ArchivedLogs:Artists And Nerds

From X-Men: rEvolution
Artists And Nerds
Dramatis Personae

Shane, Jax, Micah

16 February 2015



<NYC> The Grotto - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side

The basement of this home does not much resemble the upper levels at all. Stony and rather cave-like, its flooring is rock -- where it has flooring, anyway. The majority of the space in the center of the room is taken up by an indoor pool, of sorts, though the stone ledges around its edge and the tiny ripples of waterfall burbling down into it from stone steps leading in give it more the feel of an indoor /pond/. Somewhere in the side a door leads out to the riverside, and around one rocky wall a small bathroom /also/ has the feel of being carved out of the stone. For the most part, though, the room is just taken up by Pool -- though in the wall on the farthest side away from the pond there's been recessed shelving and storage space cut right into the stony facade.

"... so does that mean they're going to, what, arrest you?" Possibly this should sound alarmed? Shane doesn't sound alarmed, just curious, lying mostly-submerged on a mossy ledge of the pool. Mostly submerged, though his head is tucked up against Jax's leg, one hand playing idly against the surface of the water. There's music playing somewhere. Rimsky-Korsakov. Quiet. "They arrested Sheer the other day. Have to imagine that's messy to pull off."

If Jax is alarmed he doesn't look it. Half asleep, mostly, sitting up in the water -- though that hasn't spared many of his bandages from soaking -- and leaning back against the edge of the pool. Eyes half closed, bandaged arm out of the water and resting against the rocky floor and his other hand trailing fingers against Shane's spiky hair. "I doubt it. I mean only if I don't pay, I guess. Even then y'know I ain't proper sure. They seem t'think /I'm/ more hassle than s'worth. -- is he okay?" His brows knit inward.

“Hello?” Micah calls softly as he heads into the room, having heard murmured voices on the way but not so much the content of the conversation. “Heard a rumour Jax was over here somewheres. I can go if I'm interruptin'? Just wanted to check in.” The redhead, as he peers in tentatively, is still in his work wear: TARDIS blue polo shirt over charcoal henley, khakis, socks with little Space Invaders worked into their grey and black stripes. The utter disaster of his hair implies a slightly-damp wool hat was taken off without a lot of mind as to how.

"Sure, he's okay. Didn't stay long. You /are/ a goddamn hassle. That's the way to do it, I guess." Shane's grin is bright and swift and toothy. "Make sure if they're /gonna/ eat you they fucking well /choke/ on you." His reflexive response to another voice is tension, muscles clenching, claws lengthening, a growl rising in his throat. It subsides back down a moment later, head nestling back against Jax's lap as he relaxes. "Uh..." is the only other response he gives, eyes closing and his hands falling back down beneath the water.

Jax laughs, just as bright, just as swift; around the room there's a small shimmer of glittering colour for a moment that fades away as the sound does. "Feel like that's about ninety percent'a my job as an activist anymore. Jus'. Be a pain in everyone's side. Or throat. Whiche..." He trails off as Shane tenses, glancing up sharply but just as quickly relaxing with a warm smile. "Hey, honey-honey. How was work?"

Micah can't help but smile at the light-shimmer. His teeth dig into his lower lip at the growling and the claws and the tensing. “Hi, sugar, kiddo. Ohgosh, I didn't mean t'startle. Tried t'announce m'self on the way in.” His hand waves back toward the entrance. Smiles and greetings do soften the apologetic stance into a more comfortable one as he moves closer to crouch by the pool. “All kindsa busy. Keep...havin' big ol' upswings an' downswings based on the weather an' then havin' t'make up for the weather. Prob'ly gonna spend a little time sometime t'night workin' with Flicker's arm. S'one part I gotta order in 'cause it got too gummed up, but most of it I can take care'a in the van.” He looks over the pair, perhaps surveying Jax's dressings just a /little/. “How're y'mendin'?”

"Mmm." Shane pulls back, shifting under the water briefly but then sitting up. "You should just make him a new arm. Better arm. Isn't he supposed to get a new arm anyway? Seems like melting the old one is a good time for an upgrade." His head shakes, dislodging a sprinkling of water to splatter over Jax and back down into the pool. "I skipped school. We watched movies."

"Responsible parentin'." Jax's tone is sheepish, his blush deep. His hand only lifts halfheartedly to shield from the spray of water droplets. "I baked spiced brownies," he adds, which might be softening the following: "The Registry cited me again. We owe 'em two an' a half thousand this time 'round."

“Oh, he'll get one whenever...he's ready for it? He might actually need t'wait a minute t'finish healin' 'fore the surgeon'll take 'im just now, though. Regardless, y'wanna have a mechanical model as works an' fits on hand when you're usin' a robotic. Sometimes the things /break/. Sometimes your power goes out for a long time. I got m'backup in a closet.” Micah taps his thigh illustratively with the last. “S'also good if you're doin' somethin' y'think might mess the prosthesis up an' y'don't wanna wreck your good one.” He waves a hand at Jax's blushing. “Honestly it /is/. Sometimes y'gotta take a day off for family. Work's still there when y'get back. One day ain't catastrophic an' usually somebody can tell y'what y'missed.” The widening of Micah's eyes at the brownies is definitely interest in the same. Followed by widening at the figure cited. “Holy... They ever gonna do more'n cite you, y'think?”

"He does a fuckton of things might mess his prosthesis up. Like every damn day. Maybe one day he'll be a doctor instead of getting blown up all the time." Shane frowns, for a moment. "Unless he's a moron and goes to work /at/ the Clinic. Then he could be a doctor /and/ get blown up all the time. M'sure B's /already/ collected my assignments for me it's fucking obnoxious that way sometimes." His head drops back against the rock, eyes fixing up on the ceiling. "You could not pay it. Then they'd maaaybe do more."

"Yeah, those are totally not mutually exclusive," Jax replies. "Dr. Grey an' Dr. McCoy don't get off so easy neither. -- Burns ain't fun, might be a minute 'fore he's in shape for surgery or -- much. /He/ gone back t'school today, though. Think I'm just a slacker." His cheeks are still deep red. His shoulder lifts uncertainly at the question. "If I get arrested for somethin' /else/, then prob'ly. Otherwise I don't know. Maybe jus' keep hikin' up my fines till they bankrupt us."

"Well, there's might an' then there's certain? Like if I go t'the beach, I take m'mechanical one 'cause the robotic ain't s'posed t'be submerged. There's no plannin' for accidents an'...that kinda thing, though." Micah's mouth opens to make mention of not having been blown up at the clinic...then has a 'yet' in there mentally...then decides just not to say it at all. This comes across mostly via mouth opening and closing and eyebrows dipping downward. "If you're a slacker, I dunno what t'say 'bout the rest of the world, sugar. Y'hardly /leave/ any jobs for the rest of us. 'Ceptin' the ones B picks up." His head shakes at the talk of arrests and bankruptcy. "Guess we could take up a /collection/ if it ever gets that bad. Kickstarter for protests? S'that a thing?"

"Nope. Can't Kickstarter it." Shane's head shakes. "You can only use Kickstarter for actual concrete /projects/. Like, with a deliverable. /Thing/. If you're making a protest /album/ or a protest /movie/ or a protest -- robot that's going to go bomb the Registry offices you can use Kickstarter. You want to crowdfund something like a march or just 'support this activist he's pretty rad' you're gonna need to use, like, indiegogo or gofundme." His head tips thoughtfully. "Though I dunno if you wanted to blog about it or something I bet you could just cover it under your Patreon shit. Not the kind of art you're selling there /now/ but." He shrugs. "I'm pretty sure getting bombed at the Clinic /is/ certain. It's not so much a question of if as when."

"I ain't bringin' my activism into my Patreon. Not no more'n any of my paintings /are/ political, anyhow." Jax shakes his head, /firmly/. "Else I swear one'a these days I'm jus' gonna straight forget I was ever an artist at /all/ an' then I --" He trails off, lips compressing. "I don't know if there's a upper limit on what they can fine you. Guess we'll find out." His nose wrinkles at the comment on getting bombed. "Well. Maybe we earned ourselves a respite for a minute."

"Y'see how much I use alla those things. This is what we keep the youngfolks 'round for," Micah observes in his best wisftul-old-man voice. His lips tug to the side, then downward at the rest of it. "At least it's...not certain like ev'ry time y'dive in the ocean you're gonna get wet is. But havin' a there for when things happen. Even when it's not ev'ryday things." Scooting a little closer to the water, Micah reaches out to pet at a non-injured portion of Jax's arm. "S'what y'got people for. If y'start feelin' like you're slippin' on the important things, then we can help remind you."

"Pfft. Dude this isn't a youngfolk thing you should know this shit. It's fucking business." Shane shakes his head, palms bracing on the rock as he pulls himself up out of the water. "Don't be stupid, you're never going to forget that. You doodle pictures in the pan with the goddamn pancake batter when you're making me breakfast. The fucking brownies had leaf shapes swirled into them. You're pretty much hopeless. -- I'm grabbing brownies. Y'all want?" Answer or no, he's already ambling off towards the stairs.

"/You're/ s'posed to be good at all this tech -- nerd -- stuff," Jax complains at his husband. "Computer things." He shakes his head in exaggerated disappointment, leaning into Micah's touch as Shane heads off. "What I got people for is bringin' me brownies. -- An' milk!" he chirrups in addition. "Oh. I should prob'ly. Move upstairs. 'fore I /completely/ prune." He is pretty wincey as /he/ starts to pull himself up, teeth clenching.

“Ohgosh, my business is all insurance an' grants. Don't even know what I'd do with...” A little shake of Micah's hand apparently indicates the crowdsourcing programs. “I ain't never claimed t'be great at the computer things. S'why I wanted B helpin' with the computer modellin' an' such for the new project. An' go t'Dusk if there's programmin' things. I'm /honestly/ not a programmer or an engineer or any of that. I mean. I do better'n average on account of workin' with robotics means /dealin'/ with more crunchy computer stuff, but this is what we hire out for.” Shane's litany of artwork earns a lopsided smirk. “S'got a point. You pretty much do /ev'rythin'/ a little bit artsy.” He gives his own call of, “Yes brownies!” in direction of the disappearing sharktwin, then crouches close and low to set his base of support before putting an arm out to help Jax up.

Jax pulls in a slow breath, leaning slightly against Micah (drippy-wet) to pull himself out of the water. He presses a damp kiss to his husband's cheek. "'pologies," he says unapologetically, "m'stereotypin' your people again. Like all nerds gotta be good at /all/ geekstuff. Totally. Build the robots an' program the computers an' do /all/ the science." He curls his arm loosely around Micah's shoulders as he starts to stand. "I don't do /everything/ artsy. -- Well maybe a little. I do kinda. /Shimmer/ a little even when fightin'." Kind of amused, even as he starts towards the stairs as well.

Micah returns the kiss in kind, along with a little nose-nuzzle. "That's on account of your primary attachment to nerddom is B. An' she /does/ do all the things." He doesn't seem to mind getting wet, particularly at the end of the day when he means to shower and change soon, anyhow. "Ain't the only thing y'shimmer durin', neither," Micah reminds in a near-whisper with a wolfish smile, equally amused as he trails his husband back upstairs.