ArchivedLogs:For Good

For Good
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Hive, Micah, Jackson	28 January 2014 Healing Hive, talking housing and doctors, food, tea, and singing.
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. It's growing late -- ish, after dinnertime at least, and Lucien's been ensconced on Lighthaus's couch for quite some while. Long enough to have mowed his way through more than one cup of tea and -- a /few/ nibbles of dinner, though this has remained largely untouched. Intermittently he attempts to touch it more though these attempts largely fail. As time wears on he's grown paler. Shakier. /Decidedly/ more tired. His most recent request has been for painkillers. Whatever is the strongest variety the house might contain. He sips at his tea -- he's traded up from white to oolong -- and returns his hand, unpleasantly clammy-cool, to where it curls through Hive's. Aside from the increasing pallor, shakiness, he /had/ looked put together as ever. He's shed his vest and bowtie. unbuttoned the top few buttons of his dress shirt. His slacks are still neatly pressed. "I may need a shower," he murmurs, a small twitch tugging downwards at one side of his mouth. << And /you/ have blocks in there /I/ cannot work with. >> He /snips/ this to Hive across the glassy-hard surface of his mind, icy-frosted today rather than its usual simply calm-cool tranquility. << You know you know actual /doctors/ whose business this is. >> "I figure you need that after a lot of your appointments," Hive grumbles back; it'd probably be snippier, too, except that he's looking a little bit shaky-pale himself. He has a book in hand, /Tigana/ again, and he's /trying/ to focus on it but his eyes aren't doing a good job of focusing. His /brain/ isn't doing a good job of parsing what they're watching. He has, at least, eaten /his/ dinner, while Lucien's worked. He's in jeans, socks, Theta Tau sweatshirt unzipped over resistance is futile t-shirt. Legs tucked beneath himself on the couch, struggling to /make/ his eyes focus and make his hands stay steady enough to keep his book stable as he reads. << Fuck doctors, >> is his answer to that. << Just want to think straight again. >> Micah hasn't been hovering, honest. He's just been...very attentive. Drifting in and out of the living room with fresh cups of tea and glasses of water. Providing a rather hefty painkiller left over from that time he got shot, but healed up...rather faster than the physicians would have anticipated, with a standard issue warning to take care with the illegally shared prescription-strength drugs. He's dressed far closer to Hive in formality than Lucien, having changed after work for an evening at home, with his Batsignal hoodie over a Doctor Hooves T-shirt and jeans. "We have one of those. An' you're more'n welcome to it. Though y'may wanna just sit for a bit first. Standin' in slippery water generally not the best plan if you're feelin' woozy." Lucien exhales /sharply/ at Hive's almost-snipping, but it draws a very small smile out of him. Very, very small. He releases Hive's hand to take the painkiller, washing it down with a swallow of tea. "Merci," he murmurs to Micah, with a nod of thanks. "Hive, how long since you have been out of those labs?" He returns his hand to the telepath's, brow creasing as his fingers curl around the other man's. "Sit, yes. That would be good. We are nearly done here, I think. For -- tonight." His eyes close again. "How is your housing project coming along?" Hive's shoulders tense sharply, but he twitches one up in a quick shrug. "Four years, in -- April." He lets the book close in his lap. "S'coming. Good, actually. Put an offer in on the property. Getting underway with the planning. It's going to be -- you know. A -- place. Hey I even heard from our fucking -- lawyers today, I think the whole -- eviction shit is not. Wasscalled. We're not. Getting a --" His fingers snap together as he tries to come up with a word; his book falls off his lap and onto Lucien's leg. "Mmnh. S -- sorry. Sorry, I -- sss." He grimaces. "Sorry." There's a click of keys in the lock, a cheerful humming from outside. Jackson is a swishy beacon of colour as he bounces inside. Chunky red-and-black-and-silver platform sneakers that he sheds by the door, black skinny jeans shiny with silver zippers, blue bell-sleeved shirt with silver embroidery, black 'believe in faeries' t-shirt over top, colourful mismatched socks, colourful mismatched armwarmers, rainbowy striped hoodie once he's peeled off and hung his winter gear. "Oh! Luci! Hi! Didn't realize you -- late-night, 'pologies, kinda got hung-up at the studio. Y'aright?" “Oh, they managed to overturn the evictions? That's good, at least. Gives us a little more time...for those whose leases aren't up soon, anyhow.” Micah's nose crinkles a bit at the reminder that that is /really/ soon, for some. “Easy, Hive. Y'need another glass of water?” His ears perk at the sound of Jax's keys in the door and he pops up for a moment to deliver /hugs/ once the other man is out of his outdoor wear. “Hi, hon! There's leftover dinner in the 'fridge. Y'want I should heat some up?” Lucien's brow furrows deeper, lips pressing sharply together as Hive speaks. His fingers press more firmly against Hive's, eyes slowly closing at the repeated apology. His breath shivers out of him, slow and almost pained. "Hm?" He startles back into the conversation, shaking his head and pulling himself back into it with only a determined effort. "Four years, that is -- time enough, perhaps, to start tackling your hangups about doctors." He sounds slightly wry, with this. "Jackson. Hello." Softer. "Your employer is quite close with Doctor Toure, is he not? By your powers /combined/ might you drag this one into an appointment?" The faint strain to his voice eases up as he takes another slow drink of tea. "Wonderful. I admit I have little concept of how long it will take a project like this to be realized. I imagine it will be hard, regardless, for people whose leases /are/ up shortly. When is yours?" Hive just shakes his head at this question, either not wanting to answer it or not sure of the answer. Or maybe it's the doctor question because he doesn't really answer /this/ either. His hand jerks /sharply/ away from Lucien's at the other man's shivering breath, pressing to his eyes again. "-- Sorry. Um --" His hands fall to his lap, and he slumps back into the couch. "Thanks, man. Um. It'll -- take --" His eyes scrunch shut. He stifles a yawn, curling up into a ball to nestle down into the corner of the couch, resting his head on its arm. "... time." So very helpful. "-- Ohgosh. /Food/, yeah, food'd be. I'm /starvin'/." As ever this is probably not /much/ of an exaggeration. "An' I'm back on at the clinic at midnight -- oh. Um. I mean, Dr. Toure's /crazy/-mad busy but I'm -- real sure I could get Hive in if -- he'd /go/. It's gettin' him /to/ go that's always a struggle he ain't never wanted t'get that chip out. S'that gettin' worse or summat?" He kisses the top of Hive's head again, pressing his cheek there, and wrinkles his nose again at the question of leases. "End'a May, ours is up. Not real sure how likely new-place is t'be done in a matter'a /months/. I'm right sure the school'd let me an' Micah an' Spence move in a guest-suite for a couple months but I don't know 'bout Tag an' Clarice an' everyone across the hall only got two months left on theirs an' one floor up they're out nex' month so --" He grimaces. "It'll be an interestin' spring." Micah releases Jax, wandering back into the living room once hugs are done. "I don't know. S'just...you seemed t'be the only thing as /helped/ 'im even when he was over at the Clinic an' Io an' Dr. Toure both were takin' care of 'im then. I mean...couldn't /hurt/ t'go see 'em now you're not comatose. Might be they could help more, honey." He squeezes Hive's hand as he collects his water glass, going to refill it whether he wants it or not. Micah also pulls out a large container of pumpkin chive soup from the refrigerator and ladles a large portion into a sauce pan to heat. A smaller container of gingery sugar snap peas gets emptied into a little frying pan for warming. "Ohgosh, this is pretty much a housin' development. Usually it takes...months an' months for those t'go in. It /is/ gonna be interestin' figurin' out what t'do with people in the interim." Micah pokes at the peas with a wooden spoon. "Yes," Lucien says quietly, "but there are things I can help, and things that my skills do not --" He finishes his tea, setting it down on a Jack Skellington coaster on the table. He pushes to his feet slowly, resting his hand on the back of the couch. "I think I will have that shower, now." His fingers are working already at the buttons of his shirt, slowly, as he turns towards the bathroom. "I am quite sure Ryan will not lack for options." This, at least, sounds amused. "They can live in Micah's van," Hive suggests. "S'a good van. Cosy. Worked well for Micah." He grimaces at Lucien's answer, curling up tighter against the arm of the couch. His hand squeezes back tighter at Micah's in passing. "Don't really like doctors. Uhhh --" His eyes scrunch up closed tighter, too. "Can't really just magic up houses overnight. It's gonna take a fucking -- while. Too much while. But I mean, people can move in to the first houses before /all/ the shit's done. I can /start/ with the people's houses whose leases are up first. Wait to build the common spaces till /later/. Wait till last to build the units for -- you know. empty fucking units for people who don't live there yet. Like goddamn -- fucking -- tri --" He trails off with a quiet snort, absently nuzzling up against Jax's kisses. "Triage?" Jax suggests, light and /almost/ amused, but there's a soft note of concern in his voice too now as he notes the difficulty Hive has with picking out words. He slides his arms in around Hive's shoulders, kissing the top of the architect's head again. "What if I went to an appointment with you, would that be -- better? I mean I know I'm bein' a right hypocrite, I've been t'exactly zero doctor appointments that didn't involve zombie-meds since gettin' out the labs so uh -- but. Would that help? Cuz I would. Go. I mean if Luci's pokin' at your brain an' he thinks y'need it maybe y'need it /ohmygosh/ is that pumpkin?" He sniffs at the air hungrily. "Ryan's probably got s'many marriage proposals as death threats lately, he'll be aright. I think 'tween everyone we know we might be able t'find enough apartments to scatter folks around. Just -- so many people we know live /here/ might get tricky." After giving the soup and peas both another stir, Micah fetches a fluffy towel out of the linen closet for Lucien. He rests this in Lucien's lap, gesturing at his still-unfinished dinner. "Y'want I should reheat things when you're done? I can fix another cup of tea, too. Still in the mood for oolong? Anybody else want tea?" he throws the question to the room at large. "Oh/gosh/, the van was /barely/ big enough for sleepin' one, really. Wouldn't do no good for a whole apartment full of folks. I think Hive's plan of prioritised buildin' s'the best we can do. An' kinda...findin' temporary things for the earliest folks before any of the new housin's ready." Micah looks to Hive with a nod at Jax's offer. "Y'got no shortage of folks who'd go with y'to appointments, sugar. Ain't gotta do none of it alone." Jax's question earns an amused chuckle. "Mmn, yes, soup's pumpkin an' chive. Made some ginger an' toasted almond sugar snap peas along with just for somethin' solid t'round things out. Should be warm in a minute." With that, Micah moves into the kitchen to stir the pots again. "Triage." Lucien's lips just /twitch/ at this word. A smile, thinly; he'd almost look amused if not for the hard tightness in his jaw. "Thank you, no. I think I will be getting home." He drapes the towel over his arm, his eyes slicing back towards the others. His head tips downward, and there's the faintest shiver of disapproval across his thoughts before they frost back over into hard opaque ice. He heads off to the bathroom. The shower runs. "/You/? You hate doctors they give you panic attacks." Hive's brows pull into a deep frown. He turns his head in against the crook of his elbow on the arm of the couch, nestling in to Jax's hug. "Lucien can stop poking, s'cool. And Ryan's a crazyass bastard. But he's probably /made/ enough from that latest fiasco to just get /his/ apartment a hotel till I finish building. -- I wouldn't mind a tea. If you're making. Something no-caf, though." "Maybe if we know someone who can shrink things," Jax suggests with a giggle. "Or like make them bigger -- /Oh/. Oh I /do/ actually -- well not really exactly but I /do/ know a girl who can sort of -- teleport kinda through portals? Like she can make it so if I open -- that door," he points to the bathroom, "it leads wherever she wants so, she can make Micah's van door jus' lead to a bunch of bedrooms instead. Excitin' huh?" His eyes light excitedly. "Honey, y'ain't gotta...fix'n run," Micah's brow furrows when Lucien announces his plan to leave shortly. "Give yourself a little time if y'need it. Or even just want it. We sure don't mind havin' you around." He sighs at the other two discussing doctors. "/I/ can take you, Hive. Been 'round so many doctors I don't hardly think about it anymore. An' I can take /you/, too, Jax. Y'really oughtta establish a primary care. Even if you're only goin' once a year t'make sure things are okay. Really need t'get yourself a baseline when your physiology's unique, /before/ y'actually /need/ a doctor for somethin'." A nod answers Hive's request for tea. "Chamomile, ginger, mint, or rooibos?" He moves back into the kitchen, dishing Jax's dinner into a bowl and a dessert plate with a spoon in the first and chop sticks resting across the second. Returning to the living room, he places the containers on the coffee table. "Y'want tea, too, Jax? Or juice?" "Wait. You know a chick who could make Micah's van like the /actual/ fucking -- fucking --" Hive's hand lifts to sketch out a boxy shape in the air, then falls back to his lap. "We're both goddamn hypocrites," he acknowledges to Jax. "Because you /know/ you need a fucking doctor, or you're going to be dead before you're thirty, the way you burn through --" He closes his eye. Opens it again. "Shit, um. Gingermint. Lucien's the best doctor, though. Even if the snarkiest. Seriously, can we make Micah's van the TARDIS?" "I had a baseline," Jackson protests, "I mean, I went to /lots/ of doctors --" He trails off at this with a fiercer blush, nuzzling into Hive's hair and then getting to his feet as food comes out. He kisses Micah's cheek, murmuring a soft thanks to the older man. "Oh -- juice, please, honey-honey." His blush only deepens at Hive's assertion regarding doctors. He doesn't answer it. "Prob'ly could make Micah's van the TARDIS, if we got the right folks t'gether. Um. Should I make you an appointment, then, honey-honey? Uh -- if you're goin' with him Micah what -- time works best for the /both/ of you -- though I mean really Dr. Toure's schedule is like. Booked crazy-in-advance so might just hafta take what y'can get." "Wouldn't /quite/ be the TARDIS if she can't time travel or go off-world," Micah replies with a giggle. "Ginger-mint, sure." His fingertips brush up along Jax's spine with that kiss. "An' juice. Y'should /both/ make appointments. Baseline don't do y'much good if y'don't got access t'the records, hon. Um...whenever they are, I'll work m'schedule around 'em. Benefit of bein' mostly self-employed." Making the circuit back into the kitchen once more, Micah sets the kettle on before pouring a glass of mango-peach juice and delivering it to Jax. Again, he head back to the kitchen to fetch a pair of mugs and prepare two tea balls with ginger-mint tea. "Yeah, I don't think Prometheus records count. Even if we do have more access to those than we did before." Which, admittedly, makes Hive frown, and rub at his temples. "Maybe we should put a TARDIS in the new place. How come nobody requested that yet? I'm surprised. Spence dropped the ball. I would've thought that was his /first/ request." He shifts a little further down on the couch. His eyes open, then close again. Dropping off to -- maybe sleep. Maybe half-sleep. There's a faint squeeze of mental pressure against the other minds that soon fades. Jax reaches to the side to rub slowly at Hive's back, fingers curling in to scratch between his shoulderblades. "Oh, sweetie," he murmurs again. He picks up the juice first, draining half the glass in a few quick gulps, first, before even starting on the soup. He doesn't bother with spoon. Just tips up the bowl to drink from it straight. "Hive, honey-honey --" But Hive is drowsing again, and his voice drops quieter as he giggles. "-- if he can manage a TARDIS I think he's gonna be winnin' some /crazy/ kinda architecture prize this year." "I saw a real neat paintin' somebody did makin' a closet door into the TARDIS with the wall 'round it done up in blues an' purples an' lightnin' an' all for the time vortex. Might could be an option t'paint Spence's room up all thematic. Though he might have a dif'rent theme he wants. Should ask 'im closer t'the time." When the kettle whistles, Micah pours hot water into each of the mugs before setting a timer on his phone. He collects Lucien's dishes and washes those along with the now-empty pots from the stove while he waits for the alarm to go off. "Hive wants me t'do the play room in the common area. I was thinkin' /that/ would be cute t'do up Forest of Feelings style. Gets animals /an'/ tons of /colour/. Very...all kindsa kids appropriate." In the bathroom, there is singing. A rich powerful voice, singing Wicked's "For Good". Showertime is /for/ singing, apparently, even if Lucien's well-trained baritone sounds like it would be more at home on Broadway. Jax drains half his soup before setting it down to pick up his peas, taking the chopsticks so that he can start popping them into his mouth. "Oh my gosh. Ohmygosh ginger. Have I told y'today I love you? I musta. S'kinda ridiculous how I feel like m'about t'pass out when I get back I ate like twenty minutes before I left the studio an' it's barely a mile t'walk home. -- I mighta run. I don't remember. I was bouncy." He wriggles happily as he eats, bouncing /more/ at the thought of Spencer's room and /playroom/: "Ohmy/gosh/ ohmygosh ohmy/gosh/ can I paint the playroom? I mean if you're gonna trick it out an' all but can I /paint/ it oh my /gosh/ that'd be /so/ /much/ --" He pauses, brightening as he listens to the singing from the bathroom. "Oh. Oh, /wow/." This is breathed out quieter, awed. "Oh, /wow/." "Might have t'start eatin' food /durin'/ your walk home. Carry little baggies of granola for snackin'." Micah grins at Jax's enthusiasm. "Definitely. This mornin'. But I don't mind hearin' it again. Love you, too, hon. An' you can /so/ paint as much as y'want." Micah is humming along with Lucien's singing even before he realises that he's /hearing/ it, the duet just begging his subconscious for completion. His phone vibrates in his pocket and he pulls it out to quiet the alarm before removing the tea balls, emptying and cleaning them. With a mug in each hand (and still humming), he returns to the living room and sets the mugs on the coffee table. He glances at Hive. "Did he fall asleep?" "Only until tea," Hive insists. But he insists it in a sleepy mumble, and doesn't actually open his eyes. "Holy. Fucking. Shit." Then he's quiet. "-- Is that Lucien. I've never. Heard. Shit. Boy can sing." His head burrows further into the crook of his arm. His mind squeezes back against theirs. He curls in more snugly into the corner of the couch. His mouth curls into a smile. "-- Yeah. Wow."