ArchivedLogs:Chopping Things

Chopping Things
Dramatis Personae Chelsea, Jackson, Micah, Shane, Flicker, Spencer	2013-12-05 Takes place some time after Jim and Chelsea meet and directly before silent time.
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's late night at the lofts, and there is a visitor on the steps. Huddled in blankets, it looks like she was sitting there at the top of the steps for a long time before she finally tipped her head over to lean against the railing, and fall asleep. Sure, late autumn has been 'mild' but low-forties weather for hours at a time is rough on anyone. Also, just to add to things, it started to rain about ten minutes ago. The drops are small, but semi-frozen. The city will probably be covered in slush in the morning. The figure on the stairs doesn't move though, when the stingingly cold droplets spatter against her blankets. In fact, she is quite still. Late at night and Jackson seems just slightly on the edge of frazzled as he approaches -- or maybe that's just /energy/, restless and jittery and characterizing his motions with more /rush/ than they really need. He's bright as ever, silvery jacket and long pink-and-green skirt and shiny silver leggings beneath; despite it being quite dark out he's wearing sunglasses, too, huge and mirrored. There's a messenger bag slung over one shoulder and a grocery bag on the other arm and he's currently digging through the former to find his keys. They jingle in his hand, restless too as he stops at the front steps of the building. "H'lo?" He stops short of actually using his electronic keyfob to badge himself inside, crouching instead at the base of the stairs. "Hey -- honey? Y'aright, it's -- it's startin' to rain." Chelsea moves to pull the blanket back from where it partially covered her head, and then winces when freezing rain splatters in her face. "Shit," she says, frowning and pulling her head back like she wishes she had a shell to crawl into. "This is why I stayed undergr-" The girl blinks and looks up at all of the sparkle that is Jax, and blinks the rain out of her eyes. As she moves, it becomes clear that there is a very misshapen body under all those blankets, with some sort of hunch on her back. "Whoa, you're him..." The girl is cut off again when she's overcome with a serious bout of the shivers, and chattering teeth that sound like they chip a tooth. "J-j-j-jim, s-said, you c-c-c-could help me." "Jim? Jim said -- Woah, woah -- sweetie, you're -- oh gosh." Now Jax does get up, hurriedly going to open the apartment building door. "Can you get up, here, come on, s'warm an' dry inside." He offers Chelsea a hand, holding the door open with a foot. Chelsea ignores the hand, and grips the railing with one hand while she hauls herself to her feet. She tries to catch the blankets in time, but doesn't before they fall away from her shoulder, revealing the extra arm growing from her left shoulder. She hurriedly tries to cover up again. It also looks like the blankets might be all she's wearing. Moving with stiff, cold limbs, she stumbles inside, into the warmth like a zombie. "Th-thanks," she mutters, rubbing at her shoulders with each hand, while the extra limb bobs behind her It's hard to tell if there's much change in Jax's expression at the sight of the extra limbs; his face is turned towards her a good long moment but the enormous sunglasses obscure much emotion from it. "You good to walk?" Habit starts to carry Jax towards the stairwell door, but then he reroutes to go to the elevator instead. "How long you been out there, honey-honey? Was you waitin' on me?" He keeps one hand in the elevator door to hold it open for her. "When'd you eat last? I'm just about to cook." Chelsea looks pretty unsteady, but nods when Jax asks if she's ok to walk. "Uh, yeah, I'm ok." But her expression of relief is unmistakeable when Jax moves to the elevator. "Um, I ate this morning. I could... probably eat." She tries to play it off, but not very well. It's clear this girl is used to putting on a tough front, but is too cold and rattled to keep it up just now. "Eating's a good. I got some potatoes, some carrots -- probably just gonna whip up a curry right quick. An' there might be some brownies, too, if my kid didn't inhale 'em all." Though really, Jackson looks barely out of his teens himself to be having a child. He presses the elevator button for the third floor, and the slight turn of his head implies that he's kind of keeping an /eye/ on Chelsea through his. "Where'd Jim stumble into you? Where you comin' from?" The girl seems to be warming up quickly, once they're in the elevator. She rewraps the blankets to make a more proper toga, and leaves the double-arm shoulder free and exposed. She is visibly more comfortable having done so. "Not gonna lie, Mr. Holland, that sounds really fucking good..." She swallows hard and says, "Uh, I ran into Jim in the sewers. I've been living down there for... maybe since April? My foster parents kicked me out when I started getting... these." She shrugs her shoulder, making the bonus arm jiggle. "You should have seen me yesterday. Had a bunch more." "It's Jax. Just -- Jax is fine." This correction comes /promptly/ after calling him Mr. Holland, a very small twitch tugging at the corner of his pierced lips. "April -- gosh, that's. You been down there through some terrible. Was you with the Morlocks? Did you ever -- happen t'see a boy -- teenage boy. Green, lizardy --" He shakes his head, running his fingers through his colourful purple-blue-green hair, still a little damp from the freezing rain outside. "Yeah, foster care can be rough on -- two'a my boys is blue and kinda. Toothy, once when they got put in the system for a bit it didn't go so good. -- More? D'you -- /lose/ them?" He steps out of the elevator on the third floor, keys rattling in his hand as he heads down the hall to 303 to unlock it. The girl bobs her head, making the thick mat of filthy dreadlock sway. It looks like it might have been dreads to start out, but it's all grown out into a thick, tangled mess. "Sor- eh, no, I mean. Didn't see hardly anybody down there. Dunno who the Morlocks are either. Wish I could help." She nods along at Jax's description of his family, and then in the impetuosity of youth, finally does a double take with the image of Jax opening the door. "Wait, you're wearing /girls'/ clothes. How /old/ are you, anyway?" It seems like these questions are the tip of an iceberg, but the expression on her face is truly perplexed. She can't be more than thirteen or fourteen years old, and some of this is beyond her life experience. "They're -- mutants, too." Jax's brow furrows slightly as he unlocks the door, but this evens out into a quick smile tossed over his shoulder at Chelsea. "I think -- 22? An' I'm wearin' a skirt," he agrees cheerfully, "but if I'm a boy an' I'm wearin' it, don't that make it boy's clothes? I mean, it's /my/ skirt. -- Hiiii, um. People." People and beagle, at least; Jax is greeted by a very enthusiastic small one-eyed beagle, scampering over to lean up against his leg for only a second before Obie goes to investigate Chelsea instead. Quick on the heels of Beagle is an also small freckle-faced boy, perhaps seven or eight, holding a cellphone in his hands and using it to apparently guide a large mechanical spider across the floor. The /spider/ rather than Spencer lifts up one jointed leg to wave. "-- Spence there was homework. Weren't we doing homework?" /This/ from a taller young man, dark-haired with bright green eyes and a wealth of scars sprinkled all down one side of his face and arm that make his skin warp like melted wax. "/You/ can do homework," Spencer offers generously. Jax gives Chelsea a sheepish smile as he sheds his shoes by the front door. "Sorry, my house tends to be a little, um. Packed. That's, um, Obie, Spencer, Flicker. And Jerusalem." He points to the beagle and child and young man and -- robot spider, in turn. "Come on in. I can get you dry clothes. Towel if you want to grab a hot shower while I cook? -- Ohgosh I ain't even asked /your/ name, where are my manners. You knowed mine so I forgot we wasn't introduced." Chelsea's brow furrows when she's faced with the conundrum of boys' clothes versus girls'. She's left literally scratching her head, but then, that could also just be the lice. Once people come pouring out of the door to greet them, Chelsea takes an instinctive three steps back, quickly, ready to defend herself, until she backs up against a wall. Her extra arm reaches up and awkwardly pushes off the wall before falling limp again. "Uuhh, hi..." she says to Everyone. And the dog. She nods woodenly at the idea of a shower, and then seems to spark back to life. "Wait what? Oh shit yeah... a shower... Oh, um, I'm Chelsea." Speaking of showers, Micah steps out of the bathroom in a pair of patched jeans...only. His auburn hair is still wet and sticking out in spikes, black xkcd 'Stand Back I'm Going to Try Science!' T-shirt in his hand instead of on his person, and feet bare. The observant might notice that the left one is synthetic. "Hey, Jax! I was in the shower but I thought I heard your voice an'--" It's about this time that Micah notices newperson and takes on several shades of red in rapid succession. "Ohgosh sor--I didn't know we had comp'ny," comes out all in one breath as he spins on a heel and tugs the shirt quickly over his head despite still-wet hair and damp shoulders. "It's okay," Jackson assures Chelsea, "everyone here's cool. I'll just put these down an' grab a towel an' clothes --" He's interrupted by Flicker, who ghosts his way across the apartment to the front door, disappearing and reappearing in such quick succession it seems to leave an afterimage trail of Flickers behind him. He liberates Jax of his grocery bag, offering a quick squeeze of hug as well. "I'll put these in the kitchen. Hi, Chelsea." His smile is as warm as Jax's before he disappears again, blip-blip-blipping back to the kitchen. "/Right/, clothes. I'll just --" But then there is a shirtless Micah, and /this/ derails him again, his sunglassy gaze fixing on Micah for a long moment. His cheeks flush deep red, too. "Right, right, right. /Shower/. Hot water's pretty much my most favourite thing after comin' in from the cold. Micah, this is Chelsea, Jim sent her our way. Chelsea, Micah, he's my --" But Jax seems to get slightly flustered here, too, blush deepening. "-- everything," is how he finishes this in a kind of shy mumble but then /he/ is scurrying off, too, stopping to give Micah a quick peck on the cheek before he vanishes into the twins' room. The robot spider marches closer, metal feet clicking on the hardwood floors. "There's a Chelsea in my class," Spencer informs Chelsea cheerfully, "she only has two arms but she has three /braids/. Dad, can you make me a third arm?" Chelsea seems relatively unfazed by the half-naked man, and then pulls her mouth to one side when Jax introduces him. She puts her hands on her (almost) hips, and nods knowingly, like she's /heard/ about this sort of thing. /Heard/. Then she shakes her head and sighs, tentatively moving into the apartment, but she looks downright discombobulated by the mechanical spider. "Uh, uh," she says, blinking, and backing up against the door she just closed behind her. Spiders, are /clearly/ not her thing. "What? No kid, this thing is fucking useless, you don't want one..." When she tries to back up again, still against the door, she winces as the extra arm in questions wrenches awkwardly behind her. "Can we... not?" She looks around helplessly, trying to find an escape. Micah turns back around once he is equipped with shirt, since there are introductions and not facing people during introductions is rude even /if/ you are busy being impressively red. "Evenin', Chelsea. Nice t'meet you." He flushes brighter yet at the conclusion of Jax's introduction. He gives Jax the quickest of one-armed hugs as the other man delivers tinykiss, then moves into the living room and takes a seat on the couch. "I /could/, honey, but it would be real expensive an' not terribly functional, so it's not likely," he replies to Spencer, his easy tone betraying that just /maybe/ this sort of request is something he hears from the boy regularly. On that theme, he gives Chelsea a small smile, intended to be reassuring. "He's just askin' on account of I'm a prosthetist, honey, ain't no kinda commentary on you." Digging into his pocket, Micah retrieves a pair of black socks dotted in rainbow-coloured stars and pulls them on. The process makes the prosthesis more obvious, a metal shaft emerging above the more cosmetically-crafted foot. "What about /that/ leg," Spencer tries instead, pointing to Micah's leg. "It's not fair everyone else gets the better ones." Flicker blips his way back over from the kitchen, scooping Jerusalem up under an arm and curling his other arm around Spencer to steer him back towards his bedroom. "Spence, homework. Remember? You've gotta help /me/ stay back on track, I'm out of the school habit after last month." Spencer sighs, kind of longsuffering, but he takes Jerusalem back with a nod, letting himself be steered back to his bedroom. "/Okay/. I don't want you to fail or anything." Jax returns from the twins' room with clothing, long soft heather grey sweatshirt-material skirt and a black halter top that will allow for Chelsea's extra arms. "Hi, I got -- oh gosh you okay honey-honey, m'sorry, it's always kinda hectic in here." Her stops by the small closet next to the bathroom to retrieve clean towel and washcloth, offering the whole pile of cloth out to Chelsea. "Here. Bathroom's right through here, feel free to take your time." Chelsea finally steps fully into the apartment, only when Jerusalem is out of view. She looks a little shaken up, like she was on the verge of panic. She blinks, only getting about half of what Micah said with all the commotion. "Wait, what? You're a.... protestant? You a priest or something?" Chelsea looks pretty confused about what Micah does for work, and missed a big chunk of the info about his leg and whatnot. It might also just be vocab out of her range, if she's not even familiar with boys wearing girls' clothes. Blinking, she looks gratefully to Jax. "Thank you, really. So much for this. But just... one thing? Could you maybe cut out the worst of this monster on my head? I know it won't all wash out." She holds the pile of clean clothes away from her body, as if she's worried just touching will soil them, which to look at her, probably would. She turns her head to emphasize the ratty, matted mess her Afro-Latina hair has turned into. She looks sad about the fact of needing to cut some away, but resigned as well. "You've already got two, Spence, don't get greedy," Micah replies with an amused, lopsided grin. He reaches out to muss the boy's hair as he passes by and chuckles at Chelsea's misunderstanding. "Jewish, actually. But also a prosthetist. Maker of prosthetic devices." His knuckles rap against the visible metal of his leg by way of illustration before he uncrosses them, reurning both feet to the floor. He smiles at Chelsea again, more sincere than amused this time. "Boy, did you come t'the right place. I'm sure Jax can recommend all kindsa nice short styles that'll be easier t'manage, besides." He gestures at Jax. "He sorta does /pretty/ professionally." "Micah makes people into cyborgs," Jax explains brightly. "For his cyborg army." He blushes after this, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. "I guess I /do/ do pretty professionally 'cept not in the ways most people'd think," he admits, shedding his jacket to leave it and his bag in the entryway closet, now. "But sure, honey-honey, I can help get that a li'l more manageable. Maybe once it's all growed out, can braid it up neat. An' 'sides, it'll grow back in no time. -- Did you know," he adds offhand to Micah, "I /did/ want to be a priest once." He nods towards the bathroom door, beckoning her in and rummaging through a cabinet to get out a box; it holds hair clippers and shears as well. "-- Sweetie," he calls back out to the living room, "You mind gettin' started dicin' the potatoes, I was jus' gonna throw together a quick curry." The front door opens again, admitting one more person into the crowd. Shane is dressed casually after a shift of dishwashing, jeans and a plain white tee and a dark blue Xavier's sweatshirt over that, his grey-black peacoat over top though he sheds this and his shoes as soon as he gets inside. "/Professionally/," he jumps straight into the conversation, "/God/ don't give him ideas the last thing he needs is /another/ job. Whozzat?" He sniffs at the air as though this will tell him more than his eyes will about the newcomer, only peering at Chelsea after that. He chuffs out a sharp breath after this sniffing. "Morlock?" he wonders. He wanders in, straight past Chelsea to give first Jax and then Micah tight hugs. "It's fucking gross out there, did you know it was gross out there?" "Oh yeah?" Chelsea asks, when Micah clears up the mystery of his title. "That makes you some kind of doctor, right? You know anyone that can cut /this/ thing off?" The last bit trails off into a guilty mutter as she bobbles the limp arm, like she knows it's entirely the wrong thing to ask someone, but it's probably the end of a long conversation she's had with herself over and over. "Thanks," she says to Jax, maybe trying to just push past the awkward request. She nods at the shears and turns her back to Jax. Then with one hand, she actually pulls the extra arm around and under control so it won't be in Jax's way to cut hair. The two right hands clasp each other while the left arm cradles the pile of clothes and towel. Her eyes go wide with Shane comes in, and she just watches him move about, frozen in place. Finally, she blinks when Shane has left the bathroom, and sort of calls after him, and to whoever might be around, "Who the fuck are these 'morlocks', anyway? Everyone keeps asking me..." "He /does/ do pretty!" Micah confirms, either to Jax's comment or Shane's. "An' professionally. I mean, aside from /bein'/ pretty, he's an artist /an'/ does tattoos an' piercin'. Ain't no other job needed, s'already covered. I mean, unless y'thought I meant like bein' a model or a...Lucien." He returns Shane's hug, squeezing the teen tight. "Her name is Chelsea. Chelsea, this is Shane, he's one of our twins." His hand scruffs at Shane's spiky hair. "I don't rightly know," he replies to the Morlock question. "She came home with Jax." His lips quirk to one side at Chelsea's questions. "I'm not a doctor. But if y'have /medical/ needs there's a Clinic that caters t'folks with special abilities as just opened recently. Could take y'there if y'needed sometime." Micah nods as Chelsea's confusion reveals she must /not/ be a Morlock. "Morlocks is what a group of friends of ours call themselves. Mostly folks with physical mutations, as have a hard time livin' out in the world 'cause people give 'em an exceedin'ly hard time about it. So they live in the sewers, mostly." He hops to his feet at Jax's request for kitchen assistance. "Sure can. Chop-chop. Anythin' else y'need prepped but potatoes?" This is called back to Jax as Micah is already on his way to the kitchen. "Hiiii, Shane." Jax squeezes Shane back, adding in a small kiss to the forehead before he turns his attention back to Chelsea's hair. "How y'doin', pup? -- An' yeah I don't need no other job, I decorate folks up pretty for a livin' /already/." Though something in Micah's words deepens his blush still further. With the question of the Morlocks answered, he just focuses for now on the once-dreadlock, absently feeling out where hair goes from tangled to hopelessly matted so that he can carefully cut away the worst of it. "How 'bout after y'get cleaned up an' get some hot food in you, we redo this up some way you like, mm?" Between the bathroom mirror and the reflective lenses of his sunglasses, there's an infinite series of Chelseas echoing off into the distance as he works. His teeth wiggle at a lipring slowly. "Umm -- s'carrots in the bag. An onion. If we got any celery still left I could toss that in too but it might'a all been et. -- I work at the Clinic," he adds lightly. "Down in the Lower East Side, the doctors there are really understandin'. Whole clinic jus' for folks like us." Snip, snip, snip, slow and careful, and by the time he is done the worst of the matting is gone, a tangled but more manageable mess of curls remaining to fall down around her shoulders. "'kay. You enjoy the hot water an' we'll get dinner on for the whole lotta everybody. -- You stayin', Shane? I can toss in /all/ the seitan." "Oh shit yeah OK that definitely is making people pretty. Though if he wanted to branch out into Lucien's turf I wouldn't --" Shane actually stops himself here with a small frown: "/Fuck/ shit wait that's the -- not supposed to go there /right/. Right? Right." His fingers rub at the side of his neck, claws /scraping/ against gills afterwards as he grits his teeth. "Right." His head pokes back into the bathroom, sharp teeth baring. "Hey, you want something gone, /I/ can remove it for you. I carry my tools on me. Not a doctor though." His teeth champ together demonstratively. "Not a Morlock but you've /definitely/ been in the sewers haven't you? You planning on staying there? Oh fuck have you seen a really adorable lizardkid? No, probably not, he's hard to spot, fuck." His claws still scratch against his gills, and he turns aside to head for the kitchen along with Micah and get out a cutting board and knife of his own. He washes his hands before going for carrots. "Staying till Dai and B get off. Uh. Off work. Kinda both more and less hassle travelling in a group." Chelsea's face communicates her hopeful unsuredness at Micah's information. "A whole clinic, for freaks? Wow..." She blinks, and then Jax is examining her hair. She holds extra still while he figures out what to take. "Maybe I should just go bald..." she mutters, and instantly regrets it. "No no! Don't do that," she laughs awkwardly, at her own uneasiness. "{Sorry}," she says in Spanish. "I haven't really been around people since April, and back then... not sure I'd count them as people. She glances up at Shane's offer though, making eye contact with the boy, and actually holding it. "I asked if they could cut my dud off," she clarifies, suddenly serious, and hopeful. She nods at the double shoulder to indicate and then remembers she's supposed to be still. "Can you really do that?" The hope in her voice is at once both bright, and sick. "I hate it... So much." "No, honey, we used all the celery up makin' soup," Micah informs Jax, just loud enough for him to hear back down the hall, not even needing to look in the refrigerator first. "Can do the rest of it, though." He pauses to wash his hands before gathering the remaining ingredients that Jax had named (save for the carrots that Shane claims) onto the counter, along with another cutting board and knife. He rinses off several potatoes and then sets about chopping them. Shane's self-correction earns a nod. "Right, Shane, that's about where most people would start gettin' uncomfortable. That's good, though! Y'didn't even need anybody t'say anythin'. Figurin' it out yourself." He pauses in his chopping to pat a hand over Shane's shoulderblade. "You guys takin' the train back? D'you think you'll be okay? I can drive y'all if you're worried." He doesn't hear Chelsea's comments since her voice wasn't raised for communicating to the kitchen. "I go bald in the summer! But in winter that's just /cold/, hair is good insulation an' boy do I hate the cold. -- Who was you with back in April?"" Jackson drops the shorn-off mat of hair into the trashcan, trimming a little bit more here and there at its edges until he is satisfied. "There y'go." He flashes a warm smile into the mirror and slips out of the bathroom to leave Chelsea to showering. He's furiously red when he emerges, glancing briefly to Shane and then away. "I'm good with my current jobs," he assures Shane with a slightly awkward smile. "An' -- Shane are you -- y'can't just lop off parts'a people here in --" He shudders faintly, slipping off to the kitchen himself to start rice in the rice cooker. "Nothing wrong with bald, Pa does it and it's totally hot," Shane calls over to Chelsea with a return of his bright grin. Though Jax's words promp a correction: "-- Actually no, I guess it's totally cold /now/." He rinses off the carrots to start chopping them, quick slice-slice-slice. His cheeks tint nearly purple when Micah affirms his self-correction. "OK. OK, good." He glances up with a small frown, though. "Why /can't/ I? She doesn't want it. I mean it'd hurt like a motherfucker but." SHRUG. "{Is Spanish better? How come you don't want it? Is it useless? It's kind of dangly. Will you be /okay/ if I tear it off?}" Chelsea flicks her eyes in the direction of the kitchen while Micah is talking, and when Jax is done cutting her hair, she actually steps back out into the hallway so she can talk to Shane more. She reaches up and runs a hand over over the newly shortened, yet still filthy hair. "Thanks Jax..." When she spies Shane again she nods, "{Yeah, actually, thanks. Haven't spoken in ages... I would be ok though. I heal up. And grow these stupid things. Everything hurts less now too. I had two duds torn off by zombies this morning.}" "Wait, what? Why are we choppin' people up?" Micah looks up from his /vegetable/ chopping with concern. He's also blushing faintly, just in response to all of the other blushing going on in the room. "Oh. Ohgosh, honey, no. Y'don't do amputations by just...rippin' limbs off people, that's a surgical procedure. OR, sterile conditions, physician oversight an' all. There's all /kinds/ of complications otherwise. Blood loss, infections, damage t'nerves an' surroundin' tissues." His brows knit as he turns to Chelsea. "Honey, if you /really/ want that, we should take you t'talk t'folks at the Clinic." His eyes dart between Shane and Chelsea at the exchange in Spanish, not understanding most of it. Jax freezes after switching on the rice cooker, slowly turning to look at Chelsea and Shane; his glasses make this more /stare/-y than it really should be. "Shane, y'can't -- just tear off people's limbs, that ain't -- that's /so/ dangerous, y'need a proper environment for that." His brows furrow over the top of his sunglasses, only half-following the Spanish. "Hurt? Are you hurt?" "/No/, she is't hurt." Shane finishes chopping carrots, laying the knife down on the chopping board and zipping out of the kitchen. "She says it /doesn't/ hurt /and/ she heals and the zombies took a few limbs already and she's clearly not dead and Pa are /you/ seriously going to give me lectures about unauthorized amputations in the house because this one here," he waves to Chelsea, "is consensual. -- How fast healing are we talking?" He looks Chelsea over thoughtfully at this, slipping back into Spanish as he slips into the bathroom, nudging the door half-closed behind himself. "{You sure it won't hurt because I'm pretty sure tearing off limbs /usually/ hurts. I can, uh, perforate a little first. You're /not/ going to die, are you, because my dads would fucking /flip/ their shit.}" "No no," Chelsea says, still in the hall when the adults are concerned. "Yeah, I told Shane, sor- I mean, {sorry} I thought everyone could understand. I lost an arm and a leg this morning. I heal up, when I'm hurt. And for some reason, only original stuff grows back." She holds up her left hand to indicate what she means by 'original stuff'. "The duds show up, but they don't grow back. I didn't know until they got torn off. I thought I just had to live with them..." Chelsea backs up into the bathroom nodding at Shane, but she sticks to english for everyone listening in. "I promise, I won't die. I... don't think I can. I got stabbed with rusty iron and everything in the sewer. It kind of hurts a little but not... like you'd think, you know?" She sits down on the toilet lid, still watching Shane hopefully. "Even if she doesn't /die/, it's still dangerous, Shane, y'can't just /do/ that." Micah sets his knife on the cutting board, nerves obviously on edge at the kids' behaviour. "Honey, you're...what are you--" He follows Shane down the hall to stand with him and Chelsea. "Honey, I understand y'don't /want/ the arm there. But there's sensible ways t'do things an' then there's wrong-headed, dangerous ways t'do things. An' this is the second one." He sticks his foot in the door and pushes it back open all the way, his gaze focusing first on Chelsea and then on Shane. "Chelsea, we can get you help for this in a way that makes sense," he says softly, though his tone is entirely firm for the next. "And Shane. You are /not/ doin' this." Jax claps a hand to his face, rubbing his palm against it with fingers pressing beneath the lens of his glasses to dig at his eye. "Oh /jeez/ Shane, with Eric that was -- /wrong/, OK, that is not an example you should be followin' I was mad an' I should /never/ have --" He grimaces, slipping around the kitchen counter to cross the living room and move to the bathroom doorway. "We can /get/ you help with this. At the clinic or at the school or -- not here in the bathroom with you /teeth/, Shane, /no/." "It's /fine/, guys, she /heals/. It's not going to kill anyone and I promise, I'll clean the bathroom up after," Shane assures the others placatingly. "If she grows whole new limbs this sounds like it'll hurt her /less/ than Eric even, just -- it's okay, it'll be quick and --" But his placating tone fades as the adults approach, his eyes narrowing as he moves towards the door, resting his hand against it to start pushing it /back/ closed. "The Clinic," he answers in a more irritated tone, "is overbooked as fuck now, how long exactly do you think it'll take them to make an appointment for /surgery/. /You/ guys think it's okay to wait because /you/ don't fucking /know/. /You/ don't have to walk outside there and get spit on and beaten and shot at because you're such a freak the world doesn't even want to have to look at you. You know B tried to /tear/ his fucking skin off before? Just grew the hell back but --" He glares downwards as the door thuds up against Micah's foot, shoving at it harder and grimacing when it does not budge. "And God fucking help me I'd do it /for/ him right now if it'd help. But this I can help. I'm pretty sure Chelsea knows her own damn body better than you do and she sure as hell knows her own /life/ better." His words don't come very /evenly/, hitching as his gills flutter, and he shoves at the door again. "We can do this outside if you don't want it done in your bathroom but it's not /your/ decision to make." Chelsea watches Shane intently, backing a little further into the bathroom when he struggles to shut the door. She sits down on the toilet lid and turns slightly, making her extra arm more accessible. She knows there are all kinds of repercussions at play here, it's clear on her face, but so is the her hopeful expression. "I'll be ok, I promise," she says. It's not quiet, but it might not be loud enough to be heard over the struggle with the door. She also looks a little scared, maybe about violence breaking out, but she keeps her seat anyway, nodding along with Shane's assessment on what it's like with an obvious mutation. "Shane you /can't/ act like you know what'll happen if y'do this 'cause you /don't/. S'the simple fact of it." When Shane tries to close the door on Micah (at least his foot can't /feel/ the attempts to squash it), he slams his arm into it and /shoves/. "Dammit, Shane, will you /ever/ stop an' /listen/ for a /second/? You met this girl five /minutes/ ago. You think we could wait maybe an hour t'maim her while she's sittin' in here, perfectly safe in /our/ home? Or what /should/ be perfectly safe if you weren't bein' completely hard-headed about this?" He draws a deep breath, trying to calm his end of the conversation, at least. "Y'don't even need an X-gene t'have this kind of presentation, y'know? Polymelia...it's a rare congenital condition with /several/ causes, but we know how t'treat it with amazin' success. We can /help/ her if that's what she wants. But she's...what, thirteen? An' just found out /today/ that she regrows limbs? What if there's side effects she ain't even discovered yet? What if it don't always work the same way? She's pretty much just said she don't know that! You're sixteen, just met this girl, an' suddenly know what's best for her? Or how t'perform surgery, for that matter? You're a bright kid, Shane, but /this/? This is somethin' incredibly stupid y'mean t'do an' I'm not gonna let you do it." Jackson's hands fold together behind his back; the muscles in his arm tense as his fingers clench. For a moment there's an unsteady tremor of lights in the room, but then he draws in a deep breath. Lets it out slowly. The lights settle back down, though the warmth radiating /from/ him climbs. "Can we all jus' take a step back. Let Chelsea have her shower, sit an' eat dinner, an' discuss options calm like sane folk? I ain't gonna tell nobody what to do or not do with their own bodies but I think maybe we could take a little bit'a time 'fore there's any rushin' in to anything, yeah?" Shane's eyes stay narrowed. The slam of Micah's arm finds almost as little give /back/ as Shane finds forward, though he has only the sheer force of muscles rather than metal and carbon fiber to hold his ground. His gills continue to flutter, rapidly; it leaves his voice stuttery and breathless when he speaks, still. "{I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get everyone mad. I'll help you later, okay? After they've calmed the fuck down. Pa's a /really/ good cook, you're in for a great dinner, at least.}" He doesn't say anything /to/ Jax and Micah. He releases the door, ducking under Micah's outstretched arm to shove his way brusquely past them to his bedroom. Chelsea is still watching Shane closely from her seat on the toilet. She has tears in her eyes, but they're not streaming down. "{I'm sorry,}" she says, and then switches back to english, "Apologies, Mr.- Jax... and Micah. I'm- I didn't mean to cause so much problems." She nods at Shane's explanation in spanish and reaches up to wipe the moisture from her eyes. "Thanks Shane. I'll just take a shower, and... yeah." She blinks up at the unblocked door now, a little sheepish, but unafraid. "Shane..." Micah turns, eyes following the the boy, but he doesn't so much as say anything more. He just opens the door slowly, stepping out of the doorway, his expression /hurt/ more than anything. "No, Chelsea, honey. Ain't nobody even upset with you. I understand where you're comin' from. Been around kids with limb differences m'whole life. Been one, even. Not quite the same, I know, but. I got an idea, okay? There's just...a good an' bad way t'handle this. An' /bitin'/ your arm off when nobody /really/ knows what'll come of it is the /bad/ way, sugar. We just wanna help, an' help keep you /safe/, too." He bites his lower lip, chewing at it hard enough that the skin blanches. "Promised you a shower'n a meal. Are you okay if we leave you t'do that now, while we cook it?" He looks over to Jax, eyes misted over a bit. "Maybe he'll talk t'you. I don't think he wants... I yelled at 'im an'. I don't think he'd wanna talk t'me. I can go. Chop things." "Oh, honey-honey, it's all alright. There's just -- a lotta emotion bound up in all --- well," Jackson says with a deep blush, "you'd know, m'sure." He turns to watch Shane go with another small shudder of lights. "I'll talk to him," he promises, curling an arm around Micah for a slow squeeze. "After he's had a bit of space for himself." He squeezes Micah tighter, and offers Chelsea a small smile. "I'm -- {I'm sorry}," his Spanish is as thickly Southern-accented as the rest of his speech, "but I promise you ain't no problem at all. An' there /are/ options. Not jus' for your arm but for the rest'a life, too, aright? You won't hafta go back in the sewers if you don't want, I know safe places. But we can talk about all that over a good solid meal, yeah?"