ArchivedLogs:Bodyguards

Bodyguards
"Hello, Homeland Security!"
Dramatis Personae Micah, Shane, Hive	30 December 2013 Jax might be in jail forever and Micah could be the new Worst Race Traitor. Also, surveillance! >_<' (Takes place directly after Shane's conversation with Doug.)
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. It is a chilly, grey afternoon and the curtains are pulled tight in Lighthaus today to help retain the heat indoors, particularly since there is no Jax about needing to soak in sunlight. Micah is sitting on the couch with his laptop open on his lap, alternating between checking the latest news and researching assorted statutes and laws associated with questioning and detaining suspected terrorists. Cheerful stuff. He is wearing a black T-shirt depicting Serenity flying through a Van Gogh 'Starry Night' sky over a navy henley shirt and faded, patched jeans. He chews at his lip thoughtfully as he reads. Shane is quiet as he slips back into the apartment. He stops by the door to shed his dark peacoat and black creepers, leaving him in soft black sweater vest over a long-sleeved button down, and corduroy pants. He looks cheerful to match the mood! In that his gills are fluttering unsteadily and his eyes are wide, posture tense. "Ba." He hastens over to the couch, climbing up onto it to curl his arms around Micah. A familiar /painful/ stab of voice breaks into the mental radiowaves in Lighthaus, Hive's words spiking sharp and hard into both Shane and Micah's minds, though for Micah this is only a repeat of earlier information. << Careful what you say. People were by earlier. Bugged your house. Might want to just assume they're watching your phones and email, too. >> Shane's obvious distress brings Micah's brows crashing together. He moves the laptop aside to the coffee table, wrapping arms around the teen and immediately moving to stroke the gills down. "Shane, honey, what happened? Did you get my text about Spence?" He winces at the stab of information from Hive. << Bugged? Oh...right. The word 'terrorist' was used. Anybody who's ever talked t'anybody who's ever talked t'Jax has no privacy anymore. We'll have all sensitive conversations elsewhere until further notice. Is it okay t'talk /about/ the bugs where they can hear? Or should we avoid that, too? >> "Spence? Is he okay?" Shane's eyes are abruptly wide and hopeful, though his words still come unevenly, gills quieting only slowly under Micah's petting hands. << What. >> It's flat and unhappy, a sudden jarring wrench of one-more-piece of home chipped away, the safety and security Home once represented now just -- twisted and terrifying. Shane burrows further into Micah's side, his gills starting to flutter again quick and sudden enough that Micah may need to be careful of his fingers lest they get caught against the rapidly moving sharp edges. "I haven't. Paid attention to my phone much it's -- almost all. Death threats. At least my email and Facebook nobody's found my /phone/ number yet." << Yeah. Terrorist. I'd guess they're watching all /our/ shit too but who knows. Uh -- it's not like they can arrest you for /knowing/ they bugged you so whatever. Six of one, half-dozen of the other. You could start every conversation out with hello Homeland Security what's up if you like though I advise just having plenty of exciting sex in the living room. >> The thoughts from each of the pair are relayed to each other, as well, for ease of communication. There's a sharper prickle to Hive's mind after this: << Death threats. Fuck, Shane, you -- be careful they all seem like nothing until one of them is something. >> "The lawyer that went in t'see Jax brought 'im home. Apparently he'd been givin' the guards a run for their money all night. Had 'ported 'imself into the cell an' kept blippin' off whenever they came after 'im, then showin' back up once they left." Micah actually sounds slightly /amused/ by this, though it fades quickly from his features. "At least that means Jax got t'have somebody with 'im through the night. Spence was exhausted, though. He's sleepin' now." << Oh/gosh/, Hive. >> Micah's sudden blush seems all the brighter for the general pallor his face has been sporting lately. "Ohright, I turned the ringer off on my phone, too. Janine's been havin' a ball with free range t'try out some more creative cursin' on people that call my work line just t'be vitriolic. Unfortunately, all my contact information's kinda...out there a lot. Didn't think they'd be gettin' to y'all's so easy, though." He glances up at the ceiling, because that's obviously where all surveillance equipment is stored. "So, if you'd like to investigate all the threats comin' through t'our phones an' e-mails while you're readin' 'em anyway, that might be a better use of your time that searchin' for fictional terrorist activity tipped off by the rantin's of a madman. Just a thought." "Oh." It's a happy 'oh', though; Shane gives Spencer's closed bedroom door a fond look. "Oh good cuz I was just thinking of him all -- all there /alone/ and cold and /alone/ but Spence gives good cuddles." He shivers at the thought of Jax cold and alone in a jail cell that in his mind looks strikingly like a Promethean one, and nestles closer to Micah. /Perhaps/ coincidentally nestling closer with Hive's -- colourful suggestion for how to deal with surveillance. His fingers curl more snugly at Micah's side as he briefly grins. << /On/ it. >> "Easy to find out where we go to school," he says with a grimace, "and after that easy to email -- kind of the downside of every email address having the same format. I'm getting most of them 'cuz sholland at xaviers is an easy guess. Bastian's only had a few, probably since I already /took/ s-holland." His gills continue to flutter as he frowns up at Micah. "... what if someone tries to hurt you." << I'm always careful. /I'm/ hard to kill though what about Ba? What about Spence? What about /Pa/ he's off where nobody can /see/. >> << Good. They're being helpful, then? The -- whoever Sublime suggested. Is he getting /food/ that's been a problem every fucking time he's in jail. >> Mental communication makes it even harder than verbal for Hive to keep the anxious worry from his tone. He's silent on the matter of the potential dangers to everyone, though. Micah wraps his arm tighter around Shane when he snuggles in, still working on keeping his gills down. 'Sorry,' he signs before continuing, "that y'have t'go through that, honey. All of this is just...so unfair t'you kids. Just...always." << The lawyer apparently spent a long time talkin' with Jax t'day. Jax said that they were kinda slow t'pick up on gettin' his food right, but overall they're treatin' 'im pretty careful t'avoid gettin' in trouble since he's so high-profile. Said they got better about bringin' 'im vegan food an' bringin' 'im larger amounts since his caloric needs are so high. Ain't gettin' no kinda near enough light, though. He's been sleepin' a lot, but it ain't the same. 'Parently the guards've been gettin' completely freaked out by /that/ 'cause of the dream projections... >> He shakes his head, not sounding particularly /happy/ about any of this. "I s'pose someone /could/ very well try t'hurt me, honey. Don't mean t'be...harsh about it, but, there ain't much t'be done. People know who I am. I'm not a fighter. I'm not a runner 'less I've got the right equipment on. I spend a decent amount of my work time goin' into strangers' homes. An'...now I may very well've toppled Io from the Worst Race Traitor throne for anybody who /believes/ all this nonsense about Jax. But I can't very well afford my own set of full-time bodyguards like he does. I...honestly don't know what t'tell you, sugar. S'dangerous out there, but it's the world we gotta live in." Leaning in once more, Micah places a kiss to Shane's forehead in attempt to soften his words. Shane's eyes close, gills slowly easing downwards again. << Are they keeping him in the dark? >> This is unhappy and a touch panicked, really. His thoughts cloud more heavily with Prometheus images. Jax's face streaked with blood from an empty socket, dragging him pale and half-dead and shaking from a darkened cell. << That's like suffocating him. >> He frowns at the rest of discussion, squeezing Micah against his side. His head tips back so that he can press a kiss in return to the side of Micah's neck. "Of course you can. B and I will do it for /free/." << Oh, that should be pleasant for them. >> Hive's voice is tenser at the thought of Jax's dreams. << Those get violent enough they might well claim some bullshit like -- >> For a moment he drops into silence. << ... well, we'll see. I just hope he doesn't have any particularly /incendiary/ nightmares. >> Micah shakes his head before remembering that he probably shouldn't respond /visibly/ to telepathic communication. << Not.../dark/, but not what he needs, either. There's artificial lightin' until lights-out. He gets a little outdoor time, but not more'n about an hour at a stretch, usually only once a day at most. Light's been the one thing that's been the hardest for the lawyer t'argue. They're seein' it like puttin' bullets in a gun more than like...keepin' Jax in workin' order. They're gonna keep fightin' it, though. >> He bites his lip at Hive's observation. << The projections are well-documented by now. They're s'posed t'give adequate warnin' t'any new guard who'll be workin' with Jax. I think they're actually tryin' t'do things right with 'im this time, t'keep from turnin' into a bigger media mess. >> “Honey, y'all can't just follow me around forever. Y'got school an' work an' everythin' else y'all do. An' it's not like I can bring you along t'my appointments once I start those back up on Thursday. I appreciate the offer an' the concern, sugar, but it ain't feasible t'have y'all with me /constantly/.” "Io's a doctor and he has bodyguards. They don't go /into/ appointments with him. We could wait outside. Somewhere close enough to /yell/ if anything goes on, though." Shane tucks his head against Micah's shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. "And not /forever/. Only until all this shit quiets down some. Only until people stop thinking stupid /bullshit/ like you're the husband of a -- whatever dumbass thing Malthus said." << Okay. Some light. >> Some light means Shane is /some/ bit mollified. Only some, though, his mental image of Jax is still pale and still shaky, lying on a thin prison cot curled up tight in pain. He presses another kiss to Micah's neck, his frown slowly returning. "What about you? How are you doing? Can I -- get. Anything I don't know I feel so fucking /useless/." << Is kind of like putting bullets in a gun, >> Hive reluctantly allows, << ... but it's uglier when the gun's /alive/ and needs those to live. -- They didn't put in video surveillance, just audio, >> he adds to Micah in reassurance for the catch at the head-shaking. << Could take this as a good chance to brush up on your sign. Dusk'd help, I don't doubt. >> And then, a little more cautiously: << I could do it. Nobody who'd want to hurt any of you would get near. >> At the little kiss, Micah spares a hand to scruff over Shane's spiky hair before returning to gill-petting duty. “Okay, honey. If it makes you two feel better t'stick t'me a bit, that's fine. But only when y'all don't have any school or school work or /job/ work you're s'posed t'be doin' instead. An' only if y'aren't needed watchin' Spence instead. I think we need t'be a little more careful about who's keepin' an eye on ‘im when he's out'n about for awhile. Just t'make sure /he's/ kept safe.” Another kiss meets with Shane's forehead at his professed uselessness. “Y'ain't useless, honey. You're helpin' take care of me'n Spence'n B. While you're on your school break, no less. I know it's...hard that they won't let us near Jax.” His thoughts clearly make that last an extreme understatement, knowing that he's scared and alone and not being able to go to him causing a sharp, physical /ache/. << Y'mean y'wanna follow me around an' just mind-read t'make sure folks ain't plannin' any funny business, Hive? That...would actually be maybe a good idea. That way could just /avoid/ things an' not...have t'have the boys engagin' nobody. >> The mental equivalent of a hug slips around Hive. << Okay. But the same goes for you as for the boys. Whatever...work or other things y'gotta do, y'gotta do. We can put together a schedule or somethin'. For babysittin' my pathetic rear. Ugh, y'all shouldn't have t'do this, I'm sor—mmn. >> "Ba, we don't know when Pa's --" Shane breaks off with an unhappy shudder; his thoughts don't say /when/ Pa's coming back so much as /if/. "It's selfish, really. I don't think we could take it if we lost you, too." He expels a sharp unhappy breath. "Fuck school I barely even went before what's the goddamn point. I'll watch Spence, though. He's been -- a lot more erratic because -- upset." A heavy press of weight sinks down against Micah's mind, mental claws beginning to press in -- though not deep, more /reminder/ than actual attempt. << I don't need to follow you around to mind-read. /I/ can go to work and watch you, too. >> There's an underlying /edge/ to his words, an unhappy desperate worry whose ache is a quiet-echoed reflection of Micah's. “Shh, honey, don't. We gotta stay positive that he's comin' home. This is hard on /him/, we gotta...try'n make it less hard by bein' strong on our end for 'im, okay?” Micah bristles a little at the press, pushing back like a person widening their shoulders to break free of a hold. << Honey, is it safe for /you/ t'do that? It's the whole reason I didn't... >> While he cuts off his mind-speaking, it doesn't stop the memory of Dusk saying that controlling Malthus would kill Hive, that protective-pain at the thought of any of their family dying over it. The echo of sick feeling at deciding he'd have to do it himself all over again. "I'm not positive. They make people disappear, they do terrible things to people and if they say he's a terrorist they'll do it all and they'll be /allowed/ and it's /bullshit/. And people knowing about it doesn't /help/, people know about Gitmo and all that happens is occasionally there's some angry yelling and then it subsides and things carry on as usual. So -- probably," Shane says with an unhappy growl to his words, "there'll be protests and people will be angry and next month everyone'll forget until some new trial thing happens and then people will write a lot of angry letters to the news and then everyone'll forget again. /Forever/." The digging claws are shaken free at Micah's bristling, Hive's grip lacking the fierce strength it grows from people already-taken. << No, >> he answers stiffly, << but it's not safe for /you/ -- for any of you -- a whole fucking lot of places right now. >> There's silence, as he listens to Shane speak, and when he speaks again it's sick and unhappy, a shaking note of tears felt in the words even if they can't be heard. << I let him go. I let him /out/ there alone and they took him and I fucking watched them load him up and cart him off and I could've -- he didn't have to be alone right now and who knows when the hell he'll be out and I didn't do fucking shit and the goddamn least I can do is make sure his -- make sure your -- make sure he's still got a family to come home to. >> “I know. I know, honey. But we're gonna...work with Lucien t'be as effective as possible with the media for as long an' as loud as we can. An' we know someone who'll keep puttin' things in for us as long as possible, even if other outlets lose interest. We won't...let this happen.” Micah clearly is wishing he could sound more confident in the statement when he says it. << Hive, but...there was a reason you let 'im go. Y'can't do this right now. Y'can't. If this kills you won't none of us have our family t'come home to. An' it'll be our own fault for /lettin'/ you. You're no less important than any of the rest of us. >> He slips that mental hug in around Hive again. << You want me to come up or y'wanna come down? You're not gettin' t'stay alone right now. >> "Ba this isn't -- if they really think he -- with the zombie -- this could be. We could never --" Shane can't actually finish these sentences even though his /thoughts/ are churning with thoughts of a Jax-less future. It's a future he can't even really /envision/ well, though it's very -- devoid of light. Colour. He clings harder to Micah. From Hive there is silence. A long silence, really. It's not broken by his sharp mental voice again but the quiet turn of a key in the lock, soft socked-feet footsteps on the wood. Hive doesn't /say/ anything, here; laptop tucked under an arm he heads towards the couch, dragging over a beanbag to settle himself at its base. His eyes close, head dropping back to rest against Micah's legs in just a heavy thump of pressure.