ArchivedLogs:Complicated

Complicated
Dramatis Personae Micah, Lucien, Sera
In Absentia	17 July 2014 A more level-headed conversation.
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Backyard - Greenwich Village
Living in the heart of Manhattan means space is precious, and as such, the yard behind this house is small. It is as exquisitely well-kept as the rest of the place, though; all available space has been meticulously cultivated and transformed into a lush retreat from the concrete and asphalt of the city. The borders of the garden are lined in a wealth of flowers, the selection chosen to provide a panoply of color in all seasons save winter. A grassy rock-bordered pathway separates these from the raised-bed vegetable garden that dominates its center. The far left corner of the garden plays host to a tiny rock-lined pond, goldfish and a pair of turtles living in its burbling water. To one side of the pond is a garden table and set of chairs and presiding over the pond, a large oak tree with a hammock underneath, its branches spreading out over the tall brick wall that screens the entire area off from the city outside. It has been a lovely summer day, for once not full of spitting rain or sudden torrential downpours, /and/ not oppressively hot at the same time. Rather it is the kind of golden-sunny blue sky day that makes people regret working indoors for the majority of it. Micah is rather toppled off of his regular routine, having driven /almost/ all of the way to Evolve from work before deciding that wasn't the best of plans, then hesitating in precisely what to do next before remembering he /had/ been meaning to talk to Lucien ever since that last dream... And so came a phone call and another short drive and a Micah standing on Lucien's doorstep in his TARDIS-blue polo and khakis, looking rather /faded/ as he knocks two raps upon the door. The door is answered first by a light fluttering wash of energy, bright and alive though there's a faint uneasy /prickle/ that comes with it, a little /too/ bright, a little too jittery. Sera peeks around the door without actually opening it all the way, squinting up at Micah curiously though empathic senses are drinking in far more information than her /eyes/ are. "You wear the same clothes a lot," she offers Micah in greeting. "Do you need more clothes?" The familiarity of the too-bright too-jittery energy at the door gives Micah a little pang, one that is only echoed upon seeing Sera. That last dream just aches a bit stronger with her in person. "Hi, honey." A hint of smile creeps out at the question. "These are for work. I have several sets; they just look the same." He reaches out to ruffle at her hair fondly. "Y'don't need t'worry your head 'bout me none." "Ooookay." Sera looks /just/ a little skeptical at this. "Luci and Desi wear /different/ clothes for work." And then, just in /case/ Micah is not being fully honest with her she offers magnanimously: "Luci has lots of clothes. You could have some of his." The prickle of energy intensifies with the hair ruffling; it puts a bright smile on Sera's face though this is /accompanied/ with a small tense twitch. She pulls the door open wider, scooting backwards on bare feet to let Micah in. "Are you coming for dinner? It's not dinner yet." “Many people do. In my line of work it's helpful t'have a uniform. Settles people's expectations when y'show up on their doorstep or hospital security checkpoint.” Micah chuckles softly at the so-generous offer of her brother's clothing. “Gracious, I'd look like a kid in 'is dad's clothes tryin' t'wear Luci's things. Thank you, though. That's right thoughtful.” He slides through the door when it is opened, removing his shoes and setting them aside as soon as he's in. “I'm visitin' with your brother, mostly. There's no need t'feed me. Hopefully I'm not interruptin'...I called ahead.” "You interrupted /me/," Sera informs Micah without any censure, "/I'm/ reading a book. Luci's outside." She points off towards the kitchen where the door leads out to the garden. She has to stretch up on her toes a little once Micah is in to throw the deadbolt back closed on the door. She hastens off towards the living room once the door is locked again, clambering back up onto the couch so that she can very /studiously/ return to her copy of /The Giver/. “'Pologies, sugar. You go ahead right back t'your readin'. I know it can make you all /itchy/ cuttin' off at a point that weren't meant for stoppin' in your book.” Micah's hand pats lightly at her back as she heads off, as if sending her on her way. “Outside's a good place t'be t'day.” He wanders stocking-footed through to the backyard where Sera indicated Lucien could be found. Lucien is, as reported, in his backyard. Casually dressed, in black twill shorts and a soft green v-neck tee, he is tucked in among his vegetables mulching one of the beds. He has perhaps been out here for a while and not only working; his phone and a tablet sit on the table together with a book (/L'Avalée des avalés/ by Réjean Ducharme), a bottle of water, a squat old-fashioned glass next to a half-full bottle of Scotch. He glances up when Micah arrives, marking the other man's entry with a faint lift of eyebrows. "Escaping the madhouse for a bit?" There is a soft click as Micah pulls the door to behind him. He tugs off his socks, stuffing one each into his front pockets before wandering out into the grass barefoot. When he reaches Lucien's side, he half-wraps an arm around the other man's back...not quite a hug but looking both not to interrupt his work and not to touch bare skin without invitation. "Sort of. I've been upsettin' everybody lately, so... An' yeah. I kinda needed not t'be there. I'd also been meanin' t'talk at you for /awhile/ but, things're always... Madhouse." The small shrug of his shoulders is apologetic as he sinks to his knees close to where Lucien works, hands upturned in a silent offer to employ them assisting in the garden should the other man wish it. "Upsetting everybody?" For some reason this echo comes with a sudden blossoming of /understanding/ in Lucien's expression, eyebrows ticking up briefly to study Micah with a moment of curiosity. "-- Ah. It always seems mad to me. Has it been particularly /more/so?" In answer to Micah's upturned hands he offers a bucket of soapy water with the pleasant sight of a number of dead (or dying) Japanese beetles floating in it already and gesturing with it towards some thorny bushes along trellises to one side of a neighboring bed. "They are a scourge on my raspberries. If you find any, kill them with prejudice." Micah perks slightly, curiosity piqued by the sudden understanding without explanation, though he /doesn't/ explain since Lucien seems to have answered his own question. "Just...full of refugees again. An' everyone's still several varieties of broken. Things've been tenser this time 'round an' I think it's comin' out in everybody. Or I kinda /hope/ that's it. An' there's another raid upcomin' just right on the heels of this last'n." A slight crinkle of nose comes with his accepting the bucket, though he moves straightaway to patrol the bushes for new shiny carapaces to add to the miniature funeral at sea. "Things certainly seemed tense in the aftermath though I admit I do not tend to keep /up/ with the refugees once my immediate assistance is past." Lucien's bright green eyes linger on Micah a moment, turning only slowly back down to his vegetable bed. "I cannot imagine all the stress does much for anyone's nerves, no." For a moment at the mention of another upcoming raid he tenses, gloved hands just clenching down into the compost. "Vermont." "No. Hive...transferrin' those injuries onto that dyin' boy an' killin' 'im faster didn't earn no friends for us from this group. Even if him doin' that saved several of the /other/ rescuees. Started some actual fistfights. People throwin' about murder accusations." Micah flicks another beetle rather unceremoniously into the bucket. It barely makes a splash when it hits. "Hive'n Flicker /ran off/ for a whole week an' wouldn't hardly talk t'nobody. Came back for a meetin' over at Stark 'bout the plans for disarmin' the brainchips this go-round. I went t'check on Hive just 'bout soon as he got settled in back at home an' got in a fight with 'im instead. His health is significantly worse, meanwhile." His teeth dig at his lower lip. "I didn't mean t'come an' just ply y'with bad news, honey. 'Pologies." "Oddly," Lucien murmurs, "people do not always evaluate deaths in the most /utilitarian/ manner." His tone is mild, quiet words spoken down to the earth. He pats his compost back into place, rocking back to take a seat perched on the wall of the garden bed. "You needn't apologise." This time there's a faint trace of humour in his voice. "I tend to inspire that in people. You sound as though you could use some tea." "I know. An' I understand it, really. I just...understand it from /both/ sides." Micah gives a helpless little shrug before plucking another beetle from its perch. "S'even more reason t'apologise if everybody's doin' it t'you. An' I could always use some tea." There's a faint blip that might be an attempt at a smile here. "I'd been meanin' t'come talk t'you since that last dream. In the restaurant? I'd been thinkin' more 'bout...what was bein' said 'bout the kids in all the future dreams. I got folks at the Clinic an' Dr. McCoy workin' on reverse engineerin' the abilities suppression darts. T'see if they can get somethin' t'treat kids as manifest early an' it starts hurtin' 'em. Maybe get an answer faster this time." He gnaws at his lip even harder. "Y'gonna get horrible upset with me if I wanna say somethin' 'bout that Themis House thing now that ain't comparin' 'em t'Hitler?" Lucien dusts his gloves off over the bed, tugging them off afterwards to set them aside on the wall. "Perhaps everybody does it to me because I make myself available for it. Carrying around that much weight, it is hardly a bad thing to want somewhere to unload some of it." He rises, stepping down off the wall to curl bare toes into soft grass. His lips only press together at talk of dreams, and his eyes turn back towards the house at the mention of Themis House. "A milk oolong, perhaps?" At the moment it's his only answer, already starting to slip off towards the door. "I won't be long." "Don't make it fair t'you, though." Micah has to grab more than once at the next beetle; he's a fast little bugger. "I can...not talk about either of those things if you'd rather. 'Specially the latter. Kinda been learnin' that folks'd rather I keep my non-mutant nose outta things that /apparently/ don't concern me." He simply nods at the tea recommendation and returns to his bug hunting. Lucien exhales, quick and almost amused, judging by the small upward tug at the corner of his mouth. He says nothing, though. Only disappears back into the house to leave Micah with his beetle-harvesting. It is about fifteen minutes before he returns, carrying a tray with teapot, cups, sugar. Small bowls of melon salad with lime and mint and sriracha. Little cucumber-avocado-mint sandwiches. A packet of hand sanitizing wipes. He sets the tray down on the table, nudging aside his book and tablet and phone before pouring Micah a cup. He pours his own glass full of Scotch again before he settles into a seat. "We make up," he picks up as though he'd never /left/, "a fraction of a percent of the population. Humans are going to have the majority opinion on every issue." There is /quite/ the bumper crop of soapy beetles by the time Lucien returns. Micah /might/ not really be giving the task his full attention any longer, however. "An' I understand that's frustratin'. I'm not tryin' t'push any opinion at nobody but there /are/ things I kinda have t'deal with." He leaves off his bug hunt, slumping into a chair with a sigh. "Y'didn't answer. Not that that's /unusual/ but it don't give me much t'proceed off of." /Pluck/, he claims a sanitizer wipe to handle his beetle-fingers. "Why," Lucien says this with quietly genuine curiosity rather than any sort of challenge, leaning forward to set a small bowl of salad and a plate of tea sandwiches in front of Micah, alongside the tea, "do you have to deal with Themis House?" "Horus's been there already seekin' their services. B /wants/ t'go. I'm sure they're not the only ones. I try t'look out for Horus. An' B's my /kid/, for goodness sake. An'...if they /got/ a way t'suppress powers that works /now/ an' ain't just a theory an' Spence might /need/ that t'keep from gettin' terrible sick... How much more involved can I /be/?" Micah frowns at the food, though it really is no fault of the spread, which looks delicious. "Thanks, hon." He reaches for the tea first. "Y'still didn't answer the question." "Prometheus has a way to suppress powers that works now." Lucien says this in idle musing, settling back in his seat and curling fingers around his Scotch. He lifts it for a long swallow, setting his own food in front of /him/ now. "Micah, if I wanted you to stop talking, we would not be talking." Though after this he /doesn't/ talk, a long moment of silence as he takes another swallow of his drink. "Do you want to /take/ B to Themis House, then?" "Okay. Okay, apologies, hon. I'm just. I /really/ been upsettin' everybody without even needin' t'say hardly anythin' so I'm tryin' not t'do it again." Micah's cup comes to his lips, blowing over the hot surface before taking a small sip. "No, I really /don't/. My first reaction t'the whole place was that it'd be like homosexual conversion therapy...just terrible misguided at /best/. An' it may well be that that's what this place is like. An' it may well be that it's lies an' snake oil. An' it may well be that it's a front for somethin' even more horrible like the Sublime Centres were. An' it may well be /a lot/ of things an' one of those things /might/ be /helpful/." He sets down his cup to pick at a sandwich. "I want t'check it out. See for m'self. Hear B out an' what /ze/ really wants an' why. Horus, too. 'Cause even in a vacuum sometimes...y'want the abilities gone." Micah holds up a hand. "I think people forget that I /had/ abilities. Couldn't /touch/ nobody while I had 'em. If I hadn't been able t'get rid of that the way I did, still had 'em now? I think I'd wanna see what this place was about for /me/. Nothin' t'do with it just bein' that the rest of the world was hateful. Only that I'd want t'be able t'touch folks again. Wouldn't be fair of me t'tell Rasa no, ze shouldn't want t'check it out for the same reason, if ze did. Ain't fair for me t'say the same t'B or Horus. So I wanna check it out an' I don't wanna write 'em off as solidly evil an' attemptin' genocide or any of that 'til I /know/ it." Lucien has finished his glass of Scotch while Micah speaks; he pours himself a second, though this is set down in favour of spearing a cube of melon on a fork and slipping it into his mouth. "I take it your husband is on the list of 'everybody' you've been upsetting?" He takes another bite of melon, setting his fork back down after. "I would be rather curious to see what they tell you. If you do go." "He was the first, yeah. Got real upset an' stormed right outta the room when I didn't wanna just shut the whole thing down when B brought it up. I'm two for two so far... Hive threw me out of 'is house." Micah finally nibbles at the sandwich instead of just fussing at it. "So I'm a little /edgy/ on the topic now. But I /am/ gonna go. Jax an' I are s'posed t'meet with the head doctor guy an' hear what they have t'say." "Mmm." Just one simple thoughtful hum, at this information, before another swallow of Scotch. "I am sure whatever he has to say will be quite polished. Well-rehearsed. Their website is impressive. Everyone seems quite happy and dedicated to helping." "Their website is /creepy/," Micah corrects emphatically. "I'm hopin' it's just the result of an overzealous PR company. I just need t'know...where they started. Where their research comes from. /How/ they're doin' what they claim. Whether it's that they really just wanna help people whose lives are bein' made too difficult or dangerous by their abilities, or if their goal /is/ t'try an' 'normalise' all of mutantkind. It just...it makes a big dif'rence, really." He takes another bite of his sandwich before returning it to the plate. "Is it somethin' you'd consider for Sera? Is it awful that I'm thinkin' of Spence?" "Their materials are quite clear on their goal, Micah." Lucien plucks a sandwich off his plate, eating the slim triangle-wedge in two quick bites. "And the field of mutant-specific research is vanishingly slim. One institution holds the lion's share of the work. Mendel and Muir Island take up most of the rest of what tiny slice of the pie is left. And this didn't come out of either of /them/." “There's /still/ a dif'rence between helpin' folks as /want/ relief from what their abilities do an' evangelisin' that all 'mutants' need t'be more 'human'. I don't appreciate the language that they've chosen t'employ but it /ain't/ clear exactly just from the website what they mean. So I just plan t'ask 'em outright.” Micah finishes off the last bite of the sandwich, collecting a fork to poke at the salad next. “Can straight up ask 'em what their connection is t'Prometheus. I mean there /is/ always the chance that this really was a doctor workin' tirelessly t'help 'is own kid out. I'm not sayin' it's /likely/ but it's /possible/.” Micah pauses to chew at the food, really the only thing that's keeping him from biting his lip open again. It's seen better days. “I don't know that B's gonna /care/ either way, though. Gotta have a sit-down with hir an' figure just where all this is comin' from. If it's the way folks /treat/ hir or if this is legitimately...that ze feels like hir body's just always been completely /wrong/. 'Cause that can be a thing as happens X-gene or no. I've treated people... One guy just couldn't /deal/ with his left hand. Just felt like it weren't s'posed t'be there. Tried t'get doctors t'remove it an' they wouldn't take off a perfectly healthy hand. Ended up cuttin' it off in a /woodshop/ an' lucky he didn't kill 'imself in the process. But he uses a mechanical prosthesis now an' is just.../better/. In 'is own head. Doesn't have that wild naggin' sense of 'is body bein' wrong anymore. Some things that B an' Shane've said in the past...I'm not sure it /isn't/ somethin' like that for B.” "Because they'd surely tell you, if they had a connection." Here for the first time Lucien sounds dry, lips pressing together thin. "Goodness, I had figured you for many things but stupid never. In isolation? Possible, maybe. To have pioneered such a treatment /coincidentally/ at the same time Prometheus begins employing it on your people? I refuse to /believe/ you are that obtuse. That level of naivete is willful." In contrast to previous discussions on the subject, though, he does not sound particularly angered. Somewhat cynical, perhaps, but otherwise unruffled in his bland expression, level voice. He sips at his Scotch again, turns his other hand palm-up. "You know your children far better than I. I am in little position to judge what might be best for them." "No, they might or might not. But it's /how/ they answer it I'm interested in. An', /yes/, I came t'that conclusion as bein' most likely, too. But I don't have final-confirmin' type evidence of it. Even if I /did/, I'd prob'ly still wanna ask an' see how they answer." Micah releases his fork to rest in the bowl with the remaining salad. "It's okay. I wasn't askin' you t'tell me what t'do. It was just...relevant t'the discussion of the dreams an' the research an' all that I'd wanted t'talk about in the first place. An' it's helpful t'be able t'...even think out loud about it without nobody yellin' or cursin' at me for doin' it." Micah closes his eyes, briefly resting his forehead in his hand before raking the fingers up through his hair. "I also wanted t'ask if y'think y'could help Jax sleep. If I can convince 'im t'come try. Like when I was havin' the nightmares so bad I couldn't sleep an' y'actually...I slept for /hours/ in the middle of the day, it was ridiculous. He's...goin' all raggedy in 'is brain again. I try t'...cajole an' order an' get 'im t'try sleep remedies or try t'get 'im t'come t'bed with me but. Even when I can get that far, seems like he's always back up an' /into/ somethin' whenever I wake back up, no matter how quick. S'bad enough regular, but he's gonna be leadin' that raid, too..." Lucien picks up a second tiny wedge of sandwich, taking a small bite as he listens to Micah. "Raising my voice is very tiring," he replies with a touch of amusement, "and when it comes to interpersonal interaction I tend to pick the path of least resistance. Still, you must /understand/ why others might be inclined to anger." He washes down the bite of sandwich with the rest of his Scotch, again, and pouring the glass full once more. The mention of helping Jax sleep briefly widens his eyes, evident surprise in the sudden lift of eyebrows that he soon pushes back into a neutral expression. "From what I gather, summertime is difficult for him. Nightmares, stress, those things I can help. A surplus of solar energy may be above my paygrade. Matt would have been --" His eyes lower, the rest of the sandwich quickly eaten. "I can understand it's a touchy subject. /That/ ain't got no reason for...things as've been said t'me. Think it's just somethin' that's always been there an' I just ain't bothered most folks enough t'out'n say 'em, usually. An' I ain't said these folks /are/ good. Or even that I /think/ they are. I've done told /everybody/ I'm suspicious as anythin' of 'em. Just that I wanna hold off final judgement on /what/ they are 'til after I talk to 'em. At least for my /kids'/ sakes, y'know?" Micah retrieves his fork, apparently for the sole purpose of sliding things around in his salad bowl. "But y'know me. Just too meddlesome with stuff I can afford t'cop out an' not make any decisions on 'cause it don't really got nothin' t'do with me. Just an academic argument don't really affect me any." The tines stab down trident-like into a bit of melon that really did nothing to deserve the treatment, then the fork gets left again. There are times for table manners and there are not, it would seem. "We can get 'im t'expend the solar energy s'much as he can first. Make a bunch of shields for no reason, maybe. Those drain 'im pretty good. He's just got the headaches an' the nightmares an' the stress an' the frettin' an' the /actually/ bein' busy an' the /makin'/ 'imself busy on top of all that. Y'don't /have/ t'try, naturally. Was just a request. I still ain't tracked down Nzinga t'see if sleep-powers would work. There are options." Lucien lifts his hand, through -- all of this, slowly pinching at the bridge of his nose. His other hand reaches out for his phone, sends off a quick text message as his forefinger and thumb rub at the hollows of his eyes. He only speaks again after his phone buzzes in reply, dropping his hand back to his Scotch glass. "Your husband is already coming here tonight," he finally says -- a little wearily. "I suspect, though, not with sleep in mind." Micah's hiked eyebrows reveal some surprise at that revelation. "Is he? S'pose that /truly/ is none of m'business if he didn't tell me 'bout it. I should prob'ly go, then, not be in the way of all that. But...if y'wouldn't mind...the sleep thing? If I see 'im 'fore he comes I'll bring it up first." He stands, but only moves at first to half-behind Lucien's chair, hands on his shoulders pressing in a light almost-kneading. "Thank you, hon. I hate that I'm always askin' y'fore...dire needs help all the time. I feel like that's all I do is pester folks for gettin' past the latest emergency." He sighs a little, hands still gentle-pressing at the other man's shoulders. "Didn't even really get the chance t'ask how y'were doin'. Y'don't really answer most of the time but I do...like t'ask anyhow." "I think you should probably /stay/." Lucien swishes his drink slowly in its glass, leaning back into Micah's touch and tipping his head up to fix eyes on the man behind him. "Your husband makes an appointment with me you don't know about and in the meantime you come here to avoid going /home/ -- it does not take any particular /insight/ to connect that..." He looks back down, frowning at his glass. "I am of a mind to tell him to keep his money. Sit the both of you down instead and make you talk." With a sharp huff of breath, he tips the rest of his Scotch back, shoulders sagging slightly under Micah's hands before he refills the glass. "If all you do is /have/ emergencies there is little room for much else, mmm?" “I don't know. Maybe he just needs somethin' uncomplicated? I think I'm...complicated right now. For 'im.” Micah's voice is certainly /full/ of uncertainty, no empathic abilities needed to spot that. “I mean, he would've /told/ me if he wanted me here, wouldn't he? I don't wanna invade his...escape time.” His hands follow the sag, kneading a bit more firmly. "And I don't want," Lucien answers easily, "to be caught in the middle of your marital strife. You come for a willing ear, he comes for pain -- I am more than happy to /be/ an escape for the both of you. But not from each other." "I'm not tryin' t'avoid 'im, I just don't wanna /crowd/ 'im is all, I... I can stay, but I'm leavin' if he needs the time alone. It ain't a crime t'need it." Micah's hands shift to better provide an /actual/ massage at Lucien's shoulders. "'Pologies if y'feel caught in the middle. I really just...didn't know that was goin' on." "He seemed quite distraught, this afternoon. I cancelled another appointment to make time for him tonight." Lucien's eyes slip mostly closed, fingers drumming against the side of his glass. "But distraught is little surprise. He has a lot on his plate, generally. Until you showed up here I assumed you knew." One hand turns up in a small shrug. "I texted him, before I told you. If I were /generally/ in the habit of disclosing my clients' appointments to their spouses I would be out a livelihood. I do not know whether he wants you /here/ or not. But I certainly do not want another --" There is a low chuckle before he takes another swallow of his drink. "I am also not generally in the position of /caring/ about both my clients and their spouses." “'Pologies, sugar, I didn't mean t'complicate your evenin'. I'll stay, if it eases your mind some. But just t'make sure what Jax wants. If he's actually reachin' out for help, that's pretty serious. He /don't/ usually.” One of Micah's hands stops in its work long enough to pet gently over Lucien's hair before dropping back to its massaging position. “I wanna make sure you're comfortable, too. 'Cause that's important, an' I love you. Just...apologies. For always bein' complicated.” "He is not due till quite late. After the children have all gone to bed. I suppose you could go and come back /with/ him if he is amenable." Lucien's eyes close the rest of the way, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Oh, you needn't apologize. Most people worth my time are." "Oh, in that case. That /is/ what I should do. I meant t'be home for puttin' Spence t'bed, at the very least." Micah's fingers work deeper, further along Lucien's shoulders and down a bit to his back, but avoiding the bare skin of his neck. "I can stay just a bit longer if y'want. Y'did manage t'handily avoid the question of how /you've/ been doin'. Again." Lucien tips his head forward, just a little, shoulders rolling back in a long slow stretch. At the repeated question of how /he/ has been doing, he pushes out a quicker laugh. And knocks back the rest of his Scotch in a quick gulp. "Complicated." “Ain't we all? Why don't y'just let me take care of /you/ for a little bit an' relax. Think y'won't get too much choice on the latter with that much Scotch.” Micah's hands work in more firmly, soothing tight muscles. “Make it feel less complicated for just a little while.” Lucien doesn't answer this -- at least not aloud. But his reply comes all the same, as he sets his glass back down and this time does not pour another. Just sits back comfortably, eyes closing again as he settles in to let Micah ease out the knots wound tightly through him.