ArchivedLogs:History

History
Dramatis Personae Neve, Micah	1 August 2014 Of a complicated variety.
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Treehaus - Lower East Side
A spiral of sturdy slatted wooden stairs winds up the trunk of an enormous oak, leading the way up to this treehouse positioned between a pair of trees at one side of the Commons yard, abutting the river. It's clear enough upon ascending that this is no ordinary treehouse, built sturdy-strong and with a polished finish that would rival most /regular/ residences. Spanning the distance between the pair of oaks, the treehouse is a long one-story building, equipped with both plumbing and electricity. The stairs lead up onto a wraparound balcony that projects out at one side to overlook the East River rushing by below. The doorway inside leads to a furnished sitting room, long low futon-couches on the pale wood floors, walls painted in leafy shades of green, exposed-beam ceilings that seem to have worked some of the actual branches of the tree into the curvature of the roof. The front room is bright and airy, large windows looking out on the Commons grounds and the river outside. Recessed lanterns in the wall give the room a warm glow, come nighttimes, and in the center of the room amid a stone-tiled patch of flooring there is a squat glass-encased gas fireplace providing warmth in winter. Off to one side of the room there is an elevated loft up nearer the ceiling, accessible by ladder and furnished with pillows and plush futon mattress and lots of blankets. The adjoining room is decorated in watery river-blues instead of leaf-greens; in here there's a small kitchenette to one side with sink and stove and toaster oven and counter space, cabinets on the walls. A long dining table in this room seats eight; by the windows, plenty of cushioning sits in the wide window-seats. Off in the very back, a tiny half-bathroom holds a sink and toilet. No stove in here; the wintertime tends to find this room much chillier, but there's generally plenty of warm blankets lying around the house. It hasn't rained yet but it's been threatening too all day long and the forecasters have made dire predictions about the likelihood of a dry Friday evening. For now, the rain stays banked in the silver-grey clouds above, while the world below waits for it. The oaks' leaves have all turned up, ruffled in the breeze coming off the River; they, at least, seem to agree with the forecasters. Inside of the treehouse it is cozy cool though, even if it /does/ start raining. The front door has been left open and the balcony doors as well, making a nice thoroughfare for the wind. About twenty minutes previous, Neve might have been seen traversing the courtyard. She's dressed practically for a day spent unpacking, in simple black leggings and an oversized green t-shirt knotted at the hip. Whether it's quitting time or simply break time, she's opted to spend it in the treehouse. Maybe she explored it after winding up the stairs and disappearing instead. At the moment she's out on the balcony overlooking the East River, sitting at the very edge with her feet dangling down and her shoulder fetched up against one of the posts, her arm likewise curled around it. Safety first, it wouldn't do to fall. Micah may well have spotted Neve on his way in from his van. A quick shower later finds him climbing the stairs (grateful that they're not a ladder, yet again) to see if she is still lingering there. His hair is spiked wet and still a /little/ on the drippy side considering the amount of moisture in the air. Work clothes have been swapped out for a powder blue Totoro face T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. An olive green messenger bag thuds against his hip with each step. Upon reaching the entrance, he knocks on the doorframe rather than simply inviting himself in. The scuff and scramble of quick movement follow the knock. A moment later, Neve herself comes into view. She doesn't do a very good job of masking the caution she's feeling but the sight of Micah there shifts wariness to a small, tentative smile. "Oh, hello...am I...?" She pauses, glancing over her shoulder at the balcony. "Did you need the space? I was just looking around. A second tour, I suppose. It seemed quiet." Looking back to him, the smile is more securely in place but she doesn't seem to know what to do with her hands. One brushes at her hair and then joins its partner in trying to slide into front pockets that don't exist. Oops. "Hi, hon." Micah comes, again, with a faint layer of blush already dusted over his cheeks. "No, you're fine. I just saw that you'd come up an' wanted t'check up an' see how y'were doin'." He remains right outside the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I also brought some mint lemonade. If y'wanted. I know the neighbourly thing's usually s'posed t'be, like...a pie or somethin'. But you'd thank me for /not/ bakin' for you if you'd ever been 'round my baked goods before." A small smile ghosts across his lips with the hint of a joke. Neve, thus far, is avoiding the color in the cheeks thing. It is probably only a matter of time but for now--especially when he mentions mint lemonade--she's able to keep the blush at bay, opting instead for a look of shy pleasure. "Did you really? That was kind of you. I've never tried mint lemonade, is it good?" Oh, wait. /Now/ comes the color blooming in her face. "I mean, I'm sure it is good. I suspect my pies would be even worse if I tried to bake one. It's, ah...you know, I feel strange inviting you in. This isn't my home. But...come in?" When in doubt, change the subject, right? And retreat. She can do that as well, backing off to take a seat on the edge of one of the futons. "It's nice when it's hot'n humid out. Mint makes it taste kinda...extra cold. S'refreshin'." There is a small rise and fall of Micah's shoulders that might well be a shrug. "Ohgosh, yeah. I like /cookin'/ but somethin' 'bout bakin' just don't turn out well for me." His smile broadens at the invitation. "Thanks. It's...y'were in here first so I just wanted t'make sure I wasn't intrudin'. Have y'been...interactin' with folks much yet or mostly hangin' 'round your own place?" "I'd be happy to try some. It has been humid. Unhappy times, unhappy weather, I suppose," she says with another glance for the doors still opened to face the river. "Maybe somewhere there's a mutant having bad dreams and it affects the seasons. It's been a strange summer." But these are brooding sort of thoughts and Neve visibly sets them aside, straightening a little, straightening her smile. "You aren't intruding. I was just...mm. I've been unpacking. I felt like stretching my legs and didn't see anyone out." Which might answer the interaction question as well, though she makes an effort to tackle that too--her smile becoming a little more fixed. "I met Dusk. He left my keyfob for me." Micah makes his way in to the kitchenette to claim a pair of tall glasses. He settles them down on a table before digging a Thermos out of his bag and unscrewing the lid to fill them. "The only person with special abilities as I ever knew who did things t'dreams mostly went 'round tryin' t'make folks /happy/. Real pleasant dreams." The mention of unpacking earns a nod. "Yeah, y'need a /break/ from that sometimes. Y'don't have t'wait 'til there's nobody 'round t'go outside, though. S'good y'got the keyfob. Opens most everythin'." He pauses, chewing at his lip a moment before handing Neve one of the glasses. "How did...how did that go?" "It might be better for everyone if I did." Wait to go outside, she means. Neve reaches up to take the lemonade. She's kept her smile but there's strain around the edges. She wraps both hands around the glass and studies the liquid inside. "Thank you. It...went as well as it could. Possibly better than might be expected. People seem to...to do poorly. Where I am involved. I worry that...that might be the case here as well. I hope it isn't offensive if I ask how effective security is. Here. My receptionist was found dead. This morning." After that, a sip of the heaven that is mint lemonade makes for a jarring contrast but she takes one anyway--and comments faintly afterward, "This /is/ good." "Has anyone been givin' you a hard time?" Micah looks a little upset but doesn't offer solutions to that. Perhaps...understanding where hard times might be coming from. "It's gonna take some time, sugar. Between...things that happened before an' then. Matt. An' Themis. It's a lot for people. But you're /not/ the only one who's done terrible things because of terrible situations. There's been... There are folks livin' here who've killed one another's friends. Who've /attacked/ other people who live here in other circumstances. Things /can/ be worked past. Sometimes. With time an' effort an'...actually realisin' where things were wrong an' tryin' not t'do anythin' like it again an'... Mostly time an' effort." His head shakes at the question. "No, no offense. There could well be people who would want t'hurt you. It's part of why Lucien brought you here. There're a lotta folks here who're actually professional security elsewhere. An' several of us who've been...shot an' stabbed an' had our homes blown up before, so. We're tryin' not t'let that happen here." A fresh layer of blush comes out at the compliment, which he hides behind his own glass as he takes his first sip. "Thanks." "No. No, no one's given me what I would call a hard time. I understand the emotions involved. The motivations. I think I do, at least. I've...been reading. A great deal. Old news. I am...more concerned about repercussions now. Krystal...she'd never done anything to anyone, except take a job after she was laid off from her last. Her brother was a mutant. She was...she /loved/ people. All people. It didn't matter who you were, she loved you. And someone killed her. Because of Themis." Neve lifts her head and /somehow/, she has managed to keep her smile in place but it's a hollow expression. Shadowed. "And here is a host of people who've been through so much already. I'm not sure bringing that sort of threat, carrying it into the middle of the Commons here, is the right thing to do. Nor is that the only danger," she says quietly. "The treatment will be wearing off soon. I hadn't...I haven't had one in. A few weeks. When it comes back, you all might be better served with me elsewhere." Micah nods, looking a bit relieved at that answer. "People will lash out at anyone. They think our old building was blown up 'cause Ryan had the audacity t'be a mutant an' a singer. Killed people, special abilities an' not. /Kids/. Once people get that kinda crazy in 'em, sense don't matter no more." He stares into his lemonade for a moment, his free hand moving to circle a fist over his heart, finding yet another occasion to miss the ability to just /say/ 'sorry' in answer to bad news. "We've been 'round you with your abilities before, if that's what you're worried 'bout." A tired-heavy sigh falls from his lips. "Where else would you propose t'go?" "You have and it was to your detriment. Dusk's brother dead. A police officer dead. Things like that don't belong in the world, they're unpredictable. Dangerous," Neve opines. "But that is the problem. I'm not sure. D--Doctor Leone has been calling. I haven't spoken with him, though I imagine he knows where I am. I can't go anywhere he'd dare to follow me. One of the social workers at Themis told me he's not likely to keep his position long and that will be better for everyone. But...mm. I told Mr. Tessier I would try this. I just...worry." She's been watching Micah through lowered lashes. The way he circles his heart wins a faint half-smile. "I like that," she says, veering off to a less sensitive topic--and repeating the gesture, in blatant mimicry. "Good practice." "Not /things/. People. You are /not/ a thing. You /were/ not a thing." Micah's voice is /fervent/ though not raised. "Yes, y'could be dangerous. But it's because things kept bein' /done/ t'you an' y'never got the help y'needed an' let it consume you instead. What y'need is t'/get/ that help for once. How 'bout 'stead of runnin' off an' lettin' things go bad alone /again/, y'promise t'sign up with the mental health department at the Clinic? Remember y'have friends. Try to...make it through. An' for goodness /sake/ remember you're a /person/." See? Good practice. Because Neve finds reason to repeat the circle drawn over her heart, just a moment later. "I am a person." That, at least, they can agree on. "And...if that's what happened before, then yes. It's probably best to avoid taking the same course again. I rather enjoy being sane." This was meant as a joke but even she can see the risk of it falling flat--thus a /new/ topic. A potentially charged one but...superior to the memories threatening to spill out of the place she keeps them tucked away, half-hidden. "Were...we involved, Micah? You and I. What you described was...mm. I find it difficult. Imagining myself saving anyone." Micah nods /firm/ agreement with that statement. "If y'ever forget. Go ahead an' tell yourself. Out loud." His lip takes some more abuse from his teeth digging into it again. "It is what happened. Y'went off by yourself an' didn't. Never get help. Though I'm gonna maybe. Refrain from judgement of just how sane your current state might be. Considerin'." He does catch that joke and there is a /hint/ of tease in his own statement, a tugging at the corner of his lips and then just /fierce/ blushing. "Um. Ah. Not. The way I think y'probably mean. We were close but not. Like." Words. Apparently not his strong suit just now. "But y'did. Y'were a /protector/. In your last home. Y'were like a den mother to all these /people/ who'd just been rejected an' shut off from society. There were. Oh/gosh/, Anole. He really looked t'you like a mother. He was. When we thought y'were gone. It was /terrible/ for 'im." She might have blushed. Might have been working up to it, except for that last bit of information. That provokes a very odd expression. Startled, uncertain. Possibly even a little nauseated. Neve curls the hand she'd used to circle her heart over her lower belly. "Like...a mother." There's a line of thought that doesn't agree with her, memory warring with a desire to keep parts of her life locked away in the shadows. A wince follows, a pursing of lips and she leans forward to set the glass on the floor beside her feet. This leaves her other hand free to touch condensation-cool fingertips to temple. True to her word though, she doesn't get up to go. She just says faintly, "That's rather hard to imagine.” Painful to remember. “Mothering. I suppose...I should be grateful. We weren't involved. Your husband might be more upset." “Yes. I'm sure...the things that they've done t'your head were t'convince you that y'weren't nothin' but...bad an' wrong an' inhuman an' unnatural. But those are /lies/, sugar. Yes, you've done wrong. /Real/ wrong. An' you've been hurt an' even broken. But you were a /person/ with a /family/ an' people who loved you an' you loved an'. You were kind of involved with someone else.” Micah doesn't seem quite sure about this last part. How to phrase it or how much to say. “Why would Jax be more upset if we had been?” is asked with genuine confusion, a head tilt and slightly lofted eyebrow thrown into the mix. "Mr. Tessier had said that too. It is...just difficult to picture. The plural. People...a child. I've always wanted children. Whether that's real or not is beyond me." The words flow too easily from her tongue. Neve leaves off trying to soothe the headache and lowers her hand to its partner, folding them in her lap. Her eyes are narrow, watery. She perseveres, in spite of looking more pinched by the moment. "Oh, just...one less awkward aspect to juggle, I suppose. One among many. That is a complication I'm grateful doesn't exist." She takes a breath, holds it...and then spends it in another question. "What did you mean when you said things were also complicated with Mr. Tessier? Beyond my being friends with his brother?" "I think that's a thing that was there already. Wantin' children. It...that sounds like a you thing." Micah lifts his glass once more, taking a long, slow drink. "It was a complicated thing for you. I did flirt at you terribly hard once upon a time." Another blush, another tiny smile, half amused and half self-deprecating. Then there is that question and the red seems to have taken over completely. "The person y'were involved with /was/ Lucien. It's a complicated thing for him, too." "That I can imagine. You flirting. Though it's a wonder you don't have a fainting condition, if you have always..." Neve gestures to her own cheek to indicate /his/ and its flaming condition. Gentle as that teasing might be, the gossamer-delicate thread of good humor is lost again when the answer to her question comes. Her own color fades. "Ah. I had wondered. If it were something like...mm." She looks down at her lap and one movement leads to another--a moment later, she's bending to retrieve the glass, in the next she's standing to go rinse it in the sink. Running away came so easily, provided time to push back things she’d rather not think about. "Complications abound," she says as she reaches for the tap. "Couldn't fathom why," Micah returns playfully-dry, smile working its way into a smirk. "Oh. That's just the redhead curse. It's...pretty much /any/ emotion. Ends up." Fingers waggled at his face indicate his meaning. The blush has overtaken his neck and crept into the tips of his ears at being mentioned, however. It's the surest way to make it worse. "Yes. He is...not pleased. To put it impossibly mildly. He blames you for Matt's ongoin' imprisonment an' torture. An' he's /not/ gettin' that outta left field." The water runs, splashing in the sink and the glass. Neve bows her head over the work. Drawing it out, maybe, though she shuts it off a moment later and sets the glass aside to dry on a towel plucked from the oven handle. A second is taken to dry her hands. "Was I responsible for that as well?" she asks quietly. Micah leans against the table, watching Neve's movements. "Not for 'is bein' taken? But y'chose. Y'chose t'go through the process of havin' your powers suppressed. T'help Themis. Knowin' that the 'cure' came /out of him/. Y'wrote a letter t'Lucien sayin' only that Matt was alive. Not where he was. Not how t'help 'im. Just that he was." His head shakes slowly. "If we hadn't gotten tipped off by another source entirely, he'd /still/ be in there." "Ah." Neve folds the hand towel again and drapes it neatly over the bar. A bit of smoothing follows but she's dawdling now. "There's really no defense to that, is there? Nor should there be. Any reason I give would be insufficient." Emerging from the kitchen shows her pale but composed, maybe erring on the distant side in regards to expression. "I am immensely grateful for this other source. That he is out and safe now. That he's with his family again." "That's likely the best answer y'could give, t'be honest," Micah answers softly. "We are all grateful. For all that rescue was horrific, it was gonna be even worse but for the information we were given." His fingers trace through the condensation on his cup. "Luci said he'd help with the things they did t'your head. There's a doctor who can remove the chip from your brain. But he can help sort your mind. At least...t'what it was b'fore things were scrambled on purpose." Neve's hand strays towards her hair, the back of her head, though stops short of sifting through blonde strands to find the scar that lurks there. "The best out of a lot of poor answers," is a soft observation. "What it was before," is another. Neither rests easy with her--plenty of discomfort lurks beneath the placid exterior--but her composure holds. "I wish I could say that filled me with a sense of hope. To be that again. It should be interesting to see how much of this nausea is theirs, and how much is mine." "I find it hopeful," Micah responds simply, "that you're wantin' t'push past all the lies now. That's the best hope y'could give me." He abandons the glass on the table, moving slowly over to her and resting a hand on her shoulder...tentatively, at first, to determine if this might have some ill effect. But if not, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "I didn't," Neve admits, "until I realized I did know Mr. Tessier. Somehow. Which...made me wonder." Fortunately, she doesn't appear to be rigged to explode under pressure. Instead there is the ghost of a smile--a poor attempt but an attempt all the same--and she lowers her raised hand to pat lightly at the one on her shoulder. "At least someone is hopeful. I rather regret scolding you for lecturing, you know. Though..." She dips her head forward as if sharing a secret. "I /do/ still think you two were a /little/ rude at that meeting." Joke! "Some things're harder t'get rid of entire, I'd imagine. Even with all the...whatever they did t'you." Beyond a smile, Micah actually chuckles at Neve's teasing. "Well. I imagine y'have a better understandin' now of just where we were comin' from. There's things people gotta...hear." The hand stays where it is, Micah shifting himself slightly closer. "I'd...would you like a hug?" Neve's lips twitch as if she were tempted to a larger smile. "Delivery is everything, message comes next," she recites, like a person reading from the PR Handbook. The question he follows up with gives her pause. She doesn't /exactly/ tense up so much as go very still, eyes shifting back and forth between his to gauge the expression he wears while making the offer. She's shaped her own into something like bemusement. "A hug? Is that...was that something I did? Before?" "Y'just. Looked like maybe y'could use one." Micah's expression moves into something a little shy, his wisp of a smile in the same vein. "Was somethin' y'did a lot with me anyhow. Your ability actually lent itself to... Less solid but. Really good hugs." That blush she was worried about only gives her more cause to be concerned by this point. "Mm." Talk of her ability sees Neve dropping her gaze. A momentary lapse. She huffs out a short breath and says, "Are you /sure/ we weren't involved?" Though he won't really be given much chance to answer before she opens her arms and bends forward at the waist for what might be the world's awkwardest hug. Complete with light back pat. It does not come easily, nor does she relax throughout but the effort is made. Tough luck, Micah doesn't /do/ awkward hugs. Not from his end, at least. His arms wrap around her firm and warm, but he tries not to linger long enough to make her uncomfortable. "I'm prob'ly the worst person t'ask that kinda question. M'definitions of relationships tend t'be a lot more flexible'n most people's. I loved you. There was...a lotta cuddles an' hugs an' holdin' through tears an' the like. I don't think there was a lotta labellin' involved." When she has reached her limit for personal contact, Neve indicates it gently by loosening her arms and straightening up. Slowly, of course, to give Micah plenty of time to let go without risking toppling. "Ah, well..." She rubs at her cheek, which appears to have stolen some of the color in his. "Labels have their uses. It sounds rather nice though." Does she /really/ think so? It's hard to say. She has all of the awkwards, and is retreating behind that pleasant but distant facade again. "I should probably get back. Those boxes won't unpack themselves. Thank you for...for not being strident about this, Micah." Micah takes several steps back to return adequate personal space to Neve once she needs it again. "Does make for simplifyin' communication but...interpersonal relationships're rarely simple enough t'fit into 'em, so." So shrug, apparently. "You're gonna get taken t'task for things, b'lieve me. But. It doesn't do much good t'do that 'til you got a better idea of what's goin' /on/, from what you're tellin' me, anyhow. An'...don't know how much good it'd do for /everyone/ t'just. Pile on. You're gonna need help buildin' yourself back up. An' I don't just mean the surgery an' the brain-fixin'. Think I'm better suited t'that job than t'yellin' an' fussin' anyhow. Don't mean I'm not /deeply/ upset over things you've done. I am. Just. Don't do no good t'shut you out. Was part of the problem t'/start/ with." He steps aside as if Neve needs more space or perhaps /permission/ to head out. "Let me know if y'need help with anythin', okay?" "We'll see where things stand. After. But I do appreciate...this." Neve does gather herself to take the route opened and offered. Before she goes, though, she pauses long enough to press fist to chest and draw a circle there. That, more than what is said, is meant as a reply to what he's said. She /knew/ it would come in handy. But now she just nods to the offer in simple acceptance before slipping through the door towards the stairs.