ArchivedLogs:Humanity

Humanity
Dramatis Personae Hive, Micah, Shane, Rasputin	13 December 2013 Rasputin comes looking for Dusk.
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 evening, though early, not quite dinner time unless you are a particularly early sleeper. Which not many people in Lighthaus /are/; in lieu of dinner Hive is reading -- the Corwin cycle of Roger Zelazny's /Chronicles of Amber/. Reading kind of distractedly, his eyes not doing a good job of staying focused on the page. He's dressed in jeans and a t-shirt reading 'resistance is futile (if <1 ohm)', ragged old black sweatshirt over it, curled up in a corner of the couch. He's still not looking /excellent/, unhealthily skinny, a new hole poked through his belt way past the others. But he's been a little more mobile, showering on his own, getting his own coffee. Shaving the sad scraggly collection of chinhairs that was making a very /futile/ attempt to be a beard. Sternly /frowning/ at Spencer's repeated attempts to engage him in PLAYTIME. Frowning even /more/ at Sprite's attempts to engage his lap as a catbed. His frowning muscles, at the least, seem none the worse for their lengthy disuse. Micah is emerging from the bedroom with hair still wet from his usual 'just got home from the shop and smell like motor oil' shower. His Batsignal hoodie is thrown on over a slightly bleach-stained black xkcd 'Stand Back I'm Going to try Science!' T-shirt and faded, rainbow-patched jeans. Padding in stocking feet (black socks covered in spiralling rainbow double-helix patterns) into the kitchen, he fills the tea kettle and sets it on the stove to heat. “Hive, tea?” /He/ engages Sprite in some chin rubs, at least, crouching down for a moment as the cat winds around his ankles. Shane didn't go back to school with Jax and Bastian in the morning, though he /has/ been out for most of the day, Who Knows Where. He's returned not long past, also beelining for the shower, not for any particular need for clean but more just his permanent need to stay /wet/. He emerges in workout clothes, black gym shorts, grey t-shirt, though as he plops down onto the couch beside Hive he's tugging on warmer things over this, sweatpants, sweatshirt. "Flicker already leave, that bastard? You know, when you're not such a pathetic /invalid/ you should join us, do you even know /how/ to make a fist? I bet even /Ba/ could take you. Like on one of your good days. -- S'there coffee left?" Skreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. Skreeeeeeeeeeeeeee. The sounds of claws scratching at a surface can be heard, but not from inside the apartment. Instead, they're coming from the hallway, skreeeeeeeee. Rasputin sits at the door, using this to try and get someone's attention, but then makes a doorbell noise afterwards. And then shouts. "Helloooooo? Anyone there? Dusk? Duskcompadres?" Hive doesn't look up from his book as Shane sits down. He does lift a fist though. Then sticks his middle finger up out of it. "Sound like your fucking Pa," he grumbles, though with a snort of laughter, "except ruder. Last cycle around he made me train right along with everyone I threw like. Three -- whole fucking punches." He tips his head back, watching as Micah passes. "Oh -- yeah sure that'd be awesome thanks. Anything with -- caffeine, uh." His mind presses outwards at the knocking on the door, his brows rumpling as he briefly investigates Who Is There. "... s'a fucking cat at your door." His expression is a little bemused, his voice a little flat. “Ain't any coffee made, but there's more t'make if you're wantin' it, Shane. Chai sound good? I'm in a spice mood,” Micah calls back from his position rooting through the tea cabinet. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Shane. I'm not sure which one of us should feel more insulted on that one.” He chuckles, though, his tone cheerful. “Hive would totally just kill me with his mind, though.” Micah's head tilts as he turns to the door, then gestures at Sprite where the cat is retreating down the hall. “Um. Cat? We already got ours...he's right there.” He drifts over to the door, nonetheless, throwing the locks and pulling it open. "Wait hold on if it's /spiced/ chai then chai sounds good." Shane frowns over at Micah, swivelling on the couch as Micah heads for the door. "Why would you be insulted you don't even like fighting it's not like I said you were bad at being a nerd. -- /Uh/ Dusk took off with Flicker, yeah, I think they're going /food/ first, fighting after. -- Probably food before /and/ after, actually, Flicker eats like a bird." He studies Hive's expression thoughtfully, then looks towards the door. "S'he have a collar? Maybe someone else's got out. Can you read /catbrain/, Hive? That's gotta get noisy as hell." As the door opens, Rasputin sits there, smiling, before /speaking/. "Oh, hello! I remember you, from that house, right? Is Dusk here? I was told he'd be here?" Rasputin /is/ wearing a collar, forced onto hir, with a tag basically putting hir as property of Regan. "I went to the fifth floor but someone told me that he was staying down here, so." "Chai sounds awesome. And if you were calling nerd credentials into question, dude, we might have /had/ to throw down. And yes, Micah, I can kill you with my brain." Hive folds the corner of his page, closing his book on it. "Animals don't -- no, I can't read them normally although I /can/ hive them? But fuuuuck do I not want to ever repeat -- anyway that's no fucking catbrain, dude. Humanbrain. Inside a --" He gestures towards Rasputin as the door opens. "Seems like we neeeever run out of weirdass fucking shit -- you a friend of Dusk's, dude, what's your story? Cuz this I /gotta/ goddamn hear." He turns back to frown at Shane after this: "Eat like a bird, fuck you mean, dude eats like he has four gorram stomachs." "I said should, just 'cause that'd be the usual reaction, but I'm odd so I don't care actually." Micah looks out the door at person-height out of habit and has to adjust his gaze downward. "Yep, cat. Also, yes, collar. But kind of unnecessary all things considered. Hi, Rasputin. Dusk's stayin' here for until his heat's fixed, but he's already gone off for food before fight club. Somethin' I can help y'with in the meantime? Cup of...I guess not tea. Caffeine is bad for cats. Almond milk?" Door held open wider, he gestures the cat inside. "Just a warnin', we got a cat wanderin' around here somewhere. Don't honestly know how she gets on with other cats. Maybe she'll stay 'round back somewhere, but just in case." "Yeah. Do you /know/ how fucking much birds eat, man, have you ever watched the damn things? Like, their whole /body weight/ in food every day, sometimes /more/. Where the fuck that bullshit expression came from I have /no/ idea. Eat like a freaking lizard might be more accurate." Shane hops up to sit on the back of the couch, looking down towards Rasputin. "Uhh s'far as I know Sprite's seen another cat all of one time since we've had her, she mostly just went around rubbing her /smell/ on everything to prove she owns the place and then sat in all the best sunlight looking haughty. Rasputin? Seriously Rasputin that sounds like evil-sorcerer name. /Are/ you a sorcerer?" "Rasputin's not actually my name, it belonged to the cat before I took his body. Also, hello, shark-person! Dusk told me you were friends!" Rasputin grins, towards Shane, before turning to Micah. "Uh, okay! But do you know where he is? I really needed to talk to him. Like urgently. Urgent urgent urgent.". When Rasputin turns to address Hive, hir thoughts are all over the place, ranging from Shane to Sprite to Micah to cool evil sorcerer names now. Like Garibaldi. "Well, Dusk and I are...just friends who met via..mutual friends, and he's helping me connect with a relative. Trying to learn whether or not they're mutant-friendly before I reintroduce myself to them." Rasputin then finally enters the apartment, looking around. "Oh, yeah, birds eat a ton. I'm always the skinniest bird when I stay in bird form overnight, due to not eating enough." "Yeah, Dusk's -- well, shit, he's out to eat /now/. But later he'll be down at --" Hive waves a hand towards Shane. "Their -- fucking -- punching place. Shane's heading down there in a bit, could take you. /Garibaldi/? Can I call you that, don't know if it's better or worse than Rasputin." He leans back against the couch, eyes closing. "Cat relative or person relative? Are your relatives cool or assholes in general? -- Why /do/ you have a collar, do you run into trouble with the pound?" Micah pushes the door closed once the cat has come inside. “Oh, apologies. That was how y'had introduced yourself. D'you want t'be called somethin' else?” The tea kettle interrupts him with demands for attention. “Oh...sugar, I didn't even measure the tea out yet. Just a sec.” With that, he dashes off to the kitchen to set tea to steeping. “I mean, we could send 'im a text if it's immediate-urgent? But it might be easiest t'meet up with 'im over at the fight club house a bit later.” He fiddles with his phone, setting a timer app as he wanders back into the living room. "Fight Club," Shane corrects. "Who the fuck is Garibaldi? -- Wait hold on, you steal cats. And birds. Do you steal any animals? Can you steal other mutants if they /become/ animals? I have a friend who's sometimes a ferret, could you steal him?" Shane's grin is wide and gleeful at this thought. "Because holy /crap/ would that be a clusterfuck. Like if you steal a mutant while they're an animal do you get to change back to /their/ human form and still be in them -- maaan. We really are freaks. Can you be me? I'm kind of fishy." As soon as Hive mentions 'Garibaldi', Rasputin's mind basically, shuts down. And then starts rapidly reciting songs from Disney musicals, in an effort to hide the sweet, sweet terrorist knowledge from the telepath. Rasputin tries to remain calm, though nervous, and turns to Shane. "I've never really tried on humanoids and never actually met people who can be actual animals. I could try on you?" Rasputin stares at Shane, deadpan. Stareeee. Pause. "Nope, sorry. To be honest, I can't possess regular fish either, no clue why. So that might be it!". Rasputin grins, before turning to Micah, shaking his head. "No, no, Rasputin's fine! It's what I go by, anyways." Ze then turns to Hive, still reciting song lyrics mentally in his direction. "Person relative. I'm..kind of an amnesiac, human-body died like right after my first possession or something. No clue about anything except for when I stalked the ambulance who...long story. I have no idea if they're assholes. Never actually talked to any of them to my recollection." Changing to 'I'll Make a Man Out of You' from Mulan, Rasputin huffs. "Dusk helped me buy it. Some friends of ours took it and...well, forced it onto me. Incase of the pound or something, I don't know." "Oh, Jesus." Hive rubs at his temple when the songs start, his expression a little wry. "I don't do it on purpose, man. I'm not /trying/ to pry. Could be worse, though, I know one asshole who just thinks goddamn Latin at me. 'least this is entertaining. -- Thaaat sounds rough. So what, Dusk's gonna /feel out/ your family for you? Guess if they can deal with him that's a good first sign." His brows raise at Shane. "Woah. OK. So if he stole Joshua while ferret and then Joshua turned human would he get Joshua's powers?" He looks up towards the ceiling like he's considering /getting/ Joshua right here and now to test this. "Micah, how the hell are you so normal, keeping this company all the time?" His expression is still a little pinched when the song changes, but he smiles, crookedly. And starts to sing along. “Can we please not experiment with our friends' brains...or bodies, for that matter, unnecessarily?” Micah leans against the back of the couch as he waits for the tea to finish steeping. He shoots Hive a curious look at his seemingly unprompted commentary, but has been around him enough to know not to ask. “What, am I borin' you now?” A hand reaches forward to muss Hive's hair, since it is /right there/ and all. He heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Man, now I'm a defenceless weakling /and/ borin'. I'd pack it in an' go home but /oh wait/.” He shrugs at the room in general since he obviously is home /already/, just grinning a lopsided grin. "But I can experiment with my /own/ right? Wait did you really just try to possess me?" Shane's grin is enormous at this, like he thinks that is the /coolest thing ever/. "Did you feel anything, what's it feel like? Oh /man/ I have a friend who's so birdy, maybe you could --" Here he stops, his grin fading sharply. "... had a friend." His gills flutter, his brows wrinkling, and the sudden hard clench of worry inside him is impossible to disguise even to those /not/ gifted with psionic ability. "Hive's answering thoughts again," he gripes at Micah. He stretches out a foot to jostle Hive in a shoulder. "Hey. That's my Ba you're insulting. Watch it or I'll bite your sad sick /face/ off. Though, uh, /dude/, I wouldn't exactly call him anything so dirty as normal, he's a /cyborg/ who fraternizes with all kinds of /dangerous freaks/ for fun and, uh, have you /seen/ their bedroom because actually I want those under-bed restraints." "Nope, not a thing. Usually I just, feel kind of a connection with their mind, then I take it over and toss their minds into the back corner. Had Rasputin here for four years or so." Rasputin grins but stops when Shane seems to get upset. "I, uh, don't know the full extent of my powers. You're the first humanoid I've tried on, actually." Rasputin flicks hir tail towards Hive. "Hey, Disney musicals is my go-to. I must have had this memorized or something in my old mind. But, yeah, Dusk is checking out my sister to be exact. She goes to Columbia where I spotted her, and ironically, is studying to be a /vet/. Heh." Rasputin grins again, before turning to Micah, in awe. "Wait, you're a cyborg? What's it like? Laser eyes, super strength, hatred for humanity? Eh? EH?" "S'not you, man, we just -- a friend of ours has been missing since the whole zombie thing. Hey, do you /talk/ to animals?" Hive looks hopeful, abruptly. "Cuz if any of the birds around anywhere have seen a big birdlike /kid/ --" He shrugs, and swats at Shane's foot when he is pushed. He runs his fingers through his hair, fixing the mussing with a scowl. "He's singing Disney songs," he explains. "There's worse things. We could have a whole musical. And no, you're not boring. You're more like -- grounding." Though he snorts at Shane's recounting of Micah's non-normalcy. And snorts /more/ at Rasputin's choice of words. "Dusk is -- yeah, I'll /bet/ he fucking is." "To a certain extent, Shane. Don't do anythin' too stupidly dangerous, okay?" Micah's expression falls quickly with Shane's change to the past tense. He closes the space between himself and the teen, wrapping his arm around his shoulders. "Have, honey. Have. We don't know anythin' for certain yet. So /have/." Shane's choice of examples rapidly stains Micah's cheeks in brilliant crimson, colour already creeping into his ears. "Oh/gosh/, Shane..." He hides his face behind a hand, but is being asked direct /questions/ and so remains active in the conversation despite the ferocity of his blushing. "Um...nothin' that excitin'. S'just the leg. S'got a microprocessor controlled knee joint. Why would I have a hatred for humanity?" And then Hive has his own commentary, but at least not about /him/. "Hive, that's /not/ the kinda 'checkin' out' that ze means, an' y'know it... But. Um. Ohgosh, it /is/ Dusk we're talkin' about, isn't it... How old is your sister?" His phone buzzes in his pocket, conveniently giving him an excuse to flee back to the kitchen and tend to the tea. "Don't do anything stupidly dangerous? Ba it's /me/ you're talking to, stupidly dangerous is like my middle name. /But/ I get it from Pa so blame him." Shane leans back into Micah's hug, his gills still fluttering rapidly. He curls one arm around Micah's back, his eyes scrunching shut. He wears a crooked grin by the time he opens them again. "His knee /shoots lasers/," he explains cheerfully to Rasputin, "and dude, Ba, have you /checked out/ humanity lately? Why the fuck /wouldn't/ you hate them." The next flutter of his gills is laughter, silent, as he releases Micah to his tea-prep duties. "Vet school at Columbia? S'gotta be older than Dusk is, at the least." "Well, I'm not a telepath or anything, but, I can communicate with animals in their native tongues? Mostly 'go over there' or 'stop doing that' but there's probably something for 'help me find this big bird dude'?" Rasputin says, helpfully. "I'll look around, though. I also know many hobos, they might have seen him. Great sources of info." When Hive and Micah talk about Dusk 'checking out' hir sister, Rasputin kind of glares. "I told him no. God damn it..she's like..mid 20s? Maybe? I don't know. I know I'm..19 maybe? Maybe older? Younger? Haven't celebrated my birthday...ever, to my recollection." Rasputin's eyes droop when Micah mentions the knee joint, and then widen when Shane mentions /lasers/. "Well, cyborgs are treated inferior to humans, as humans built them. As such, a normal cyborg would hate their racist, or botist? I don't know, anyways, hate the humans because of this. It's science." "Shane's never hijacked a marauding giant dung beetle or shepherded people past a HAMMER raid," Hive says sincerely to Micah, "so he's pretty much /not/ at the top of the doing-stupidly-dangerous-shit list in your family just yet. S'still time, though, I have /faith/ he'll grow up to be /just/ as full of dumbass risktaking as his fathers." He pats Micah /solemnly/ on the shoulder before Micah heads back to the kitchen. "I think what you mean is it's science fiction, man. -- Though, okay, I have no /doubt/ people can be /fantastically/ stupid when it comes to real-life cyborgs too. -- Shane, you know Micah's still a human, right?" "Stupidly dangerous an' not in the pursuit of savin' your life or the lives of others. I know sometimes y'gotta do stupid things when people are in danger. S'different. An' y'know I fussed Jax out for that whole business with the beetle on account of that /was/ stupid-dangerous." Micah is busy for some time with straining out tea leaves and adding almond milk to the mugs. "What kinda sweeteners y'all want? I'm just gonna use some raw sugar in mine. An' y'know cyborgs can still be human. Human cybernetic organisms. Ain't like I'm an /android/ or nothin'. Does it help I worked on the design of my own leg? Which has /no lasers/, but can connect t'computing devices wirelessly, so that's pretty cool. Would...have t'be kinda self-hatin' by those guidelines. S'terribly prescriptive thinkin' an' sweepin' generalisations, besides." He chuckles, stirring sugar into his mug. "Pretty sure humanity still accepts me into its ranks, more or less. An' I still mostly like people. So there's that." "I would /totally/ hijack a freaking dung beetle if I had one. Those things are gorgeous." Shane's phone buzzes on the table, and he grabs it to check his texts. "Oh shit B's off work I should meet him down --" Shane hops off the couch, skittering towards the kitchen to peck Micah on his cheek and grab one of the mugs of tea, snagging a thermos to pour it into instead, along with a squirt of agave. "/How/ fucking cool is that, I would design myself a /whole/ goddamn new respiratory system if I could. -- Thanks, Ba. Rasputin, you want to come with? Not too long a walk to get to the Fight Club house from here. Dusk'll probably be there already." He's heading towards the door. "Micah doesn't count. He's super-human." Rasputin's ears wiggle at the mention of HAMMER, but ze says nothing past that. Rasputin shrugs at Micah, tail whipping. "Eh, cyborgs, androids, potato, tomato." Rasputin follows towards Shane, grinning. "Yeah, sure! Better than hijacking your apartment until he returns, at least." Rasputin turns around, waving a tail towards Micah and Hive. "Goodbye, Micah, Hive!" The music stops playing in Rasputin's head, except for one last bout of 'Ain't Nothing But a Hound Dog', before Rasputin leaves with Shane. "See ya. Have good violence. G'luck with your family, Garibaldi." Hive watches the others leave, then slumps back down against the couch. His fingers rub at his temples, shoulders shuddering. "Jesus. Uh -- just plain sugar's alright. {Thanks,}" is in tired Thai. "I think you're probably on the outs with a fair /bit/ of humanity, though. You married a freak. Probably would have been /better/ if you married Obie. I fucking hate people, but my roommates love them enough to make up for me. Assholes." “If y'did it in the same kinda /ridiculous/ stupid-dangerous way as your pa did, I'd be crazy-upset with you, too. Just...for the record.” Micah smiles, leaning in for the little kiss, then taking the emptied mug to the sink to wash and place in the drying rack. “Well, no wonder y'think humanity's horrible. If y'take all the ones y'like an' set 'em aside from it, only /leaves/ horrible. Good night, you two. Be safe. An' let somebody fix up any open wounds before y'leave there, Shane, please.” Sugar finds its way into Hive's mug with a quick stir, as well, before Micah carries both mugs in to the living room and sets them on the coffee table. “Oh, for goodness sake. Why does marryin' people that aren't mainstream acceptable /always/ descend into bestiality in discourse? I married the elected face of mutant heroism, though. That's gotta count for somethin', right?” he jokes somewhat half-heartedly. "Just means you're the /biggest/ race traitor there is, man. And hey, he is your pet it's not a bad comparison. Kind of -- accidentally not a bad comparison." Hive smiles, thin, fingers still kneading at his temple and his eyes closed. He opens them, gaze skipping sideways towards Micah. "OK. Hold up. Tell me -- /show/ me because I want to see. Exactly what does you being crazy-upset look like? I mean, imagine I'm Jax just come home from dung-beetle-hitchhiking and you've been worried sick. Be angry Micah. Tell me the fuck off." “Mmn, yep. That's me. Enemy of humanity. Look out,” Micah replies flatly. There /might/ be a little eye roll thrown in there, too. “Oh...goodness. He's still a /person/. Stop tryin' t'make things sound awful.” A faint blush returns to his cheeks and he reaches for his tea, handily covering part of his face as he takes a tentative sip of the still quite-hot liquid. “Wait, what? No. I'm...not upset with you. Why d'you want me to fuss at you?” His nose crinkles slightly. "/Because/," Hive says with beckoning 'come on' gesture, "I want to see what it's /like/. Do you even /do/ angry? I'm having a hard time picturing. Hit me with your best cranky-Micah." “I don't /like/ bein' angry,” is Micah's response to the gesture, the questioning, his tone almost pouting. He's remembering a lot of worry-upset-anxiety-fear-relief, his hands on Jax's shoulders, shaking him hard. “S'enough things that go on in the world without gettin' all upset over nothin'.” Hive exhales, slow, his lips curled up faintly. "Aright, chill. I was just curious. I have this sneaking feeling your angry tends to just end in hugs. Not sure that's nothing, though, his /life/ was in danger." He lifts a hand, running it through his hair, fingers tracing a habitual path along the scar at the side of his head. "So if that's nothing worth being upset over, what do you consider /something/?" “No...not. I meant /now/. I was upset /then/. It was a /stupid/ dangerous thing t'do an' didn't make /no/ kinda sense. But ain't no point gettin' worked up over it now.” Micah puffs out a weary breath over the surface of the tea in his mug. “That night was...complicated. I was upset at what he'd done, but also...he came back /alive/ an' I was just so /relieved/. An' he found the missin' kids. An' then...Nox had just killed that cop. An' /then/ he asked me t'move in with 'im. So. Yeah, there was huggin' eventually. I kinda needed it. So did he.” "You don't have to get worked up over it now, you could just /act/. Like roleplaying. Except you're roleplaying yourself, when angry." Hive's fingers scrunch inwards, curling into a fist in his shaggy hair. "... shit. Yeah. That /was/ all at the same -- shit. Fucking -- hell of a summer, wasn't it." He closes his eyes again, fist clenching and unclenching. "World just kind of went to shit. And stayed there." “It don't...work like that with me,” Micah argues, shaking his head and then stopping to drink from his mug again. “Y'can't be like...'remember that one time that was really upsettin'? I want y'to /act/ upset about it, but not really'. Either I'm upset, or I'm not.” His brow furrows. “Things did...get kinda bad an' worse from there on out, yeah.” "I used to be pretty much the same way. Except I got around it by just always being angry." Hive drops his hand to his lap. He picks up his tea mug, resting /that/ in his lap as well. "Sorry," he mutters, this time in French. "You're letting me stay in your home I should get off your damn case." “Well, I don't want that. Ain't good for you.” Micah sort of leans a little closer from his own spot on the couch, up against Hive's side. “S'okay, hon. S'just the last thing I wanna be is upset at you. You're just tryin' t'get better. Been through a lot t'put it mildly. Y'had dinner yet?” Hive's jaw tightens, then unclenches, his fingers doing the same around the mug. "Everyone's been through a lot. You don't need to --" His fingers clench inwards again, then relax once more. "I don't -- know. I don't think I'm hungry." “Don't need t'what? Care about you? Y'were almost dead, honey. And I do care, whether y'like it or not.” Micah's lips quirk to one side, regarding Hive at that answer. “Well, I was thinkin' of makin' some soup. Potato leek. Since it's colder'n it's got any right t'be outside. An' folks might be hungry comin' back from their trainin' an' soup keeps well. Y'can see if y'wanna eat anythin' when it's done, an' if not, it'll be there keepin' for folks anyhow.” He pats a hand on Hive's knee before standing, taking his tea to the kitchen to start with food preparation for the night. "I guess I was." Hive's eyes track after Micah towards the kitchen, his brow rumpling deeply. He shakes his head quickly, reaching to reclaim his book and open it, slipping back into silence as his eyes fix back on the page, and stay fixed there until long after his tea has gone cold.