can breathe. I already told you that there's nothin' wrong with you not havin' a shirt when you're at home. It's botherin' you an' I need t'get t'your other gills so y'can breathe.” He leaves off petting the gills on one side of Shane's neck to reach for the hoodie's zipper. "Sorry, m'not. Good at breathing either." Shane mumbles this against Micah's shoulder, squirming slightly to turn enough for Micah to reach the zipper. His gills beneath it are rustling still, fast and leaving his words choppy. "I don't. Fit in here even B is better at -- being a person than me. I didn't. I never knew how to be one at /all/ before Pa and now I. Feel like I'm. Forgetting. Nothing makes sense everything's just. Hurty." “You're amazin' at breathin'. S'just that you're so amazin' that y'breathe air /and/ water an' sometimes it's hard t'keep straight which one y'should be doin'.” Micah slides the zipper open, tugging the hoodie off and tossing it aside on the beanbag. He pulls Shane in again, hugging him tight with his arms crossing behind his back for his hands to be able to reach the gills on opposite sides for stroking down in long, slow, rhythmic movements. The touch is firm and full-handed in an attempt to soothe. “You do, honey. You do fit with /us/. An' hurtin' when your family gets taken away is /exactly/ bein' a person. It...hurts when your people are gone.” Shane draws in a slower breath, softer, with the slow press against his gills. The shaky shuddering sobs start to calm, his gills pressing down flat against his sides. He turns his face in against Micah's neck once more, tentatively wrapping his arms back in a cautious hug once the sweatshirt is off. "-- how do you breathe?" he finally asks, quiet, face not moving from where it is pressed to skin. "When everything's just. Always. Hurting. How do you remember how to breathe?" Micah's hands continue their steady stroking uninterrupted. His head tips down to press a kiss to Shane's forehead. "Sometimes it's hard. Sometimes y'just gotta sit an' think about nothin' else but steady, deep, slow breaths. An' sometimes y'gotta distract yourself an' let your body do the automatic things it's s'posed t'do. An' sometimes it helps t'have someone else /tell/ y'to breathe. An' sometimes y'just get t'the point where y'don't for awhile, but then it gets better again with time." When Shane's gills finally stop fluttering, he loosens his tight-hug enough to reach for the lotion container. "Lie down, honey. We can /at least/ get your skin feelin' less hurty." The arm still wrapped around the boy half-encourages, half supports him lying back on the beanbag. "I forget. A lot." Shane's tears have at least stopped streaming by the time he lifts his head, a shiny wetness still in his eyes that isn't quite falling anymore. "But it helps. To have people --" He swallows, hand dropping to touch fingertips very lightly against the back of Micah's hand at his gills. "-- Just. To be reminded I guess." He's reluctant to move, though he doesn't resist the change of position; he does /cling/ a moment longer to Micah, though, one arm wrapped tight. There's a small tremble to his arm when he lets go, sinking back against the beanbag and looking up at Micah. "Okay. Okay. Maybe that's -- a good place. To start." "It happens, honey. Y'got a little harder time in that y'don't just have t'remember /to/ breathe, y'have t'remember /where/ you're breathin', is all." Micah gives Shane one last tight squeeze before lowering him to his back, releasing just long enough to open the lotion tub and warm some of its contents in his hands. "This is okay, too. We're just helpin' your skin." He starts in with an arm, working lotion down its length from the shoulder, periodically adding more to his hands from the tub. His movements are slow and careful to maintain the correct direction on Shane's skin to avoid abrasions. Shane lifts his arm, when Micah starts on it, holding it slightly up away from his body as Micah works on it. "-- This is okay." His eyes focus on Micah's hands, watching their movement against his skin. His hand turns upward, fingers curling up as Micah's hands work, to brush fingertips very lightly against the inside of Micah's arm. He falls into quiet, slowly relaxing back into the beanbag, his breathing coming now between just barely-parted lips. "Mmhmm," Micah replies with a small nod in affirmation of Shane's repeated words. He takes the arm by its hand to return it gently to resting on the beanbag before gathering more lotion and moving on to repeat the process with the other arm. "What sort of tofu scramble would you like in the morning? Can do...more of an Asian type...or Southwestern...or California...or more of a curry. Have black beans or edamame t'add." The words that he's using aren't terribly important, more the slow-steady-soothing cadence and soft tone as his hands continue their work. This hand turns upward, too, fingers brushing slow and light against Micah's arm. His eyes flutter closed, a very small happier sigh escaping him. "Oh --" Sort of distant-dreamy, at first, it takes a moment before Shane stops to think on this. "Oh -- curry is good. But Southwestern you can put avocado better -- oh. What's in a California style anyway? Surfers?" Again, the arm is returned to rest on the beanbag by a gentle grip on its hand once Micah has finished with it. More lotion is collected to brush gently along Shane's neck and more firmly across his chest. "Does the lotion go over your gills or is it bad for 'em?" he checks in before answering the teen's question. "Avocado an' black beans an' spinach an' red onion an' bell pepper. Got some zucchini that could even go, too. Spices are a bit lighter'n a Southwestern, but otherwise it's fairly similar. Less salsa-like, more herby. Oregano, paprika, parsley, black pepper, lemon, an' such. Still add the garlic an' tumeric an' cumin an' a touch of soy sauce, just less heavy on the cumin. An' no chiles or jalapenos or cilantro or tomatoes.” Shane's breathing is slowing, deeper, a little shakier as Micah's hands brush against his chest. He lifts his hand after it's set back down, tracing his fingers slowly up Micah's arm. "Oh --" His gills open once, then close again. "Gills is fine. Good. I like --" His cheeks flush, eyes opening to look up into Micah's. "-- black beans. And avocado. Should -- do that one. Parsley's weird I don't know how I feel about parsley." His hand stops at Micah's shoulder when it reaches, fingers curling the shirt fabric into a loose fist. "Yeah, it's nice when y'want the black beans an' avocado, but not all the heavier spice of the Southwestern. Sometimes y'want somethin' lighter first thing in the mornin'. Can always leave the parsley out," Micah continues his murmuring prattle. He reaches for more lotion once given direction regarding Shane's gills, moving to apply it to the sides of his neck and along the tops of his shoulders. After several slow strokes, he notes the fingers in his shirt with a small nod of his head in their direction. "Somethin' wrong, honey, or y'just feel like holdin' on?" The question is also soft, without accusation. "First thing in the morning I usually want -- kind of. Just. /All/ the everything, a whole night of not eating is too long." Shane shivers at the stroking fingers against his gills. His fingers tighten in the shirt harder, with a small downwards pull towards himself that slackens when Micah asks. He shakes his head quickly, releasing the shirt to let his fingers trail upward further, very light against the much-bruised side of Micah's neck and gently along his jaw. "N-no it's not. Wrong, it's. /Right/, nothing feels right anymore but -- you feel – good." “Ha, I know. I feel like I just wanna make pancakes /and/ omelettes /and/ bacon /and/ hash browns /and/ have a side of fruit with m'coffee an' juice every mornin' so I can only imagine what y'all get up to after a whole night.” A smile tugs up at both corners of Micah's mouth, a light chuckle added in amusement. He collects more lotion to repeat the slow, longitudinal stroking along the gills at Shane's sides. “Okay, just checkin'. Knew we could find /somethin'/ t'make y'feel a little better.” Shane's fingers trace lightly against the curve of Micah's lower lip and then back. Against his jaw again, curling eventually around the back of the other man's head. His eyes close again, breath shivering out of him softly. "You -- make me feel. A lot better, it's just. Hard /other/ times to hang on to --" Another tiny shivery breath; Shane's eyes open again with the next slow downward stroke. "This," he breathes out, a small smile touching his lips hesitantly at first, but less nervously as he watches Micah's smile as well. "I love you." Micah's hands dip into the lotion jar once more before moving to stretch over Shane's stomach, fingers stretched wide to cover the broader expanse of skin more easily. "It is. 'Specially when somethin' bad is happenin' /right now/ an' the somethin' good seems far away. Can you do somethin' for me? Just make sure y'come talk t'me or call or text whenever it feels like life is too much, okay? Let me help remind you about the other things?" He collects more lotion to move further down Shane's stomach. "Love you, too, honey. Always. All of you." Shane presses up into the touch, lean-hard against Micah's fingers, and his next slow breath out has a quiet note of a moan to it. He closes his eyes again, /squeezes/ them shut, nodding at Micah's request. "It just. /Always/ feels too much lately, I don't. Know how to -- I can't just text you every minute. But everything's always so --" He swallows, eyes a little teary again when he opens them. "You're a good reminder." He lifts his head, the hand at the back of Micah's head pulling inwards, too, drawing closer so that he can press his lips gentle-soft to Micah's. "You'll know when y'need a boost, honey. When y'work your mind into a corner an' can't get back out of it. Or y'can't remember t'breathe. I know you'll know when t'call me. Just...make sure y'do." The little kiss is returned briefly, barely more than a peck, eyes open and lips closed in an appropriate child-kiss. Then Micah moves away enough to reach the cuffs of Shane's pajama pants, rolling each one up just over the knees before retrieving the lotion container for application to the bared portions of the boy's legs and feet. Shane's hand traces against the side of Micah's neck as it drops, falling back to his chest. He sinks back against the beanbag with a quietly happy smile, gills working open and closed, though only a few contented-slow times before pressing down flat. "I still think my plan of just never going out in the world again is easier. It's easier to think, in here." Micah's hands circle Shane's legs to spread the lotion from knee to ankle, first right, then left, with several pauses to refresh the lotion supply. "Easier, yes. But not feasible. An' not really a way t'/live/, honey. Still gotta be a part of the world. Y'can be here. Y'can even be here /a lot/. But y'gotta let us get you suited up in your armour while you're here so y'can be /out there/, too. Sometimes out there is a fight...but not always." Hands coated in creme again, he collects Shane's right foot to apply the lotion with more pressure than the rest of the application process has seen, more of a gentle massage focusing primarily on the sole. Shane's eyes drop back closed sleepily this time, a slow blink that fails to open again. His response comes after delay, one side of his mouth quirking upward in a brief twitch of amusement. "-- can you make me armour? In your -- magic. Lab. With your wizardry." His foot presses down into Micah's touch, and he hums a soft happy sound. "Though I guess love is pretty powerful wizardry too. But. /Also/ could you make me armour?" Another chuckle answers Shane's question. “I mostly meant that figuratively, but I could prob'ly work up some /costume/ armour if I researched it well enough. Imagine I'd have t'get some real specialised equipment an' someone t'train me for awhile on anythin' else.” After some time spent massaging the right foot, Micah eventually returns it to the beanbag. More lotion in hand, he restarts the process for the left foot. "Do you know anyone who makes armour? Because we /all/ could probably use it. Maybe starting wtih you, Ba. Your skin isn't as thick as mine." Shane blushes. “Literally, anyway. Figuratively maybe it's thicker. I think you're a lot stronger than I am." He drifts off back into quiet, head nestling into the beanbag sleepily. "...can I stay here? With you?" "Not off the top of m'head, but I'm sure I could /find/ somebody. S'what the internet is for." Micah's smile broadens with a bit of a giggle at this. "I don't know about all that. Maybe on some things. I been around a bit longer t'work at it than you have, though." His hands release Shane's foot, then roll his pants legs back down to his ankles. Gently rocking the boy by one shoulder and one hip, he encourages him onto his stomach. "Roll over so I can get t'your back. Pretty sure you'll be asleep by the time I'm done, so yes, y'can stay. I'll be fully pajama'd an' you got your PJ pants. /Just/ cuddles an' sleepin'." His outline of sleeping events is in the same light, soft, even tone as his descriptions of tofu recipes earlier. Without judgement, simply informative and gentle. "/So/ much longer," Shane agrees with a quick curl of a smile. "At your old age you probably've had time to learn /all/ the trick for growing -- thicker skin. You can." He cuts off his words to stifle a yawn. "Teach me. Later. Because the world's --" But this drops off here, too, as he rolls over onto his belly. "Mmm." It's quietly contented, too. His head nods in agreement with these guidelines. "Just cuddles and sleeping. And armour." This last might not be officially on the list. But he sounds mostly asleep already even as he says it. Micah's hands continue their work for some time to spread the lotion across Shane's back, taking the time to work out the tension in his neck and shoulders as he does so. The massage goes on past the point where Shane appears to be asleep. Then Micah caps the lotion jar and returns it to the bathroom. Fetches the folded blanket from where it has been tucked behind the beanbag for sleeping purposes and drapes it loosely over Shane's still form. Places the e-reader on the coffee table and takes his tea cup to be emptied, rinsed, washed, and set in the drying rack. Disappears into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. When he returns, he clicks off the little reading lamp by the beanbag that he had been using. He slips under the blanket and tucks in close at Shane's side, wrapping an arm around the boy's shoulders. Sleep comes a little faster for the night.