ArchivedLogs:In A Van...

In A Van...
...down by...Chinatown, actually.
Dramatis Personae Micah, Hive, Jennifer	22 May 2013 Waiting is HARD, okay? (Part of Thunderdome.)
Location <NYC> Chinatown
One of New York's oldest neighborhoods and the oldest Chinese enclave outside of Asia, Chinatown is a vibrant ethnic community, which draws throngs of tourists annually as well. This neighborhood is packed with Chinese-owned businesses, from restaurants to groceries to theaters to fashion. Micah, Hive, and Jennifer are in a van! It is a local no-name brand moving van of the variety typically used for moving...furniture. Except instead of conscripting friends with the promise of pizza and beer there is, instead, the promise of getting /other/ friends out of cages. Oh my. The back of the van is sort of furniture-laden. The floor is padded with a hodgepodge of old mats and mattresses left over from keeping the Prometheus refugees, in hopes of making things a shade more comfortable for the...fight club refugees. Oh. Micah is behind the wheel, trying his best not to fidget straight through the seat. He is bad at waiting. His eyes are darting around from the scene outside, to Hive, to Jennifer... At least he had the good sense to bring something to keep him occupied in the meantime. His hands are busy /furiouslyknitting/ a rainbow baby blanket. Because that is what one does during a rescue mission, right? Micah finally decides he is going to explode if he doesn't talk. Hive is looking more and more /occupied/, so poor Jennifer becomes the target of his smalltalk. Hello, new person! "So...uh...Jennifer? You work with Jax?" Hive has been a pretty boring car companion. He's been sitting. Probably snarking, at first, but then increasingly quiet. Increasingly /distant/ in his expression. His fingers twitch. Mostly they twitch at the window controls on his door. Roll it down. Roll it back up. Roll it back down. Twitchtwitchtwitch. The twitch rapidly /increases/ as the warehouse door opens. A steady march of people is leaving it. They're not in cop uniform but some of them have cop-swagger to them /anyway/. They're moving in odd /unison/. Twitchtwitch/twitch/. << You're, >> Hive's mindvoice is /normally/ a horrible thing, painful-harsh, akin to being /attacked/ in the brain. But today it is mellow, oddly echoing with a whisper of /other/ voices beneath his. << -- Strong. Right? >> He's probably talking to Jennifer. Who /knows/. It's not very /directed/. Although having initially shown up as Jennifer Walters, by now the redhead has shed her humanly colours for something a little bit greener. She is wearing her beloved stretchable sports-oriented underclothes, the sides, sleeves and short legs of which are purple, while everything else is white. The lower half of them is hidden, thanks to a pair of tight-looking jeans; a zipper on each leg below the knee is open, creating unnecessary space. Heavy black boots hide her green feet. Needless to say, a seven foot individual finds the van a /little/ bit cramped, so she gets the space in the back, instead; it also means someone gets to babysit the refugees on the way back. Right now, she's right behind Micah and Hive, hands neatly on either chair. Her gaze constantly shifts between Micah's knitting and Hive's peculiar demeanour. "Yeah, Jennifer Walters. I work with 'im, I'm-- Is it really the best time to knit a sock?" Not that she knows it's a sock. It probably isn't, even. "And why's your friend-- Hn?" Shulkie furrows her brows as Hive's voice invades her mind, along with skittering whispers. << Yes, I am. >> "Yes, I am," she answers. Not used to telepaths very well, this one. "Why?" Micah’s knitting needles are clattering away rapid fire. Like they should have a typewriter /carriage-return/ sound as rows finish. Nervous energy is productive. “Micah,” he replies, honestly unable to remember if he had introduced himself while loading people into the van at set-out. He is looking far more sedate than usual, in a blue and green plaid button-down shirt and faded jeans. “It’s a blanket. What else am I s’posed to do when I’m /sittin’/ here /sittin’/?” He might…be physically incapable of staying entirely still. “Oh, Hive? He’s doin’…that.” Micah nods at the creepy-marching cop brigade. “Evil guard-puppets.” He is quiet for a moment, before he starts squirming in the seat again. “So, d’you teach? What subjects?” << You could snap all their necks. In a heartbeat. >> Hive sounds oddly /wistful/ about this. So easy. Right there. The guards -- all stop, at once, a short distance from the van. Hive's hand /twitches/ again. << Not a sock, it's a baby blanket. >> This is said with some bemusement. << There's so many. Inside. They're -- going. Down. Now. >> The words are kind of clipped, and carry that same strange echo of voices. When the purpose of the mysterious craftsmanship is revealed, Jennifer looks back to it with renewed appreciation. "Well, at least it'll keep the poor people warm. Looking at you knit makes /me/ nervous, though." And so, back to Hive her attention goes. As Micah points out the march of the police officers that the green-haired Amazon actually failed to notice, she chortles softly in mild disbelief. "Jax wasn't kidding when he said he had a wicked terrifying telepath." As impressed as she is, the thoughts that follow Hive's wistful observation become gradually darker. << The things they've done. >> Jennifer thins her lips and wrinkles her nose as she stares into the hived crowd. << They don't deserve even that. >> Her facial features soften reluctantly, and her next words are aimed at Hive: "Is everyone okay inside?" Then to poor Micah again: "Yeah, I-- It's complicated-- The teaching thing, I mean. Is your friend going to be okay?" “HIVE. No. We’re tryin’ to make this as not-messy as possible, remember?” Micah ferries both knitting needles into one hand, leaving the other free to bop Hive on the shoulder. It is a playful-gentle bop, mostly intended to keep Hive /present/. Micah’s mind is buzzing with everything possible /but/ what is going on right now. Very deliberately…not what is going on right now. << Ohgosh, everyone /has to be/ okay. >> ‘Complicated’ is probably code for ‘stop asking about it’. Damn. Now he has to find a new track for small talk. “Hive? Yeah, eventually. Him pullin’ in this many people isn’t /good/ for ‘im in the long run. But you can’t argue the /effectiveness/.” He’s right back to knitting. “I make these for a group that donates ‘em to kids. Mostly in hospitals.” << Wicked terrifying, >> Hive echoes this with a quiet underlying ripple of amusement, felt more than heard. The guards are still frozen in place. For a moment. Then they turn, and continue walking away, at the bop to his shoulder. The bop also comes with a /push/ of mental pressure, settling in, squeezing in, against Micah's mind. Hello. Hive's fingers twitch again, as the guards leave. << OK, >> he echoes. << Inside people are. Alive. >> Twitch. << Barely. You have friends. In there. >> It's flat but there's a suggestion of question about it, to both of them. << Don't know. Who to look for. >> Indeed, the efficiency of the mutation is not argued by Jennifer, but instead her mind argues something else. << Effective it might be, but I can't help but wonder what lasting effect it has on /him/. >> As the thought crosses her mind, Jen once again eyes Hive curiously, and her mind continues to question the extent of his ability until she catches movement in the distance. The departure of the guards is silently observed. Micah gets the brunt of Shulkie's attention again soon enough. "I think small talk could wait a /tiny/ little bit. Don't worry, everything's going to be fine. You know how I know that? Because I'm not /in/ there," she offers with a tentative smirk. "And in the unlikely event they will go south, I /am/ here. Now, you got any idea who he should look for? Because I make a pretty bad tactician." Hive’s mental push earns a louder (and yet silent?), << HIVE. /No/. You’ve got your pack of horrible people. You need to stay /on leash/ this time. Almost broke you forever-wise the last time… >> Micah is trying and /failing/ not to think of the people inside. JaxNoxShaneBastianJim thoughts vie for attention. He makes a little frustrated worry-sound, almost a whimper, before managing to redirect himself to /knitting/. Grr. “I ain’t never done nothin’ /remotely/ like this before,” he admits to Jennifer. << We've done. Many -- times. Jax -- makes a good tactician. >> Hive's face twists into a /very/ displeased frown. << He's needed to be. >> Another twitch. Twitch. The names vying for primacy in Micah's thoughts receive answers -- not in words but in fragments of imagery and feeling. Little telepathic-snips of the scene inside. Jax blank-faced and trying very /determinedly/ not to focus on his kids so that he can get others out; he's in Nox's cage, at the moment, while Kurt deals with the children. Nox is -- in a bad way, grey skin streaked with white, filmy eyes, glowing bracelets strapped to her wrists and neck. Jim is tree-like. Mangled. His /head/ is split down its wooden face. But alive. << Fine, >> he finally agrees with Jennifer's assessment. << Will be fine. >> She-Hulk admittedly has a marginally easier time maintaining her cool, even though beneath the surface lies a caleidoscope of worries. The back of a palm lightly taps against Micah's shoulder. "Relax, the first time always sucks," she tells the driver, nonplussed. She is well aware of the double meaning. "And the more nervous you get, the worse you make it for yourself." << So leave the worrying to me, >> she thinks to herself offhandedly. The rough mental montage she receives does quieten her. An elbow is propped on the back of Hive's seat, and the same hand nudges the green knuckles against a green cheek. Jennifer tries to silently process what she's been given, failing to recognise one of the individuals, yet Jackson's action linger in her mind; most notably she focuses on his efforts to save /everyone/. And then Jim's state enters her mind. A sneer contorts her lips. << Jim? Is that-- /Fuck/. >> That hand supporting her face unravels and she simply buries her face in it. << Fine? /Fine/! Where does hope end and lies begin? >> The question accompanies the repetition of the snippets she received, as she mulls them over. "Everyone's doing their best," she mentions softly; it is spoken so gently, it's barely audible. The cool demeanour has taken a bit of a dent. Micah's hands finally stop moving when Hive projects images of the goings-on inside. His mind is a brief, sharp stab of hope at seeing the people in question /alive/, followed by...almost being /sick/ at the state of alive they are in. He jams the knitting wholesale into its carrying bag. No time to be sick. Only time to be useful. "Hrrrrrm... Hive. Are they all comin' out here? 'Cause we need to set up for some real particular needs...some of 'em directly contradictory. Nox is gonna need a dark place. We can use blankets to block off a space in the back, since the only windows are up here, if she comes our way. Gotta get those damn /things/ offa her. Can I just cut 'em or do we think they're booby-trapped?" Both hands scruff through his hair forcefully. "Jim's a /tree/. He's prolly gonna need some /dirt/. Water. Sun. Keep him up here by the windows if he's comin'. You know him better...anythin' else help?" He pauses to look to Hive. "The boys, if we get 'em... Gonna need water. And meat. Got the glove compartment in front of you stuffed as full of jerky as it could handle. Whole box of water bottles in the back. Might soak down a blanket with some of 'em." << All coming out. Worst ones taken straight, >> Hive says, with a brief flicker-flash in his mind of Aloke. Light-zipping people out. << Ones who can still walk. Coming out. Jim -- >> For the first time, on this word, his voice sounds more like just /him/, that chorus of echoes subsiding momentarily. But it's back immediately after, as he moves on to more logistics. << Needs to root. >> There's a mental image here, too. A garden. Grassy. Fishpond. Quiet. It just might be Lucien's. << Boys will be here. Nox, too. Teleporter can take Jim to ground. Put Nox in the back. Collar can come off. >> Hive's head thunks tiredly to the side, resting against the windows. << Everyone's doing their best. Open the door, >> he tells Micah, << if you're going to puke. >> There's an arch of a brow as Jennifer listens to Micah suddenly come to life. As it happens, it also serves as a certain reminder for her to hold onto her composure, as well. "See? You know what you're doing." And then Jennifer falls silent again, sinking into her thoughts, which mostly consist of variables and constants regarding this particular stage of the rescue effort. "I can snap any collar off in the blink of an eye," she notes helpfully. Shulkie then retreats further into the back of the van, seating herself down and leaning against the side with a bit of a sigh. "Are they close?" “Okay, Jim’s not coming. So don’t need the whole dirt thing. Nox’n the boys…do need everythin’ else.” << Not gonna, >> Micah reassures Hive, slightly snippy in his mental voice. He digs around in another bag, coming up with a roll of duct tape. “Okay, Jennifer. We’re gonna need a couple of blankets turned into makeshift curtains usin’ nothin’ but duct tape an’ that back corner to make a dark space for Nox. Y’got a crafty streak?” << They're -- >> There's a faint twitch of Hive's lips. It doesn't quite resolve into a smile. Outside, there's /movement/. A flicker here, a brimstone-BAMF there. And people, where before there were no people. << ... close. >> Hive's eyes close. His expression is almost peaceful. The increased twitch-tremble of his hands is not. Tipping her head to the side, Jennifer looks over to Micah with a steadily growing smirk. "I'm better at destroying things than making them, but I'll try." With a wide grin now, she points to that roll of duct tape. "/That/ is not going to make your curtains slideable, though." The green-haired seven foot woman scrambles to her feet and walks back to Micah, shaking up the vehicle a tiny bit. When the items are hastily acquired, Jennifer begins to hang up the curtains. She is actually quite needlessly precise about it, making sure they are taped to the top frame of the windows levelly and appropriately. The van is going to be nice and comfortable when the camaraderie arrive.