ArchivedLogs:Choose Your Own Adventure

Choose Your Own Adventure
(but don't kill your boss)
Dramatis Personae Micah, Sebastian
In Absentia	3 December 2013 Updates on 'Bastian's job and fatherly concerns about...everything, let's be honest. >_> (Part of Infected TP.)
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. Evidence of Game Night is spread throughout the apartment, from game boxes themselves to dishes and food remnants left on tables. Micah is making lazy circuits between the living room and kitchen, picking up a few glasses for the sink here and food containers for the trash there. He pauses at the counter to scoop a bit of bread into some now-cold remnants of a vegan spinach and artichoke dip, munching absently as he gathers used cloth napkins into a pile. His hair is its typical after-work mess and his clothes the typical after-work patched jeans and T-shirt (this time a chocolate brown Firefly dinosaur shirt) with Batsignal hoodie worn open over it. Sebastian has been a quiet presence through half of Game Night, coming in late after an evening back at work but sitting in for a game of Dominion before just curling up in his favorite beanbag chair with his laptop to watch the gaming while doing homework. He gets back up once the playing is over, though, following Micah to the kitchen so that he can start washing the dishes that have made their way to the sink. He’s dressed brightly, grey pleated skirt with a soft pink sweater and cheerfully multicoloured thigh-high socks. He pushes the sleeves of his sweater back up above his elbows as he turns on the water. For a time he doesn’t actually touch the dishes; his hands move under the stream and he just lets the water run down over his skin, eyes fixated on the water as it rolls over and off him. Micah's wandering eventually brings him over to where 'Bastian is standing quietly with his hands under the running faucet. Combined with the boy's earlier quiet, this is enough to furrow his brow with concern. He sets a small pile of plates beside the sink to announce his presence, then rests a hand gently on 'Bastian's shoulder. “Honey, are you doin' okay? D'you wanna go talk? Cleanin' up can wait a bit. Won't hurt it none.” “I like the water,” Sebastian replies softly, but tenses up with a small cringe as soon as the last word leaves his mouth. His gills flutter quickly, and he shakes his head, picking up a glass to actually wash it. “Feels wrong. My favorite thing on earth and it’s poison to talk about. {You should learn Vietnamese.} It’s a beautiful language, you know. Totally zombie-free.” One glass follows the next, both tucked neatly onto the drying rack. “You do worry an awful lot, Ba. Did I tell you, I got a promotion. I just heard yesterday when I went back in.” “I won't repeat it, don't worry,” Micah assures, the hand on 'Bastian's shoulder moving to pet down the fluttering gills out of habit. “S'prob'ly 'bout as hard as cuttin' the majority of the apologisin' out of my conversations has been.” His lips curl upward with that, tone playful. “Ohgosh, hon. I /think/ that was prob'ly a recommendation t'pick up Vietnamese. I am right /horrible/ at languages. Y'should hear m'Hebrew; it's atrocious. German's not much better. Some folks would make arguments about the /English/, too.” The curl of lips spreads into a self-deprecating grin, accompanied by a chuckle. “If y'really wanna try t'teach me an' don't mind me bein' near hopeless about it, you're welcome t'make the attempt, though. I'd be willin'. An' I'll worry /less/ the moment the universe stops justifyin' it an' then some.” A dish towel finds itself in Micah's hand, rolled up to fit into one of the cups for drying. “That's great news! Y'got a shiny new job title an' all that? S'it doin' somethin' new, or just the pay-an'-label-change variety?” “You speak German?” Sebastian tips his head up curiously at that. “It’s okay, I’m terrible at languages, too. Shane’s got -- he’s got a gift, they just seem to make sense to him. I don’t think I’d’ve managed the two I /know/ if I didn’t grow up with them. Spanish and sign both leave me struggling. Shane, like -- he hangs out with Dai and hangs out with Hive and he’ll follow their speaking just after listening a while. Kinda jealous,” he admits with a sheepish smile. “I bet Spence would practice Hebrew with you. And /I/ don’t mind you being hopeless it can’t be worse than I am.” He continues working his way through the dishes, moving the small stack of plates into the sink to wash them. “It’s, um --” His gills flutter again, clear inner eyelids rapidly blinking. He sounds oddly almost /guilty/ when he explains, “Not -- new exactly, I’m still. Still in robotics I just, he um. Ba, I think he’s crazy. He gave me a team.” “Poorly. It's what I took in school for the language reqs., since m'family's German, originally. My one out-of-country trip was with a school group, actually.” Micah's head shakes at the recommendation of working with Spence. “Ohgosh, no. I'd just...bring him down with me. Through the sheer weight of ineptitude.” He nods sympathetically at 'Bastian's language woes and awe at Shane's ability. “Has Shane ever considered bein' a translator? I mean, he could get certifications'n all. Since it comes t'him so naturally. Helps that he's /already/ decent with several languages.” Try though he might, Micah can't help but laugh at the revelation about 'Bastian's boss. “Oh, ain't no 'think' about it. Stark's crazy...completely independent of anythin' t'do with you. He's /also/ a genius, though. Prob'ly he just recognises a little of that in you, too. Is he throwin' you in further over your head than y'can handle?” “I’ve never been out of the country,” Sebastian admits a little wistfully. “Though people ask me where I’m from often enough if they hear me and Shane talking. I tell them Montana but they say no, /originally/.” Micah’s laugh prompts a small shy smile from Sebastian, breath exhaled heavily like he hasn’t quite made up his /mind/ whether or not to laugh as well. “OK, he’s pretty crazy that’s already true. He’s -- I don’t know. I’ve felt like I was in over my head ever since he gave me the job to /begin/ with. And now I’ve got a /team/ of other people who -- they’re all. /Adults/. Like. Older than me. With degrees and -- /doctorates/, well, one of them -- I’m in high school, Ba. Pa says he wouldn’t have put me there if he didn’t think I could -- well except but what if /I/ don’t think I can handle it?” He leans in heavily against the sink, fingers opening and closing beneath the faucet, lightly flicking droplets of water -- in Micah’s direction, perhaps inadvertently. “I don’t think Shane gives a lot of consideration to the future at all.” This is more quietly said, Bastian’s eyes fixing down again. “Might be more t'the point if they just asked what language you're speakin', yeah.” Micah nods, though his expression turns just a little sad at 'Bastian's wistfulness. “Wish I could promise you trips'n all, hon. Everybody should get the chance t'go out an' see things sometimes it's just...a lotta obstacles.” He leaves it at that, shaking his head as if to clear it, replacing the sad look with a smile in answer to the teen's. “I’m sure he’s put you in charge of the group so’s y’can be the /vision/ person. That don’t take degrees an’ such as much as other things do. An’ there's over-your-head /challengin'/ an' then there's over-your-head legitimately can't handle what's bein' asked of you. If you really, truly, think you're bein' asked t'do things that you /can't/, it's best t'be honest about it. That y'need certain trainin' or whatever it is that'll help y'to eventually be /able/ t'handle it. Without bein' overwhelmed.” Micah doesn't seem to mind the light splashing much. “I'll have t'bring it up with Shane sometime. I think it might be good for 'im...t'maybe have somethin' he's workin' toward instead of just feelin' like he's wastin' time.” Sebastian spreads his webbed fingers, turning them up to cup the stream of water. “Just mostly one obstacle, really.” He finishes scrubbing the rest of the plates quickly, stacking them in the rack but still not turning off the water. “I think he’s put me in charge of the groups because he’s a nutjob,” he reasserts. There’s a stretch of quiet, gills fluttering slowly as he considers. “-- Maybe I can do it. Nobody there is ever all that fussed if I ask for help with things anyway. I get the feeling /everyone’s/ used to being dumped in over their heads now and then, around there. Besides, it’ll --” His gills flutter faster. He glances sideways up to Micah. “It’ll be good, won’t it? Having -- I mean, work might be slowish for you and Pa, for a bit.” He leans down over the sink, lifting his hand to cup water against the side of his neck. “It -- might be good,” he agrees hesitantly. “But what if he is? Just. Wasting time.” Micah returns to his dish drying with more attention than it is due, obscuring his face until he's able to look less troubled by 'Bastian's quick assessment of obstacles. “If y'think y'can do it an' you'll be given enough support t'succeed, /I/ say go for it, hon. Just make sure y'know how t'ask for help when y'need it an' make sure they give y'what y'need. It sounds...kinda like an awesome place t'work.” His expression turns pensive for a moment. “Did y'all ever work out your cyborg-robot deal? I could still check it out an' give some thoughts, maybe. I mean, not while you're /workin'/, 'cause who wants their parents buggin' 'em at work, but off-hours sometime, maybe.” Less stubborn on this topic than some, Micah simply nods in agreement over the financial situation. “Sure wouldn't /hurt/ t'have a back-up plan if rent comes due an' we're still short from the reduced work. You're right on that.” So much for attempts at hiding upset, it comes too quickly to Micah's features at 'Bastian's question to conceal behind a towel or a turn to a cabinet. “He's not. Honey, y'can't...there's /always/ the chance that things are just gonna go all hell-in-a-handbasket. No matter what, no matter who you are. I mean, sometimes there's zombie apocalypses, apparently. But y'gotta plan for life /happenin'/. An' not bein' apocalyptic all the time. 'Cause it's the only way t'get things done. Y'just can't null-hypothesis /life/. If y'don't assume anythin's havin' an effect then it just... Y'have t'go with...that it /will/. The other way don't work none.” “I mean we -- worked it out -- kind of? In that, um, it’s /kind of/ badass and he lived through a lot of zombies with it, but I think it’s still sort of a beta version. Maybe even an alpha -- OK, it’s actually probably like a pre-alpha, we didn’t /exactly/ do a lot of /testing/ just kind of threw him out there and hoped he didn’t die. There’s -- a lot. Of work still to do.” Sebastian’s smile returns for a short moment. “It is an awesome place to work, though. I’ve never been somewhere before that --” His cheeks flush darker. “Treated me like I actually --” These words trail off, as he watches Micah’s shift of expression. He shuts the water off, moving to the side to wrap (still-wet) arms around Micah, cheek pressing against his father’s side. “{Sorry},” he offers apologetically, “I didn’t mean -- {sorry}. You’re right. It’s sometimes just hard to remember. I mean I get why Shane doesn’t always have a lot of. Optimism.” “That sounds terribly excitin' an' fascinatin' even, but...please don't kill your boss. Safety measures are important for things that are meant t'integrate mechanical an' biological systems. Especially if they've /both/ gotta tolerate extreme conditions, which I think is kinda the /point/ in your whole venture.” Micah places a stack of dried plates in the cabinet then pauses, fingers raking through his hair. “Catastrophic failure in a /cyborg's/ a completely different outcome from in a /robot/, y'know? One's startin' over from scratch an' the other's a grievously injured or dead /person/.” He nods, acknowledging 'Bastian's unspoken sentiment. “I know, hon. But it's places like /that/ that exemplify how there /are/ options an' how it /can/ be. An' how things /could/ get better...even in general.” Micah returns the hug, fiercely tight and protective. “Don't apologise. I understand. It's gotta be beyond frustratin' t'say the /least/. The way things are an' how it limits options. But...it /limits/ 'em. Don't /eliminate/ 'em. Ain't gotta be optimistic so much as t'/inform/ your realism an' not just go pessimistic because it's easier than /tryin'/.” One hand rubs at 'Bastian's back. “I've gotta find a way t'show 'im that it's worth tryin'. 'Cause he's gotta try or it won't get better. An' he's got /so much/ t'offer an' so much he could get back from the world, in spite of the way it is...” He bites at his lip, forcing himself to stop talking. “I know you know, hon. I just. Been doin' a lotta thinkin' on how t'help things lately. Sometimes m'mouth just gets t'runnin' when I think on somethin' too much.” “That’s -- probably why it’d be really good to have you, um, I mean, we all know lots about mechanical systems but the part where we make it not-kill-people who use it is, uh. Maybe. Trickier.” Sebastian doesn’t release his hug, clinging tight to Micah. “You and Pa both.” He gives a quiet fluttery laugh at Micah’s mention of talking too much. “Except I like it so don’t apologize. I want to hear the things on your mind.” He bites down on his lip, too, sharp teeth scraping against tough skin. “I try to talk to him but, um, that usually. Usually ends with concluding running off to the ocean again would be best.” “Well, I'll certainly poke at it for you. Just tell me when's good an' I'll work it out. 'Specially if it means not killin' your boss when he sounds like such a /nice/ crazyface genius-man,” Micah jokes, managing a small smile. “I just...don't wanna worry you more. About things you've already been dealin' with longer'n I've even been /around/.” 'Bastian's conclusion draws a sigh past Micah's lips. “Which one of you ends up concludin' that? An' is it what y'/want/, or is it what y'feel like your options are reduced to? 'Cause those are different things. If...either of you actually /wanted/ that...” “He’s a pretty nice crazyface genius. Except he’s also kind of a dick?” Sebastian’s brows rumple at this. “I don’t really know what he is. He’s brilliant, though. I don’t meet a lot of people brilliant enough to be intimidating.” His cheeks flush deeper, face turning in against Micah’s sweatshirt. “Oh, gosh. That sounded really arrogant, sorry.” He bows his head further, forehead bonking up against Micah’s ribs. “We --” He pulls back with a small twitch of smile. “We’re not going anywhere again. Don’t worry.” “Those two things have an unfortunate tendency t'go /together/ in people.” Micah's little laugh at this is genuine, at least. “An' it ain't arrogant. You're a bright enough kid not t'run into /intimidatin'/ levels of genius often. Own it, smarty.” He bops 'Bastian's shoulder playfully with the side of his hand. “Ain't worry, sugar, it's...if y'all really /wanted/ that, I wouldn't stop you. 'Cause y'should be able t'choose what y'do with your lives.” Sebastian’s gills flutter some more, his quick smile indicative of laughter even if his lack of lung-breathing makes this rather silent. “I guess I am a little smart. -- Does that mean I’m destined to be a little bit of a dick, too?” He steps away from the sink, drying his hands on a towel. His smile fades. “I don’t think -- Shane wouldn’t be happy. Not really. Not for long. He loves people way too much.” He looks back at Micah as he tugs his sleeves down into place. “I should get going, I’ll miss the last train.” Micah's hand reaches up and presses the gills flat again, the movement still automatic. “Tendency...correlation, not causation. There may be hope for you yet.” 'Bastian's answer on the matter of becoming ocean-dwellers receives a simple, clean nod. “Then y'shouldn't keep comin' up with that as the answer. If it's not what y'want.” He pulls the teen closer for a quick one-armed hug. “Love you, hon. /Both/ of you. An'...yeah, get goin'. Don't want y'to be late. Call me if y'do miss it an' I'll drive you, though.” “Only a little bit of hope, though. Look at Shane, it’s kind of in my genes.” Sebastian returns the hug tightly, stretching up onto his toes afterwards to peck Micah on the cheek. “{Love you.} And I’ll be alright. But I’ve got my phone. See you -- probably Friday.” Another squeeze, and he flits off back to the living room to pack his backpack back up. “If you're basin' what y'think you'll be like offa Shane, that's only a mark in favour of you /really/ bein' a sweetheart, 'cause y'/know/ he is under all that bluster.” Micah smiles, a more genuine smile at the tinykiss. “Be safe out there. Have a good...week at school.” Sebastian pauses for a moment in this, his smile wider and brighter. “-- Yeah,” he agrees, “Yeah, under it all he’s pretty much amazing.” He slings his backpack onto his shoulder, moving to the door to tug his boots on. “/You/ be safe. Heal lots of cars. Make lots of cyborgs. I’ll see you in a few days.” He grabs his jacket, too, and heads out of the apartment. Micah is sort of half-chuckling under his breath at all this. “Mmhmm. Enjoy your classes. Good luck with the new role at work an'...don't kill your boss. Let me know when y'need cyborg-help. I should start a /club/ or somethin'.” He's right back to chuckling, grin lopsided with amusement, as 'Bastian heads out the door.