ArchivedLogs:Font Of Optimism

Font Of Optimism
Yay.
Dramatis Personae Micah, Lucien
In Absentia	29 March 2014 A phone call. Part of the Future Past TP and the Prometheus TP.
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. It is a rainy Saturday, late in the morning, roundabout decent brunch-time when Lucien's phone rings or otherwise gives notification of an incoming call. It's Micah's cell number. Lucien picks up the phone on the second ring. There's quiet Rachmaninoff playing in the background, and the quiet clack-clack of fingers rapidly moving against a keyboard. "Salut." His voice is quiet, but warm. "You being out at the school now is rather inconvenient, you know. I had a mind to drop by -- and then I remembered the drive." "Mornin', Luci." The cluck of Micah's tongue against his teeth is audible over the line. "Well, I got more complaints 'bout this whole home-displacement thing if it means I'll be seein' less of you on top of everythin' else," he only half-teases. "This is gonna sound strange. Okay, maybe not so strange considerin' our history at this point. But did you have a dream with me an' Matt in it Thursday night or Friday mornin', about?" "I do have a car." Lucien acknowledges this fact /regretfully/. "I could make the trip." Though it seems like an idle passing thought that he is not giving a whole /lot/ of weight to. "-- I will be there Sunday evening to drop Desi back. That is something." Then, quiet. The rapid background typing stops. "-- You made excellent omelettes." He says this like an accusation. "How long exactly do we continue with this before finding something to /do/ about it." "I can drive, too. I'm sure we'll work somethin' out between the two of us 'til we move in June or...whenever our house is adequately house-shaped," Micah replies lightly. "We'll have t'make a point t'visit on Sunday for a bit, then." The omelette accusation earns a chuckle, a little breathy-sounding over the phone. "I /make/ excellent omelettes. S'part of what I'm excited for this shared kitchen over. Get t'make some illicit-ingredient dishes from time t'time." There is a pause for a few moments. "Somethin' t'do 'bout the dreams or what's in 'em? I been talkin' to a couple of folks 'bout what happened in 'em. Flicker an' Hive an' Jax. We're gonna get the raid team t'gether t'meet about...what t'do if these dreams are givin' us accurate information. How t'keep the events Matt described from happenin' the way he told 'em." "The school has a kitchen. You could make me omelettes," Lucien suggests lightly. His tone is a little more brusque, though, with the continuation: “About the /dreams/. Perhaps they are giving you accurate information, perhaps not. Shouldn't you find their /origin/ before you act on the information in them? For all you know some telepath is simply toying with you." And a faintly more disgruntled amendment of his final pronoun: "-- with us." "Tell me some times that're good for you an' I'll work it out 'round the school's schedule an' mine. Love t'see if the real thing lives up t'the dream for you." Micah sighs softly at that continuation. "If they're toyin' with you an' me, they're toyin' with an awful lot of us. An' the dreams all have a common plot. Me, you, Jax, Shane, Dusk, Aly, Peter... Alla us've had the dreams. An' in a lot of 'em Shane an' Aly bought Evolve, B's goin' to MIT, Matt's home safe, you're starrin' in Pippin, Elliott Carruthers becomes Mayor, the other two raids went well...but the Vermont raid went south an' all the people we go t'rescue die along with Flicker an' Hive, then Dusk turns into some kinda terrorist for the mutant cause. So far the only part of that I'm really interested in doin' much about s'the Vermont raid. 'Cause that can't happen that way; it just /can't/." A soft sound on the line might be Micah worrying at his lower lip. "I have a standing brunch date on Sundays with Dusk. I think I'll ask 'im t'maybe invite Maya along, if she'd wanna come. Just t'make sure this ain't some kinda...wacky misfirin' of her ability." "I feel as though there are three most likely scenarios here. Either someone is simply messing with everyone's heads and /inserting/ these dreams. Or Maya or someone like her has the ability to change and /shape/ the world according to dreams, and this common narrative is /forming/ the future. Or someone has the ability to /actually/ see the future and what we are dreaming are simply glimpses --" Lucien pauses, here, drawing in a slow breath. "It seems rather crucial, though, to determine which of these three is the case. In the first two you need to stop the dreams. In the third you need to stop the future." "I would like t'know the way of it, certainly. Exception of gettin' a yes or no outta Maya...I got no other ideas on how t'/do/ that's the problem." Micah's fingers drum against something hard, perhaps a table. "In the meantime...if the person sendin' the dreams or the dreamers or the /actual future/ has come up with the remote detonatin' /head/ bombs, that means that they're somethin' the labs /could/ potentially spring on us. So it ain't a /bad/ idea t'figure what we'd do in the case of their existence. Better t'have too much plan than not enough." He hmms softly. "I think there may be /some/ bearin' on reality. It ain't just...nothin'. The shirt Matt was wearin' didn't go on sale 'til the mornin' after we dreamed it. Think that /says/ somethin'. You got any thoughts on...any of it?" "I think --" There's a long hesitation on Lucien's end of the line, after this. "-- that perhaps Hive might be reassured to know," he finally says, "that all his friends are /not/ simply dreaming of their desired futures and subconsciously writing him /out/ of them. Less reassured, perhaps, at the thought that this future really /is/ his." Another silence, before: "You do have something going for you, though. I do not know that there is a single one of your compatriots who really just seems the type to sit around and /let/ the future happen. Whether these dreams are remaking the world or simply showing you how it will be -- they are certainly affording you the opportunity to change it yourselves. And in the meantime --" There's yet another silence, this one longer than the ones before. Lucien's voice is softer when he continues: "... in the meantime, it seems that going to Vermont any time soon would be – ill-advised." "Ohgosh, /no/. If I was gettin' t'/choose/ a future, ain't no way Hive an' Flicker wouldn't be alive an' /well/ in it. My head would find a miraculous cure for Hive's cancer, not kill 'im off." Micah's nodding at the rest of Lucien's statement isn't very helpful over the /phone/. "Yeah, we aren't the types t'just sit. We got the beginnin's of a plan for...cuttin' phone lines an' havin' people with special electric an' magnetic abilities pretty much EMP the place. But that's only good for makin' sure they don't trigger any head-bombs /before/ the team gets in. Don't stop a remote detonation once they got the folks out an' whoever...figures out that the jailbreak done happened just hits the big red button or what-have-you. We're gonna figure /somethin'/ out for the chips themselves, though. S'gotta be /somethin'/ that can be done." Micah lets out a heavy breath again. "Well, at the very least, the other two locations were gonna happen first /anyhow/. We know where those /are/. S'far as I know, nobody's managed t'/locate/ the Vermont facility yet. So at least maybe...this complication ain't slowin' us down just yet, either." "I know I am always a font of optimism," Lucien says very dryly to Micah, "but I would not actually want to bank on an EMP helping matters. You forget you are dealing with a paranoid government agency. In Tennessee, at least, they had very /strict/ emsec protocols that -- well, an EMP would not have touched some of the more secure rooms anyway. Moreover -- well. I suppose it really depends just how lightly you assume these people /take/ the lives of their prisoners. You are assuming firing off a control somewhere is the only way to trigger the detonations. The system might well be designed the other way around. The chips need signals from some control room in order /not/ to go off. Or will automatically detonate if carried off the perimeter. There are any /number/ of --" He cuts himself off with a slow breath. "/Something/ to be done, perhaps. But it would take a better mind than mine by far to know just how to /cover/ all those bases." "/Ugh/," is all Micah answers for some time, a font of eloquence to match Lucien's font of optimism. "That's even /worse/ than all the things we'd already come up with. So...prob'ly we need t'come up with a way t'remotely deactivate the chips /entirely/ 'fore the team even gets on the grounds. That'll be...even harder. I don't know /nobody/ with that kinda power." There's a settling sound as Micah slumps in his seat. "We're gonna need some kinda miracle in Vermont. At least...if the dreams are right the other two didn't /have/ these things at all." "Your team knows somebody with that kind of power," Lucien answers Micah evenly. "Unfortunately, they are already in Promethean custody." And then it is back to silence again. "I have worked miracles before." His voice is heavy, though, tired. "And with less reward at the end than my brother. I will --" He pulls in a slow breath. "See what I can see." "So...our current best option seems t'be findin' an' releasin' him an' then...immediately turnin' around an' hopin' he's in good enough shape t'turn off however many explosive brain chips there are in Vermont. Yay." Micah's flat tone is a bit lacking in optimism, as well. "Honey, I'm not turnin' down no kinda help. Thank you for...lookin' into it. I'll keep...flailin' about 'til someone with better ideas an' abilities than mine gets tapped on the shoulder by it, maybe." "And with /him/," Lucien points out oh-so-encouragingly, "I do not think they have even a /slight/ idea of location." There is a very decided lack of cheer in Lucien's voice. "Good. Carry on your flailing, then. I will see you on Sunday." “Yay,” Micah returns again. “I'll do that. Love you. See you Sunday.” Lucien's quick hitch of breath might -- be a laugh. Or then again it might not. The phone clicks off into silence.