ArchivedLogs:Discount Shrunken Heads

Discount Shrunken Heads
Deals on a dozen!
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Sebastian	17 April 2014 Troubles, we got a few. (Part of the Perfectus TP.)
Location <XS> Chimera Room – FL2
The guest rooms at Xavier's are spacious and comfortable, well-furnished suites readied for visitors. A mid-sized guest suite, its sitting room is large but its bathroom and two accompanying bedrooms -- one a queen, one holding two full beds -- snug and cozy. Its windows look out over the front yard, providing a wide view of the forests and lake in the distance. In here the decor is subdued, tawny golds and ash-grey stone with hints of green thrown here and there to brighten it. Monstrous creatures prowl the room's artwork, amalgam in shape -- lion heads, dragon wings, scorpion tails; small glass figurines hunch on the bookshelf and hang painted on the walls. It is evening at Xavier's, the dinner hour though by this time of season it is refreshingly still /bright/ out -- in the sitting room, the curtains have been drawn wide open, the shades all pulled to let the last of the light still brighten the room. Jackson doesn't seem like he's had dinner; he is seated kneeling on the chair at the desk, posture still impeccably upright though this is back to his usual habitual dancer form rather than his previous pained stiffness -- testament to an earlier session with Eloise that has rid him of the hairline fracture in his sternum and some if not all of the lingering bruising along his back and ribs. He's colourful, as usual, a swirling mutilayered pixie-skirt in greens and blues over thigh-high mismatched socks, pale yellow tee with faint darker-yellow herbs-and-flowers design stamped into it layered over a long-sleeved green shirt, rainbowy hoodie (in a different more chunky design than his old one) thrown over the back of his chair. Soft green makeup with only a faint hint of shimmer over his eyes, metallic blue nailpolish. There's speckles of paint on his hand (and some flecked onto his wrist brace) that suggest he has recently /been/ painting but for the moment there is spread in front of him students' drawing assignments that he is working on grading. Kind of jittery, bouncing restlessly in his seat; around the room there is a constant /shift/ of imagery. The chimeras in the paintings /prowl/. Intermittently strange winged creatures flutter from one corner of the ceiling to the other. Something stalks shadowy-skulky about the perimeter of the room. There's a cup beside him -- at one point it had cocoa, but that point is long since gone. Micah is home earlier than has been his usual, still shorter on work hours with his decreased ability to handle home visits with certain types of equipment. He is still dressed in work clothes, typical TARDIS-blue polo shirt over a long-sleeved tee and khakis. His auburn hair is end-of-the-day mussed. The army green messenger bag slung crosswise over his torso thuds at his hip as he walks and his forearm crutches are on his back in their black nylon sling. He deposits shoes, crutches, and bag at their appropriate storage places near the door before moving up behind Jax to run a hand up along his back. This stands in place of hugging, given the recent sternum injury. Even less his usual, his hands are hidden away under thin charcoal-grey gloves. A shiver ripples up Jax's back at the touch, muscles tensing beneath Micah's hand. The chimaeras around the walls turn in unison, many heads focusing their eyes on the other man as Jax turns his chair around, opening his arms up to wrap his arms around Micah. "Hey, honey-honey." His voice is warm, and he tips his face upwards habitually towards Micah -- but checks himself, instead just pressing his cheek to the other man's chest at the last minute. Squeezing tighter in a much /fiercer/ hug than he'd managed the day before. "How's your day been, love?" The return to Jax's hug is /much/ gentler than typical. "Easy, honey. Don't hurt yourself." Micah slips a gloved hand under Jax's chin, tilting his face right /back/ up to place a kiss on his lips, soft and practically chaste in its brevity. He gives himself a few moments' pause to work through the aftermath of the contact before responding. "Gettin' better. Don't need the crutches just for walkin' anymore. Mostly only for stairs now. Even curbs been goin' okay s'long as I let the right side do all the work." His hand traces along Jax's back again. "How you holdin' up?" "M'alright. Eloise patched me up. The break, nohow, an' my back mostly." There's still a small lingering patch of bandaging peeking out beneath Jax's collar, though it's much smaller than the large swath of it that had been there before. Jax returns the kiss, small and brief, letting Micah take the reins on its length though even the short contact comes with heavy-needy tug of longing before he drops his head back to rest against Micah's chest. It comes with other things, too, in Jax's typical blindingly headache-inducing crush of too-bright mental /chaos/, his psionic presence transmitted in colours other eyes aren't even used to /processing/, too-loud too-bright imagery that is busily trying to work through the contradiction of very-achingly-wanting to touch Micah more and very-nauseatingly thinking back to fangs buried in his neck, hand clutching his throat, body pinned against his, hand tearing at his jeans. He draws in a breath, curls his arm tighter around Micah, nuzzles in against his chest. "-- That's good?" He doesn't sound entirely certain. His bald head tips back, peeking up curiously at Micah. "That's good, right?" Slowly he starts to unfold himself from the chair. "I'm -- could use a break from gradin'," he says with a small laugh. "Y'want tea or dinner or nothin', Sir?" "Oh, excellent. How much longer d'they think you'll need the wrist brace, then? S'gotta be annoyin' with your paintin'." Micah fights not to give in to the longing layered on top of his own. The attic memory helps this, but also neatly furrows his brow. "It's good. At least for now, it's good. Means I can get back t'doin' more. However long this thing keeps goin' on." He glances down at his foot. "D'you think...once the Professor ain't so busy with everythin' that's more important. He might figure out how this process even worked? I mean. I figure at least /Sublime/ must have some understandin' of it." He leans slightly against Jax and the back of Jax's chair. "Not just yet. I don't wanna go down yet an' I don't wanna send y'runnin' after it, neither." "Gonna have another session with her tomorrow an' get it x-rayed again after. Prob'ly be good t'go after that. /Prob'ly/ already good t'go s'jus' -- best t'. Be safe." Jax bonks his head lightly against Micah's chest, and stands, arm still hooked around the other man's waist. He tugs gently, urging his husband along towards the couch. "Y'want t'sit down, 'least, then? There's like a /imbalance/ of snugglin' goin' on." His teeth drag slowly across his lip, his brows pulling in together. "I expect he could, yeah. S'got a lotta -- rummagin' around in Sublime's -- head to. Do. Figure out how alla this -- stuff. Works could likely be on the -- list. Do you want t'talk to him?" His nose crinkles sharply. "The /Professor/, I mean. Not Sublime." There's a small knock at the door. Timid. Tap-tap-tap. The door opens just a crack after this, small blue head and enormous black eyes peeking-not-barging in, which definitely rules out them being /Shane's/. Micah lets himself be led with even the gentlest of tugs, weary and a little achey--even as his movement capabilities /improve/ they're still /foreign/ to his body and leading to a great deal of muscular protest. "Oh no...is snugglin' goin' t'the Dark Side?" He collapses into the couch corner, arms opened for Jax to settle in against him. "I mean, I guess? I just...need t'know. What he did t'my head. How the ability is in there. How t'make it go away, maybe. Whether /that's/ got anythin' t'do with the leg or not. But I can wait. I mean. He's got a lotta things t'do that're more important for now." The knock at the door turns Micah's head in that direction, a small smile greeting the small sharkface there. "Hey, B. What's up?" Jax's skirt swishes against his legs as he leads Micah over towards the couch, nestling in at his husband's side with a soft sigh. His head tucks carefully in against the other man's shoulder, hand running down to stroke fingers against Micah's gloved hand. He's /watching/ Micah's collapse, though, and his hand squeezes in gently once they're settled. "-- Does it hurt?" he wonders, quietly. And after that, "Are you gonna -- I mean, if it /do/ hafta do with the leg --" He bites down on his lip. "Well. I mean, I guess --" But then his eye is drawn over towards the door with the knocking, his own smile lighting warmly. "Hey, sugar. C'mon in, B. What's goin' on?" He tucks his legs in close, reaching out to pat the cushions beside them. Sebastian slinks around the door, closing it behind him. Initially he just leans back against it, nostrils flaring -- sniffsniff, sniffsniff, taking in both men by scent more than sight for a good few moments. He is, like his father, colourful, an asymmetrically cut dress in shades of green (actually, brand-new and never worn, he's /already/ pilfered it from Jax) with a number of multicolored dragonflies embroidered into it; it's probably thigh-length on Jax but it's looong on him; he's layered silver leggings beneath it with his chunky black-and-silver ankle boots. Thick rainbow-studded wrist cuffs that make his arms look even smaller. Sniff-sniff. Sniff-sniff. "... is something wrong with your leg?" He takes a few steps closer, stopping only after a couple steps to remember to take off his boots. He drops his messenger bag beside the couch, leaning in to rest his clawed hands on its arm and /frowning/ at his dads. Sternly. First at Micah, then at Jax. "Eloise said you went to see her and someone /ate half your neck/." His gills are fluttering quick-quick. He circles around to the front of the couch, not taking the offered place but kneeling down in front of it so that he can peer upwards at /both/ men. "A little. S'just kinda...achey /everywhere/. M'body just ain't never walked with two of this kinda leg before. An' it's takin' awhile t'integrate the control t'begin with. So. Achey." Micah just shrugs at that. Simple things to be anticipated when someone attaches a new leg to your body, apparently. "I don't know, honey. I don't. I never /wanted/ any of it. An' I don't...really know. S'why I need t'know how it all /works/. What's connected. What's fixable." He offers 'Bastian another little smile with a shake of his head. "'Side from the fact that it ain't mine? Precious little wrong. Not t'wor--" He bites his lip at the question of Jax's /neck/, eyes sliding sidewise to his husband's face to see...what his reaction is. What it looks like he wants to do or say. To Sebastian's keen nose Jax mostly just smells like a normal school day -- paints and charcoals, cocoa, cinnamon, a trip to the city with all /its/ accompanying smells. He brushes his thumb across the back of Micah's knuckles, bopping his head lightly against the other man's side. "How 'bout I give you a massage 'fore bed? Clothes on. Deal with some'a that ache. 'least help some'a the /little/ things while y'work on tryin' to figure on the big ones." He swallows at the question of his neck, tensing against Micah's side. His hand drops away from Micah's, curling in against his own chest instead. "Might'a been a small exaggeration." His tone is light, though a little forcibly so. "There was jus' a --" He hesitates, still tense. His eye squeezes shut, and opens again. "Was you two plannin' on goin' to Fight Club t'morrow?" Sebastian kneels, sitting back on his heels, dress pulled down over his knees. His brows rumple in together as Micah speaks, and he slumps in forward to prop his chin on the edge of the couch against where his fathers sit. "Fixable?" His eyes turn upwards towards them. "What part do you want fixed? The leg-part or the mind-part? Or both parts? I mean -- are you broken now?" His head lifts again, though, riveting in on Jackson. "Was a what?" His gills flutter again, eyes narrowing unhappy-concerned at Jax's tension. "She said it was /ugly/. Nobody ate you on /Monday/." His chin drops back to rest on the couch again, though his gills still flutter quick and restless; his clear nictating membranes blink quick, too, in time with them. "I have a lot of work but probably yes. Definitely if Flicker's up and about again." "Mmn. Honey, that sounds lovely, but you still got a /wrist brace/ on. Ain't exactly good massagin' material just right now." Micah's hand reaches up to pet at Jax's head, soft cloth on the bare skin looking like he means to /polish/ it, perhaps. "I dunno. The telepathy part, at least. Wouldn't be bad if I had /control/ of it. But I can't very well run 'round listenin' in on all my patients' thoughts. An' I can't...it makes it..." He looks at Jax's fingers running over his hand (glove), his hand (glove) on Jax's head. "At least that. I'm not /broken/, I'm just not...me. The leg is...complicated. If gettin' rid of it can make the /whole thing/ go away, that's what I'll do. It's just. If it /won't/? Don't know if I should be goin' through procedures /on purpose/ t'make m'self more of a hindrance t'folks. Kinda life we have." His shoulders curl in a bit with this, red tingeing his cheeks. "Right, that." Jax wrinkles his nose, frowning down at his hand. "Tomorrow, then. /So/ massagey." His head nuzzles up against Micah's hand, and then he settles back in comfortably. "We're gonna talk to the Professor 'bout -- seein' if he can get more information. On how this all /works/. So as Micah can have more information to even /make/ a decision on. Cuz there's a lot there to -- even weigh." His left hand lifts, touching lightly to the side of his neck, then dropping back to his lap. "Was ugly," he agrees then, softly. "Y'all stay with Flicker if you go, aright? An' at the safehouse -- well, they /shouldn't/ be lettin' nobody up in the attic alone nohow but they --" He straightens, pulling away from Micah as he sits upright, one knee pulling up against his chest; his skirt pools loose around him. "Kinda had a bad incident with Dusk the other night. He's in a real bad place right now. Shouldn't none'a y'all be alone with him no time soon, I don't think." "Can't chew on this leg." Sebastian points this out with a small bit of /grump/, poking a claw at Micah's khakis with a small huff as he sags in against the couch. His gills slowly calm, and he looks down for a long while at his knees, hands smoothing at his dress. "Ba?" He lifts his hands -- slow, cautious, resting them against Micah's lap. /Petting/ there, gently, against Micah's knees. "We do live -- kind of a. Ridiculous life but. But please don't." His gills are starting to flutter again and he looks down for a moment, looking back up only after a moment. "-- You just said it's -- it's not /you/, right? So work from there, okay? And I'm not, trying to tell you what's right or what's wrong to do? But don't decide because of what you think is better for /us/. /We're/ going to be here for you no matter what. /You/ need to -- live in that body. Like /forever/. So it has to be right for you. Like forever. And you've /never/ been a hindrance in our lives." His head is bowing, forehead touching to the backs of his knuckles where his hands still rest against Micah's knees, but Jax's words tip his head slowly sideways. Frowning. Deeply. "-- /incident/?" "It's okay, honey. It don't...feel like me. I guess it's prob'ly similar t'the way people feel when they /lose/ limbs, usually. But /usually/ they adapt to it. That /becomes/ them. Over time, right. We aren't static creatures." Micah's hand lifts away from Jax's head to pet (very /carefully/, so as not to get his glove stuck) at 'Bastian's hair. "Y'all are part of me. Anythin' that affects /you/, it's...affectin' me. I can't just write that off. I mean, there's been times..." Fortunately no one is picking up /his/ thoughts right now. Thinking how he almost got Jax and him both killed because he couldn't run, then was nearly defeated by his difficulty climbing. He winces at the incident questions, letting Jax handle that in his own way, in his own time and in his own words. "We'll get you a Kong, y'want summat t'gnaw on." Jax leans forward, pressing down at Sebastian's gills gently, then lean back against the couch once more. "B ain't wrong, though, honey-honey." His voice is softer, now. "Y'don't need write it /off/ but -- you feelin' /right/ in yourself is -- fair important t'/us/, too." He pulls his other leg up to join the first, resting his chin forward on his knees. "I -- like I said, Dusk ain't. Exactly himself, since he got out. He's been through a lot. I was up there with him, he kinda snapped. Attacked me. He -- weren't," he says slowly, his voice quiet and his shoulders tensing inwards, "in his proper mind really, 'tween the pain and the --" His legs press inwards, his arms tightening around them. "It wasn't jus' the biting, I don't think he knowed what he was doin' really. But I don't -- he needs help, right now. I don't want y'all alone with with him till he's gotten it." "I just know what it's like." Sebastian's voice has dropped to a whisper, now, his gills quieting under Jax's touch but fluttering again quickly when his father moves back. He turns his head in again, forehead pressed down against Micah's knees. "To be." His voice is small, hesitant. "Stuck in a body that's not -- right for you and I just don't want." He swallows, hands slowly sliding around beneath Micah's legs to squeeze around under his knees in a slow hug. He turns his head again, cheek pressing to Micah's knees as he looks over to Jax. His eyes widen, his breath catching and halting. "/Attacked/ you? Oh -- oh." His arms squeeze a little tighter. "Are you -- is he --" His eyes skim over Jax. "-- wasn't just -- but what -- but why -- are you /okay/?" "I'll invest in a dog bite sleeve or somethin' for y'all," Micah offers with a bit of a chuckle at 'Bastian's complaint and Jax's solution of chew toys. "An' I know. I know... It /don't/ feel right now. But I think...maybe I could get used to it? Over time. I dunno...I ain't never grown a new limb before." He sighs heavily at that, clearly uncertain in his own mind. He reclaims /both/ hands to reach over and stroke down 'Bastian's gills as they flutter more rapidly, touch careful not to catch the fabric barrier between them. He bites down on his lip through Jax's explanation of what happened. "Honey, Dusk...he's got PTSD. At the very least. His body ain't right t'/him/ right now. He can't see. His wings got took. He can't move like he's used to. He was tortured. An' now they're...hurtin' 'im t'keep the wounds from healin' in hope that he can get parts put back. An' they're starvin' 'im so 'is healin' ability don't work... He's kinda...gone feral. Just...fight or flight mode. An' he can't /fly/. So he's fightin' an' just.../takin'/ whatever he wants. He /can't/ think any better of it just now." "Don't s'pose growin' a new limb's somethin'a /whole/ lotta folks got experience with." Jax slowly tucks his legs back beneath himself, forcing the tension out of his clenched muscles. "I mean -- we're gonna be here for you no matter what y'end up decidin'. An' I'll talk with the Professor. T'night. About what he can learn -- about all --" His fingers wave towards his temple, and he drops his hand back to his knee. "I jus' -- want y't'be able t'make up your mind 'cuz'a it's the right decision for /you/ an' not --" He exhales heavily, head bowing. His fingers fidget restlessly with the crinkly folds of his skirt, a faint tremor in the light that shivers around his skin. It soon passes, evening back out to steadiness once more. "Don't none'a that make it any less -- I shoulda stopped it. I /was/ stopping it. I can /handle/ myself. 'least I /should/ -- I don't know what's the point'a /all/ my training if I --" His fingers scrunch in against his skirt, hard. "An' I coulda jus' burned him off but once he gone for my pants I jus' -- I was so scared I'd'a /killed/ him. Took the whole /safehouse/ with me if I'd -- I was panicking, when I'm panicking bad things --" His cheeks flush dark, his knuckles pressing to his lips. "'pologies. You jus'. Gotta be careful, he needs. A lotta. Help. Right now." His voice is a little bit choppy. Sebastian's gills press quietly flat at Micah's stroking. He unwinds his hands from around Micah's legs, lifting them to press them over top of Micah's gloved ones. His eyes are very bright when he looks up at Micah, fingers curling in against his fathers. "I just," he says, quiet and a little choked, "don't want you to have to always live like I do." His hands squeeze just a little tighter at Micah's talk of Dusk, eyes widening at the description of what Dusk has been through. It's Jax's further words that jerk his head up, though, a sudden harsh growl snarling up from his chest. "-- once he /what/." His lean muscles have tensed sharply, eyes fixed up on Jax. "Okay. Really...ain't no point tryin' t'make no decisions 'til we know what we're workin' with anyhow." Micah's eyes settle closed briefly, fingers idly petting over 'Bastian's gills. Until Jax goes back to.../apologising/? They /pop/ back open, lacking only the cartoon sound effect to go with. "Jax, honey. Don't you /dare/ start apologisin'. For not killin' Dusk or burnin' the place down. This is /not/ your fault. It's the...horrible result of a horrible situation an'... It got ended. An' no one is visitin' him alone anymore. Just...weren't no /good/ outcome t'be had there. We'll get 'im help. Lots of help." He spares a hand to brush at Jax's cheek gently. "You, too. You're gonna...talk about this with your counsellor, right?" "Oh -- honey-honey." Jackson's shoulders slump, a small furrow wrinkling his brow. "You /shouldn't/ hafta -- I mean, if you're feelin' like -- that's somethin' we should talk more about dealin' with too, B, you know?" He reaches out, running his fingers against Bastian's hair. His cheeks flush darker still, head dipping downward. "I jus'. I didn't. I just panicked. If you hadn't'a showed up, Micah -- an' gosh, if /he/ hadn't /stopped/ after that first hit --" /This/ thought makes him shudder badly, curling his arm around Micah and squeezing tight. "I got a appointment tomorrow but can I catch a ride with you? S'/Good/ Friday. M'gonna hafta /actually/ be fasting, I'm -- gonna be kinda a wreck till midnight." His teeth dig in against his lip at Sebastian's growl and he shakes his head slightly. "Like we said, sweetie, Dusk ain't himself just right now. We're workin' on gettin' him the care he needs to -- get back to a better." He swallows, hard, and can't quite repress the shudder that passes through him. "Better place'n he's in now." Sebastian's growl subsides. He pulls in a deep breath, closing his eyes. "Oh." His voice is small. He stands, smoothing his dress into place, and starts to lean in towards Micah -- then checks himself with an unhappy frown, shoulders slumping. He leans in to Jax instead, pressing a kiss to /his/ forehead. Squeezes Micah on the shoulder instead, and stands. "Okay. Okay." His gills are fluttering again, but soon press flat His hands run over his dress again. "Are you okay. Are you going to be okay?" "You.../look/ like y'been happier lately, too, honey. Maybe it'd help t'talk about it? With us, if y'want. But. Maybe /also/ with a counsellor? Jax's got one. I'm startin' up next week. We can all go. Get a family discount on the head-shrinkin'." Micah tries to hide how much B pulling away /hurts/, just closing his eyes for a moment. He kisses his gloved fingertips and brushes them against the teen's cheek in lieu of actual /contact/. Jax's talk of fasting again makes him cringe. "Does it count as cheatin' if we get Hank t'give you a couple IV's through the day so y'don't kill yourself? Things've been rough enough on you without that." Jax tips his face up into the kiss, lifting a hand to pet the backs of his fingers down B's gills. "Might could be a good idea, honey-honey. Comin' t'talk t'someone, too." He settles back, giving B a quick-small smile. "I'll be alright. Was rough but -- I'll be alright. Jus' be careful if you're goin' in for Fight Club tomorrow, yeah?" He wrinkles up his nose at Micah's question. "I'll drink a lotta juice. I ain't gonna die, sweetie. I been doin' this plenty enough years." "Maybe. Maybe." B's eyes close, through these touches of affection. "I'll be careful." He ducks his head, turning to scoop his messenger bag up and slip his boots back on. "Don't forget to get some dinner. Especially if you're skipping tomorrow." He slips his bag over his head, glancing back towards his fathers once more and then hurrying out of the room, closing the door quietly behind himself. "We are stuffin' your face until midnight. Or whatever the marker is for the not-eatin'," Micah insists. "Y'looked /horrible/ last time y'were tryin' t'do this, honey. Seriously. Like...juice an' electrolyte drinks or somethin'. /All day/ t'morrow. An' you're takin' it easy. An' /yes/ I'm drivin' you /everywhere/." He waves as B heads out the door. "Think about it, love. I can drive you to appointments if y'need. An' y'can already use the employee door, so that gets you 'round the protestor mess. Love you, honey." "I'll eat," Jax promises B. "Love you, sweetie." He settles back in comfortably against Micah as the teenager leaves, tucking himself against his husband's side, head nestling carefully against Micah's shoulder. "Don't have a lotta everywhere t'be 'cept here. Only jus' therapy an' Mass is all. Otherwise m'jus' gonna be 'round here all day." He slips his hand into Micah's, squeezing gently. "I'll take it easy, promise. Though speakin' of face-stuffin', how're you feelin' about dinner yet?" "Good," Micah pronounces...pretty much all of those plans. "Dinner. Like...buffet-style /so much/ dinner for you in the dinin' hall. With some kinda smoothies. An'...then sandwiches or somethin'. An' then dessert. An' then...vegan ice cream sundae bar. With all the things." "Think we can work all that, actually. S'some cherry amaretto an' some salted caramel in the freezer last I checked." Jackson giggles at Micah's declared dinner plans, nuzzling his face in against his husband's shoulder. He brings Micah's hand to his lips, kissing the back of the gloved hand firmly. "Though you're gonna hafta /roll/ me back up here, time we're through all that." “Oh, that sounds perfect.” Micah nuzzles back into Jax's shirt. Safe and cloth-y! “An' there ain't never trouble gettin' one place t'another 'round here. Get Aloke t'beam you up. Or Logan could just /tote/ you over a shoulder. Or...” The bad ideas may just /continue/ until food happens.