ArchivedLogs:Fish and Pho

Fish and Pho
Dramatis Personae Hive, Micah	10 October 2013 Rescuing fish (maybe), touring offices (sort of), eating food (eventually), and never-ending planning. (Part of Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> Rang Phueng Design – SoHo
Located on the third floor of a narrow brick-faced office building in SoHo, the lobby of Rang Phueng Design/J.M. Investigations is a comfortable place to wait. There are a number of paintings hung on the walls, brightly colored though somewhat fantastical cityscapes. A large aquarium on one wall, clean and carefully tended, hosts brightly colored marine life swimming through a number of plants and coral. The table amid all the couches has a sampling of architectural magazines as well as popular ones, magazines and newspapers generally actually up to date. The receptionist desk is a large black wood one, though it is unmanned. Through the door in back of the lobby is a large workshop space, spacious drafting tables, a number of glass-topped desks though only one of them boasts a computer. Walls painted white and paneled in glass turn most of the wallspace into whiteboard, generally covered with notes and measurements. The back wall's large windows look out onto the streets. Two side doors lead to smaller offices; one stands open and unfurnished, the other, closed, has been given -- no name plaque, yet. Just a tacked-up piece of paper reading "J.M. Investigations". Hive has not actually given Micah a concrete /reason/ for coming out to this address. Just texts: 'Had dinner yet?' and 'Come down here', with an address. An office building in SoHo, as it turns out. At the moment, Hive is in the newly furnished lobby of his newly decorated office, glaring at the large fishtank and reading -- instructions. Out of a book on the care of saltwater fish. There are a few fish swimming about already, and a few more floating in plastic bags of water at the top of the tank, waiting to be unleashed into the large aquarium below. /Why/ Hive is glaring at them is anyone's guess; they're lovely fish, really. In contrast to the Kind Of Nice office around him, he just looks scrubby as ever. Sneakers held together with duct tape, shabby threadbare jeans, shabby threadbare denim jacket over his 'resistance is futile (if <1 ohm)' t-shirt. So Micah doesn't need a whole lot of explanation to show up somewhere when a friend asks. He comes wandering up to the office in question, hazel eyes scanning in all directions in that way that people do when approaching a new place and not knowing precisely where they are going. His attire is typical after-work gear: a chocolate brown T-shirt on which a stegosaurus is cursing a T-rex for its 'sudden but inevitable betrayal', a pair of patched jeans, a green canvas jacket worn unbuttoned, and a green-brown newsboy cap pulled down over his messy hair. He smiles when he finally sees Hive through a doorway, steps surer as he comes into the room. “Hey, Hive. What's up? That's prob'ly not the best way t'get dinner.” His head tilts to indicate the fish tank. "Fuck, you beat dinner." Hive grumbles this like an accusation, eyes narrowing -- on the fish tank. "We're not /eating/ the damn things they're -- fff. Decoration." Despite this, he pulls a folding knife out of his pocket, clicking it open to /stab/ at one of the bags. Only so that he can turn it upside down and unleash its pair of black-striped silver fish out into the tank; both immediately dart off to hide in a coral. "Why, you in the mood for fish?" “Clearly, it's still in the bags,” Micah continues to tease, lopsided grin taking up residence on his face. “I know, hon, I'm just joshin'. I don't wanna eat your fish.” His eyes widen at the /dumping/ of the fish into tank. “Ohgosh, fish are...delicate, honey. You're...jerkin' 'em about an' flippin' 'em around. The change in environments is enough of a shock. How long has this tank been establishin'? Y'got...a lotta fish in here already.” Micah looks at the fish with /concern/ for their stressful little fishie lives. "I bet your pups would eat my fish happily. Jesus, what the fuck /don't/ you know about." Hive continues to glare at the fish. "The other ones have been in since Saturday. These --" He waves his knife towards the fleeing cardinalfish, and the clownfish still floating on top. "I don't know a couple hours. Why, did I just kill them?" He doesn't really sound overly bothered by this idea. Just flat and a little tired. "There's Vietnamese on the way. You like --" He frowns, turning from the tank to look a little past Micah towards the wall. "Food, right?" "They would, too. Y'might wanna extract promises of no fish-eatin' /before/ invitin' 'em over. It's the only reason Jax still has any fish at home. Shane /still/ watches 'em kinda...hungry-like." Micah shakes his head. "I actually /don't/ know enough about saltwater fish tanks t'be startin' one on my own. But...general fish-principles. Minimise risk of injury an' undue stress. Maybe they'll be okay? You usually don't wanna add more'n two or three fish a week... D'you have any clean cups t'use for this? Or the little fish-nets?" He giggles at the question. "I like food." "Shit. I should've asked Lucien, that motherfucker -- have you /seen/ his tanks holy /crap/." Hive clicks his knife open, then closed again. Then open. Closed. "-- Probably charge me two grand for the fucking info though. Uh. Cups?" His eyes refocus slowly on Micah for this. "The fuck? I don't think I have -- I only just finished putting together most of the furniture here. Some in the back is still in boxes. Keep getting dragged away for fucking training when I am trying to get my Ikea on." He offers the closed knife out towards Micah on a palm. "You can be more gentle with those clowns, maybe." His thumb jerks towards the bright stripey orange fish still in their bag. "Yeah, Lucien would be a better resource," Micah admits apologetically, taking his hat off to scruff his fingers through his hair before replacing it. "His tanks /are/ pretty amazin'." He eyes the fish appraisingly. "Well, it's best t'put some of the water from the tank into their bag for a while, t'let 'em acclimate t'the new tank's chemistry slowly. But we kinda need a cup t'do that. An' then it'd be more likely t'prevent contamination from anythin' undesirable in the water the new fish came in t'net 'em an' ditch the water 'stead of pourin' it in the tank. But if y'don't have a net... Failin' all of that, next best thing is t'turn the aquarium light off and just open the bag gently t'let 'em swim out on their own. No stabbin' an' dumpin' of things." Micah pushes his jacket sleeves up a little before switching the aquarium light off, gently /untying/ the remaining fish-bag, and gradually tipping it for the fish to swim out. "Did the folks at the store at least help you pick compatible fish an' make sure they're the right kinds for the size of your tank an' all?" "Yeah, I didn't pick any of these. Not the fish or the plants or --" Hive waves at the tank, and then shoves his hands into his pockets. "Any of this shit. Hey, you want to see the part that isn't the lobby?" He doesn't wait for an answer on this, just meandering off towards the back to switch the lights on in the large workspace."I was thinking of paying Jax to paint the clinic. Put it up on the wall. Or something." His shoulders hunch as he stands in the doorway. "How's your work going? You been getting back to -- everything? OK?" "Well, that's good at least." Micah watches the fish for a few moments for signs of aggressing against the newcomers before following Hive further into the office. "Ohright! I got all distracted by fish. Show off your nifty new digs!" The walls also receive an appraising look. "Definitely. Y'got any wall-artin' needs. Between Jax an' Tag, you're incredibly set." He tugs the sleeves of his jacket back down. "Work's been fine. Hectic on account of my bein' gone for over a week. I been gettin' t'things no problem. Joshua's a miracle worker. I owe 'im about his weight in pesto." "I think I'll stick with Jax, I don't want my office to feel like I'm on /acid/." Hive isn't very good as a tour-guide; he moves aside from the doorway when Micah follows, stepping into the workspace but then just standing. Hands in pockets, one duct taped toe scuffing at the floor. "Yeah. You might want to get on that pesto thing soon. While he's still around to get it. Might be --" His eyes are a little distant, here, not really looking /at/ the office so much as just vacantly off into space. "-- shoving up our schedule. A bit. A lot." His toe stops its scuffing, weight just settling down into a deeper slouch. "S'good. He's good. Glad you're getting back to -- everything. You ever thought of hiring someone to help you with all that shit? Maybe get an office of your own?" “I'll have t'get his schedule outta someone sneaky-like, so I know when he's gonna be home t'be able t'relax an' enjoy a dinner soon, yeah...wait.” Micah's eyebrows attempt to crash into one another. “Oh. Did y'all get some intel or somethin'? Are you...connected back in again?” He looks to Hive with concern, no longer inspecting the office. “I might hire somebody part-time just t'help with handlin' shipments an' assemblin' equipment an' maybe some real simple deliveries... Still a ways down the line on that yet. An' office space's prohibitively expensive. Just keepin' up the van an' a storage unit's pricey enough up here.” "This place is cheap. S'in the clinic's name. Steep discount, tax writeoff --" Hive shrugs, toe returning to scuffing at the floor. "S'paid up a couple months already and even after that it's not much." His head turns slowly, smile creeping thin across his face. "We're getting intel right now." He sounds So Thrilled about it, too. "But Jax remembered -- this project, these labs. S'a goverment project. Federally funded." "Maybe some day. Ain't a whole lotta purpose in me havin' a regular office yet. Would need a shop more'n anythin'. An' someone t'actually work /in/ the shop durin' business hours. An' office staff... It'd be a whole /operation/ at that point. Right yet, it'd just...replace the storage unit." Micah's shoulders lift in a little shrug. "Are you...still doin' okay?" he asks, sounding concerned about the intel collecting. "And...oh. D'you think they'd really skimp on that particular project right now? Wouldn't they just declare it 'essential' an' keep truckin'?" "Scientists are all furloughed," Hive answers, shrugging a shoulder and sitting down on -- an edge of a drafting table, because none of the desks have yet collected desk /chairs/. "I haven't found my way back to any of the guards yet, it took me a while just to work my way back down the fucking East Coast from here. But from what I gather the guards have been scaled back and aren't even getting paid right now so you know how many shits /they/ have to give about their jobs. They're not going to line up to die for people who aren't even giving them grocery money." “Huh. That...all sounds about as much like a stupid idea as anythin' else the government's been doin' lately, so I don't know why I'm surprised.” Micah's head shakes again with this assessment. “That sounds like a lot of...brainwork for you. Y'didn't say if you were okay.” He chews at his lower lip. “Is there anythin' I can do t'help?” "I had to eat enough brains," Hive says with a soft breath -- sigh? laughter? it's hard to tell, "to hitchhike from here all the way down to Virginia. And then search Virginia for some of the scientists I had found before I let everyone go. As brainwork goes --" His fingers clench against his knees, and a small shudder passes through him. There's a knock at the door -- dinner delivery! -- but he turns to stare door-wards for a good long while before it seems to register. "Could get that," he answers eventually, to the question of help. "Just sign the receipt s'paid up already." “That sounds...tirin' beyond description.” Micah's lips press thin, though his fretting is interrupted by the knocking. He hops up to claim the food, signing the receipt and passing a few bills in tip to the delivery person before carrying the bags back over to Hive. “Where d'you wanna set this up? An' I don't mind that kinda help, but I meant really /for/ you. Or...any of you. You-plural. Whatever y'all need help settin' up or...whatever. I know y'all are busy with the actual plannin' an' trainin' for the thing.” "Tiring beyond description is a pretty accurate -- start. Here. Just -- there's seats out there. A table." Hive waves towards the lobby, slowly oozing himself off the drafting table to head back out and flop down onto a couch. Not sitting so much as sprawling, one leg hooked over its arm. "/For/ me?" For a moment his tone has sharpened, eyes narrowing skeptically on Micah, but in the next moment this abrasiveness melts away in a quick huff of breath. "Micah, man," he says quieter, "you're helping me right now." Micah carries the bags out to the indicated seating area, pushing the little table close to the couch where Hive sits before unpacking the food containers onto it. "I'm sorry, hon. We just...barely got you back t'yourself an' all an' then there's all this again, so quickly. Y'all just do /so much/. I feel like there's not enough I can do t'help. So. If there's any stupid little things as need doin', let me know. Even if all it does is give y'all more time t'handle the bigger things." A small smile curls his lips upward faintly at the proclamation of helpfulness. "Thanks, hon, it's just... I think I prob'ly won't be able t'go with y'all t'help this time. An' you're gonna be so far away, I...worry even more." "You're not coming?" Hive sits up at this, quick and startled, brows furrowing and eyes narrowed. "-- Jax decide that?" His jaw clenches down, lips pressing together as he slumps back against the couch. "Where the fuck he thinks we're going to find drivers let alone other people who can do first aid is beyond me, Joshua's going to be wrecked by the time we're out." He scrubs a hand through his hair, fingers tracing along the side of his head. "There is so much shit we need done but it's up to Jax and Ryan who does what where. If you're not /coming/, though, finding more definitive care for people and places for them all to fucking /sleep/ is going to be as much of a nightmare as it ever is." "I...think it might be more harm than good for me t'go. Jax seemed /horrified/ at the idea when he thought about it last night. Can't have your team leader bein' distracted on my account, that could get people killed." Micah bites at his lip again, busying his hands with opening all of the containers for ease of access. "An' he's worried about what would happen t'the boys if things went badly enough that neither of us makes it back." He pauses, just exhaling heavily. "I would come. I would. I worry about the amount of emergent care needs you're gonna have, an' just how far you're gonna need t'transport people this time. An' I worry about things like Flicker's /leg/ in the last...even with Joshua's abilities, somebody's gotta /set/ those things or the healin' of it'll be all botched. At least...once you're back, this time. There's Common Ground an' the Mendel Clinic both for definitive care. I imagine...sleepin' space is gonna go much as it usually does. Though I'll have t'ask Dusk where it is all the folks from Harlem ended up. Might have some more options if those places'll are willin' t'take on more refugees in the future." "Oh, fuck. That'd -- be hell wouldn't it." Hive sits up, grimacing now at the food as it is the closest thing at hand to receive his irritation. There's pho -- broth separate from the ingredients, both veggies and slices of beef in small separate containers for the adding, as well as vegetable spring rolls in thin soft rice wrappers, peanut sauce on the side for them, and grilled pork on vermicelli. He stares /through/ the food more than at it, fingers scrubbing at the side of his head again. At Micah's heavily exhaled breath, he leans forward, reaching for the other man's wrist to tug him gently to the couch. "Every run we do there's always been someone," he says wryly, "who stays back. Some adult. Someone the kids trust, in case the rest of us don't make it back. Most of them are as good as orphans, you know? Except I guess not. We're just /all/ their family now. So --" He looks up at Micah, thoughtfully, though it seems to take a moment before his eyes focus properly. "-- I never really spent all that much time before though thinking about what it's like for the people we leave behind. I think it might be the shittier deal by far." Micah just nods at that assessment, pulled easily to the couch with Hive's little tug. He curls in beside the telepath, his head falling against Hive's shoulder in a soft bonk. "I just...honestly couldn't say where the better place is for me t'be. But it's better for me t'stay back than one of y'all who's more...actually on the team. If someone's gonna stay up this side anyhow." His eyelids fall closed, his voice coming a little tighter, just at first, when he speaks again. "Should get /all/ of you real trainin'. First aid an' CPR an' alla that. Never know who's gonna get stuck where with what needs. Can't always get back t'the designated medic. I could do that. If any of you have time. Before y'go." "Jax already makes us stay up to date with CPR, at least," Hive assures Micah. "But a Red Cross crash-course in that shit can't hold a candle to actually --" He waves a hand at Micah. "How the fuck long's it going to take before we all know bones like you do or know Joshua's -- shit, we've got /lives/ in between our lives, you know?" His arm curls around Micah's shoulders, hand lifting to smooth slowly at his hair. "Be good, though, you're right. Learn how to -- splint shit or whatnot, holy /christ/ the number of bones Flicker alone has broken --" He shudders briefly, and softer: "the number of his bones /I've/ broken." His fingers curl harder against Micah's hair, rubbing slowly at the other man's scalp. "You want to run classes for us? We'll /make/ time. Now till -- shit, forever, probably. I mean, we'll need it right away but we'll never /not/ need it. And first aid aside we're gonna need hella food and clothes and shit once we get everyone back -- though fuck if I know how we're going to manage that." “Good. That's...good.” Micah smooshes his face into Hive's arm for a moment, silently taking in the words and the pettings. He swallows hard before speaking again, somewhat muffled. “Have Jax add it t'the schedule an' I'll work mine out around it. We'll...get supplies together just like we do for the Morlocks an' like we did for Harlem. Ain't nothin' I can't handle. Got credit cards an' thrift shops for a reason.” He thinks on the transportation issue. “If you're gonna end up with as many people as the last time... You're gonna wanna rent a movin' van, like we did for Chinatown, line it with mattresses an' blankets for the folks as is bad off enough they're gonna need t'be lyin' down. Then...prob'ly rent an actual /bus/ for the folks as can be upright. Make stops at safehouses like we did when we picked up Jim.” Hive turns his head, kissing the top of Micah's. Then resting his forehead against it, eyes closing as he buries his face against Micah's hair. "Might want to loop the pups in on the supply-gathering. I know they'll -- be fretting, too. And the more stuff that's here already the less Jax --" His fingers rub, still, against the back of Micah's head. "A bus. Yeah. Hopefully I can figure out at least a ballpark on people, beforehand. Though there's no telling beforehand what /state/ they'll all be in." “Yeah, hopefully we can get most things in place before y'even go. I'm hopin' y'all ain't gonna be out /too/ awful long. But...we'll find /somethin'/ t'distract. Settin' up everybody's apartments t'be full of people. Haulin' the mattresses an' blankets outta storage. Plenty t'be done.” Micah's hand strokes down along Hive's leg, patting at his knee when it reaches that point. “We should eat before your soup gets cold.” "Okay." Hive doesn't move. Not for a while. Just squeezes tighter around Micah's shoulders. But eventually he drops his hand, and leans forward. "Yeah. The last thing anyone needs on top of this shit is cold pho."