ArchivedLogs:Family Time and Action Plans

Family Time and Action Plans
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Hive, Micah, Jackson, Spencer
In Absentia	16 December 2013 About that Registration news... (Part of Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. There's a lull, around the end of a work day but too early for dinner, when things are /quieter/ even around a house as crowded as this one. Flicker's picked up Spencer from school but the /both/ of them have homework, the twins at school, Jax not yet home from his classes. The living room is /occupied/, but a quiet sort of occupied. Lucien, plainly dressed in jeans and button down that fades from black to grey, is perched on the couch where he's been for quite some time. His hand rests over Hive's, his eyes closed; he might almost be sleeping, save for the distinct lines of tension drawn into his expression. Jaw a little too clenched, eyes pressed a little too tight. Hive has a book, again. Sitting on the other side of the couch in jeans and a Grumpy Bear sweatshirt, he's not so much reading his book as he is blankly staring at it, looking faintly nauseated as Lucien messes with his head. Occasionally his eyes slip closed, but mostly he stares down at the words, lips compressing here and there. "-- You doing okay?" he finally ventures. Small sounds are louder in a quiet room. As such, the clink and clatter of Micah's keys at the door serve as more of an alarm to his presence than they otherwise might. The locks tumble and thud open, the door squeaking slightly on its hinges as it is pushed open and then closed again, the locks catching once more on the closed door. There are a few moments of shifting and shuffling as outerwear and boots are removed and settled into their keeping places. Micah's clothes (consisting of a grey long-sleeved T-shirt over navy pants) smell strongly of a day spent in an auto shop, despite having been worn under coveralls for much of it. Upon looking up and noticing Hive and Lucien at work, he smiles sheepishly and gives a little wave in greeting. When he speaks, it is in hushed tones. "Ohgosh. You guys look...busy. I can hop off for a few an' just let...workin' happen." He gestures down the hall, even going so far as to take several steps in that direction. The tension in Lucien's expression grows, first at the question and then at the sound of keys in the locks. "Fine." His voice is clipped, and he pulls his hand from Hive's to rub hard at the hollows of his eyes. "I am fine. We are, though, done for today." Though his hand drops back to rest fingertips lightly on the back of Hive's and for the question, "How do you feel?" His tone doesn't sound like this is a pleasantry, his mutation verifying the truthfulness of the answer for himself. He glances up over the back of the couch towards Micah. "Working is through. Did you have a productive day?" "Like I'm going to puke," Hive answers honestly. "But it's easier to think. Less noisy. I mean, keeping everyone else's thoughts separate from mine is less -- noisy." He doesn't glance up when Micah enters. His eyes are scrunched shut again, his lips pressed together. He draws in a slow breath. "You seen the news, man?" Micah pauses in his retreat to the bedroom and perhaps shower, moving closer to the pair instead. His eyebrows knit in concern. “You both don't look like you're feelin' too hot. Anythin' that'll help...either of you? Painkillers? Water? Tea?” He musses his fingers through his already-messy hair. “Productive...in a havin' a job kinda way. Did some deliveries for my own work this mornin', then a full shift at the shop.” He shakes his head at the question of the news. “Ain't been able to look at any of it m'self, but heard people talkin' registration. That it passed, at least.” "You only just returned from work yourself, Micah, you should take time to settle in at the least. Though once you have had a chance for that -- really, when do I ever say no to tea? Do you have any oolong? Unflavoured?" Lucien sounds hopeful. He looks briefly queasy himself as Hive speaks, though it passes when he moves his hand away from the telepath's. "Passed, yes. I happen to be acquainted with one of the Senators who helped draft this latest version. Charming woman, we met at Norman Osborn's ill-fated party." His head shakes, posture sinking back against the couch. "I suppose it may or may not affect your family overmuch. Nobody here was exactly in the closet to begin with." "S'more productive than /I've/ goddamn been," Hive gripes. "S'pretty much sit, sit, get brain poked at, sit." He tips his head back to look at the ceiling, still breathing slow and deep in the manner of someone still attempting to Not Throw Up. "You gonna register?" This question could be to either of the others. "... if they're classing people by how /dangerous/ they are, I can't imagine this is gonna help my case with immigration one-fucking-bit." “Do we have any oolong? Jax still lives here, y'know,” Micah answers with a slip of a grin. “No, I think pretty much everybody knows Jax. An' the twins are...a little on the obvious side. Spence is prob'ly too /young/ for any kinda government requirements, I would think? 'Less they're thinkin' t'hold parents legally responsible for registerin' children, now. But /he/ doesn't even get t'be a secret with all the media goin' on anyhow. I'd think...any folks as was in the labs is already pretty well-known t'the government anyhway, yeah? Don't they have whole...files on you guys?” He arches a brow at Hive, the inquiry aimed his way. Moving to the kitchen, he fetches two glasses of water, then sets the glasses down by the others. “I'm just gonna rinse off an' change /real quick/ an' I'll get the kettle on when I come back, for tea. Won't be but a couple minutes.” With this, he finally completes the retreat to the bedroom, emerging a moment later carrying fresh clothes to the bathroom. "There is little indication as yet what the requirements will be. Perhaps the children will skate by for some time." Lucien's mouth hooks upwards at the mention of the government already knowing about the folks in the lab. "I think you overestimate the competence of government agencies when it comes to distributing information. The /labs/ knew about them, for sure. I think the fact that Hive managed a work visa at all is evidence enough that that information had not yet been shared with the Immigration people." He nods at Micah in thanks, leaning forward to claim a glass of water and sip from it slowly. "I suppose whether I register or not depends on the penalties for not doing so. Or for doing so." "Not really sure what files they have left, actually." Hive looks up towards the ceiling, eyes staying steadily on it. "We had a friend -- they nabbed him back. Fuckin -- most ridiculous powerful technopath you'll ever -- I don't /want/ to know what the hell they're doing with him now. But during our raids -- in between them, when he could -- he used to go after all the information they had on us. I mean, shit, there's /people/ at those labs who know all-the-hell about us but it's probably hit or miss if they want to go through the trouble of trying to remember our legal names to go make sure we've registered properly." He shrugs, getting to his feet. As Micah heads off to one bathroom, he heads off to the other, the pleasant sounds of vomiting coming soon from behind the closed door. After ducking into the bedroom briefly to ditch dirty clothes into a laundry hamper, Micah returns to the living room in fresh clothes and spiky-wet hair. He has switched into a sage green sweater over a white T-shirt, bluejeans, and moss green socks decorated in knotwork patterns. His nose scrunches a little as he darts a look back at the other bathroom door. “I think I'll make 'im some ginger tea, along with your oolong. Anythin' else y'need from the kitchen, Luci?” Wandering back into the kitchen, he preps two mugs with tea balls of oolong and one with ginger-mint while the kettle warms. "Convenient," Lucien murmurs, fingers tapping against the side of his glass. When left alone he sips it slowly, and then sets it down to just ooze down against the arm of the couch, resting his head on the crook of his arm. "What do you think the government would do with an immensely powerful technopath?" He shakes his head in answer to Micah's question. "No. Thank you. Just the tea will be wonderful. -- Do you imagine your husband will register?" Hive emerges from the bathroom eventually, mouth a little wet from where he's thoroughly rinsed it out. "Nothing." He moves back over to slump down on the opposite end of the couch from Lucien. "If I were them I'd kill him. If they're smart, he's already dead." He picks up his glass, too, taking a large gulp. "That stubborn-ass bastard? He'd still be fighting his damn ticket from last year except they /dismissed/ it -- even though he didn't want them to -- so that it wouldn't turn into a huge court deal and media fiasco. I feel like any cop that tries ticketing him again might get fired just for the legal hell they'll bring down on their departments when he starts fighting it all over again. Dumbass would refuse to register just so that he /can/ fight it." “Pretty much what it does now, just more effectively. Spy on everyone an' everythin' they can get away with.” Micah pours hot water into the mugs, setting a timer on his phone before returning to the living room to sit near Lucien on the couch. “Think he won't want to, but may have to. If it were just him? Maybe he wouldn't. But with the kids t'worry about s'prob'ly gonna be a different story. I mean, dependin' on how they enforce it. Everybody'n their brother already knows his genetic status, so. If someone wanted t'make trouble they easily could check t'see if he'd done it. What if they make the punishment for not registerin' jail time? An' if they just won't let you /do/ anythin' in an official capacity without an updated license, for example, with loans or school or work? Just ain't /functional/ not to. I'm not puttin' anythin' past these people.” "Mmm." Lucien hums thoughtfully, half-turning so that he can look at both the other men. "I suppose there would be some difficulty in giving him access to any equipment. He could contact /you/ lot in far less time than it would take to do any work they'd likely want out of him." He takes another slow sip of water, fingers drumming against his glass again. "I imagine they'll have to make the punishment sufficiently severe. Else what incentive would anyone have -- I would take a /fine/ over the complete loss of my reputation and livelihood any day." "He could contact us. And /he's/ probably got plenty of information on Prometheus right there in his head." Hive runs his fingers through his hair, slumping in closer to Micah's other side when Micah sits down. "I'm just feeling kind of like I should start packing," he admits -- not really in an /unhappy/ tone, just a matter-of-fact one. "Cuz -- yeah. Not putting anything past these people." “I don't know. I s'pose they could make a sufficiently exorbitant fine that /most/ of the genetically enhanced community'd have no way of payin'. 'Specially considerin' how hard it is t'get access t'school an' work /already/. That'd give an out t'anyone adequately moneyed, too, which is...kinda how things tend t'work...directly or indirectly. Could do any /combination/ of things, too. The passive enforcement through bureaucratic an' licensin' issues. Large fines with alternatives of jail time for non-payment. Or somethin' even worse'n I'm capable of comin' up with on the fly. There's always that.” Micah shakes his head, moving /his/ hand to pet at Hive's hair with that admission. “Honey, I wouldn't...go willin'ly through that door 'til they push y'through it, y'know? Might be it never happens. Might be it takes a long /time/ t'happen, considerin' what a lumberin' beast the government tends t'be, anyhow. If y'don't wanna go, hang on as long as y'can.” "I don't imagine it would have to be all that exorbitant to put it out of most people's reach. The majority of the country does not have all that much leeway when it comes to disposable income. Less so," Lucien tips his hand towards Micah in agreement, "the majority of mutants in the country. I expect it would have to be a fairly steep fine indeed to make it worth /my/ while to pay. But, as you say, that is how these things tend to work." He looks over at Hive, thoughtful. "Would that be so bad? Are your other options so far worse than here?" "Well. Got sixty days, more or less, before I've got to worry about it." Hive exhales sharply when his head is pet at, scrunching up his eyes and leaning his head -- up /into/ it despite his irritated expression. "Ffft. No. Quebec's fine. Thailand's better. I just don't like people fucking /beating/ me. Assholes. Shitty bureaucracy might buy us all some time, though. -- Don't suppose," he asks with a side-flicked glance to Lucien, "you know any judges you could fuck to help get this shit overturned?" "Well, 'exorbitant' bein' a relative term. I imagine my definition'd be a fair sum different from your own," Micah concedes. He rather ignores Hive's grumpy-face, taking his /movements/ instead as permission to continue pettings. His fingers move to massage lightly at the telepath's scalp. Hive's question layers several shades of red over Micah's cheeks. When the phone in his pocket buzzes, he pats Hive's shoulder gently. "Hold that thought, I'll be right back with tea." Retreating hastily to the kitchen, he clears the tea balls and scoops up mugs in both hands to deliver to the living room. "S'a ginger-mint," he informs Hive of the cup placed on the table in front of him. "Might help settle your stomach." His own cup meets the table, as well, though he hands Lucien's over to him before returning to his seat. Rattle-thunk, rattle-thunk, Jackson is returning home from class once again somewhat chilled, though today he seems still bouncy enough he hasn't actually attained icicle status. He removes his boots by the door, hanging up his outerwear; beneath he has faded jeans kind of paint-speckled and his black HERBIVORE hoodie. His less-than-frozen status doesn't /stop/ him from leaning up against the back of the couch -- Lucien and Hive get kisses delivered to the tops of their heads. Micah gets /icyhands/ slipping down the neck of his shirt to press against his back. "Hiiiiii, honey-honey, m'home. Jim's comin' for dinner at some point -- um. What do we got to whip up for dinner?" Lucien exhales a slow laugh, head shaking slightly. He doesn't immediately answer, though; first he needs to pick up his tea, spend a while inhaling its steam before he takes a very small sip. "I do, in fact. A couple." He doesn't elaborate more than this, just sipping slowly at his tea. "You seem in remarkably good spirits." He sounds amused after his kiss on the head. "Did you know, that sixty days from today is Valentine's Day? You could go register together, by way of a date." The mention of Jim just makes him stand -- cup still in /hand/. "I should leave you to your evenings. Thank you for the tea, Micah." Which he's apparently making off with, back to next door. "Yeah, and if my whole apartment pools our money we might be able to scrape up enough to buy /one/ of our ways out of a decent-sized fine." Hive's head turns, slowly pressing into Micah's fingertips, the raised ridges of old surgical scars easy to feel beneath his shaggy hair. "Mmm. Might want to get on that. Or them get on you. Whatever way around it works. I think a lot of people are likely to be pretty fucking boned in the meantime." He lifts a hand, stretching out a /fist/ towards Lucien -- but then thinking /better/ of it and dropping his hand back to his lap. "Oh. Thank you." He sounds relieved when he takes the ginger tea. His head thunks back against the back of the couch, and he crooks a smile up at Jax. "Fuck you all cheery about, asshole, the news today was nothing but shitty." "Hey, hon!" Micah greets brightly as Jax returns. Though /some/ of the bright dulls off with the sudden freezing fingers down his shirt. He doesn't protest so much as gasp breathlessly at the unexpected /cold/. "Oh. Oh/gosh/. My husband's done gone an' got body-swapped with an /ice-beast/ again. Really need t'start takin' better precautions against such things." He reaches for his teacup, not to drink from it but rather to pass it up to Jax. "I think y'need this more'n I do, sugar. S'oolong, just finished steepin', so careful. Hot still. Um...we got a decent amount of fresh veggies still after the big snow-prep shoppin' trip. Definitely still some onions an' carrots an' celery an' potatoes after the chili. Might still be some sweet potatoes, too. Didn't use any of the mushrooms or bok choy. Always rice an' noodles around." He leaves off listing the contents of the kitchen as he recalls them, reaching his free hand to slip fingers back through Hive's hair, returning to the scalp massage where they left off. "Lucien...honey, y'ain't gotta run off." Micah's brow furrows again as the other man darts for the door. "But...if you're gonna go, y'want me t'bring some food by later, once we got it?" He regards the other man's face closely. "An' it's not that they'll be /implementin'/ the plan within 60 days, so much. I thought they just had t'have the details of the plan submitted by then?" He smiles at Hive's thanks, his fingers continuing in their gentle stroking. "No problem, hon." "Oh, the news is /always/ terrible, darlin', but that jus' makes comin' home all the more cheering." Jackson dips his head, kissing the (slightly more chilled) skin at the nape of Micah's neck and then accepting the cup of tea. "Mmm. I'll whip up a stew, then. Stew's good for jus' chuckin' things in a pot. -- /Who's/ Luci sleepin' with?" He /eyes/ Lucien and Hive, puzzled. He carries Micah's teacup with him, heading over to Spencer's room to stop briefly in for /hugs/. The hugs just make Spencer /squirm/ in complaint: "/Ohno/ you're cold! /DAD/ you take him." Because apparently pre-warming Jax for hugs is /Micah's/ job. "I will see what I can do," Lucien answers Hive, very wryly. "And thank you, but I can cook. A meal for one extra is one thing but a meal for four extra --" He shrugs, and lifts his cup in salute. "Good evening, gentlemen." He slips out the door, shutting it behind himself quietly. "Probably a lot more than sixty days, this is the government we're talking about. -- Jesus." Hive is just more grumbly at Jackson's cheerful reply. "There's something wrong in your goddamn brain. Why can't you just be pissed at it like a normal person." His eyes close. He takes a slow sip of tea, scowl relaxing as Micah's fingers continue working at his head. "He's fucking a judge. Or maybe a lot of judges, I don't know. Whoever it takes to overturn this bullshit. You gonna do it, man? I mean, everyone already /knows/ you're a freak." Jax's kiss draws a shiver from Micah. Once his other hand is empty, it moves to Hive's head, as well. “Stew in a /bit/. Y'gotta get off your feet for a little while first. Y'only just got in.” The colour in his cheeks picks up again at the ongoing talk of using Lucien to sway judges. He chuckles at the sounds of protest from Spencer's room. “I already had my hug! Yours's already been thawed out in advance!” he calls back through giggles. “Sure the news part's upsettin'. But it's /gonna/ be upsettin'. Right now's family time. /Most/ of us don't spend that bein' grumpy pants.” Leaning in, he offers Hive an up-close lopsided /grin/. Though this fades a little with lingering concern-face as he nods to Lucien at his exit. “G'night, hon. I'm still comin' t'check on you again later after all that brain-work. Y'can consider it just comin' t'get the mug back if you'd rather.” At Hive's question of Jax registering, he quiets, rather interested in that answer himself. Jackson emerges again, sipping at tea and looking very /pleased/ after his continued campaign of /ice-assault/ on his family members. His hands are quite warm from the teacup by the time he sets Micah's tea back down, though, cupping the side of the other man's face to turn it towards his own for a more proper softer kiss. He's blushing deeply when he pulls back, though. "Lucien -- oh gosh. Oh /gosh/. That's not -- that ain't a /plan/ honey tell me you're jokin'." He exhales and runs his fingers through his hair -- it's changed colours again, vividly lime-green now with black streaks in it -- at Hive's question. "Guess that depends what they do t'you if you don't," he admits, soft and unhappy with a glance towards Spencer's door. "What are /you/ gonna do, seems like it'd be a fair sight harder on you than me. /My/ inclination'd be not to but if -- if that's gonna rain down terrible on my family --" He shakes his head, looking down at his hands, fingers lacing and unlacing restlessly together. "S'alright, I can get started on the stew I just -- I /should/ get started on it now if I want t'get no work done before --" His blush deepens. "Before work." "Khhh. It's Lucien. If we /were/ serious he could probably /do/ it, too." Hive takes a long slow drink. He turns, slightly, actually leaning back /into/ Micah when the massage becomes two-handed. "... guess that depends what they do if we don't." His jaw tightens, fingers also tightening around his mug. "Right. Family time. {Sorry.} Most people /don't/ spend that being grumpy." Micah leans into Jax's touch, turning readily to the kiss. "Think everybody's just gonna have t'wait the two months t'hear what the state's gonna do before they decide how t'handle it. Rest of it's kinda...idle speculation for now. Wonder if they're like t'hold...town hall sessions or somethin' on comin' up with the details? Could organise some action 'round that sorta thing. S'better'n sittin' an' frettin' 'bout what /might/ happen." He shakes his head right /back/ at Jax's protest. "You sit." He gestures to the couch with his chin, hands still occupied with Hive-head rubbings. "I can cook a thing. I just like t'give y'dibs 'cause I know how much y'like cookin' when y'got the time. But y'ain't got the time today. /First/ I get some Jax-time, though. Then I can cook an' y'can get whatever work it is y'need done." At Hive's apology, he grins down at the telepath again. "S'okay. We still love you, Grumpy Bear." He leans forward to peck a light kiss to Hive's forehead. Jackson is turning to start towards the kitchen, but at Micah's order he turns right back to sit down on the couch, and then /lie/ down on the couch, curled up into a ball with his head resting on the other man's thigh. He does not seem particularly upset at having to sit and have /cuddles/ instead of cooking, a small smile on his face as he nestles himself in close. "Oh, gosh, I don't doubt he could. Just seems like, um, /seducing/ judges --" His nose crinkles. "I hope they got some kinda more open-to-the-public process of input on this. Even if they /don't/ we should organize -- somethin'. S'already protests bein' thrown t'gether round the country for tomorrow but somethin' -- more'n that." He tips his head back, brow furrowing as he looks up at Hive. "-- Sweetie, you /are/ family." "You going to go? Rouse rabble? Be an /anarchist/? Bet you could drum up a whole lot of attendance all on your own." Hive shivers, taking in a shaky breath. "Fuck. Sometimes I can almost start to ignore how much --" He grimaces, lifting a hand to touch lightly against the back of Micah's. "Feels good. Less painful." His breath comes back out more sharply at Jax's insistence that he is family. He doesn't answer it save with this sharp huff. His eyes slip closed again, pressing out small droplets of wetness at their outer corners. Ach, more people to cuddle and hands are already busy! Micah leans in to nuzzle against Jax's cheek and neck, kissing gently once at each of his collarbones. "Prob'ly could whip up a good crowd if we set out t'do it, hon. I can maybe try an' focus at recruitin'...allies? What there are t'be found." His hands work in a bit more firmly at Hive's report of decreased pain. His posture straightens again as Hive tears up, lifting to brush his lips against the telepath's forehead once more. "Meant it, honey. We love you." "I kinda -- lit the beacons 'mong New York's anarchists online t'day, at least. We will rouse /all/ the rabble. S'pose I should do that proper for the freaks s'well." Jackson's smile warms at the kisses, goosebumps prickling his skin at each of the kisses. "Yeah. Yeah, bring everyone y'can. I'll share the details with you." He's already digging his phone out of his pocket to open up his Google calendar and do just that. "Heh, know that feelin'. Sometimes s'/almost/ like I forgotten what not-achin' feels like an' then there's tea an' massages an' it eases up an' everything's /heaven/ for a bit." Around them, the lights in the room begin dimming, fading into less headache-inducing mellowness as /Jax's/ temperature warms just that little bit more. He turns his head, looking up towards Hive. He lifts a hand, cupping the side of Hive's face, his thumb brushing against the faint trickle of tears. "Never doubt that, honey-honey." "Heaven, there you are with your bullshit again. S'just a little bit less deep in hell. I swear I would be on drugs /all/ the fucking time if that wouldn't -- uh." Hive snorts. "Kill everyone around me." He presses his cheek into Jax's touch, and tilts his head farther back up, briefly just nuzzling in against Micah's neck after the small kiss. There's an uncomfortably hard squeeze of mental pressure briefly closing hungrily in against the other men's minds, but it retreats without actually sinking in /teeth/. "I don't. Doubt it. I just -- sometimes. S'a lot of shit in my head it's hard to sort -- sometimes I just. Forget."