ArchivedLogs:Imposing

Imposing
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Lucien
In Absentia	1 March 2014 Delivering Matt's drawing. (Part of the Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. Jax's knocking on Lucien's door is very enthusiastic. Or at least very /rapid/. Outside the photokinetic is rather bouncy, bobbing restlessly on the toes of his chunky (silver and vivid peacock-blue and -green) platform sneakers. His hair today is likely the most noticeable thing about him, glued up into a very /bright/ tricoloured trihawk (also peacocky, purple-blue-green), though the rest of him is colourful as well -- silver jacket over a hoodie that can't seem to /settle/ on what colours it wants to be. Black swirled with whorls of blue, bright purple striped with green, glittering silver stars dotted over a red backdrop; it melts from one design into the next at erratic intervals. His jeans are staying black, at least, corset-like lacing running up their outer seams in an also-black velvety ribboning. There's a rolled-up drawing tied off with twine beneath one arm and the misty-silvery /glow/ that surrounds him -- very /noticeable/ now that the sun has set -- has drawn a few wayward Looks in even the short span of walking from van to house. Micah is far less interesting for the walk up to Lucien's house, one hand remaining on Jax at all times in a steadying fashion. He is dressed simply in an olive green canvas jacket over his Batsignal hoodie and Doctor Hooves T-shirt with multicolour patched jeans and hiking boots. His green-brown newsboy cap is worn over a pair of fleece earwraps for a little extra warmth, and he has added a pair of green gradient gloves to his hands for the same. He also appears considerably more /sober/ than his tipsy, glowy, colour-swimmy husband. Though he is also a bit anxious, betrayed by the way in which he shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits. It takes barely any time at all for the door to be pulled open. Lucien is also rather less colourful, mostly just /dark/ in black button-down paired with tight black jeans. Black socks, too. He pulls the door open to gesture them both inside, frowning deeply at Jackson's glow. And then /past/ Jax's glow out to his street. "Goodness. I don't think you've quite attracted the attention of /all/ my neighbors just yet." His lips press thin together as he steps back to open the door wider. Perhaps /hurrying/ them inside just a little bit. "Oh -- maybe not /all/ yet," Jax agrees, whirling around on a heel to look out towards the street. "Was a woman across the street /starin'/ out her window like I was -- like I was. Gonna /explode/ or something, I ain't gonna explode though. Well. OK. Sometimes I do." He steps in through Lucien's open door backwards, still surveying the street. "I had baked cookies but I left them all at -- at the last. House. Sorry. Sorry-sorry. They were good cookies. I -- forgot to eat them." He sounds like he is regretting this lack of cookie now, as he slumps unsteadily against the wall to sink down and /sit/ while he takes his shoes off, leaning the picture up against the wall beside himself. “Ohgosh, honey, apologies,” Micah replies hurriedly at Lucien's look, a rosy blush blooming just as quickly in his cheeks. For his part, he assists with getting Jax in the building faster, encouraging him along with an arm wrapped around him. “The artist who drew the pictures gave Jax vodka. Like...four shots of vodka. He's a little--” The sentence trails off into a 'so-so' gesture, rocking an open hand back and forth. Micah helps Jax to sit before working his own boots off, doffing his hat and earwraps and gloves as well. He picks the drawing up from where Jax had left it when he is done with handling garments, holding it out for Lucien to take. “This is the drawin' I told you about.” "-- Are you /drunk/?" Lucien is asking this almost in tandem with Micah's explanation; he pinches at the bridge of his nose as he closes the door and locks it, though there's a very small tug of smile pulling at his lips. "This is novel. I rarely ever see you drink at all. I can survive without cookies, I assure you, though perhaps /you/ could stand to have some food in you." The smile fades as he takes the drawing from Micah. His fingers toy with the twine, but he doesn't undo it. "-- He really is alive, then." "I had --" Jax holds up his forefinger and thumb just a smidge apart. "Little-vodka. I don't. Drink much usually but." He pushes himself away from the wall so he can shed his jacket, draping it over an arm as he struggles back to his feet. The floor is changing beneath where they stand, Lucien's pale hardwood warping into bland institutional tile. "But." His fingers rest against the wall -- it's shifting, too, to an equally bland taupe shade. "You might want a drink, also. Or – four." "It mightn't be a bad idea t'put some food in 'im, thank you. Apologies again for the imposition." Micah's blush ticks just a bit redder. Once Lucien has taken the drawing, he moves to help steady Jax as he stands back up from the floor. "Oh honey, could you not...that." His free hand gestures to the illusory changes in decor, recognising them from the drawing and somehow managing to pale /under/ his blush. "Should definitely get...sittin' an' comfortable 'fore y'look at that. It shows that he's alive but...it kinda confirms the suspicions we had, too." He reaches out to rest a hand on Lucien's arm--where it is covered by shirt sleeve, not skin-to-skin. "That drink mightn't be a terrible idea, either." "I'll put water on for pasta. I have some kale and peanut sauce that he can eat. Have you had dinner yet yourself, Micah?" Lucien's eyes slide straight past the illusions with only a faint tightening of his jaw. "And drinks, perhaps. -- Please." He starts towards the living room, gesturing to the seats there. "I won't be long." He sets the drawing down on the coffee table as he slips off into the kitchen. "Micah," Jackson informs Lucien at the mention of plural-drinks, "is driving." He leans slightly into Micah as he follows Lucien off towards the living room -- starting to follow towards the kitchen too before the other man indicates the seats. He drops down instead to sit on the couch, head tipping against the back of the sofa. The changes to the floor and walls don't follow them in, melting away as Jax moves out of the hall, but once they're in the living room the lighting is changing. Brighter, cold fluorescent tone to its quality now. "It's going to be okay, though," he tacks on -- quiet and half-mused to himself after Micah confirms the drawing's contents, "-- we're. Experts at this by now." "Thanks," Micah says again at the offer of food. "No, I hadn't...we were gonna do that when we got home but we ended up stayin' at Sean's awhile an' then comin' straight here." A very small twitch tugs the corner of his mouth upward at Jax's observation. "I think he meant drinks for y'all. Don't know as any more's a good idea for /you/, though." He nods to Lucien as the other man heads off, instead leading Jax over to the couch and helping him settle down onto it before sitting next to him. Lucien does not return immediately. He lingers in the kitchen, starting a pot of pasta boiling, setting a timer on his phone for it. Digging out three old-fashioned glasses and a bottle of 18-year Talisker. He returns with these to the living room eventually, settling down in Matt's armchair. "I have spare beds," he finally offers mildly. Presumably in answer to the question of Micah driving. He pours a few fingers of Scotch into one of the glasses, but glances at Jackson -- and then to Micah instead, hesitating before pouring any more. "-- Is he not /allowed/ to have more?" Jackson takes the time Lucien is gone to just snuggle in on the couch, nestling up against Micah's side; the very /fierce/ heat he is radiating is easily felt even through his layers. His hand drops to find Micah's, fingers tracing slowly against the other man's and leaving glittering trails of multicoloured light against Micah's skin in their wake. The middle segment of his trihawk pokes up against Micah's neck as he drops his head to the other man's shoulder. "You have -- a bed," he answers Lucien with a small smile. "-- Uh oh. You cuttin' me off, sir?" He sounds like this amuses him. "I used t'do that a lot. Once -- upon a time." Micah's head tilts to one side when Lucien asks him whether Jax is allowed more to drink. "Honestly, Jax, honey...I dunno what's too much for you. Y'think y'can keep control of your ability if y'have more? No settin' anythin' on fire? An'...did y'/want/ more t'begin with? If y'don't think you'll have your abilities under control, then...yeah, I'll cut you off. Otherwise it's up t'you." He adjusts his head position slightly to avoid getting poked by Jax's hair, one hand reaching up to pet at the back of the other man's neck. "Did y'wanna stay? I can text t'see if the twins are home t'be with Spence overnight." Lucien sets the bottle down on the table, for now, reaching instead to remove the binding on the drawing. He unrolls it to set it on the table, leaning forward with elbows propped on his knees and his fingers steepling beneath his chin. There's not much discernible change to his expression, green eyes settling neutrally on the image. One of his thumbs curls inward, spinning slowly at the black ring on his finger. "-- How many of these places have you been to?" "I ain't never lit /nothin'/ on fire on account of bein' drunk," Jackson answers Micah confidently. Perhaps less reassuring is: "... 'course I only been proper drunk once before. I don't," he confides to Lucien, "drink a whole lot. I don't feel very 'splodey right now though." He stretches out a hand, though, making grabby-fingers towards one of the glasses. A shiver passes through him, though, hand dropping into Micah's lap before he answers -- a little more distantly than before. "Been to? Oh -- gosh. My team's hit seven. Gotten two-hundred-six folks out to date. I only /lived/ in two of them myself though. I guess countin' the one I was in that'd be eight hit up." His mouth twitches into a faint smile. "-- The second time I was locked up in there on purpose," he admits. Micah nods to Lucien when Jax reaches for a glass, giving the go-ahead. "Not for me, though. I'm sure you've got /good/ Scotch an' I just...have no appreciation for the peaty flavour. Shouldn't waste it on me." His nose crinkles in time with the mention of Scotch tastes, betraying perhaps more than a lack of appreciation for it. His fingers continue their stroking of Jax's neck through his recounting of Prometheus liberations. "That sounds...like a story." Teeth seeking out his lower lip for a moment, he watches Lucien look over the drawing. "You okay, hon? Anythin' y'need right now?" "I have excellent Scotch." Lucien pours a second glass, sliding it over to nudge it into Jax's fingers. "Two hundred six." His eyes are fixed on the drawing again; if he hears Micah's questioning, he does not acknowledge it. "And how many have you lost?" Jackson wriggles upright, cupping both hands around the glass. Beneath them the floor is changing once again. Concrete, now, spattered dark with old blood-stains. "Forty-one," he answers, and though his voice has dropped much /quieter/ he has no hesitation coming up with this number, either. "Forty-one folks killed by the labs when we gone in to get them. An' six on top of /my/ team killed in action. Not countin' another four what died but Karrie brung 'em back." He tips his head down, looking at the Scotch before taking a long swallow and wincing as it goes down. Again, Micah quiets as casualties are listed, his teeth pressing harder into his lip. He tugs Jax closer, gently, hand continuing in its petting. He winces a little as the illusions start again. "Jax, honey," he almost-whispers. "Try t'control your ability, okay? You're leakin' images again." He stops chewing at his lip to lean in, pressing a soft kiss to the angle of Jax's jaw. Once it becomes clear that Lucien isn't answering him, his gaze is drawn back away. He looks like he's about to go over to Lucien, but then has Jax clearly upset right next to him... A deep breath draws in, then sighs out slowly between his lips. "Luci.../are/ you okay? Can I...anythin'? I can tend the food if that's better...or whatever." Lucien's eyes slip closed at this answer. Just long enough for him to down his Scotch in one long pull, opening his eyes again to pour a second glass and look back at the drawing. He glances briefly away from the picture at Micah's repeated question, though, tapping at the screen of his phone to wake it back up. "The pasta will not be done for another four and a half minutes. I can tend it just fine." His fingers curl more tightly against his glass. "So of two hundred forty seven captives, you have walked out with --" His gaze shifts briefly to his glass. "Somewhere just upwards of eighty-three percent still alive." His lips twitch, tone skewing drier. "Somewhat better than the chances he had with lymphoma but not," he murmurs, "all that /much/ better." "Oh -- gosh." Jackson tips his head slightly at the kiss, exhaling a quiet sigh. The illusions around them fade, though the shifting silvery glow around /him/ brightens stronger. Thin strands of black begin to creep into it when Lucien speaks. "... no. Not that much -- better, I guess. We. I -- 've gotten a lotta folks dead on my watch." His brows crease slowly. "But I don't know what else to -- Prometheus kills /everyone/ they're done with. An' they're done with everyone eventually. So I guess it was a eighty-three percent chance'a walkin' out with us versus -- no chance of ever --" He shakes his head, finishing the rest of his drink. "M'sorry now I'm just makin' excuses. I done screwed up a lot of --" He shakes his head again, leaning forward to set the glass back on the table. "I wish I could make you some better guarantees." Micah reaches for one of Jax's arms as the smoky-black starts to show through his light. He brings it up to his lips, brushing a light kiss to the inside of the wrist. "Don't. Jax, don't. You're not makin' excuses, you're givin' the facts. Prometheus takes people an' they kill people. You go an' get 'em out. Sometimes they /still/ kill people, but with /your/ help, it's down t'them killin' a /fraction/ of what they would. /You/ are not t'blame for /everythin'/, honey. I know you're Catholic an' all, but you gotta let /some/ of this guilt go sometime. You do so much good. There are /so/ many people who would be worse off or gone without you." He kisses Jax's wrist again, then pats at his hand before releasing the arm altogether. His glance back to Lucien doesn't look reassured at the other man's lack of real answer. "I love you," he finally says softly. "Both of you. Please...let me help. If there /is/ any help." "Eighty-three percent," Lucien repeats to himself, eyes still fixed down on the drawing. He reaches for the bottle, lifting it to refill Jackson's glass. "I am not -- entirely certain what help there is for this. Since June, he has --" He exhales slowly, standing just a few seconds before his phone's alarm goes off. He stoops to silence it, and set his glass down beside the phone. "Though Hive may be interested to see this picture," he adds, almost offhand as he heads back to the kitchen. "It appears Prometheus has a method of curing cancer." The tendrils of shadow around Jackson wend their way around Micah's hand and arm as well, when the other man takes his wrist. He drops his hand to Micah's lap, turning his head downward to wipe his cheek against his shoulder. "I don't think nobody at Prometheus is exactly gonna be /linin'/ up to fix Hive's brain." He pulls his legs up onto the couch, curling them up underneath himself. He pats at Micah's thigh, hand just resting there afterwards. "S'okay. S'okay we got this it's what we /do/ right. I'll just. Set folks on narrowin' down places it could be an' then gear my team up for -- for." The parts of his glow that were still silvery are now shifting towards a deep crimson-red. "They let him keep his ring." He's turning abruptly to look towards Lucien's hand, then back to the picture. "Ain't un/heard/ of but ain't /often/ either they let y'keep no -- personal – huh." Micah just watches Lucien stare at the drawing for awhile. "Honey, there ain't no way y'could've known before..." Talk of curing cancer cuts him off. "I guess they must. An' no...ain't nobody as works /for/ Prometheus gonna wanna help Hive. But...what if it's someone's ability? Someone else they've taken? We could ask--" He shakes his head firmly. "It ain't worth speculatin' at this point. There's too many things it could be. An' we gotta do one thing at a time. Get folks outta there first. Then see if they know anythin' about how Matt got cured." His head tilts slightly at the mention of the ring. "Huh. Guess maybe it was more trouble takin' it from 'im than it was worth?" Lucien does not answer immediately, off in the kitchen taking care of pasta. Dishes clink. Silverware rattles. Eventually he emerges with two bowls of penne, kale and mushrooms in peanut sauce mixed in. He sets the bowls down on the table in front of Jax and Micah, returning to his seat. "It is not much to go on, is it?" He gestures towards the drawing. "Do you really think you can track down a location from this?" His fingers curl inward, thumb running against his own matching ring once more. "When you were inside, Jackson," he wonders, "did they leave your piercings or take them?" Jackson ignores the food, reaching instead to pick his refilled glass back up. "Ain't much to go on, no. Library book's from a library in Vermont, I guess. An' the trees outside is maples, too. We're just gonna hafta -- it's gonna take a bit I got no doubt to track it down further. Tend to set my -- computer geniuses on /that/ task, I ain't no good at that part'a things." His head shakes slightly, slowly rolling forward to rest his chin against his chest. "Mmmno. They tooken it all out. Don't hardly never bring you in /conscious/ so s'pretty easy to strip people down, I s'pose." His cheeks colour a little darker at this. "Maybe," he suggests in a lighter tone, a whole /set/ of black rings wrapping their way around every one of his fingers, "-- maybe they just /like/ him better. I mean. S'/Matt/." "Thank you, Lucien," Micah says with a nod when Lucien brings the food out. "Had you already eaten?" He nods again at the question of locations. "Library the book's from was easy enough t'track down. Could get one of the folks as knows more about computers t'get into their system an' see who checked the book out. Try an' go on from there." Leaning forward, he collects one of the bowls. "Y'gotta eat, hon. Y'don't do well when y'dont eat /usually/. Y'definitely gotta eat if you're gonna be drinkin'." He spears some of the food on a fork, holding it out for Jax. "Here." "We have had dinner here already, yes. I was -- getting ready for work when you called," Lucien admits quietly, "but this seemed more pressing." He glances away, towards the end of the hallway where the stairs lead up. Lips pressing together, he leans forward to roll the drawing back up and tie it off again. "-- Perhaps they did just like him better." He sounds entirely serious about considering this suggestion, brows drawing together. "There were only so many people involved in his care who knew just what his ability could do. So whoever it was who turned him over to them -- likely knew him fairly well." His thumb flicks slowly against the ring on his finger. "Have you two decided if you are staying or going?" "Oh! Oh /gosh/ we're jus' interruptin' folks left an' /right/ tonight." Jax's flush deepens, the red glow around him drawing in closer to his skin. Thickening, less glowy now and instead just glisteny-wet. "Maybe the hospital's a second good place t'start lookin', though, can you -- /get/ me a list'a everyone who woulda knowed what he can -- /oh/ oh no wait we're being /interrupty/ we should go. We should go right?" At Jax's more obvious blush, Micah's cheeks pick up more colour, as well. "Shh, honey. Just...eat, please." He returns the fork to the bowl and pushes it into Jax's hands. "Luci went through all that /effort/ of cookin' it," he adds sneakily, presuming that tack to be the better one to convince Jax to eat the food. Once his hands are empty, he pats the other man on the shoulder and moves over to Lucien. Again, placing a hand on his arm where it is covered by fabric. "Honey, it's up to you. There's folks at home as can stay with Spence. But I'm also good t'drive. D'you want someone here when y'get back from work? 'Cause we can be here. If y'want us t'go, we'll go. This is all real heavy stuff an' I just...wanna give you whatever small amount of what y'need that I'm able t'give." He looks up, locking eyes with Lucien, searching for any kind of sign of how he is doing. "Yes, I slaved away over a hot stove for at least three minutes tonight to bring you that meal," Lucien answers quietly, a faint tug of amusement pulling at his lips. It soon fades; he regards the tied-up drawing with a small crease in his brow, and then downs the rest of his drink. His hand starts to lift towards Micah's at his arm, but then just falls back to his lap. "Thank you. You are very kind. I really shouldn't impose further on your night, though. -- I'll get you that list by the morning, Jackson. And thank you. For --" He flicks his fingers towards the drawing with a small distasteful frown thinning out his mouth. Jackson takes the bowl, puzzled at first when he looks down at it. "-- Oh. /Oh/ Luci made this for -- oh. Thank you, honey-honey." His cheeks stay deep red as he picks up his fork, starting to eat rather hungrily. "Wait that -- /Micah/," he protests, "he's doin' that /thing/ again. That weren't an answer," is directed now to Lucien again, "that was like the non-answery-est. I mean it's okay to say what /you/ want an' not what you think is -- imposin' on us or -- or -- you're not imposin', you know? OK actually you /are/ kind of imposin' in that you're pretty intimidatin' but you ain't imposin' like bein' demanding. He never," /this/ time he's just complaining to his /bowl/, "jus' gives answers straight." Lucien's answer brings a brief, small smile to Micah's face, as well. He almost chuckles at Jax's rambling. "Lucien. You're not imposin'. My night's gonna consist of puttin' Jax t'bed an'...readin' or the like 'til I get t'sleep, too. Whether it's here or not here. If y'want someone t'be here when y'get back, just say so. An' y'come wake me when y'get home if it's late. Ain't a hint of imposition if I'm /askin'/ y'to." His fingers run down the back of Lucien's arm. "But if y'want us outta your hair, we'll just eat an' wash up after an' we can be gone quick as y'like. It ain't a crime t'say what y'want, y'know." "-- You find me intimidating?" Lucien's brows raise, his small amused smile returning, for a brief moment. It fades, his eyes dropping as he considers the other men's replies. "I want you," he answers at length, quietly. "Here." "Well -- yeah." Jax's nose crinkles up at this question. He licks peanut sauce off of one of his lip rings, pausing briefly in making his food rapidly disappear. "I mean, you're pretty much brilliant an' you're so gorgeous I feel sometimes like y'belong in a museum an' after /all/ the crazy you been through y'still manage t'pretty much keep your life all /together/ an' actually from what I done hear when I was arrested you pretty much kept /my/ whole family together on /top/'a it /while/ gettin' me outta jail an' startin' to take down Prometheus. An' -- also you did kill me that one time," he adds thoughtfully. "So yeah a /little/ intimidatin', sometimes around you I forget t'breathe." The red around him deepens, and then fades away, leaving behind only faint shadow-tendrils still coiling up his arms. "-- /Um/ wow I just said a /lotta/ words I should probably. Stop sayin' words. If y'want us here we'll be here then." Micah simply nods when Lucien finally gives a /real/ answer. Though Jax fills the room with enough talking for all three of them in short order. His free hand moves to his mouth, covering his lips with his fingertips in an attempt to hide amusement at the illusionist's rambling. “We'll be here. Wake me if I'm asleep when you get in,” he reiterates before moving in to hug Lucien. “Love you, hon. You go ahead an' get yourself ready t'go. We can see to ourselves here no problem.” He gives one last squeeze before releasing the other man and returning to his seat, collecting his own bowl of pasta on the way. Lucien listens to all this with his brows raising higher. He does not bother to hide his amusement, exhaling a laugh, quiet and tired, before curling his arm back around Micah in return. He rises, stopping by the couch to brush a hand lightly across the top of one of Jackson's spikes of hair. "That /was/ certainly a lot of words." He leans down, touching his mouth to Jackson's in a kiss light but lingering, a deep flush of pleasure fluttering through the artist with the contact. "Though I shudder to think what a low bar your friends are setting if /my/ life is a picture of /together/ for you." With this, he slips back out, heading up the stairs to finish preparing for work. Around Jax the glow flushes brilliant red again, with this kiss, with the pleasure that accompanies it. He returns the kiss softly and -- is admittedly forgetting to breathe yet again when Lucien moves off. He sinks in against Micah's side with a strangled groan. "That. Weren't no kindsa fair."