ArchivedLogs:Joys and Trials

Joys and Trials
Okay, mostly trials. >_>
Dramatis Personae Micah, Lucien, Gabriel	6 September 2013 Lucien comes to check on a message left by Micah. Micah has a little trouble keeping it together. Gabriel meets new people.
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. The concrete wall that rings the roof has been decorated, painted in vivid bright shades by some artistic hand to add colourful cheer to the rooftop. The mural shifts in terrain One wall sports a beach, flecked with grass and seashells and driftwood and shore birds. Beach transitions into meadow, colourful with wildflowers and butterflies and dragonflies; meadow shifts into snow-capped mountains, subsides into piedmont and sprouts into a verdant forest on the fourth, alive with animals. It is a lovely, cool evening in the city, with the sun just sinking below the horizon and the sky staining a rich, deep purple. Though stars are hard to see through the city's light pollution, the same street, building, and car lights mix into a drunken firefly dance below that has its own appeal. Micah had left a message with Lucien some time before, briefly checking in on Lucien and the kids, then requesting a conversation 'about Hive' which was left at just that. The redhead is now leaning against a railing on the roof, observing the light-dance on the street. His attire is typical for after-work: a jade green button-down shirt (now worn open over its white undershirt) and a pair of faded blue jeans. Lucien is dressed sharply, when he arrives, dove-grey suit impeccably tailored, as ever. His arrival would be quiet, save for the squeaking of the creaky old heavy roof access door; it announces him far more than his soft footsteps do. His hands slip into the pockets of his jacket, his pace unhurried as he moves over to join Micah at the railing, turning to put his back to it. "Green suits you," he says by way of greeting, eyes slipping over Micah. "Are you well? I heard a rumour you two /actually/ took a vacation. I am not sure I believe it, personally, but that is what is being /said/." Micah turns at the complaint from the door, switching to leaning /back/ against the railing to give him a better view of the rooftop itself. “Lucien, hi!” he greets with a warm smile. His blush at the compliment is faint enough that it might not be readily apparent in the dim evening light. “'Bout everythin' suits you, so it's either harder or easier t'give you compliments, dependin' on how you look at it.” There is a glittering of laughter in his hazel eyes. “I'm good. So, we're back in the rumour mill again? It /was/ pretty much a vacation. Visited with Jax's parents. Went to a geek convention. Was /kind of/ a workin' vacation for Jax 'cause he was sellin' his work at the art shows, though. Nothin' compared t'what he's usually up to,” he admits with a slight shrug. “How are things with you'n the kids?” "We share mutual teenagers," Lucien points out mildly, "/everything/ is in the rumour mill." He slips a small silver case from his pocket, opening it up -- inside it holds slim black cigarettes and a small silver lighter. "Do you mind?" He is asking this even as he offers the case towards Micah. "Only one job to work, though, that is still a far cry from his usual -- seventeen. And no children to look after, either. Was it enjoyable?" His shoulder hitches very faintly upwards at the question. "Desi started at school today. Things have been startlingly smooth." “Thought maybe we became /uninterestin'/ once we moved in together,” Micah half-jokes in return. He waves at the case. “No thanks, but go ahead. It definitely was less work-like than usual. An' lots of fun t'be had. Crazy quantities of people around, very few of them children. Was a good trip, yeah.” A lopsided grin pulls at his lips. “They do a good job at the school, most of the time. Some crazy hiccups happen on account of...piles of teenagers with superpowers. But aside from that? S'a good place. Got all their ducks in a row.” Thunk. The door to the stairwell opens, loudly, swinging forward. Behind it, is Gabriel, dressed in a green tank top, a pair of jeans, and sandals. The young Latino is has a pack of cigarettes in his left hand and a lighter in his right hand, and freezes when he spots Micah and Lucien across the way. "Oh uh...didn't know anyone was here..I'm sorry if I'm intruding, I can leave." Gabriel waits for some sort of response, fidgeting with the lighter in his hand. "I'm Gabriel, by the way." He recognizes Micah, glancing at him. "You're Jackson's..roommate, right? Nice to meet you." "I think it would take quite a lot to render your lives uninteresting." Lucien's voice has dropped to a quiet murmur as he slips a cigarette from the case, tucking it between his lips to light it. "Though I imagine if I /had/ your lives some days I would pray for boredom." The smoke that curls up from it carries the sweet-spice scent of clove laced in with the tobacco. He tucks the case back into the inside pocket of his jacket, turning his head aside to exhale. "Intruding." His eyebrows hike upwards at Gabriel's entrance. "You live here, non? I believe the roof is for everyone's use." His lips twitch slightly at the mention of being Jackson's roommate, but he just takes another long pull of his cigarette. "Is Hive well?" Micah's eyes track to the door when it opens again, this time more forcefully. “S'okay. This is kinda the smokin' place for the buildin'. Go ahead an' claim a spot.” He nods to indicate the cigarette pack in Gabriel's hand. “Ain't like we're runnin' out of room.” Micah has some obvious difficulty hiding his amusement at the introductory question. “Nice t'meet you, Gabriel. I'm Micah. We can go with 'roommates' if you wanna be exceptionally old-fashioned about it.” The amusement fades, somewhat, when Lucien mentions Hive. “No. He...took on a little too much again an' is rather laid up at the moment. Think he might need t'get some help for the headaches.” Micah's eyebrows lift, just for a beat, on the last word. "Yeah, I live here, just..didn't want to intrude on a conversation or anything." Gabriel finds a place, not too close to them, near the rail, where he lights his cigarette and watches over the railing. "Nice to meet you, Micah. Oh no, I just..didn't want to assume. It's kind of rude." He smiles, taking a small drag. As they talk about Hive, his eyebrows rise noticeably and his smile fades, but he says nothing. Instead, he places his lighter away, and pulls out his phone, checking a text message. "I generally take my conversations somewhere more private, if I am overly concerned with intrusions." Lucien drops his hand, one long finger tapping ash from the butt of his cigarette out over the edge of the roof. His eyes shift, slightly, to watch the ash dance away on the breeze. "Roommates with benefits?" His head tips back, eyes searching the sky, now. "Ah." There's a beat of quiet, contemplative. The fingers of his free hand flex slowly. "That might be more -- time than I can spare tonight. I could find an hour or two this weekend, perhaps, if you'd like to make an appointment for him." An honest laugh finally tumbles its way out of Micah's lips. “Oh, hon. Sorry. I've just gotten so used t'everybody n'his brother knowin' so much of my business that it's...actually strange when somebody /doesn't/. Not to worry.” He returns the smile, shifting his weight back against the rail. “Wouldn't quite go with that, either,” he replies, scrunching his nose a bit at Lucien's label recommendation. “Prob'ly would be best if y'could pencil 'im in somewhere? Was the only thing that made the headaches bearable last time. Couldn't get 'im out of bed otherwise.” Finally, Gabriel speaks. "Did something happen to Hive? I don't mean to intrude, I'm just uh..being neighborly, I guess? I worry about acquaintances a lot, I guess." He nervously smiles, taking another drag. He looks at another text message, muttering under his breath. "Goddammit." He then places his phone away, continuing to smoke the cigarette. "Well actually, I live on a different floor, so..no idea if it's neighborly or not.." "Oh, I have no doubt Hive has his share of --" Lucien's lips curl upwards, slightly, "neighborly concerns about all of you as well." His weight shifts downwards, leaning a little heavier against one elbow. He leaves the cigarette between his lips, a moment, pulling out his cellphone to swipe it open and open his calendar. His eyes scan the screen for a moment, brows furrowing. "Tomorrow morning at nine, or Sunday afternoon at three. Do either of those work?" He glances up from his phone towards Gabriel, and then over to Micah. "Around here, a spot of worrying is not generally un/warranted/." "No need t'be on the same floor t'be neighbours. Figure the same buildin' is more than enough," Micah assures Gabriel with a little nod. "He'll be okay. Just ain't feelin' too well right now. Happens from time t'time." The fingers of his right hand drum lightly against the wall behind him as Lucien consults his calendar. "Ohgosh, if I sent you in there in the /mornin'/, he'd likely try t'kill you or me or /both/, headaches or no. Sunday's prob'ly better. I'll let 'im know you're comin'." The hand leaves off its drumming to perch lightly on Lucien's forearm, just for a moment. "Thank you. I know it's kinda short notice an' your time is...valuable." Gabriel snuffs out his cigarette, and begins heading for the door. "Nice to meet you, Micah, other person." He nods his head, smiling as he heads for the door, tossing his cigarette into a trash can. The door opens, thunk. He then vanishes into the stairwell. "Enchante," Lucien murmurs quietly, tipping his head in a nod as Gabriel takes his leave. His hand turns upward, when Micah's rests on his arm, turning over to curl his fingers up in a light brush against Micah's wrist. "He means a lot to all of you." A statement, not a question, mild and soft. His eyes travel back to the door, waiting for it to close again before he looks back to Micah. "How bad is it, this time?" Micah nods, his free hand fluttering in a little wave as Gabriel departs. “Likewise, Gabriel. Have a good night.” His eyes track back to Lucien's fingers, watching their movement. “We love him. An'...we /need/ 'im, honestly, t'do what he does. I don't know if this thing would even remotely work without his abilities.” His teeth find his lower lip to worry at it. “Not good. He was...maybe not on purpose, but he was hidin' it from everybody this time. He's had goodness knows how many people tied into his head for...maybe /months/ now. I didn't really /see/ it until Jax'n I got home from Georgia. Practically had t'force the information out of 'im. He was just...sittin'. Not eatin', not movin', not talkin'. At least not with his /mouth/, anyhow. It's never good when he holds on t'people for so long. An' I think this was a lot of people an' a lot of long.” He shakes his head again, worry lines sketching across his brow. “Doesn't look good. Don't know what t'do aside from...you were the only thing that seemed t'help last time it was this bad.” For a moment Lucien's fingers stay, pressed up against Micah's wrist; his eyes drop to them, too, something oddly distant in his expression as he watches where they rest against Micah's skin. There is no trickle of feeling to accompany this touch; it lingers for a few beats and then he drops his hand to rest on the guardrail. "Months. Last time it was only a month and even then --" Lucien shakes his head, taking a long drag of his cigarette. "I am, I realize," he offers quietly, "only on the periphery of this --" His fingers lift briefly from the rail, waggling towards not just Micah but the building as a whole, "circle, but from where I stand it does sometimes seem like things have not -- looked good for quite some time. Not with Hive. With all of you." "It's been hard," Micah admits, his posture sagging just a bit more into the support of the guard rail. "Just seems like one thing after another. People with power are abusin' it to take the kids away an' put Ryan in jail an' get Hive deported. The kids are runnin' away or gettin' kidnapped. The kids from the /school/ are gettin' kidnapped. Giant bugs are tearin' things up an' runnin' away with Jax an' blowin' up City Hall. Cops are startin' fightin' rings. Folks are holed up in a church just waitin' for the situation t'explode again. Paramilitary forces are invadin' the sewers /and/ kidnappin' /and/ killin' people. The attempt t'rescue the kidnapped people didn't go well an' now we have t'plan t'break /more/ folks out of /another/ facility. An' they just keep gettin' more an' more prepared for what little we can do. They /know/ us an' they aren't above usin' everythin' they know t'just..." Micah finally cuts himself off with a jerky shake of his head. "It's hard. Watchin' 'em all try so hard. Watchin' 'em start waverin' in their will an' /ability/ t'keep tryin'." Lucien's eyes lift to fix on Micah through the sag of posture. He is quiet, just listening to the other man; by the end of this speech he slides his arm out a little further, curling it slowly around the shorter man's waist. "It is a lot to go through. It is a lot to watch your loved ones going through. It is --" He stubs his half-smoked cigarette out against the wall, flicking it towards the trashcan afterwards. "You still wish to keep trying, though?" Micah leans into Lucien's arm when it is offered, nodding quiet agreement with his assessment until that last question is asked. “What else are we s'posed t'do? Sit back an' watch everyone die or /worse/? Wait for when it's their turn t'suffer the same? It's foolish t'think there'd be any other outcome of just...givin' up.” His teeth worry at his lip again. “I think the /not/ tryin' would be enough t'break some of 'em on its own. Knowin' that they're not doin' everythin' possible t'stop these things from happenin' the way they are. Would just break 'em.” "Retire," Lucien says with a soft laugh, "find quiet. Find peace. There has been little enough of that in your lives, lately." His arm curls more snugly around Micah when Micah leans into the touch, pulling him closer; through the crisp fabric of his suit he smells faintly of sandalwood beneath the scent of clove smoke. "You are probably right in that, though. Some people need to fight. But they will do it until it kills them. You cannot be at war /always/." He tips his head downward, lips pressing to the top of Micah's head. "If not an end, though, perhaps more of you could do with -- a vacation." “I just don't know that it exists anymore,” Micah replies softly, just above a whisper. “Peace... I think it's an illusion. Or temporary, at best. This isn't just gonna go away.” He is shaking faintly by the time Lucien pulls him in, the man's self-appointed 'peripheral' nature to the group perhaps coaxing more out of him than would be allowed to show with the more active contingent. “The way it's goin', s'gonna kill everyone one way or another. Just a matter of when. An' how. An' if they can still live with themselves by the time it happens.” He swallows hard, audibly, at the kiss, a ragged sort of laugh following. “Jax has been threatenin' to /order/ some of the others off on vacations, too. Maybe it would help a little.” "They'd listen to him, too, wouldn't they." Lucien sounds quietly pensive, at this thought. His fingers press gently against the small of Micah's back, holding him closer; his other arm joins the first when he feels Micah's shaking, hand resting between his shoulder blades to rub in small circles. "You live with an illusionist." His cheek rests against Micah's hair, now, his voice soft. "So very much of the world is built on illusions. Sometimes I think we need the small lies. Sprinkled here and there to make things more /bearable/. Who would keep fighting, if they /knew/ there would never be an end to it? Sever that hope and the will to continue would prove -- just as temporary." His hand stills, just resting against Micah's back, now. "Everyone dies, though. Peace or no peace. It needn't be as frightening as all that. The question always is, I suppose, how much you can fit in before then to be --" His lips twitch, faintly. "Proud of." “If he ordered it? Yeah, they would,” Micah confirms. He tries not to collapse in on the other man, but finds this a heavier task than expected. It is clearly a temptation. “There's prob'ly an end to it. The worst of it, anyhow. I just don't know...some big things are gonna happen t'get there an' I don't know what they are. An' what kind of end it'll be. The hope is just that...all this fightin' will coax things in the right direction. Or keep as many people alive as possible until it gets there.” He sighs, heavily, a deflating sort of sigh. “Dyin's not the scary part. It's the torturin' people. Breakin' people. Killin' people. Ain't just dyin', what they do to 'em. An' then what happens to whoever's left?” He shakes his head again. “We're just doin' what we can 'cause it's all that we can do.” Lucien is probably not helping /resist/ this temptation, much. He steps just that much closer to Micah, arms wrapping snug around the smaller man for that sigh, pulling Micah in to cradle him against the strong support of his own body. "There's an end to everything, certainly." But after this he is quiet. His lips brush to the top of Micah's head, again. "The people left --" He draws in a slow breath. "Keep going. Until you cannot anymore. What else can you do." Micah finally compromises in his ambivalence, letting his head sink forward to rest on Lucien's shoulder, while at the same time adding, somewhat muffledly, “I'm sorry. Sorry...I shouldn't be doin' this. You got so much goin' on yourself an' here I am just throwin' all of my /stuff/ at you, too. You shouldn't have to... Sorry.” Not that he's /moving/, mind. Lucien isn't moving, either. He does exhale a quiet laugh, against Micah's hair. "Me? I hardly have -- it has been many years," he says dryly, "since anyone tried to shoot /me/." His fingers trace up against Micah's back, stopping to knead slowly at the back of his neck. This time it does come with a soft trickle of feeling, gentle-warm-soothing in a faint whisper of relaxation. "You have nothing to apologize for. The things you have been through, lately -- everyone needs to decompress, some time or other. You would lose your mind otherwise." “Might not have people shootin' at you, but there's been a lot. With your family. An' Nox. It's a lot. I get that. Until recently, weren't anybody shootin' at /me/, either. That's not even the hard part,” Micah explains...to Lucien's jacket, primarily. If Lucien is conspiring to make him forget that he has his own muscles for remaining upright, he's doing a good job of it, between the placement of his hand and the slight mental nudge. “I know. It's just. Doesn't seem like it's fair t'load more on people. Everybody's already got enough. Not s'posed t'make it worse.” The mention of Nox is met with a stretch of silence. Lucien's fingers continue to rub gently at the muscles in Micah's neck. "Fair. There is little about life that is fair. I believe," he states, mildly, "that one of the benefits of /having/ friends is having people to share your trials with." A little more wryly, he adds, "Your joys, as well. Sometimes one just comes more frequently than the other." Micah's arms wrap around Lucien in a tight hug with precious little advance warning. “Thank you. You're a good friend. An' only as 'peripheral'-whatever as you /want/ t'be. We love you, too. An' all of that stuff goes both ways.” He does, finally, look back up from burying his face in Lucien's shoulder with that. The soft breath Lucien exhales here is difficult to read; it doesn't come with much shift in facial expression to characterize it, just one short quick burst that he soon quells. There's a ripple of tension that threads through his posture, though it is soon gone. "This --" he says, with a small shake of his head and a loosening of his grip to gesture instead to the building they stand on, "this is not -- my place." His head tilts down, when Micah looks up. The brush of his lips to the corner of Micah's mouth is very light, and very brief; it comes with a soft flutter of warmth that fades soon as well. He is slow to step back, hand trailing from Micah's back to his hip before dropping away altogether. "I will be by on Sunday." Lucien's pronouncement earns a simple nod from Micah in reply, acknowledging his choice in the matter. The little kiss is somewhat unexpected, answered by a blush that deepens rapidly from pink to a moderate red across Micah's cheeks, the back of his neck, and the tips of his ears. This seems to remind him to release the hug-grip that he had been maintaining on the other man. “Thank you, again. For Hive. I'm not sure what else we could do for him. Let me walk you down?” His newly-freed hand waves in the direction of the door. Lucien's eyes meet Micah's a long moment, his brows creasing very faintly. It seems to take a great force of effort for him to break the look, shoulders tensing as he dips his head towards the ground. "I know the way." His fingers brush lightly against Micah's as Micah releases his grip; it comes with one last soft swell of warmth, fiercer and deeper, before he turns for the door. Micah meets Lucien's gaze until such time as the other man breaks it. He nods again as Lucien fairly well requests to walk down on his own. A grin toys about the redhead's lips, lopsided and teasing. “Isn't exactly complicated, I know.” His eyes blink closed at that last loaded touch, leaving the other man well on his way to the door before they open again. “Good night,” he calls after, taking some time before he moves again himself.