ArchivedLogs:Bruised

Bruised
Dramatis Personae Shane, Micah	10 January 2014 No Shanehugs? :(
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. It's getting late -- past evening and really on solidly into nighttime, by now. At some point there's been dinner, undoubtedly delicious. Spencer has migrated upstairs where he might be playing though the /quiet/ from up there now means either the children are getting in trouble or they have succumbed to the late hour and fallen asleep. More quiet from the study where Lucien has been slightly frowny for some time, attention mostly locked on his computer. A little less quiet from Desiree's room where she and Sebastian are chattering, marked by quiet voices and intermittent bursts of giggling. Possibly Shane should be with them! Possibly. But instead he is down here in the living room; there's a squat glass of amber liquid on a coaster on the table that /might/ be his but he's not anywhere near touching it just now, because he is slowly inspecting The Books and as such all liquid is /far/ from the shelves. His clawed hands are folded behind his back, as he looks over the titles. He's dressed in his usual style, deep-dark red on black today in black slacks and crisp dress shirt and a only-slightly-red-enough-to-be-off-black vest and bowtie. There's a very faint milkiness to his eyes where his inner eyelids have shut and apparently stayed shut for quite some time. Micah has been sequestered in the kitchen tending to a rather massive pile of dishes, considering the number of mouths that Lucien has fed with his cooking this evening. It is for this same reason that Micah insisted on serving as the dishwasher, considering how frequently he and his family have been taking advantage of his hospitality recently. Once the washing up is done and the kitchen returned to its thoroughly spotless state, he wanders out into the living room, padding in stocking feet decorated with tiny panda bears and stalks of stylised bamboo. His jeans are flecked with little spots of damp from splashing small amounts of dishwater, and his black turtleneck sweater looks distinctly /borrowed/ in its fit. Most notably in the over-long sleeves that he is rolling back down from his elbows as he moves further into the room, wincing a little as he finishes tugging the right one straight. "He has a lot of fairytales." Shane is lifting a hand towards the spine of one of the books, but drops his hand to his side without touching them. "Which isn't -- strange or anything I guess I just. Didn't -- picture him as a --" His head shakes quickly. He drifts farther away from the books, hands folding behind his back again as he nears one of the aquariums, leaning in close but not touching here, too. His nose twitches once, head turning slightly to the side to look at Micah. "Think Spence fell asleep." The observation draws a small smile across Micah's lips. "Mmhmm. Fairytales are nice for...a little magic. Feelin' like a kid when y'need to." He draws up beside Shane, also watching the fishies. "Not for eatin'," he reminds, though it is with the air of a joke and a broader smile. Considering the fish tank in their own apartment, it may be a /running/ joke when the boys get to watching the fish. One hand reaches up to muss through his auburn hair. "Prob'ly we should be gettin' back home soon." It's an even-toned observation. But neither is he giving any indication that he plans on moving in that direction. "I don't get the impression Lucien's ever felt like a kid in his life." This is also just a simple observation, not a lot of emotion in Shane's inflectionless words. His gills ripple faintly at the caution about the fish, and he exhales quickly. His head tips towards one very smokey-dark dwarf angelfish slipping out from behind a rock. "That one's called a Black Nox." Also just -- quiet observation. "It's newer." The flutter of his gills speeds at the suggestion of going home. His hand tightens in its grip on the other. "... I'll get Spence." Lower-toned than before. “All the more reason t'find things that...hold that feelin' for you.” Micah's hands lift reflexively to pet down the fluttering gills. “Mmn,” he says at the naming of the fish, eyes closing briefly along with a slight tension picking up in his jaw. These release as he blinks rapidly a few times, then watches the little fish with particular care. His hands stroke more firmly at the increased flutter. Not acknowledging the offer. Certainly not moving. "How can you hold a feeling you never had?" Shane tenses at the touch, initially twitching to start pulling away but forcing himself to still before the sharp-slitted gills can slice into Micah's hands. He does squirm, though, more /slowly/ ducking his head to wriggle slightly away from the touch. "They all have names. Probably aren't generally supposed to eat things with names." "You ain't never read or watched or listened t'a thing that has a novel feelin' in it an' it kinda gave you that feelin', too?" Micah's hands pull back as soon as Shane starts trying to move away, his brow furrowing. "What's wrong?" He doesn't quite know what to do with his hands at this point, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was just teasin', honey, {sorry}," he replies softly, with the last word in shaky Vietnamese. "What makes /you/ feel those kinds of things?" Shane's brow furrows, slightly. He gives his head a slow uncertain shake. "How would I feel a thing I never knew how to feel? I think we've already kind of established I'm not good at --" He trails off with another quick flutter of gills, eyes locking on the fishtank. "Mostly that kind of thing just makes me confused. Like I get I'm /supposed/ to be feeling a thing but --" He shrugs quickly, turning slightly to give Micah a rather puzzled frown. "Huh? What are you apologizing for?" “Just...people tellin' stories. However they do it. Just talkin' or writin' it out or singin' about things. Y'ain't never felt a love song 'fore y'ever fell in love? Or...heard a parent talk about losin' a child an' felt that hurt though y'ain't never had kids?” Micah's hand starts to reach up again when Shane's gills flutter. He presses the arm down as a reminder and winces again at the pressure. “It's like when B's feelin' a thing, an' it makes you feel it, too? Kinda.” His lips quirk over to one side at the question of apologies. “'Cause I'm doin' an' sayin' things t'make you feel uncomfortable an' that makes me feel...like I need t'apologise?” "B's different. I mean he's part of me I /feel/ what he feels." Shane's frown deepens as Micah presses his arm down. "Are you hurting yourself? Are you /hurt/?" Another quick flare of gills. He shakes his head quickly. "No, you're not -- not. I'm f -- /you're/ fine. I'm fine." He turns aside from the fishtank, heading back to the couch to drop down heavily into it and lean forward to pick up his glass. He doesn't drink any of it, just sets the glass on his knee. "I just -- don't -- really want to go --" He shrugs quickly. "Back. There. But we have to so." "Well...it's like that, just with...other people, too." Micah's head shakes at Shane's worried questions. "No...I mean a little, but nothin' t'worry about. S'just one of those inconveniently-placed bruises that seems like y'hit it every couple of minutes by accident. An' I somehow keep managin' t'forget in between." At the assurance that he's not causing Shane's discomfort (though he's still not sure that's /entirely/ the case), he follows him to the couch, sitting the next cushion over. "We don't have t'go now. Can wait 'til it gets late. Lucien ain't exactly an early bird an' it ain't like we're down here bein' rowdy." He hugs Shane tight. "We're gettin' a new place when all this is done. An' it'll feel like home again. I got an appointment with some lawyer the Sublime folks recommended...again. An' started lookin' into properties an'...we can start fresh an' make it home an' it'll feel right again." Shane does not look enormously mollified by Micah's response, eyes narrowing at Micah's arm. "Why are you bruised." When Micah sits down beside him his eyes drop to lock onto his drink, oddly unblinking with their inner lids shut. His shoulders tense again at the hug, gills fluttering rapidly, though this time he does not pull away. "Even /planning/ it doesn't seem right, Pa was -- supposed to help with. Designing -- things." He falls into an uncomfortable silence that even when he breaks it isn't less /tense/. "I went down to the Sublime -- place today. We were putting up missing posters. For Horus." Amazingly, it takes until that particular question for Micah to start blushing, the pink seeping across his cheeks like a stain. His gaze is pulled down to his forearm. "Just bit m'self. It'll be fine. Promise." He backs away again as Shane goes tense. "Shane, honey, d'you want me not t'touch you? Y'can tell me. Y'don't ever have t'let somebody touch you if y'don't want, even if it's me. Y'know that, right?" A heavy sigh comes paired with a nod of acknowledgement about planning with Jax. "I'm tryin' t'keep it...basic. Take care of the legal things. Look for properties an' go over that with Hive eventually, since he's the one who's prob'ly best suited t'that decision anyhow. We'll put off the...specifics as long as we can t'let 'im...design things." His eyes close again, briefly. "That's a good plan. I didn't think t'put any up before 'cause...well.../tellin'/ folks we got a bird-lookin' teenager missin' didn't seem like the best idea. But /there/ might be okay. That was good thinkin', honey." "/Bit/ yourself?" Now Shane doesn't look worried so much as confused. "What'd you do /that/ for?" His eyes have lifted sharply to Micah with this, but they return to his drink at the question of touching. He lifts the glass, downing half of it in an abrupt wincing swallow. "{Sorry.} You're. Fine." His claws click against the glass as his fingers curl in tighter. "Yeah. I mean I know we /have/ to keep. Doing. Shit. Like we still need someplace to live and all but. Fff." Clickclickclick, now his claws tap rapidly there. "S'his birthday. This weekend. Sunday." “Needed somethin' t'bite an' it was there,” Micah answers in a half-mutter, flush deepening to red as his eyes track briefly back toward the kitchen. “If it's not me, then what is it, honey?” He stops himself from reaching out to put a hand on Shane's back, this time remembering not to press on his arm. “I know...it's hard. Everythin' without 'im here is hard. But we have t'have a place for 'im t'come back /to/.” He cringes a little at the mention of Horus's birthday. “Just...fits this year's birthday theme of not celebratin' birthdays on account of too much horrible takin' precedence.” “I know that feeling, at least." Shane's lips twitch at the mention of needing something to bite, though he doesn't quite smile. "It's not -- /you/, it's just. Me. Sorry." His voice is quieter still, a low mutter down into his cup. "That was /last/ year. That was /last/ year's theme this is a new year now and everything's still just." His claws click against the cup again. "What if he's not coming back?" "Is it anythin' I can help with?" Micah watches Shane with concern, very deliberately still not touching him. "Maybe it's the theme of...the winter. Not the calendar year. Maybe it'll get better with spring. Celebrated Jax's birthday right over the summer." His head tilts as he thinks back. "An' Dusk's. Even Spence's in September. Just...fell off the wagon end of October an' ain't gotten it back up again." He shakes his head firmly at Shane's question. "Because he is. An' we b'lieve that until we can't anymore. But we still /can/ now. So we will." His hand scruffs through his hair rather than reaching for Shane's like it wants to. "Lucien an' Hive are workin' on a plan. Try t'get some hard evidence on the labs. Add some weight to the testimonials." "They've been after Pa for years. It's just now they've had a good chance to --" Shane drains the rest of his drink, gills still restlessly shifting as he finishes it. "/You/ still can." He gets to his feet slowly, empty glass clenched tight. "I'll go get Spence and B." Micah has that look like he doesn't know what to /do/. Which he very likely doesn't, without his first ten options that all involve gill petting and hugs and squeezes and back pats and hands in hair. He folds his arms again. Winces again. Then just nods and looks down as Shane goes to gather his siblings. There's a moment, as Shane's eyes lock on Micah, that /he/ also looks very much like he wants to hug the other man. His hand even twitches that direction, briefly. It fall back to his side, though, and he turns to hurry off, taking the indirect route through the kitchen so that he can first wash his glass before fetching his siblings.