ArchivedLogs:Breakthrough

Breakthrough
Dramatis Personae Shane, Micah, Mihail
In Absentia	6 July 2014 So, about that injury-shunting ability... (Part of the Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Kitchens - Lower East Side
Gleaming and polished and new, the common house here boasts an enormous industrial-sized kitchen for preparing communal meals. Set up as two mirror-image fully equipped kitchens, both left and right halves of the room contain a trio of enormous ovens, each topped with twelve gas-powered stove burners. There is a wealth of cabinet and drawer space ringing the walls, and separate side-by-side fridge and freezer to each side of the space as well. Both halves of the room contain their own large central islands, black granite countertops providing a large expanse of space for food prep; beneath the center islands are stored a well-stocked supply of pans and pots and cutting boards and kitchen gear. The pantry is shared, a large walk-in room along the back wall, its shelves all carefully labelled and organized. The opposite wall has sinks, deep three-compartment ones for each side of the room. There are very clearly labeled signs in the kitchen, denoting the left half of the room strictly for preparation only of foods both vegan and Kosher; there are no restrictions on the foods prepared in the right half. Equipment from each side is color-coded and should be kept separate. Instructions request that any prepared foods served or stored in communal space keep /strict/ lists of the ingredients used for those with dietary concerns and that leftovers are marked clearly with dates before being stored. It's growing late in the evening though around the Commons things are still a-bustle, people out in the grounds /relishing/ being /able/ to be out in the grounds, more /adventurous/ sorts spreading through the Common house in search of entertainment. Some /really/ adventurous sorts have actually ventured out further into the city! Like explorers! In safety-groups of twos and threes. The kitchens tend to be a /constant/ bustle, nonstop food prep with so many lurking about -- but towards night the bustle actually tapers off, mealtimes drawing to a close though with a host of erratic schedules and erratic appetites and erratic neuroses there's always /some/ remaining food spread out for those in search of nourishment outside of standard mealtime hours. At the moment there's one such young man creeping into the kitchen -- a little furtive like he's still not sure he's /allowed/? Dark skin and coarse black curls hanging in ringlets around his face, Mihail is a small scrap of young man who /still/ seems wary as he raccoons his way into the fridge hopefully. He's interrupted by a very /non/furtive entrance, Shane slumping his way in from the outside sunroom-gardens entrance with a tall narrow shopping cart heavily loaded up with goodies. The (slightly) younger teen looks weary after a long day at work, steps dragging as he moves to the counter to unload. Carafes of coffee, a box full of pastries, a large /tub/ of soup (white bean, vegan.) He's dressed neatly as ever, crisp white button-down, grey slacks, bowtie, dark vest, polished shoes. "You're /allowed/ to eat." He says this kind of gruff as he starts separating the foods to lay out in more easily labeled and accessible form. Micah is camped out in front of the sink with what finally looks to be the last of the dinner dishes. Along with his weekend wear of Doctor Hooves T-shirt and jeans, he has a pair of honest-to-goodness dishwashing gloves on his hands, on account of he still likes keeping /skin/ on his fingers. The dishwasher in the vegan-side of the kitchen is already humming and swishing merrily with its extremely full load and the one here on the everything-else-side seems eager to follow soon enough. His secondary job thus far has been to point people to the appropriate cabinets or corners of refrigerators to locate the food and drink items they're seeking. As such, he doesn't pay /too/ much mind to Mihail creeping in. "Lemme know if there's anythin' I can help y'find," is offered with only the barest glance over, his attention locked more on the dirty casserole dish in front of him. The sound of Shane's voice actually earns a /pause/. "Evenin', Shane. How was work?" Mihail freezes when he's addressed, closing the fridge door hastily (and still empty-handed) and straightening with a sullen-scowling narrowing of eyes. Despite the fact that everyone has freely permitted the Food Acquisition, he sounds prickly-defensive with his uncomfortable reply, "... I just. Was getting a. Drink." "Yeah, I don't blame you, it's been hot as balls again. Was hoping the rain would cool things down /longer/ but, fff." Shane finishes setting out his food, transferring the vegan soup and vegan pastries over to the counters on the vegan /side/ of things, leaving the rest of pastries right where they are. "Fucking long. Had a few people from here stop by. Explained the neighborhood to them." He turns to slump back against the counter, eyes slipping half closed. "How was -- /here/." "S'okay, hon. Get whatever y'want. Food or drink. We got...or at least /had/ about enough lemonade t'fill a swimmin' pool. S'probably a pitcher in at least one of the fridges. Don't recall washin' /all/ of 'em today. Should be some milk in that'n an' non-dairy milk in the other'n. An' water. Y'want some tea, I can put on in a bit." Scrubscrub, the last casserole dish gets clean enough for the washer. Micah adds some liquid soap that sure /smells/ like lemonade before starting the other machine going and washing off his gloves to leave drying by the countertop dish rack...which is /also/ rather full of dishes. He slumps into a seat by Shane's pastries, finding something that looks like it could well be chocolate with chocolate on top to steal and taking a bite. "S'been...busy. Don't seem t'matter how much cookin' happens in advance, there's always more t'do. An' by the time things're cleaned, it's mealtime again. Still plenty of wounds as needed dressin', but folks is on the mend for the most part." A little slip of his spine leads into a stretch back in the chair. "Those few days were nice, though, weren't they? Back t'bein' hot as all get-out. Was in the workshop with your pa glassworkin', too." He lets out a long, low breath between pursed lips to indicate how hot /that/ got. Mihail regards the others with a continued sullen glare, moving only slowly to get himself a glass and fill it with lemonade. He looks a little twitchier at the mention of wounds that need dressing, fidgeting as he looks down into his glass. "... are you a doctor?" He sounds a little accusatory, though he doesn't actually /look/ at Micah with this. "Nah, he's a cyborg. Robo-medic. We special ordered him just to help with all this chaos." Shane leans in against Micah when Micah sits, face pressing up against his father's shoulder. "It's too hot for glassworking he's fucking crazy. -- Doug didn't try to eat you last night, did he?" /Just/ checking. "Nope, no doctorin' here. I work in medical equipment. Bracin' an' prosthetics mostly, but also whatever else people need t'help get around an' deal with daily life from a medical standpoint. Just...kinda trained in a lotta what's needed an' first aid besides. People with medical knowledge is stretched a little thin when it comes t'findin' help for folks with special abilities." Micah reaches back to find a mug and fill it with coffee to dip his doughnut into before taking another bite. "Oh, by 'cyborg' he just means m'leg." The hand that isn't full of pastry reaches down to tug up the hem of his left pants leg to just above the knee, revealing the mostly metal-shaft portion of the prosthesis along with its coppery-coloured knee control unit. "He /is/ crazy. Was hoppin' 'round with molten glass out there 'fore I came in an made 'im lean on me. An' then take a break /outside/." Micah sips slowly from the mug. "No. Doug didn't have the plague, hon. S'somethin' goin' on with his ability. Got 'im t'the Clinic safe an' explained what was goin' on to a nurse there. She was with 'im... Informed me right /smartly/ that if I was gonna take up her time with nursemaidin' pretty boys as weren't even injured off-hours that I could take care of dressin' changes an' checkin' vitals for her. Ended up doin' that 'til I had t'/rush/ home an' was still a little late puttin' Spence t'bed. Jax can't really...all the stairs right now." He sighs down into his coffee, little ripples forming across its surface. "I don't know what happened. I recommended they try the chemical t'shut 'is power down if nothin' else was workin'. But once I left...I'm not family. They can't tell me what happened. An' I texted Doug, but who knows if 'is phone is charged or if he can even /read/ right now." "Plague did some fucked-up things to people's powers here and there. And he never /got/ it. We don't know what fucking zombievirus would look like in him." Shane still doesn't sound entirely sanguine about this mystery-ailment though he does look a little mollified at the idea that Doug didn't try to eat Micah's face. Mihail, meanwhile, opens his eyes a little wider at the metal leg. "... what happened to you? Was it --" He frowns down into his glass, shifting back a step. "Did they --" "Nah he's like a /genuine/ cyborg. From birth, nobody lopped off --" Though here Shane frowns, stuttering off into a little bit of confusion given the odd transitions Micah's leg has gone through this year. "... What plague?" is Mihail's next question, uncertain and quiet. "He did have it, hon. An' pretty much seemed...like somebody with the flu an' a good dose of confusion t'go with it. This didn't look like that." Micah's fingers rake through his hair, head shaking slightly. "At the very least, he doesn't seem to've caused any emergencies at the Clinic. Not that were worthy of mentionin' t'me when I've been there, anyhow. I'm hopin' he's okay. The power failure was bad enough, but then the nosebleed? That's takin' a physical toll on 'im." Micah's chuckle at the leg discussion is muffled by his next bite of doughnut. There is some chewing and swallowing, another sip of coffee before he adds to it. "Was born this way. Had a twin who didn't make it that far along. Get an increase in clottin' factors an' well...didn't never form up the other leg completely." He decides to leave it at that, without the complicated...graftings and amputations needing /way/ too much explanation. "Ohgosh, right. A lotta you guys were in there awhile an' I guess they don't report a lotta news t'you. One of the other labs. We broke out a fella with a disease-modifyin' ability that they'd amped up somethin' awful. They...came after 'im an' shot at 'im. He didn't mean to, but released this virus that at first seemed t'cause the flu, but then made people really aggressive, then killed 'em, then...kinda reanimated their bodies into zombies. Took us forever t'figure out it was spreadin' on certain /words/ an' even longer t'cure it. Lost about a tenth of the population in the city. Special abilities diseases are /terrible/ odd an' unpleasant, in short." Mihail just looks utterly blank at this explanation, the /zombies/ taking precedence over Micah's leg. "... Zombies." He's eying Micah like /maybe/ the older man is just messing with him? "Yeah, like, walking dead. Zombies. Shuffling corpses. Whole fucking deal, honest to damn goodness. How long were you /in/?" Shane cranes his head up, taking a quick-stealing nibble of Micah's doughnut. "Uh -- I. I don't know. I've been to a -- they moved me around a /lot/? I was only at -- that last lab, um. Maybe a month. I'd been to like eight others before that. Kind of -- lost track." Mihail frowns, fingers curling tighter against his glass. "/Zombies/." "Accidental zombies," Shane clarifies so-helpfully. "They weren't aiming for zombies, they were aiming for kill-all-mutants." “Really zombies. Um...they still happen from time t'time. We should prob'ly have a meetin' with all the folks as was in the labs an' brief 'em on this 'fore they start wanderin' 'round too much. So they know 'bout the words an' what kinda behaviour t'look out for an' how t'defend themselves.” Micah doesn't seem to mind Shane's thievery, just taking another bite for himself once the way is clear. “D'you remember what year it was when they took you? That'd help t'figure it, maybe.” "2011?" Mihail hazards a guess. Shane sucks in air through his teeth. "You've missed a bit." His eyes narrow on the other boy in suddenly sharper interest. "Do you know /where/ the places you were taken were?" "What, the other labs?" Mihail shrugs a shoulder, his sullenness easing though his eyes are still wary as they regard the others. "All over? Look, I'm still pretty stuck on /zombies/." "Takes some getting used to," Shane acknowledges. "Yeah. We could do like a state of the /world/ update tomorrow. Don't want them getting in trouble for using their powers in public either." "2014 now," Micah informs, in case no one has mentioned this to Mihail before. "S'pretty hard t'get unstuck on zombies. It was...a really bad few months there. Just about all of us almost died." That's a reason to eat more chocolate, right? Micah polishes off the end of his doughnut with that. "Oh, right. Also, it's illegal to use special abilities in public. Y'get ticketed /at best/. Police sometimes beat on folks or arrest 'em an' charge 'em with resistin' an' things. Better t'avoid interactin' with law enforcement at all if y'can avoid it." His lips scrunch into a frown down at his coffee. "Ugh. Sayin' all this at once seems kinda... A lot t'dump on folks as just got outta...those labs." "Fuck the police they're goddamn thugs," Shane opines with a shiver-flutter of gills whispering against his collar. "They'll fucking shoot you, you look at them wrong. You see a uniform, you just. Go. Somewhere else. Quiet and calm." His hand lifts, pressing against the side of his collar to hold his gills down. "Anyway, it's a lot but it's better to know than not to know." Mihail shrugs, edging back towards the door. "I'm black," he points out with a small huff of breath, "I never liked cops /anyway/." This earns a crook of smile from Shane. "Fair enough." He leans back against Micah's side, tipping his chin up like in farewell to the other boy. Though he does halt Mihail's exit with a curious: "All the labs you were put through. They ever stick you in Vermont?" Mihail shrugs again, stopping with one hand on the door handle. "They're all kind of the same, you know? They shoved me all over when they had sick people they wanted to -- fix. Really glad I never got thrown at any zombies." "Okay, honey. Remember not t'get in the habit of sayin' that too /loud/ or you'll forget in public. Don't need no /more/ excuses for trouble t'get thrown at you." Micah wipes his fingertips on a napkin before reaching over to pet Shane's gills down at the sides of his neck. "Mmn." There is a visible...almost /wince/ to his expression at something specific Mihail says about fixing sick people. "Wait. Please. Y'don't have t'go. We have y'all here 'cause we want you here. Just...if you're okay answerin' questions? Can I show you a picture an'...if you've seen the person in it, please. Please." His hand fishes into his pocket to retrieve his phone, eyes locked on Mihail and awaiting his response. "-- Wait, you can do /sick/ people I thought it was just --" Shane perks up, standing taller at Micah's side. OK still not that tall. "Yeah. I can do a lot of -- anything. Diseases are harder. Sometimes I don't get every single bit and then it comes back later." Mihail looks a little uneasy at Micah's questioning, edging slightly closer and then stopping. "Look, I didn't have a choice, okay, if your friend was there I didn't --" "Nobody's upset," Shane tells Mihail swiftly. "We just want to know if you've seen them, he vanished. A while ago." Mihail's eyes are still narrowed, but he edges back over to Micah's side, sipping slowly at his lemonade. Micah unlocks the phone's screen and thumbs through his photo albums for the most recent picture he had of Matt. "We're pretty sure he is...or at least /was/ in a facility in Vermont. He had cancer...end-stage. Likely wouldn't have /lived/ if somebody didn't do /something/ outside of typical medical interventions." He holds the phone out, /trying/ not to look to desperately hopeful as he does. "Sounds like maybe the kinda thing they'd bring you in for, is all." Mihail still sips at his lemonade as he looks down at the picture, expression wiping down into blankness. "Yeah. Lymphoma. I met him. Took a few sessions. I don't think he even realized what they were doing till --" He shakes his head. "I didn't actually /talk/ to him till it was done, anyway. And then he --" His eyes tighten, hand lowering as he steps back. He's quiet, for a moment, fist clenching at his side. "Your friend's alive." His voice is tighter, here. "Or anyway he was when I was done. Don't think they go through the trouble unless it's someone they really want to keep. Can I go?" A sharp intake of breath and brief squeezing closed of eyes answers Mihail's revelations. "Okay. Okay, thank you. We may want t'have Hive ask y'some more questions that could help us rescue folks from that facility. He's the one in everybody's heads? There could be details that you wouldn't know were important, but he would." Micah nods slowly at the request to be excused. "Of course. You're always free to go. Just, please? If you'll consider helpin'. I'll send Hive t'talk t'you soon. S'a lotta lives at stake." Mihail only answers this with silence, lips compressed and an uncomfortable tension in his shoulders. He turns to slip out the door when Micah excuses him, quiet and quick. Shane sags in against Micah's side. "... Somehow I don't think Matt was really happy about --" He ends in silence, too, pressing his face in against Micah's shoulder. "Though if he can shift /cancer/ around --" But then silence, again. "I don't know how they're going to do it without Hive anyway. Flicker can't work very well without him. Without /both/ of them they may as well not bother." "No. This is good. This might be what we've been /waitin'/ for. He was inside. He knows what it looks like. There could be...tiny bits of useful information. Maybe." Micah's arm wraps tight around Shane's shoulders. "This is a /breakthrough/. Don't...do that. We're gonna figure this out. An' we got... Flicker ain't the only teleporter out there. An' Hive ain't the only telepath. They're an amazin' team, but with enough information an' a good enough game plan? We might be able t'just work this out." He doesn't say anything further about shifting cancer, gears turning in his head but no good enough answers to even discuss the matter aloud. Not yet. "Hive's the only telepath who can do what he does." Shane's shoulders are just tense beneath Micah's arm, and after a moment he pulls away, head shaking. "They're fucking boned. If Pa had any sense he'd just stay home." There's a tightness to /his/ voice, too, and he turns aside with a small hunch in his shoulders. "M'going to bed." "We're gonna come up with somethin'. I know he's... But there's gotta be another way. They been doin' this since /before/ they broke Hive out, too. There had t'be a way they were doin' it /before/." Micah doesn't continue to press the issue once the tightness creeps into Shane's voice. "Okay." He leans in to peck a kiss to Shane's cheek. "Love you, honey. G'night." Shane tips his face forward, nuzzling in against Micah's neck. "Love you," he says, very quietly. He snags one palmier off the tray, hooking it onto a claw for Daiki and slipping back out of the kitchen.