ArchivedLogs:Easter Brunch

Easter Brunch
(of the less churchy variety)
Dramatis Personae Melinda, Micah, Regan, Dusk, Sprout	20 April 2014 Part of the Perfectus TP.
Location <NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. Melinda has only been in the safehouse again for less than a day, but things are definitely different. For one, she's clean and showered and actually up and around, rather than spending all of her time on bed rest. The other is that there are new noises coming from her room, ones that seem weak and pathetic at times and shrill and obnoxious at others. Mel is doing her best to cope, but she is completely new to this. Just now, she is returning from the bathroom, wearing a knee length, cotton bathrobe over an oversized tank top and comfortable sleeping shorts. She is no where near returned to her original size and actually still looks a bit pregnant, despite the ease at which she is getting around. She doesn't go directly back to her room, but swings by the kitchen instead, setting out to make some coffee. Her fingers fumble her sleep mussed hair into a braid, which she twists in on itself to tuck into a bun, trying to keep it out of the way as she gets out the grinder to start breaking down the beans she gets from work. There's a hurry to her movements as if she doesn't expect to have much time to do it. There's also a pause and cringe just before she turns on the grinder, ears perking to listen to see who it wakes. Micah has been out and about this morning, dropping Jax off to his Easter Sunday mass and brunch at church, then moving on to fetch brunch from Home to-go. His auburn hair is still relatively neat for it being morning, clothes still tidy though consisting only of a thrift store aubergine henley shirt and jeans with worn sneakers. He has his messenger bag on one hip and several reusable canvas shopping bags hanging from each shoulder full of delicious breakfasty smells. He also has one of those to-go boxes with a spout in one hand promising /coffee/ and a clear to-go cup with a straw in the other hand full of what looks to be red juice. Upon reaching the door, somewhat ponderously, he realises that he has /no hands left/. An elbow hooks out to thud into the door. Not very loudly, so hopefully someone hears it. Thudthud. Regan doesn't, actually, normally live in the safehouse, having both her cabin on the island and her apartment up north to live in. But with an attic vampire in need of fairly constant care she has moved in and is, admittedly, looking fairly exhausted /for/ it, perhaps a bit of exhaustion to her sleepless expression herself. There are -- /also/ noises coming from the attic intermittently that might explain this. Weak and pathetic at times and loud-snarling-ferocious at others. Aside from the dark shadows, though, if she is new to this she seems to be coping with the new-parent strain fairly adequately. At the moment, at least. She's curled up on a couch in the living room, legs tucked beneath herself. In hiphugging black jeans and pale blue camisole, very soft white sweater unbuttoned over it, its sleeves long and falling mostly over her hands, she has a laptop on her lap that she is staring a little blankly at. Her hair falls loose down around her shoulders and -- the noise of the grinder draws her eyes /sharply/ upwards. Not towards the kitchen but towards the stairs, immediately. "Turn that /off/." It's not exactly /snapped/ towards the kitchen but it's quick and quite /edged/, as she unfolds herself from the couch to go open the door. "Micah." Her voice is quiet, her smile brief and tired. "Good morning." Somewhere up in the recesses of the house there's a grinding metal-on-metal shifting. Quiet and far away. Clank-clank-rattle, the scraping of chains. First slow and then faster. A thud-tug of something jerking against a wall. Mel does turn it off rather quickly, frowning at the amount of ground coffee produced. "Ah. Apologies." She sighs and pushes the grinder back on the counter, leaving the grounds there for now. She glances toward the other room, looking over at Regan sheepishly. But then there's the door. She turns and tilts her head to one side as she watches Regan answer the door, relaxing a little when Micah appears. The ties her bathrobe a little closer around herself and lifts a hand to wave. "Mornin', Regan, Mel! I come bearin' brunch. Figured the non-churgoin' folks deserve some delicious today, too." Despite his encumbrance, Micah has a little bounce to his step on the way to the dining table, where he sets down the drinks and bags and starts to unpack. "Okay, so, most importantly, we got a box of mocha to share 'round. Figured y'all prob'ly have regular coffee here, already, so I went with somethin' a little fancier. S'a dozen bagels with regular an' vegan cream cheese for those I didn't pick up specific orders for," he announces as he sets a box and two tubs beside it. Then he sets out individual meal containers, reading off their contents like a restaurant server. "Got one corned beef hash, two eggs over easy, wheat toast, and a cranberry juice for delivery to the attic. Broccoli rabe, asiago cheese, and ham omelette with a side of home fries for Regan. French toast with a side of sausage for Mel. Wild mushroom, spinach, and feta cheese omelette with diced tomatoes and scallions, side of garlic-cheesy grits...oh, that's mine." He chuckles, leaving that container directly in front of him. The last item he pulls out is a pastry box. "And a mountain berry crumb pie t'share, as well. Just make sure t'take a slice up with Dusk's stuff." He upends the last to disgorge individually plastic-wrapped sets of plasticware, napkins, and those little salt and pepper packets. "All we should need is mugs for the coffee!" Regan's eyes have flicked back towards the stairs even as Micah chatters; she ignores her own order, picking up the container due for the attic. "Pie. Right. I should get a slice of that and take it up now. Since," she's very much not looking at Melinda, now, just opening up the pastry box and peering inside, "he's up now anyway. -- Better not to let the eggs go cold, at least. Thanks, Micah." In contrast to his bounce, there's a faint weariness to her tone as she skirts around the other woman into the kitchen to get a knife to cut the pie with. She sets these down on the table along wih mugs. "You seem in a good mood." This, at least, puts a smile on her face. Melinda does her best to stand still, her impulse to grab the coffee mugs is supplanted by Regan's decisive movements. She waits until the other woman is finished gathering things before proceeding to join Micah near the table. "Hey, hun," she leans into give Micah a hug from the side. "Hope the restaurant wasn't too much of a mad house. I know Easter brunch tends to bring out the large groups." She peels away and looks between the coffee mugs and the coffee before twisting off the top and starting to pour out mochas in at least three of the mugs. "Thanks, sugar. You're an absolute dear takin' care of 'im like this." Micah curls an arm gently around Regan's shoulders, his hand notably wrapped away in a thin charcoal-grey glove. "An', yeah. It's /gorgeous/ outside. Everybody's dressed up in cheerful colours. Kids are all excited. An' it's /Easter/, so the husband's finally stoppin' with all the fastin' an' whatnot. Poor guy always looks like he's two blinks from face-plantin' when he does that." Mel gets a more enthusiastic hug with a little squeeze. "I called the order in 'fore I left Westchester, so all I had t'do was grab it an' go. Carryin' it was the hardest part, honest." His smile broadens further yet. "How're you an' the Sprout? I can hang 'round an' keep an eye on her for a bit if there's somethin' y'needed to dedicate actual attention to. Jax's gonna be busy for quite the minute with brunch even /after/ church an' y'know he's gonna wanna help clean up an' all after... So I won't even need t'pick 'im up for quite a bit." Regan leans into the arm Micah curls around her, smile twitching up just a touch wider as she slips an arm back around him for a small return squeeze of hug. "Spring does make everything seem more hopeful, doesn't it? Even --" Her eyes flick up towards the stairs again. "Good. Good." Her smile drops away at the mention of Mel's spawn, twisting more /wry/ than before. She answers /for/ Melinda, /dry/, as to how Mel+child are: "Loud." Slicing off a piece of the pie, she tucks it into a corner of Dusk's container of food, taking a plastic-wrapped set of utensils and the clear plastic cup of cranberry juice. "I'll be back." She slips off up the stairs, taking Dusk's food up with her. Melinda smiles sheepishly as she finishes the pouring, lips opening to respond, but nothing comes out once Regan has spoken. She smiles politely and sets down the coffee, pulling one of the mugs in toward herself. "Oh, Micah. You don't have to be doing something in order to see her. Just wanting to is enough. Besides, I am still not ready to really leave her alone, yet." She watches Regan depart. "The only reason I'm not carting her around is that she's actually sleeping right now. Maybe. I should probably go check. It's... so very hard keeping her quiet." She takes a quick sip of her coffee and moves around the table to head back toward her room. "I'll be right back." "Pretty much everythin'," Micah agrees with an emphatic nod. "Take it you're not a cuddly baby person?" He chuckles at Regan's summary of the infant's status. "Oh, I know, sugar. It's just...sometimes y'need a minute just t'finish /one thing/. Or, heaven forbid, take a shower or a nap. So I thought I'd offer since I'm gonna be about for a spell, anyhow. Definitely don't wake the little one if she's /actually/ sleepin' for once, though. I'm sure she'll be up 'fore I leave." Selecting a utensil packet for himself, he tears it open and pulls out the salt and pepper to sprinkle lightly over his omelette. Melinda returns from peeking into the room as quietly as possible, lips pursed hard. "She looks like she is still asleep." She pads back over to the table and settles into a seat next to Micah. "I... don't know if she's not a baby person or if she's simply more invested in taking care of Dusk. Every time she cries, he kind of looses it upstairs." She reaches over and finds her breakfast and a packet of utensils, settling in to get ready to eat. "If she keeps aggravating him, we may need to find somewhere else to go." She spears a sausage link on her fork and starts to nibble on one end. From upstairs there's another rattling, very abruptly. A sudden burst of snarling-growling, harsh and ragged against a backdrop of scraping metal, thumping-tugging. Dusk -- may not /need/ the little one to get set off. But then, someone /did/ just come into his Lair. "Good, then maybe you'll get a chance t'eat 'fore it's cold. Though even cold French toast is still delicious." Micah picks up his fork and knife to cut a few pieces of his omelette free. "Oh. I wonder if...it's just the sound. Or if he realises that it's /her/ an' he's missed gettin' t'see her." The bright expression that had been living on his features darkens some, a glance sent ceiling-ward. "We can't even bring 'im /pictures/." He spears a bite of omelette and chews it slowly. "D'you have any options of places t'go? I wonder... I mean if we told your situation t'the school. Y'got a /newborn/ an' she's.../exquisitely/ beautiful, but very obviously special. Maybe they'd grant you /asylum/ or somethin'." "Ah... that's intensely optimistic for the things I've heard around the house." Melinda bites her lips as she stares at her sausage link. "No. I don't really have places to go lined up." She looks over at Micah once he starts talking about the school, a deep breath giving her pause to think. "Ah. I'm ... I'll think that over - as sort of a ... back up plan. I think I'll try looking for places that well, don't need to be convinced. Maybe Hanna and Jayna will renew their offer. Maybe I'll just find a hotel with a monthly rate that isn't too high." She picks up her knife and scoots the sausage off her fork before diving into the French toast. "Thanks for picking up breakfast, hun." The harsh snarling continues from the attic, rattle-thump of chains jangling in furious struggling. The growling sounds first angry, a blind-guttural rage that -- slowly just peters into a more rasping /pain/. And then grows too soft to hear over the drag-clink of chains. Thud-scrape. Thud-scrape. Eventually even that slows, and fades. "I don't know. Last time I saw 'im, he's...still /in there/. Gets buried under the pain an' the isolation an' what /happened/ to 'im. But he was still there. He recognised me an'...at least /signed/ with me," Micah pauses to cringe, eyes drawn upward once more, "when he had the chance t'calm down." He nods understanding at Melinda's housing choices. "Just know we'll find /somethin'/ for you. It's not that...they'd even need /convincin'/ so much as it's not /typical/ for folks as ain't affiliated with the school directly t'be stayin' there." A little smile returns at the thanks. "More'n welcome, sugar. Y'know I like feedin' people." And himself, more bites of omelette followed by a spoon of grits once they're no longer made of delicious /lava/. Melinda relaxes a little when the noises die down a little upstairs, cutting up all the bites of food for the time being. "I apologize, Micah. I'm not trying to turn down your offer or say that the school wouldn't want me, I just - I know I'm living off charity and that it wears on people, especially with the kid crying every few hours. You'll have to forgive my morose state. Reality is crashing in pretty hard." She sniffs a little and puts down her fork. "As far as Dusk goes, I don't know. He's been in pain a long time. That changes people. He may still be in there, somewhere, but finding him inside sounds like it's getting harder and harder to do." "Hey, no. No apologisin', sugar. I just didn't want you t'get the wrong impression 'bout how welcome y'might be anywhere." Micah reaches a gloved hand out to pat at the back of Melinda's once it is no longer working at cutting up food. "Gettin' a little down after givin' birth can happen even /without/ havin' this much on your plate. The hormones aren't quite done with you yet, either." The corner of his lips curls in a hint of smile. "We're gonna help him, too, hon. It's just...that there were /so many/ needin' help all at once. An' I think our main miracle healer's intimidated by the whole...wings thing. Would be good just t'get his /eyes/ helped, though. Even if she doesn't know what t'do 'bout the other yet. An' we got...folks with abilities at the school. Are workin' on findin' out what they can from Sublime 'bout maybe...reversin' things. If it's possible. I mean, we ain't /found/ nobody with stolen wings on 'em yet..." "Oh god, Micah, all I want to do is cry. How the hell do people do this, and talk about it like it's some sort of magical thing?" Melinda draws in one very deep sniffle and rests her elbows on the table, hands reaching up to scrub at her face. "I just know this is a short time period in which everything feels like it's hanging on by the strength of our collective fingernails. I'm having a hard time seeing around the now. I'm grateful, I really am grateful for how everyone is helping." If there's a but to add to that statement, she keeps it to herself. "I can't even hug him to tell him it's going to be all right. I'm just down here making things worse for him. I don't want that. I want him to have a peaceful place while he's waiting for help." Micah scoot-scoots his chair over closer to Mel's, leaning in to circle an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, honey. Have y'made sure t'keep up with your doctor 'bout how you're feelin'? The hormone crash after givin' birth's no /joke/. They may wanna look into some meds. t'help balance if y'need. Your system can really go haywire for a bit while it adjusts. Not that I'm sayin' y'can't /just/ be sad or overwhelmed, too." His arm squeezes tighter. "I just wanna make sure you're bein' taken care of right. An' you're /not/. You're /not/ makin' things worse for 'im. I had... Someone gave me some real good advice 'bout this whole thing. Ain't /none/ of our fault. S'the creepy kidnappin', mutilatin' /cult's/ fault. You're just tryin' t'care for your /daughter/. An' it's hard. It's hard not bein' able t'hold Dusk, I know. I'm gonna see if he'll answer a phone later. Try readin' to 'im. Anythin' that might help 'til this is /better/." There are quiet footsteps on the stairs. Regan is returning, the cup of cranberry juice emptied in her hands, the container of food left perhaps in the attic. She looks -- a little bit more worn than before, slightly paler, returning to settle down in a chair at the table and take /her/ food, somewhat colder, and her cup of coffee. She tucks her hair behind her ear, lips compressed as she unwraps plasticware. Starts in on her omelette in quiet. "It's only the second day, Micah. I will keep up with the doctors, but for right now, I just... have to stop moving for a little while. Settle in a bit, maybe." Melinda rests her head against the side of Micah's neck, her hair providing decent enough protection from accidental telepathy. "Figure out what is going on with all of the guys." She draws her coffee cup close, using the hot liquid to push down the lump in her throat. When Regan comes back, she looks over hopefully, but then remains quiet, not asking what might be an obvious question. She straightens up and turns back to eating. "I know, honey. Apologies, I just...fuss. It's what I do." Micah gives Mel a squeeze of her shoulders, a light kiss placed to the top of her head, on hair rather than skin. Then he pulls away to let her sit up and finish eating. His brow furrows slightly at Regan's expression and silence upon returning. "You okay, honey? Anythin' I can get for you, or...?" See? Fussing. "You are excellent at fussing," Regan agrees, amusement creeping into her tone. "The guys?" She picks up her coffee cup, swallowing a mouthful of mocha. She slices off a piece of omelette, focusing for a moment on quiet eating. At the continued fussing she just gives a chuckle, a shake of her head. "You got me breakfast. Unless you have a time-turner I'm not sure what else I could need. I'm going to need it next week." She may not have actually /mentioned/ the whole oh yeah doctor now thing to Micah, it's been a busy month. "Ah. Yes. The guys. Her fathers." Melinda chooses the words carefully, grabbing her knife to cut the sausage up too, to mix with her French toast. She tries to eat, but finds food daunting. "People helped shape her life into being, though in none too stable circumstances themselves right now." She glances over at Micah and exhales again, keeping it short and simple. "Thanks," Micah replies to Regan with a lopsided grin, choosing to take that as purely a compliment. "People sure been askin' me t'manipulate time a lot lately. I'm gonna assume it's the /van/." He remembers his coffee and grabs his mug to take a healthy swig from it. "Was gonna ask Jax if he wanted t'swing by an' visit Hive an' Flicker after the whole Easter thing. You'n Sprout wanna come with?" "Stability's been in kind of short supply around here for --" Regan exhales a sharp snort. "Months. Months and months. Maybe it's overrated? We seem to muddle along fine enough /without/. Maybe your child will just learn to be very adaptable." She takes another hungry bite of omelette, /her/ appetite, at least, seeming untouched by current crisis. "Dusk celebrates," she muses, a little more distantly. "The whole Easter. Thing. But I'm not really entirely sure how to bring /that/ to him." "If a sugar buzz isn't going to be too uncomfortable, I suppose we can bring him as much vegan chocolate as he can manage. Get him easter lilies to fill the attic with the smell." Melinda considers the situation for another moment, rising once more to check on her kid. "I suppose we could give him a recording of some service from this morning, but that's more on people who know better what kind of celebration he prefers. I haven't had an Easter with him yet." She then ducks into the room and speaks quietly to the tiny one found in there, bringing her back out as she finishes the conversation. The tiny being's petals are not as prevalent as they were the day of her birth, but she still has quite a few white flecks adorning her green scalp. "I think this one will adapt fine. I'm mostly dealing with hyper-overprotective urges." Mel also has two smallish chocolate chip cookies in her free hand, pressed to the baby's back. "Not so much overrated as just...really hard t'find an' /keep/, I'd say. Stability's...nice. When y'can have it." Micah makes his way through a few more spoons of his grits. "Ohgosh, I don't know much 'bout the /actual/ Easter thing. Can sure do bunnies an' eggs an' candy, though. Jax might be a better person t'ask on the rest of it." He smiles broadly once more as Mel returns with the little one. "Oh, protective's gonna be a thing. That's just your momma-genes kickin' in. An' there's the precious one. I wonder if she'll do that thing where babies sometimes loose the hair they start with an' it comes back a dif'rent colour, just more...petally?" His nose and the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly with the huge smile he turns on the baby. "I was thinking more the God part," Regan admits, "candy we can get him every day. Not sure I know many pastors are that willing to spend time with --" She glances towards the stairs again, eyes shifting away with a very small twitch of smile only when Melinda returns with the small flower-child. "I guess she'll have to, won't she?" Her lips curl upward, briefly, eyes skimming over the infant before dropping to her omelette to work her way through it before it gets /too/ much colder than it already has. "Maybe," she suggests with mild amusement, "she'll be like real flowers. Add some food colouring to her drinks and it'll start tinting the petals." "Oh, goodness," Melinda replies, blinking at the thought. "Now I'm imagining kool-aid dyeing from the inside." She gives a little smile and resume her seat, the sleepy infant waggling her little limbs as she starts to wake further. "When you're done eating, you can hold her, okay?" This is offered to Micah as she exchanges her cookies for the plastic fork. "Yeah, maybe via skype? I mean, for the pastor. It'll still be hard. Does he have a pastor that he trusts already? Can't imagine that someone who cares about him won't want to try." "Oh, I am /not/ gonna say no t'that," Micah answers the offer of baby cuddles with a chuckle, tucking in to the remaining bit of his omelette with renewed gusto. "Ohgosh, dyein' the baby... Poor thing. With all the delicious /actual/ fruit juices in the world, the only excuse for Kool-Aid is serious financial straits, so at least y'shouldn't have t'worry on that /too/ much." He's still giggling over the whole idea. "Best I could do is ask Jax for y'all. Very much...not m'field. I was plannin' t'call an' read novels at 'im later, but maybe Jax can recommend Bible passages or somethin' instead?" "Hm." Regan washes down the last of her omelette with a gulp of mocha, leaving the potatoes largely untouched. "Maybe. I should check on --" For a moment her brow furrows. "Excuse me. Micah, thank you for breakfast." She ducks away from the table, swiping her laptop off the couch and taking it /with/ her as she heads up the attic stairs again. "Psh, Micah. I fully intend to give her good and healthy stuff, but she's going to have teen years and exploration of all sorts of different... colors and everything. I mean, I did kool-aid dyeing because it was a teen thing to do." Mel carefully brings a bite of food to her mouth, leaning over so that nothing drops on the baby. Her fork is then laid down as she chews and presents a finger for the small one to hold. "And.. yeah, I'd love to head over with you to see Hive and Flicker. She's not supposed to go out much, but it's not like we're going to a restaurant... or out on public transportation." "Welcome, honey," Micah replies to Regan as she excuses herself from the table. He finishes off the last of his omelette and picks up the small cup of grits to scrape the final spoonfuls from it as well. He chuckles softly at a thought. "I just had...the most precious mental image of Jayna givin' her hairdressin' tips when she's older." The goofy smile on his face isn't going anywhere as he watches the tiny little fist grip onto Mel's finger. "Should be okay, just straight there an' back. Car seat, warm clothes, snuggly blankets, diaper bag. She'll be all set for a short visit, at least. Fewer people in an' out of Hive's office than there are here, as it is." Micah stands to clear away his own dishes, taking Regan's potatoes and wrapping them back up to stash in the refrigerator for her to finish later. He returns to the table to sit and sip at his coffee. Once Micah is settled again, Melinda moves to hold the child out for him to take. "Here. Gentle... and all that stuff you remember." Her arms are a little hesitant as she releases the infant into Micah's arms, reluctant to let her go. "Oh, I'm sure she and Jayna will have plenty to talk about. We're going to be neighbors. I'm sure they'll bond plenty in a month or so. They'll probably bloom together every year." Her finger presses lightly against the baby's cheek. "It'll be good to see the guys. I'm just... fretting." Micah abandons the coffee and pulls his gloves off to handle the baby, unable to give the /gloves/ a quick washing prior to handling, so his hands are the cleaner option. Particularly after a little rub-over with vanilla scented sanitizer from his pocket. There isn't nearly as much to worry over accidental telepathic snippets from a still-forming mind, after all. "Y'can have her back as soon as you're done eatin', sugar," Micah reassures, cradling the infant close with practiced ease, head braced in the crook of his elbow. "Ohgosh, I'm just picturin' that. Y'all are gonna have 'bout a whole /forest/ in your buildin'." "Yeah, it's going to be a pretty interesting set up. I'll at least know a little more where Jim is on an average day - but I don't know if he goes home all that often." Melinda turns back to her food and starts digging in a little more. She makes short work of at least one slice of French toast, her appetite not quite back to what it used to be. She does supplement this with one of her cookies. She leans back to drink coffee while she nibbles on the pastry. "And you guys will be closer too. And..." her gaze wanders upward once more, sighing. "He's got to get better. I miss him." "It'll be nice, havin' so many people close. Even better'n the Lofts. S'been one of the harder things... Bein' way out in Westchester an' everybody scattered 'round everywhere else. S'closer t'the twins more often, but still." Micah's torso rotates just slightly back and forth in a subtle rocking motion for the child in his arms. "We just gotta get 'im /healed/ already. Stop this constant pain. Let 'im feel like a /person/ 'stead of just some...dangerous wounded creature chained in an attic." His teeth worry at his lower lip. "Miss him, too." "It's pretty horrible." Melinda continues, spearing sausage and bready bits a moment later. "Every time I hear him, I just want to go up there... but know I can't. Maybe if we got an entirely kevlar suit with thick patches he can't get his teeth through." The baby is content and quietly waking, her mind taking in the little bits of new input from Micah - the way he smells, the feel of his hands, the way his mind feels as well. The tang of alcohol in the hand sanitizer is a bit offensive, but she's smelled worse. Like her diaper a little bit ago. It fades quickly too. Melinda sneaks herself another half cup of coffee as she rises. "Do you want any water, Micah? Gotta keep yourself hydrated." "I don't even know if it's better or worse to... I mean, they've got 'im restrained. I'm sure...could be up there without bein' in /reach/ of 'im. S'just. Is that better or worse than not goin' at all? I don't know. What /I/ would want." Micah's mind is a clash of worry-concern for Dusk and just...delighted snuggly-warmth as he looks down at the infant's tiny features. "It's fascinatin'. Bein' able to feel...what she's thinkin'. I can only imagine what it's been like for Hive." A pleasant little smile finds its way back onto his face, the index finger of his free hand tracing over one of the child's small fists. "Of course, please. Water's always a good plan." "I think I would hate to think of the horrible things I did and the people I hurt, when things get better. I want to be there for him, but I think he wouldn't be able to handle it if he hurt me." Melinda heads to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water and then fetches one for Micah. "But I've got the kid to think of though. She can't do anything without me." She returns to the table and places one glass next to her friend and settles back in to finish her second cookie. "Hive is completely under her spell. Been talking to her for the longest time. I think that even if he wasn't there when she was conceived, he might have become attached to her anyway." "It's...yeah, it's gonna be rough. I hate to think what things're gonna be like with Jax an' Dusk later." Micah continues his slow rocking with the infant. "Thank you, for the water. Y'know she's gonna be taken care of, right? No matter what. This group...she's gonna be /so/ well cared for." He laughs softly at the descriptions of Hive. "Oh, how could he /not/? She's perfect."