ArchivedLogs:Be Scientific

Be Scientific
Dramatis Personae Anole, Micah, Sage
In Absentia	30 March 2014 Anole has some concerns about his arm. (Part of the Perfectus TP.)
Location <XS> Gardens
From indoor gardens to outdoor, though without the protective greenhouse glass the back gardens do not last all year round. Still, the gardens out here are well-tended and well-worth spending time in, as well. The paths wending through the beds of flowers and herbs and vegetables spread out through the school's back grounds, tended by students as a credit class. Benches offer seating and a small pond is home to koi and turtles, as well as a few frogs. At the far back edges of the garden, a droning buzzing marks a few stacked white boxes as beehives. Early Sunday morning around a /high/ school tends to find many of the students (-- many of the teachers, too) still asleep, with no classes and no set schedule to abide by. The gardens in morning are kind of /idyllic/-quiet, still dew-sprinkled and with only a quiet twittering of birdsong and the soft lapping of the pond-water to break up the morning stillness. They're not /empty/, though. There's one skinny figure crouched at the pond's edge, perched barefoot on the rocks with green toes curled down towards the water. Anole is in black and white plaid pajama pants, an oversized RENT t-shirt, an unzipped Xavier's hoodie thrown on over top. His hand is splayed palm-flat against the rock beside him and his eyes are fixed down into the water. At the moment, statue-still and quiet, he could almost /be/ part of the scenery. Anole's being one with nature does cause him to be /missed/ by a slightly morning-drowsy Micah as the young man makes his way into the garden. It also helps that his attention is half taken up by picking at the lemon poppyseed muffin in his hands, which actually takes a little doing since his other hand has a small vacuum-sealed thermos of Assam tea in it. Micah is dressed simply in an assortment of thrift shop acquisitions: black hoodie worn unzipped over a kelly green T-shirt with a random cartoon panda on it, faded bluejeans, and hiking boots that have seen better days. His feet stop his forward progression for a moment as he looks for a good place to sit and finish tiny-breakfast, fully planning a larger meal at brunch later. Sage awakes early every morning. Weekends are no different for her. Clad in a brown jacket, a pair of green sweat pants, and tennis shoes, ATHENA not present at this moment, her very very light blue eyes sparkling in the nature. Looking around, however, her abilities are still working, processing every little thing she sees. "Hello, Micah, Anole. How is your morning?" A twerk of a head from Sage, as she proceeds to just...pace around. Anole doesn't look up from the water when Micah emerges, just -- quiet and statue-like, still. It's only when he's addressed that he even seems to notice the presence of other people, head tipping up with wide startled green eyes. His posture tenses up reflexively, hand and feet starting to fade into the grey of the stone, but this relaxes back into green as he notes Sage and Micah. "Miss Sage. Mr. Zedner. Hi. I --" He looks down into the pond a little bit guiltily. "There's fish. I was watching --" Slowly he turns around, still crouched on the rocks but facing outward, now. "You still look half-asleep." He says this to Micah rather than to Sage, looking over at his teacher a moment later. "It's nice out. I like the -- it's getting to be spring. I like to -- to see. The sun." "Hm?" Micah replies to Anole unexpectedly speaking. "Ohgosh, just a little. I was up late workin' an' I haven't had m'tea yet." He lofts the thermos in his hand illustratively; it looks like it would hold about 16 ounces of the caffeinated beverage. "Get too used t'coffee or black tea in the mornin's and start t'be a little fuzzy 'fore y'get it. Mind if I sit with you? I had much the same plan. Get a little quiet an' sunshine with breakfast instead of...dinin' hall. Ain't /quite/ so noisy on weekends...'specially this early, but still." He offers Sage a wave sort of with his muffin, since both hands are full. "Mornin', Sage. I'm doin' okay. How're you?" "I am fine." Sage tips her head at the muffin wave, before glancing at the fish. "The sun is quite beautiful. Nature itself is beautiful. I hope you are alright, Micah. I apologize for everything that has happened." "I just like being outside. I had -- a lot of. Inside." Anole scoots slightly sideways on the rocks, though it's really unnecessary to /make/ room for Micah, there is already plenty. "There's sun here and grass and /turtles/ and fish and -- I'm probably not supposed to eat these fish, right." He looks back over his shoulder at the pond a little regretfully, but then looks at Micah with wider eyes. "Oh -- oh gosh, that's right, you're. Are you okay? I forgot you're not /supposed/ to live here. Because it's nice to. See you. Here." "Yeah, you've had...a lot of bein' /cooped up/ over the past year. Think it makes a body appreciate just...sky an' air an'...everythin' that y'missed so much more." Micah takes Anole's scooting over as an invitation, settling onto the flat rock near the boy. "No, I'm pretty sure the animals in here are like pets. But the twins eat the fish out in the lake all the time if y'wanna go fishin' out that way sometime." He picks off a larger chunk of muffin, chewing at it quietly for a moment. "I'm fine. Prob'ly I was the only person who /wasn't/ injured in that explosion one way or another. Now that m'family's mostly recovered, I'm just...grateful. An' it is /so/ inconvenient that," he sets his muffin in his lap to /sign/ 'sorry', "isn't an allowed word anymore, isn't it? It's more versatile than apologies. 'Cause apologies imply...some kinda fault or responsibility. Whereas the other can be offered in sympathy. I guess phrases like 'I feel badly about' are options, but it just ain't the same." "A lot of people were injured, yes. But you are here. So this is why I apologize." Sage's face has a small bit of sadness, a rare show of emotion. She lost someone as well, after all. "But, {sorry} would be a useful word to be able to say, yes." Speaking the ill-fated word in Russian, she glances around, before sighing. "You should not eat the fish. I am rather sure some students here tend to them, as well as staff." "I didn't eat any yet," Anole says a little defensively. His teeth scrape against his lower lip, and he scoots /just/ a little closer to Micah, hand reaching to -- pat, pat, pat, tentatively at the man's leg. "... I say sorry still." He frowns uncomfortably at this admission. "Is it still infected? I mean nobody around here's been a zombie lately right? Maybe it's safe again." His arm curls back around his knees, and he teeter-wobbles a little bit where he crouches on the rocks, tipping slightly back towards the water before leaning forward again. "/I'm/ sorry, anyway. For -- everything. That everyone's been going through." His green eyes skip sideways to Micah and then back down to the ground. "I meant to come find you today," he tells the other man, quieter. "But maybe breakfast isn't a -- good time." "S'okay, hon. Was just lettin' y'know there /is/ good fishin' t'be had, just not right here." At Anole's patting, Micah sets his muffin down again, rolling the cuff of his jeans up as far as it will go (which turns out to be /just/ to thigh height). "It may well be that the word's perfectly safe now. We're all just...paranoid an' been trained /not/ t'say it by now. I mean, I slip from time t'time, but mostly under duress." He nods to Sage, signing once more, 'I'm sorry,' before switching to speaking aloud, "too. 'Bout everybody. There's been an awful lot of.../awful/ lately." One brow lofts curiously at Anole. "It's a fine time 'less y'wanted t'talk privately later. What did y'need, hon?" This time he picks the muffin up and just sinks his teeth into it, chewing for a bit before taking a swig of tea from his little thermos. "I can leave, if you two would like privacy." Sage says this calmly, eyes darting from Anole to Micah. "I imagine there is a good chance the word may be safe. Viruses adapt, any word could be infected now, could it not? This entire virus was quite a strange one, there may be ways it could infect again." Sage speculates, before speaking again. "But I do not say it because there are much better words to say." "Maybe all the words we're saying right /now/ are infected," Anole agrees, wide-eyed. "And we just don't know because none of /us/ are infected yet. But -- but it could be. Anywhere." He shakes his head at the question of privacy, cheeks flushing a darker green. "I don't, um, /mind/," he says to Sage, "it's just that my arm's kind of, um. Ugly and -- gross and. I don't know if /other/ people really ever want to -- um. See. It." "It's...quite possible. T'be honest I never fully grasped just /how/ the plague worked." Micah gives a little /shrug/ at this. "Ugh. I'm not gonna think about that too much, Anole, it's too... Once you've /had/ that plague an' everyone y'know has had it an' some've died of it an' you've watched people y'know turn into... Ugh." A visible full-body /shiver/ overtakes him as if he were suddenly cold. "Honey, ain't nothin' ugly or gross 'bout your arm. It's your arm. An' folks...shortened it a bit on you. But y'got a good team workin' t'make sure it's still the best possible arm at the length you've got. Okay? Have y'been wearin' the compression sleeve an' doin' your desensitisation procedure every day? The one-handed tools workin' out for you alright?" "I should leave anyways. I have not eaten yet." Sage tips her head, before parting, her face back to being emotionless. "I don't really know how it worked either -- oh. Bye --" Anole is just starting to slip out of his sweatshirt but at Sage's sudden departure he pulls it back on, posture curling inward self-consciously. "See?" he zips his sweatshirt back up, shivering a little bit as he wraps his arm tight around himself. "I just. I don't want to make people -- uncomfortable." His head bows unhappily, and he fidgets on the rock where he sits. "But I did need to -- ask you -- I mean. You took -- lots of -- measurements right? Of -- of my. This." "Honey, I don't think her leavin' had anythin' t'do with you. It's /real/ difficult t'make Sage uncomfortable. She prob'ly legitimately wanted t'go get food. She's just a little...abrupt. Usually." Micah very slowly and visibly reaches a hand out to rest in gentle reassurance on Anole's back. "An' if other people /are/ uncomfortable with it? Which will happen sometimes... That's on /them/ an' not /you/. It's /their/ own insecurity comin' out. None of this is your fault. But you aren't repellent or disgustin' or sad or...you're just dif'rent now than y'were before. An' dif'ren ain't /wrong/ or /bad/. S'just dif'rent. Okay?" He nods simply at the question. "Sure did take a bunch of measurements. Prob'ly I'll have t'keep takin' more. With all the reshapin' protocols what things'll look like at the end'll be much dif'rent than where we started. But that's the point...gettin' a more ideal shape for prosthetic fittin' with minimal scarrin'." At the touch, Anole leans in against Micah, back a little stiff and a little trembly beneath the older man's hand. "/Feel/ kind of disgusting sometimes," he admits softly. "I mean it was already bad enough with the -- being. Green. And now --" He draws in a deep breath, frowning and scooting a tiny bit closer to Micah. "So you still have those measurements? Because I. I think something is -- is wrong." “You're not, honey. Y'never were.” Micah's hand rubs gently at Anole's back. His brow furrows at the next questions. “I do... D'you think you're gettin' swellin'? Are things...sore or lookin' infected?” "N-- no." Anole seems uncertain about this answer, though; he almost immediately changes it to: "Yes. Maybe? No. I don't know. Definitely swelling. I don't think infected it doesn't -- exactly. I mean it's kind of /achey/. But not like infected-hurty. Just -- just achey. It -- it." In lieu of trying to explain further he just shrugs out of his sweatshirt, setting it down on his lap. He carefully works off the compression sleeve next which -- definitely seems like it's a bit /too/ compress-y, noticeably tighter than it was designed to be. He pushes his sleeve back up, though he doesn't have to push it as /far/ as he used to before the stub of his arm is visible. A little bit longer, a little bit thicker than it had been before, and definitively more rough-scaley in texture than the rest of his lightly-scaled skin. Small hard nubs are starting to grow in, protruding slightly from the rougher scales. "I just -- I think it's. Worse." "Hm." Micah looks over the arm as Anole moves clothing and other impediments to view. "Well, the compression garment's sure too small on you right now. I'd stop wearin' it for risk of skin irritation an' blockin' bloodflow." Eyes narrowing, he holds the compression sleeve up to the residual limb, comparing lengths. "Now, I know this was a good fit t'start. An' if anythin', you'd expect it t'get /loose/ over time. Have you ever noticed that you have accelerated healin' or anythin' like that before? An' have y'been t'the doctor since this started seemin' dif'rent to you?" "It was getting a little bit tingly. From being too tight maybe? I don't know." Anole twitches his left arm, watching the stump stretch outward and then lower again. He pushes his sleeve back all the way to just leave the arm exposed. "I heal like everyone else does. I was always kind of," he admits with a sheepish-tiny smile, "a /wimp/ about getting hurt but um. I guess being out -- you kind of get over that well enough with zombies maybe. But I didn't heal any of that really well I got a bite once and it was infected for -- a while." He shakes his head at the mention of the doctor, frowning at his arm. "Should I? Is this. This is bad right?" "Prob'ly, yeah. It won't hurt for y'to go without for just a little bit. Take y'to the doc first thing on Monday unless Doctor Mccoy can do imagin' here. It wouldn't hurt t'see /exactly/ what's goin' on in there." Micah's head shakes at the question of things being bad. "I can't be sure without the imagin', honey, but it seems like you're /regeneratin'/ tissues. That residual limb's /longer/ than it was t'start with." His head tilts slightly, observing the arm. "Would just be useful t'see if it's all soft tissue, or if you're actually growin' new bone or just what. It's...not unheard of for people t'get special healin' abilities that resemble... I mean, your expression of the X-gene has always seemed slightly reptilian in nature. I don't wanna start countin' chickens 'fore they're hatched, but...it wouldn't be so far-fetched t'think you've got a hint of regeneration capability similar to some reptiles." "I have class on Monday." Anole presses his arm back to his side, his eyes opening up wider. "Grow back -- a whole /arm/ that's a lot of growing-back I barely heal up papercuts." But he glances down at the arm at his side curiously. And then apprehensively: "It's /uglier/." He says this very firmly, holding out the more-scaley partial limb to Micah in disappointed indication. "Well...let's just take y'to Hank an' see what we do from there." Micah pats at the air to slow Anole's rush to judgement there. "We don't know that yet, honey. Looks like you're gettin' /some/ regeneration. Sayin' you're growin' a whole new /arm/ s'a little leap in the logic. We should just get those scans so we have more to work with." He slides his phone out of his pocket, sending off a quick text to Hank to see when he might be available for the procedure. "You're...kinda in a state of change right now. We're not sure what's happenin' or where it's goin' just yet. Things don't always look the same after they've healed from damage...an' certainly not /while/ they're still healin'. Y'don't know how this is gonna turn out one way or the other just yet, okay?" "Maybe I'm growing a new /wing/. Maybe I'll be some kind of raptor." Anole grins at Micah, quick and crooked. His eyes fall back down to the ground afterwards. "I never know how anything is going to turn out," he muses, "but the answer always seems to be -- really horrible. So probably I'm growing some kind of horrifying monster-appendage. I don't even know what they /did/ to me in there. Maybe this is something /they/ did." "It is tough not knowin'. So let's get you over t'medbay an' see if we can't put some more information in place of your unknowns. See if there ain't a little less horrible than you're thinkin'." Micah gives the boy's intact-side shoulder a little squeeze before standing and offering him a hand to do the same. "I couldn't say whether that group did a thing or not. Surely they had t'have /some/ reason for removin' part of your arm t'begin with but... They're workin' on gettin' a team t'gether t'figure who did this an' why. That could be a help." Anole reaches up to take Micah's hand, hopping lightly to his feet. "Okay. But if Doctor McCoy says I'm turnin' into a /dinosaur/ I'm going to be --" He hesitates, eventually just deciding: "Actually, that'd be /kind/ of cool." “I dunno 'bout turnin' into a dinosaur, but dinosaurs /are/ pretty cool,” Micah replies with a bit of a chuckle. “Not too much point in speculatin' 'til we get more data, though. Let's be scientific where we can.” Anole giggles, dipping his head. He doesn't release Micah's hand even when he's on his feet, still holding it tight as he starts back towards the mansion. "Now you just make it sound like /school/." Though he doesn't, really, sound like he's complaining.