ArchivedLogs:Fretting

Fretting
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Eric, Micah	13 February 2014 Eric stops by with some concerns. (Takes place after Hive's appointment.)
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. Jax hasn't been home for long. Long enough to change, dressed warm and comfortable now in /excessively/ shiny chrome-green UFOs with black-and-silver mesh pockets, a long-sleeved black shirt with lavender Lorax t-shirt layered over it, hoodie striped in purple and green with random stripes redone in metallic silver. Very bright-patterned mismatched socks. Very bright-patterned mismatched armwarmers. Sunglasses, despite being inside; his ombre-pink hair flopping down over the mirrored lenses. He's in the kitchen, at the moment, having just refilled the water bowls for the cat and the dog, now chomping down a lemon square as he roots through the fridge for leftovers to reheat before work. There is a knock at the door, a little double-tap of knuckles against the wood of the door. One hand raised in a wave and the other in his back pocket, Eric smiles up at the peephole with a warm expression. He is not nearly as colorful as Jax, but he is dressed a bit more brightly than he normally is. His jacket is a warm looking red pleather thing, but it is unzipped and hanging open. The shirt underneath is much brighter - a sky blue T to go with the black jeans and a belt with the Superman logo on the front that looks like it came straight off of the rack at Hot Topic. Or, perhaps, Goodwill, if the scuffed edges are any indication. Lemon square still in hand, Jackson closes the fridge with his search still incomplete, bouncing his way back over towards the door. "Oh! Oh sorry was expectin' the buzzer first hi." This comes through the door in Jax's thick Southern drawl as he unlocks its /many/ locks, skidding back against the wood floor in socked feet to pull it open. He nibbles off another bite of lemon square, curling his fingers in a small wave. "Um -- hi. Did you -- want. Hi. What's up?" His smile is warm, though his expression is admittedly a little bit puzzled. "Hiya, Jax!" Eric gives the other man a warm wave as the door opens, his smile brightening as he looks him over. "Bright, today, I see." His voice is gentle and teasing, but his smile fades back to a serious expression surprisingly quickly for the police officer. "I actually came lookin' for some advice, though God knows you got the right to slam the door in my face." He lets his hand drop to his side and drums his fingers along his leg in a nervous gesture. "It's about registration." Micah makes his way down the stairs from Geekhaus rather laden with /stuff/. His winter gear is all stuffed into his arms, neon orange forearm crutches holstered in black nylon straps to his back, messenger bag thudding along at his hip. His hair is in a nearly just-woke-up state of messiness. He quick-steps the last bit to get to the door before it closes, in order to avoid the whole locating of keys process with hands full. "Hi! Sorry. Sneakin' in behind you," he informs Eric, hefting the bundle in his arms to prevent it from slipping. "When ain't I?" Jax just looks amused at Eric's observation, though his pierced brows raise up above the shiny chrome rims of his glasses after this. "-- bout registration? What /about/ registration?" His bright expression brightens further when Micah comes down, and he skitters back towards the door to hold it open with a heel, dropping a kiss on the older man's cheek and holding up his lemon square to offer Micah a bite. His fingers rake through Micah's hair to comb tousled locks back into /some/ -- slight -- semblance of order. "Gosh, honey-honey, y'look like you had a /mornin'/." "You're right. I should'a said bright/er/, not just bright." Eric turns around as Micah approaches and quickly side-steps into the apartment to get out of the way. "Yikes; ya need any help there, Micah?" The police officer offers, holding out his hands. "Ya can just dump it into my arms." He takes a step forward, crouching down slightly to make the transfer easier. "You look like you've got enough weight for two even without it." He watches the interplay between the two men carefully, eyes flicking forth between them for a second before he looks politely away. "Well, I'd like'ta keep my job, is the problem." Micah pauses long enough to lean into Jax's kiss and accept a small nibble of the lemon square. "Oh...thanks. If y'could take the um...coat an' things. I'll be able t'get m'shoes off an' handle the rest of it. Y'can just throw 'em on the couch an' I'll put 'em away in a minute." He hands over the bundle in his arms, hat-earwraps-gloves-scarf all wrapped into his olive puffy coat. Even with all of this off, he is still layered up in a royal blue sweater over a robin's egg henley, fleece-lined heavy bluejeans, and multicolour polkadot socks. Ducking down, he unties and removes his boots before pulling the crutches off his back and hanging them in their usual storage space. "Apologies. I didn't mean t'come in here with...depressin' face. Just gettin' back from sittin' upstairs with Hive. After his appointment." His teeth press down into his lower lip. "I was jus' about to reheat some -- gosh I don't even know what we have, maybe some pea soup? -- if anyone wants. Kinda ran straight from school t'school an' didn't really stop for a proper lunch." Jax is already starting to pluck Micah's winter gear out from Eric's arms when Micah unloads, hanging things back in the appropriate place in the closet. "An' there's still some lemon squares -- uh not that /everyone/ needs their dessert first." His cheeks flush deep crimson as he turns back to his hanging-up. His head turns, eye widening as Micah mentions Hive's appointment, but despite the clear look of concern that crosses his expression, he doesn't say anything more on this subject for now, glancing to Eric and then back to the closet. Around him there's a brief murky ripple, hard to catch and mostly lost against the darker backdrop of closet. It vanishes soon. "Well -- I mean, I don't really know what -- t'tell you about that, honey-honey. They ain't actually told us /nothin'/ about what registration's even gonna mean yet. For you or anyone. So -- maybe you will? We don't know so much as /how/ anyone's gonna hafta register let alone -- who's gonna know or when or -- nothin', yet." Eric steps over towards the closet with the bundle of clothing, making it easier for Jax to put the items away as he turns to Micah. "Hive? How's he doin'? Ain't seen him in ages." He glances upwards, as if he would be able to see the telepath through the floors. The shadows pass him right by - or if he does notice them, they provoke no reaction from him whatsoever. He instead studies Micah's face for a moment as the clothes are transferred to the closet, then looks back to Jax. "Yeah, I know, but..." Eric shakes his head. "I ain't know what they're going'ta require, but I bet ya anything that police are going to have'ta register. Soldiers too, probably. And if I have'ta register, I'm sure that I'll get fired." He shakes his head. "I mean, maybe I won't and nothin' will happen. Maybe I'm just worryin' over nothin', but... I feel like I need to /do/ somethin' about it. Prepare, somehow. Hide, or fight." "Ohgosh, /lunch/." Micah winces slightly at this. "Good idea. We kinda...forgot. Upstairs. I should take some things up an' make sure Hive eats later. He ain't been good about eatin' lately." He nods at Eric's question. "Not feelin' 'is best, but anythin' aside from that y'might wanna ask for yourself. Maybe...not just now, though." Stepping into the living room, Micah slides his messenger bag under the coffee table just to get it out of the way. He moves, then, to the living room side of the counter and slides onto a stool. "Gonna be hard t'say anythin' 'bout registration for a minute. They ain't even gotta have their plan t'gether 'til t'morrow. Who knows when any of it'll get implemented? Government bureaucracy may work in our favour for once. Have a reprieve on the whole thing for a bit." He reaches for the container of lemon squares, pulling one out for himself before holding the container out, open, to offer the others. Jax shrugs, trotting back towards the kitchen -- he nabs himself another lemon square on the way -- and drags a large tupperware of soup out of the fridge. It smells faintly like garlic and rosemary when he opens it, and even moreso once he sets a pot on the stove to begin reheating it. "But do what, Eric? We don't know /anything/. Like literally nothin'. I mean, sure, you're gonna hafta register -- probably alla us are. But we don' know who's gonna be able to /see/ that -- we don't know how that's gonna affect you. We don't know /nothin'/. We don't know what you gotta prepare /for/ or who you'd hafta hide /from/. I mean, there's literally nothin' I can tell you till we got /some/ information t'go on, y'know? An' that won't be till tomorrow -- if it's even tomorrow. Tomorrow's when /they're/ supposed to have their stuff in order but when they gotta tell us about it is anyone's guess." He shrugs uncertainly as he stirs at his pot with one hand, nibbling lemon square with the other. Eric nods as he listens to Micah and Jax, and he droops slightly. Leaning against the wall, Eric lets his head fall back against the plaster. "Yeah, y'all're probably right." He says, letting out a long breath in a calming blow half way to a sigh. "Scratch that. I know ya'all're right. I just ain't very good at sittin' around with my thumb up my ass waitin' for someone to come hunt me down. Ain't something I've ever been good at. But I can't /do/ nothin' about this. There's nothin' for me to..." He waves a hand in the air, then drops it back down to his side. He is silent for several seconds. "I'm just scared I ain't goin' be able to move and start over again." His voice is low and quiet, and there is even a little quiver in the back of it, as he grits his teeth uncomfortably. "Thanks, hon," Micah says to Jax as the other man starts late-lunch to reheating. "Why don't y'sit for a spell, hon? Drown your sorrows in some sugar." He taps the stool next to him and waggles the container of lemon squares temptingly, even taking a small bite from his own. See? Deliciousness. "Know from a lotta experience it's hard t'keep from frettin' over things. But when it's somethin' y'don't have the first idea /what/ is gonna happen. Don't do much good for ya. Y'know? Give it one more day, at least." "Micah's right, honey-honey. I mean, frettin's just gonna -- well, leave y'with a lot of /fret/." Jax shrugs, opening the fridge back up to get out a container of broth and tip a little bit extra into the soup to thin it back out in the reheating. "Can't say as movin' an' starting over somewhere new might be all that easy, we /do/ know whatever registration plan they come up with's gonna be on a nationwide level. So if somethin' is hard here s'gonna be jus' as hard elsewhere, but without whatever support network y'built for yourself here already. Friends an' family counts for a lot, y'know?" He polishes off his lemon square, licking his fingers clean and then moving to the sink to wash off his hands. "But why'n't you stay for a lunch an' -- I mean, ain't a whole /lotta/ point in fretting. But there /are/ gonna be a whole whomping lot of us in the same boat as you, come tomorrow, so whatever they trot out, we're all gonna hafta come up with some kinda plan together, yeah?" "I mean again," Eric says, looking over at Jax. "S' why I'm in New York in the first place, ya know? I moved up here after I got kicked off'a the force down in Georgia for bein' a mutant. The Chief was nice enough to write me a recommendation even so after he had'ta get rid of me. And I'm going'ta lose a lot of my friends anyway, if it comes out." Eric's smile is wry, and he shakes his head. "But you should know, Jax. Frettin's practically a sport for us Georgia boys," he says, a smile curling on his lips. "Nah, you're right. I ain't goin'ta be able to outrun this one. Guess I just gotta sit still and wait." The police officer sticks his hands into his pockets, looking between Jax and Micah. "You sure you don't mind? I ain't want to be intrudin'." A pause. "How's Shane, anyway? How's he doin'?" Micah finishes off his lemon square, wiping his fingers on a napkin before tapping the stool next to him again. He even waves Eric over this time. "Not intrudin'. Come sit. An' eat. Seems like y'could use a quiet place with comp'ny an' a meal, at least for a little bit." He rests the lid on the container of lemon squares to keep them from drying out in the meantime. "Just won't know what needs doin' 'til more information arrives." Micah looks down at his hands at the question of Shane. "Boys've all been doin' better since Jax an' Dusk came home. Twins went back t'school. I ain't...talked a whole lot t'Shane recently. Think he's still upset with me." He looks over to Jax in case the other man has more up-to-date information. "We do make kinda world-class fretters, don't we." Jax stirs at the soup again, the garlicky-rosemary smell growing stronger as the split pea-mushroom soup starts to slowly simmer. He turns aside to fetch three bowls, square-shaped, red on their insides and black on the out, setting them down on the counter. "I mean, this is sure t'be difficult for a lotta folk, a lotta ways. We just don't got no way t'know quite how yet. So if y'need to prepare, I'd say -- remember who your friends are. Stick with them. 'Cuz Lord knows we're all gonna need 'em." His smile dims at the mention of Shane, lips thinning as he dishes soup into the three bowls. "Shane's doin' alright. Back at school. Gettin' on fine." His tone is light as he slides two bowls across to the others. "'kai get y'all summat t'drink?" "Certainly could. Ain't never going to say no to Jax's cooking neither. The man knows his way around the kitchen, no question." Eric gives Jax a bright smile with a flash of teeth as he walks over and sits down next to Micah. "Thanks. Both'a you." A pause, and Eric makes a noise of surprise as Micah adds in. "Upset with you?" Eric turns to look at Micah, his eyebrows furrowing together. "What happened? I mean... why's he upset? It's good that he's at school, though. I know he wasn't havin' an easy time of it there, but..." Eric looks back to Jax and then trails off at the look on the other man's face. He coughs, once, and looks down at the table. "Smells delicious," he adds. The bowl quickly finds itself pulled closer to Micah, who takes in a deep breath of the aroma before stirring at the soup with its spoon, waiting for it to cool just a little. "No, no... I think things've been fine at school. Lotsa things got better soon as Jax got cleared an' came home, like I said. We just had somethin' of a philosophical argument. I'm sure he'll cool down off it after awhile. Just was a...sensitive topic s'all. An' y'know how teenagers can be with things. Nothin' worth addin' /more/ fret over, I assure you." He lifts a spoonful of soup, blowing over it softly before eating, not offering more details on that particular subject. Jax lifts his hand, palm-out, at the further questions on Shane, shaking his head quickly. More bright pink hair spills down over his glasses. "Honey-honey, I think if Shane wanted you t'know about his life, he'd be talking to you about it himself. Can we just -- not? On that topic? Don't really feel right." He slips his own spoon into his bowl, shutting off the burner and remaining standing on the kitchen side of the counter, turning aside to pour /himself/ a tall glass of juice, at least. He turns back around to lean against the countertop, one elbow propped against it and the other hand crossing himself, head bowing over his food to say a silent grace over it before he starts eating, too.