ArchivedLogs:Healing

Healing
Dramatis Personae Micah, Dusk, Joshua	5 October 2013 Healing leftover wounds from Harlem.
Location <NYC> Candyland - Village Lofts - East Village
This bedroom is bright, bright, bright, a cheerful riot of colour in contrast to the more minimalist scheme outside. It, too, has a plethora of lamps to lend it even more light than what comes in from the large windows opposite the entry; many of them bear stained-glass coverings in cheerful mosaic patterns to add still more colour to the room. The walls have been painted in pale blue with darker blue trim, though one is instead a mural of surreal fantastical artwork, odd unearthly plant and animal life spread across it in vivid colours. There is scattering of furniture here -- a bed on the wall adjacent to the window (usually dressed in vividly patterned mismatched sheets), a dresser opposite the bed, standing beside the large closet, both in wood that has been painted black and then covered in a swarm of brightly coloured images, too. The wall near the door bears an enormous handmade shelving unit, similarly painted; it is filled largely with meticulously organized art supplies. By the window, a desk stands in as-yet-unpainted wood; besides laptops and drawing tablet it often bears an eclectic mix of items, too. Comic books, knitting supplies, a hiking pack of climbing gear. The evening is wending on. Micah is fresh out of the shower, auburn hair still wet and a little drippy in points that stick to his neck and forehead. He is sitting on the bed, clad in a pair of pajama pants decorated in tiny TARDISes tumbling through space...and nothing else. His current task is dressing-replacement, the first aid kit open on the mattress next to him, since the air in the bedroom is not as steamy-humid as the bathroom's. The large bruises that covered much of his right side are fading from their impressive reds and purples into camoflaugey splotches of brown and sickly green-yellow. The wounds themselves look less angry, but better not left to open air. He brushes antibiotic ointment over the stitched-together areas with a long cotton swab, chucking this in the trashcan he has pulled over beside the bed before digging in the kit for fresh bandages. Knock knock knock! "Hey s'me," is Dusk's announcement from inside; he waits (VAMPIRELIKE) for invitation before opening the door. "-- Man I was hoping Spence was here he took Alanna and vanished. Your kid is an inveterate kidnapper. Ferretnapper. Oh wow." His eyes are skimming down over Micah, though for /once/ with more sympathy than hunger. Maybe a /little/ hunger too. "Those still look ugly. You need a hand?" He has -- one. To offer. He slips into the room, half-dressed as well in faded jeans, no shirt, no shoes. Sling on his arm. “S'open,” Micah calls back at the sound of Dusk's voice, peeling the wrapper off of a large square bandage with self-adhesive edges. He places this over the wound on his abdomen, pressing lightly against the edges before adding paper tape to reinforce it. “Oh, is he not in his room? Next best guess is Ryan's, if he's not at your place, now that the twins are back home.” He offers Dusk a little smile at that sympathy-face to indicate that he's okay, really. “Actually, the back one does take a little more contortion t'get the edges stuck down,” he admits at Dusk's offer to help. "Oh -- it's Saturday night, isn't it? Yeah. S'probably with Liam. Do ferrets celebrate Shabbat? I think my ferret is Buddhist." Dusk moves over to the bedside, not really sitting but placing one knee on the mattress beside Micah. "You don't look like you should /be/ contorting any time soon. Well. Not like this. Bandage?" His fingers trace lightly down against the unhurt side of Micah's back, reaching around past Micah afterwards to beckon in indication for the bandages. "You back to work yet?" Joshua isn't polite. Nothing like knocking or waiting patiently for invite. He just /appears/, Spencer-like -- /exactly/ Spencer-like, given who he has cribbed teleportation from -- nearby the other two, kind of dark beneath the eyes, tousled hair, still dressed in rumpled dark navy trousers and button-down, FDNY PARAMEDIC emblazoned on its back and EMS patch on his shoulder. << Yo. >> "Hey. Sorry. Neither of you should be contorting any time soon but you /inevitably/ end up doing it when you're alone together." He glances over towards the stained-glass lampshade on the nearest lamp. "Or even not together, I guess. You want a hand?" His eyes are raking over Micah and Dusk in turn. Frowning. No hunger, just a steady assessment that deepens his frown together with apology: "-- Sorry. I meant to come -- shit. Was that a week ago? This week's been hell." "It is. Also, I am like the worst Jew ever. Came along an' Spence still has t'ship off t'Liam for any real...anythin'. I think ferrets mostly celebrate /playtime/." Micah giggles at this, collecting a bandage and freeing it from its protective wrapper before passing it back to Dusk. He shivers, just slightly, at the tracing of fingertips along his skin. "No, I took the whole last week off. M'gonna try t'get back into some things on Monday. Can do some castin' an' fittin' an' craftin' of things. Workin' with any bigger equipment'll be a little harder. Not up for liftin' yet. Walkin's still slow, distance-limited, an' only with crutches." Micah nearly jumps off the bed in surprise when Joshua /appears/ in the bedroom. He's used to Spence just popping in unannounced, but sudden full-sized persons are another story! "Ohgosh. Joshua. Hi." He flutters a hand over his heart as if to calm its adrenaline-elevated rate manually. "Yeah, it was a week Thursday," he confirms. "Just gettin' a bandage on the back wound. That one needs your help more." His thumb points behind him to indicate Dusk. "Bullet hit bone. Potential for long-term injury or impairment. Mine's just a flesh wound." His expression is relatively even with this explanation to Joshua, expecting his medical-personnel judgement to agree with the simple facts. "Well, maybe they're having rambunctious Shabbat. I feel like that's pretty likely, with Spence around." Dusk takes the bandage carefully, laying it neatly over the wound and running his fingers against its edge to tamp it into place. "Hoshit jeez man are you actually /trying/ to kill us?" He twitches, too, at Joshua's sudden entrance, hand jerking back away from Micah. "-- OK yeah, but, you actually need to get out of the house and do shit. I don't have anywhere I need to get to even when I'm in good shape. So in terms of injury maybe but in terms of life impact --" He shrugs his good wing. "I mean, you were just telling me all the work-things you couldn't do still." His hand returns to Micah's back even after the bandage is in place, just trailing fingers gently against the skin. "Mmnh. Yeah. Well. Your life'll be a lot more impacted if you can't ever fly again. As will the rest of ours." Despite this agreement, Joshua seems disinclined to take any words at face value, resting a hand on either man's shoulder with a lingering of his frown. His eyes skip down to Dusk's hand against Micah's back. "What I've heard, though, you haven't seemed to have any problems working with bigger equipment while you're recovering." In the end he drops his hand off of Micah's shoulder, resting his other lightly on Dusk's injured one instead. "Should be able to get you both, Micah. But I'll come back after work tomorrow for you if I end up needing a break between." "You make a good point." Micah chuckles at some mental image involving Shabbats and rambunctious ferrets. He tears strips of paper tape off of the roll to pass back, since Dusk is one-handed still. "/Temporarily/," he reinforces, of the list of things he currently cannot do. "Yours could be extendedly. Or permanently, dependin' on how it heals." He points to Joshua, bringing the fingertip back to his nose when the other man describes the risks to Dusk's future flight capacity. His face lights up brilliant-red at Joshua's teasing. "Folks have been real accomodatin' about handlin' the heavy liftin'," he replies flatly, right through the ongoing blush. "An' tomorrow's fine, if needed. Shouldn't overtax yourself, either. I'm not even tryin' t'get back t'work 'til Monday." Dusk's good wing curls in tighter against his back, a sick mental tightening, too, accompanying the thought of potentially never flying again. He swallows, and doesn't, therefore, protest Joshua's touch any further. He runs the tape along an edge of the bandage, reaching forward afterwards for another strip. His head tips forward, forehead resting lightly against the back of Micah's shoulder. "Working with bigger equipment's /supposed/ to be a little harder. He's definitely been managing more than alright." He lifts his head again, looking back up at Joshua. "When do you work again? You look like you need sleep." "Yeah, who doesn't need sleep around here. -- That's pretty much what their Shabbat is looking like right now, by the way. Just bouncing getting all over everything." Joshua closes his eyes, breathing slower and more deliberate as he focuses. It's not exactly a /painful/ sensation, when flesh and bone start knitting back together, but it's certainly not pleasant, an unusual sort of itch that starts deep in the bone and spreads to extend to all the injury site. "Yeah, well, I'm sure he appreciates you pitching in." His jaw tightens slightly at the question. "Yeah, 24-hour shifts do that. Don't work again till Monday, though." Once it is free of tape, Micah's hand reaches up to play through Dusk's hair when the other man's head rests on his shoulder. “Sounds like a fun kinda way to spend it,” he says of the bouncing and ferret-chasing. He continues petting at Dusk through his healing process, fingers twining slowly through his hair. And blushing...that's still going on, apparently. “That's good, at least. Get a crazy-long nap in. Recharge a little.” "I still don't get how the hell do you manage twenty-four hour shifts. I can barely stay awake that long and I'm half your age." Dusk's hand curls around to rest against Micah's uninjured side, head dropping to rest back against the other man's shoulder again. "Ngh." This is the uncomfortable noise he makes when the healing begins, muscles tensing and his face just nuzzling further against Micah in response. "I'm not always doing the pitching. Not with /Micah/, anyway. Is it rude to interrupt playtime? She's been out a while I don't want her to take a /dump/ on their dinner table if he forgets to bring her back somewhere with a litterbox." "Half my fucking -- I'm /twenty-four/, dude." Joshua's eyes scrunch tighter closed at this. "And we handle them by sleeping a lot. The occasional on-duty beer. Uh." His head shakes, fingers gripping down a little bit harder as the flesh rebuilds itself beneath them. "I don't think it's ever considered rude to spare someone from wayward shit, nobody wants that." "Half your...he's younger'n I am! Cut that out." Micah swats playfully at Dusk's hand in reprimand, though this is largely for show as the actual contact he makes is quite gentle. And ends in wrapping his hand over the other man's, giving it a little squeeze at the sounds of discomfort. "Oh/gosh/." His eyes fall closed as his blush ramps up during the more...blatant commentary. "An' I'm pretty sure they'd appreciate a heads-up on the litter box front. Better safe than sorry where such things are concerned." "You're /almost/ twenty-five you should be preparing for retirement." Dusk draws in a slow breath, his eyes closing as he just rests against Micah's back. His hand squeezes gently against Micah's side, shoulder twitching under Joshua's hand. "I just don't know if Spence would think about it. When he brings her /here/ it's okay, Sprite /has/ a litterbox. Needs to be careful when she's not in -- a place with cats. Oh. Oh man." His shoulder tenses again, for a moment, and then relaxes. "Guys when this is done I am going to go fly for miles." His hand turns over, fingers squeezing Micah's back, tightly. "A week feels so much longer when all the things I'm used to doing are so much less accessible. Wait I'm also going to play so much Gears of War." He presses a quick kiss to the back of Micah's shoulder. "You in?" "I don't know." Joshua's voice has dropped quieter, eyes opening again but his expression still deadpan. "I don't know if video games are really built with people as ancient as him in mind." His hand slips away from Dusk's shoulder, breathing a little shaky, his posture a little shaky where he stands. He sinks down to sit on the floor by the bed, head resting against the side of the mattress. "Who the hell is going to live long enough to retire?" “For goodness sake,” Micah snorts at the ongoing age-talk. He doesn't swat at Dusk again, though, his grip on the other man's hand just tightening as the signs of pain continue and releasing once he relaxes. “Y'might wanna start with some shorter flights first. Miles is a lot for a newly-healed shoulder.” He sticks his tongue out at Joshua's /ancient/ comment. “Only two years older'n you, watch it.” Joshua's shakiness pulls his eyebrows together in concern. “D'you wanna just.../use/ the bed, hon? You're welcome to it. Look like you're about t'collapse. An' stop talkin' like that. You're just tired.” Micah sets about tidying away the first aid kit to make a place for Joshua to lie down, patting the mattress and looking at him again pointedly. "/Miles/," Dusk insists, emphatically, "but you could spare my shoulder by coming and playing video games with me." His next kiss is more of a small /nip/ at the side of Micah's neck. "Unless you'd prefer staying here." His hand drops away from Micah's side, and he looks down at Joshua with a frown. "Juice? -- Food? I'm sure there must be some food around here. Can I take this off yet?" His good hand taps against the sling even as he heads towards the door to go obtain Joshua /food/. "Water. And food. Something with some protein to it and yes, you can take it off but don't go flying for fucking miles man you need to exercise that a little first." Joshua tips his head back against the bed, reaching up to snag Micah's hand and stop its patting. "Tch. I'm fine. Stopping is -- weird. And I'm not tired, I'm just realistic." He turns around to kneel, sitting back on his heels, his hand still in Micah's. "You ready?" “I'll go with you if that'll keep y'from bein' an idiot about your healin' process,” Micah replies in an exaggeratedly put-out tone, which disappears into a little sharp intake of breath at the sudden nip. “Wherever you're wantin' t'go that /isn't/ flyin' for miles immediately.” His cheeks redden again. “There's some curry in the fridge. Water'n juice, too.” He frowns at Joshua's hand when it stops his. “Hon, you were all shaky already. I think y'need t'lie down. Get some food, somethin' t'drink.” He chews at his lower lip thoughtfully. “/I'm/ ready, but is this too much for you all at once?” "Nah. I'm not going to /blackmail/ you into gaming with me," Dusk answers with a laugh. "I'll take it easy. On my /wing/, anyway." He disappears out to the kitchen, not bothering with /plates/ but returning in short order with a tupperware of curry, a spoon, and a glass of water. In two hands! The elaborate sling that had held both his arm and wing in place is draped over a shoulder, and his expression is immensely relieved. He sets the food and water beside Joshua, moving aside to slowly stretch his wing out behind him -- as far as it can /go/ before it hits the wall, anyway. He watches Joshua and Micah in silence, rolling his newly-healed shoulder slowly. "I'll lie down when I'm done," Joshua answers Micah, head shaking quickly. "I just got off a day shift, if I lie down now I'll be out till morning. Get this all done at once and that means a whole /day/ of rest before I've got to work again. S'better this way." He keeps Micah's hand in his, and though his head drops back against the bed, this time his eyes stay open. The healing process is not particularly any /more/ comfortable for Micah than for Dusk, a persistent itching overlapping the unnatural sensation of the flesh repairing itself. Though less structural damage means it is probably less work fixing this hole than Dusk's, it takes Joshua about as long to get through it, his posture slumping heavily against the bed afterwards. "There." His eyes close again, his voice tired. "Should be good for all your large equipment handling needs." "I'll still play with you even if it's not preventin' your imminent re-injury. I was just teasin', hon," Micah reassures with a little smile at Dusk as he heads out of the room. "If you're sure..." He sounds less than certain about this. "An' y'lie down right after. An' eat a thing." His hand does not withdraw, letting Joshua complete his healing tasks. The muscles in his jaw tighten, teeth gritting at the strange-uncomfortable feeling, though his features relax entirely once Joshua is finished. He shakes his head long-sufferingly at the /continuing/ equipment comments, offering Joshua a hand. "C'mon. Bed. An' food." Dusk's wing -- the newly-healed one, this time -- stretches out to brush up against Micah's back through this healing process, rubbing gently against his shoulder. "Food and bed," he agrees, "and /then/ Gears of War." Joshua doesn't say anything in answer to this. He gulps down half the water and then takes Micah's hand, grasping it tight to pull himself to his feet. And collapse straight into bed, ignoring the food to just fall into sleep. Micah nuzzles against Dusk's wing when it comes close. He slides off of the bed to make room for Joshua, smiling a bit at his immediate-sleep. “Should put the food back in the fridge for 'im.” Still a little uncertain on his feet and looking to take it easy on newly-healed muscles after his lengthy convalescence, he grabs one of his crutches from where it leans at the foot of the bed, using it as a cane in his right hand for balance. “Unless y'wanted some. But we should let 'im sleep.” Micah switches off the bedside lamp before leading the way to the door, catching the light switch there on his way out, as well.