ArchivedLogs:Information Control

Information Control
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Doug, Micah, Dusk	9 December 2013 Heat's broken, super's missing, and more information is making it to the media.
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 late at night -- Spencer's long since gone to sleep, /Flicker's/ gone to sleep in the twins' room given that he is one of those strange college students who has voluntarily picked morning classes for himself. Even in the overcrowded apartment, then, it's /quiet/ now. Quiet and /bright/ and very warm, Jax's sunlamps are fine on their own but in numbers they create a not-insignificant amount of heat only added to by the fact there has been fresh /baking/ recently. Muffins, mocha chocolate chip, filling the house with -- -- well, they /would/ be filling the house with a delicious chocolatey aroma, but at the moment it's currently been slightly overpowered by the smells of oil paints. Jackson's easel is set up in the living room, today, with people all shuffled off back to bedrooms now that there are three fewer teenagers crashing in the house. He's working -- on a painting of Dusk, actually, though /on/ the easel it's currently hard to tell, only a base layer of paler colours currently laid down. It's easy enough to see what the painting /will/ be, though, a number of sketches and photographs tacked up on the windows past him, Dusk with his enormous glowing headphones tucked away at his fantastic computer desk working. Jackson is casually-dressed, faded old paint-splattered jeans and a Rainbow Brite t-shirt, kind of pale, kind of drawn, no eyepatch, no makeup, a plethora of scars. Just intently /focused/, a swirl of colours drifting through the living room around him that shift and change as he mixes and applies his paints. Late at night seems to be Doug's stock in trade, since he looks markedly less tired when he appears in the hallway outside of 303, He still looks like he might could benefit from a nap, though. Dressed in jeans and a thick, cable-knit sweater, the blonde has a tablet computer tucked under his arm as he approaches the door and knocks -- quietly. He's aware there might be people actually sleeping within. Still, he offers three short taps, pauses, then offers three more before he pulls out his tablet and fusses with it while he waits for a response. Micah has been drawn out by the smell of baking muffins, and is currently in cocoa-making mode. Because warm muffins + hot cocoa = perfection on a late winter's night. He is dressed in his black Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt beneath an equally black unzipped Batsignal hoodie, all over a pair of rainbow-patched jeans. His hair has that slightly spiky, slightly mussed appearance that suggests it air dried after a shower without being tended overmuch. He stirs at the aromatic contents of the pot on the stove, redolent of chocolate and cinnamon and a hint of chili pepper, waiting for them to be finished heating for distribution to mugs. Jackson glances up at the sound of the knocks, first glancing at the /windows/ with a puzzled expression before he seems to remember the door. "Oh-oh-oh right. Right-right. /Door/." He sets his palette down on the stool, sliding off in socked feet (thick and fluffy and mismatched black-and-purple and black-and-green striped) to peer out the viewhole /suspiciously/. He opens it after this, though, with a relieved exhalation. "Oh, Doug, thank goodness. Was afraid t'was more reporters. C'mon in, honey-honey, what can I do y'for?" "Nope," Doug says, grinning a bit and glancing over his shoulder. "Just me. The reporters are pinging the shit out of the security system, though." As if in response to this, his tablet sounds off in a masculine voice. "Self detects four entitypersons with video cameras currently outside this building, and two entitypersons attempting entry. Thirty seconds to alarm activation." "Oh, crap," Doug says with a grimace, tapping at his tablet as he enters the apartment. "Hang on," he says to Jackson, and looks down at the screen, where a spiky-haired yellow and black robot creature looks back with something akin to patient curiosity. "No, no alarm," he says to the tablet. "Stand down." The robot nods, and fades from the screen. Then Doug looks up with a sheepish sort of grin. "Sorry about that," he says, tucking the tablet under his arm. "He's still a bit twitchy." He offers a wave to Micah as he inhales deeply. "I was just wondering...Sebastian said you might have a space heater I can borrow?" Micah waves back at Doug as the young man enters. “Evenin', Doug. Man, you got a real chatty tablet tonight.” He gives the pot on the stove a last stir before turning off the heat and fetching mugs from a neighbouring cabinet. “You'll have t'ask Jax about space heaters, but /I've/ got cocoa. Also muffins that are still warm. Okay, Jax made the muffins, but I'm the one in the kitchen now.” A light chuckle comes with this, as Micah starts filling mugs. "Space heater? Yeah, we --" Jackson gestures Doug to come in, closing and locking the door behind him. He gives the tablet a /puzzled/ look when it speaks, the kind both wary and mystified that can only be achieved by the truly technologically inept. "-- um, we got, yeah. S'gettin' /cold/ ain't it? I'm sorta decadent with the heat -- it's horrible of me, murder on the environment /an'/ my bank account when the bills come due but m'Southern /an'/ I run top hot, I can't help -- gosh I'm ramblin', you want a muffin? Cocoa? We got cocoa an' muffins. An' I'm /sorry/ 'bout the press I hope they ain't been hasslin' you none, they're -- real. Persistent." "It's cold as crap," Doug says, and the tablet chimes in helpfully with "The current external temperature is 36 degrees Fahrenheit." Which earns a grin from Doug, and he shrugs in Micah's direction. "Yeah, he's really chatty, since I got his syntax sorted," he says. "He's really eager, though." He tips the tablet so that Jackson can see the robot-avatar, who actually waves. "Hot cocoa and muffins sound delicious," he says, moving towards the kitchen. "My heat's out, so I've been piling blankets and working in the lobby. That's where I ran into Bas the other night." That reminds him, and he lifts his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah. He told me the news. Congratulations!" Dusk has been out for quite some hours, and he returns carrying the cold with him still. Slushy damp on his boots, melting snow dampening his trenchcoat. He peels it off once inside, wings shaking briefly with an almost orgasmic exhalation -- evidently, cramping them up under the heavy coat is not exactly /pleasant/ times. He stoops to unlace his boots after, leaving them with other shoes by the door. "Fff. I used to love winter before these things grew in." Once he is shed of his winter gear he moves in deeper, wings flexing /more/ until they touch wall-to-wall in the apartment and then have to /stop/. Instead of further stretching, he flexes one outward, brushing up against Jax's shoulder before he leans in to brush a kiss to the artist's neck. "Micah you have some cocoa for me? I'm pretty much an icicle. Hey, Doug." With three mugs already on the counter, Micah simply adjusts his cocoa pouring, retrieves a fourth mug, and finishes filling the mugs before Dusk even /asks/. "It /is/ wicked cold out. I took Obie for 'is walk before it was even full dark out, an' he was a pupsicle by the time we got back t'the lobby. Your heat's out, too? Flicker'n Dusk've been stayin' here since /theirs/ went out." Nabbing a muffin as well, he delivers this and a mug of cocoa to Dusk first, since he's just come from the wild arctic tundra that is the outdoors of late. "Cocoa /and/ muffin. Y'know I love you." It takes him a second to process Doug's congratulations. "Oh! Right, all the papers gettin' signed. Thanks!" He continues distributing cocoa and muffins to the others, one by one, before claiming a set for himself. "Yeah, I know...the reporters. Finally got myself followed by one out in the park earlier." The waving robot earns a small quirk of a smile from Jackson. "His screen's wavin' at me," he informs Micah. "And -- oh, thank you." He blushes at the congratulations, thumb moving to brush against his fiery sunstone ring. "Oh -- one caught up with you? Sorry -- did it go okay?" He gives Micah a briefly /worried/ look. Checking over him as if for /injuries/. "Oh, gosh, honey-honey, you're freezin'." Jax curls a (/very/ warm) arm around Dusk, squeezing him tight for a moment but then shivering with a small intake of breath at the kiss. He blushes, his eye widening, and moves off to claim his palette. He wraps it in a layer of plastic wrap, sticking it in the freezer before returning to the living room to take a seat on one enormous beanbag. "Oh, gosh, thank you." His eye lights at the cocoa-muffin delivery. "Wait your heat's out? Oh, sweetie, you shouldn't hafta -- we got space. I mean we got a couch." He points to the couch! As /evidence/. "/An'/ heat. Y'ain't had no luck gettin' it back on either? I'm -- kinda worried 'bout our superintendent I ain't seen him in weeks." "I was actually talking about the marriage in particular," Doug says, grinning at Micah as he claims a mug for himself. "But yeah, all of it. Congratulations." He offers Dusk a cheery wave, shivering a bit at the cool air that wafts off of the other young man. "Hey, Dusk. Your party over already?" He seems a bit amused until Micah mentions the reporter. "Oh, yeah. That sucks. One tried to pin me down when I came home, but I started rattling at them in Russian. Totally threw them." He winks at Micah. "Don't know if that would work for you." Jax's offer gets a small pinkening of his ears, and he shakes his head. "Oh, gosh. Thanks, but I think I'm better off staying at my place, unless it gets really bad." He leans forward to claim a muffin, now, picking at the top and poking bits into his mouth. "Yeah, me too. His voicemail's full," he says of the superintendent. "Which never happens. And the camera on his hall got knocked out at some point. I need to get down there and fix it." "Oh yeah. Less of a party and more of sitting around eating fried chicken and watching movies. Still excellent, I /might/," Dusk admits, "still be sliiightly tipsy. -- /God/ I love you." He says this to Micah, taking the cocoa in one hand and the muffin in the other and wrapping a (chilly) wing around Micah's shoulders. He leans in here, too, nuzzling and then kissing lightly at Micah's neck as well. "Pfft are you crazy it's fucking cold, man, and their house is always --" His eyes rake over Jackson and Micah in turn. He goes to sit down on the floor beside Jax's beanbag, taking a large gulp of cocoa and then sucking in a quick breath as he burns his tongue. "-- always /full/ of hot." Micah /shivers/, whether at the kiss or the chillywing is open to debate. “Well...I guess it depends on your definition of okay? The lady from the Bugle that's been talkin' at Io an' Lucien found me when I was out with Obie. She...asked a couple questions an' mostly just let me run at the mouth like I do.” A faint blush dusts across his cheeks. “So, the press has the information about the labs now. It's...gonna be out there.” After a few moments' pause, he engages in the rest of the conversation. “No, if I tried t'pass m'self off as speakin' another language, I'd prob'ly just seem like a mental patient. Mostly folks haven't been messin' with me 'til...well, now they know who I am. So that ruse wouldn't work anyhow.” His brow furrows at the ongoing news on the super. “Luci said he still hasn't been able t'get hold of anyone t'/give them money/. That's the most worryin' part. Sometimes management gets a little scarce when y'want somethin' done. But they /always/ find a way t'cash your checks.” Hazel eyes widen, in time with nodding agreement with Dusk. “Ohgosh, Doug...honey, it's below freezin' at night. An' y'can't very well start a /fire/ up in your apartment for adequate heat.” "Food an' movies an' /booze/ an' now cocoa. Y'sound like y'done had a /good/ day. Night." Jackson watches Dusk hiss at the heat of the cocoa and he sets his drink aside for now, though the comment about hot just deepens the crimson in his cheeks. "S'been pretty icy-snowy all day, honey," he frets, worried, "I'd say that's pretty bad." His eye closes at the talk of press, and he flops backwards into the beanbag, resting his muffin on his chest. "It'll be good. It'll be good, right? Gettin' that news out there. Tellin' folks 'bout the labs." His eye scrunches up tighter, though, not apparently convinced of this. "... they keep pesterin' me too but I ain't given no interviews yet. Maybe t'morrow. The super," he allows unhappily, "s'most like to be dead." Doug looks like he might protest further, inhaling deeply and setting down his muffin. He looks from Dusk, to Micah, and then to Jax, and he slumps against the counter. "Yeah, okay," he says, his expression cloudy. "Just for tonight." He doesn't sound fully on board, but he covers it (badly) by focusing on his muffin. Until Jax mentions the probable state of the super. Then he sighs. "Oh, man. That sucks. It's true, but it sucks. I liked Mister P." "Dude, nobody's forcing you." Dusk's wings settle in against his back, and he /glares/ at his cocoa but then takes a bite of muffin instead. "-- God how do you. Do you put crack. In these because I swear my mouth just came. -- Anyway they were offering you a warm place to sleep not a jail cell," he says with an easy shrug, casual in tone as he studies Doug's cloudy expression, "go home if you don't like it here s'no big deal." His brow wrinkles as he considers for a moment. "-- I didn't like him he was an asshole. Still don't want him eaten by zombies though." At his back, his wings shiver. He takes another bite of his muffin. "It might be good." The casual has slipped from his tone, quieter now. "It might be terrible. They might round us all up some night and shoot us. But it had to come out eventually." “Dusk. Honey, you /watched/ me pour the cocoa out of a pot that just came off the stove.” Micah is half-laughing, half rolling his eyes at Dusk's accusatory look at the cocoa. “I mean, we /had/ t'tell 'em. Otherwise that false bill of goods they were sellin' on Vector was gonna be the whole story. It's like they were /bettin'/ we wouldn't answer it. What else was there t'be done?” He rinses out the now-empty pot, leaving it to cool a bit in the sink before a final wash to occur later. Gathering up his own cup and muffin, he moves into the living room, gesturing for Doug to follow. “Y'don't /have/ t'stay here, honey. Just...y'should come up with a plan t'stay /somewhere/. As cold as it is an' no clear sign of things gettin' fixed anytime soon.” "Oh -- Oh, right!" Jax crams the rest of his muffin into his mouth, bouncing up from the beanbag to disappear quietly into the twins' room. He comes back out quietly as well, closing the door gently behind him; he's swallowed his muffin and holds in one hand a squat ceramic space heater. "Here, honey-honey. If y'ain't comfortable with -- um, it's small but it heats real good." He returns to the large beanbag, nestling himself into it and picking his cocoa back up. He blows on its surface, fingers wrapping around the warm mug. "Yeah. Was kinda inevitable. The story was out but it was gettin' spun in all the wrong ways. An' people gotta know." Doug looks even more uncomfortable as the conversation on where he's going to sleep progresses, and he inhales deeply. "I'm just not...I don't think it would be a very good idea, even though it probably is." He wrinkles his nose as language fails him, a fact that's pointed out by his tablet. "Query: Sentence syntax is confusing. Was this intentional? Please state again." Doug flushes red, and punches the sleep button before he follows Micah into the living room. "I'm just busy, with work and school stuff, and I've got the cats...." He bites off further babbling and finds a seat on the couch, perching on the edge of the cushion. To say he looks grateful when Jax retrieves the space heater is probably underselling it, but he does offer a wide grin. "Oh, hey, thanks. I appreciate it." Then he tilts his head towards Micah, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "You want me to get the jump on them? I could do a wikileak, and scoop the whole world with just cold, hard fact." He makes a face. "Such as we have them, anyway." "Did your tablet just mock you, that's --" Dusk just snorts, leaning his head to the side to rest against Jax when Jax sits back down. "Micah. Micah that's logic. I'm not /logicking/ right now I just want cocoa." He sounds very plaintive, turning large puppy-eyes on Micah as though this will cool his drink down faster. "Pretty sure we got lots of the facts. They're -- pretty hard yeah. But not --" He grimaces. "Not cold some days I think they're gonna burn me up." Micah's reply to the question of sleeping arrangements and talking computers is just to layer deeper shades of red across his cheeks. "No, I don't think puttin' everythin' out online's the way we wanna go. I mean, that reporter havin' the information t'start is prob'ly gonna have things out soon enough. Lucien'n Parley are kinda directin' the PR side of things, since they got experience with it. They think havin' things come up slow's a good plan for now. Though havin' a mass of information for people t'access later might be helpful." Micah sets his cocoa and muffin on the coffee table, going to retrieve a carton of almond milk from the refrigerator. He adds more to Dusk's mug, until it is in danger of spilling, then returns it to the fridge. "The lady from the Bugle gave me a fistful of business cards. She wants t'collect stories from people who were inside the labs." "Should ask the pups," Jackson murmurs, glancing towards the twins' door even though it's just Flicker who's there now. "Old enough t'decide whether they want that out there. I bet more'n a couple'a my team will." He smiles, thin and small. "Plus havin' those stories out might earn us a little leniency if we ever make it in front of a jury. Though I don't imagine we would." He shakes his head, taking a small sip of his cocoa. "No problem, honey-honey. S'bitter cold nobody should have to --" He gives another shake of his head, curling his arm loosely to scrub fingers through Dusk's hair. "I know, sweetie. I think some day they might." "Yeah," Doug says to Dusk, wrinkling his nose. "He's pretty quick, but he's still sussing out social interaction. That's the first time it's ever been inconvenient." He says this without irony as he finishes off his muffin with a couple of big bites, nodding solemnly at the thoughts on cyber-outing the labs. "Well, whatever they decide, just let me know," he says. "I'm happy to help out any way I can." On the subject of the labs, he can offer nothing but a sympathetic shake of his head. The heat of his cocoa is suddenly ignored as he glances at the clock and quickly finishes it with a grimace. "Oh, crap. I should get this heater upstairs before Alt and Delete freeze," he says apologetically as he rises to take his mug to the kitchen and place it in the sink. Then he's tucking his tablet under his arm and picking up the space heater. "Thanks again for the loan. I'll let you know in the morning how well it worked," he promises as he moves towards the door. "You guys take care." And then he's gone, and it barely even /looks/ like he's fleeing. Barely. "Man is he /still/ hung up about not fucking you?" Dusk glances to Micah with brows raised as Doug flees but then. Then there is /cocoa/, and his attention is diverted. He picks the cup back up, one wing stretching out and /beckoning/ Micah in closer with a wingtip. His eyes close as he takes a long drink. "Oh. /Oh/ you are an angel." He chuffs out a breath after this, shaking his head. "Hell no, they come after us we're not going to be anywhere /near/ a courthouse." He rubs his head up against Jax's fingers happily. "Bet Flicker'll tell his story. Just wish that fucking dragon hadn't messed his face up, he /used/ to be so photogenic." Doug's hasty retreat manages to colour Micah's face even further. But there is chocolate to be had! He finally reclaims his own mug and muffin from the table, settling in on the beanbag beside the other two. Just in time for Dusk's comment to turn him crimson. “Oh...ohgosh, I don't even know. He's still awkward around me a lot, but /I'm/ always there when I'm there, so I couldn't say if he's just /usually/ like that anymore. 'Cause I don't know what he's like when I'm not.” Micah's fingers pluck a section of muffin up and stuff it in his mouth, effectively preventing him from continuing to speculate. Once he has chewed and swallowed, he finds it safe to speak again. “I didn't ask about conditions of anonymity or anythin'. Figured each person would work out what they feel comfortable with. But I imagine she /would/ work somethin' out, just t'get the stories. An'...what? Flicker's photogenic as anythin'. Don't worry about /that/. Got plenty enough /else/ t'worry about.” "No he's usually just kind of awkward when our relationship comes up." Jackson's nose crinkles. He snuggles in against Micah's side when the older man sits, though his fingers still work at Dusk's head in slow massage. "Flicker does look a little -- melty these days," he acknowledges, "but I dunno he smiles, it still kinda makes my heart race a little." He's finished his muffin so he leans over to /nibble/ a chocolate chip straight out of Micah's. "An' it don't matter. His words are what's important." His teeth sink in against his lower lip, worrying at his lip rings restlessly. "M'tryin' really hard not to think about how mad s'gonna make folks, though." "Little melty. Though I guess that in itself makes for good pictures." Dusk lifts a wing, warm again with the chill from outdoors faded, and curls it around both men on the beanbag. He licks cocoa off his upper lip, tipping his head back further to kiss at the inside of Jax's wrist. His tongue flicks lightly against the vein. "I have," he informs the other men earnestly, "some ideas on how to not think about things." “So, yeah, I guess it's me,” Micah summarises after Jax's input. “We want it t'make people mad, don't we? I mean, that's the reaction you're /s'posed/ t'have when y'find our your government's torturin' folks, right?” He holds the muffin a little closer to Jax to facilitate chip-stealing. “Though I guess...yeah, the scars an' all are stories on their own.” He shakes his head at Dusk in amusement, one corner of his lips curling up slightly. “Think you just about always got...ideas.” "I don't mean the people we want to be mad. I mean the people we're exposing. They're gonna be the maddest of all." A shudder passes through Jax, and he leans back into the touch of Dusk's wing. "Oh --" His cheeks flush slightly. He hides his smile in another gulp of cocoa. "-- his ideas are always so nice, though." "We want it to make people mad," Dusk agrees, "/some/ of those people are going to want to kill us." His kisses travel up, pressing along the inside of Jax's arm, working up towards his neck. He nuzzles in against it, tongue tracing lightly over skin there, too. "I always have ideas," he agrees with a soft chuckle. "But that's 'cuz really, Micah, some of those people /always/ want to kill us. I am just making sure I enjoy life as much as possible till that happens." “Oh, yeah, I know...” Micah frowns at the thought of people wanting to /kill/ people, whether he was already aware of this or not. “Does usually come up with some pretty good ideas, though.” His smile slowly creeps back across his lips, eyes watching intently as Dusk's tongue slides across Jax's throat. “Think that mightn't be a bad policy.” "I certainly ain't gonna argue." Jackson draws in a quick breath, reaching forward to set his nearly-empty mug back down on the table. He nestles in against Micah after this. He tips his head back to rest at Micah's shoulder, baring his neck further with a small shiver. His hand drops to rest at Micah's thigh. "-- Sir?" There's a soft pleading desire in this one word, his other hand lifting to brush softly against Dusk's wing. Dusk's lips close against Jax's skin, his teeth scraping there lightly. He pulls slightly back at Jax's implied request, though, dark eyes lifting to Micah and his mouth curling up into a grin. "Doesn't look like Micah's going to be arguing, either." “No arguments here,” Micah agrees with a little laugh, curling into Jax's side and freeing up one hand to pet at his hair. “Go ahead,” he adds with a little nod, knowing that Jax is waiting quite deliberately for /permission/.