ArchivedLogs:Mandatory Fun

Mandatory Fun
Dramatis Personae Micah, Shane, Jackson	12 November 2013 Visiting and updating at the Clinic. (Part of Infected TP.)
Location <NYC> The Mendel Clinic - Lower East Side
With its sharp crystalline edges and sleek lines knifing up into the sky, this building is one of the most /distinctive/ new additions to the neighborhood. An angular structure in glass and steel, the tall tower has a deceptively slender look to it that is belied by the heavy security as soon as you enter the doors. The front doors are frosted with the Clinic's logo -- a rising sun over a rod of Asclepius -- a motif echoed in many places throughout the building. Visitors to the clinic must first pass through a small mantrap, guarded by some of the Clinic's security guards; once they make it through the metal detector and airlock's double doors they emerge into the much more hospitable lobby. With dark wood floors underneath and comfortable black and red couches at its edges, the high windows give the room an airy feel. A bank of elevators to one side carry visitors to the many destination floors, while the wide welcome desk at the other side is manned by a security guard ready to help point visitors in the right direction. Micah is looking a great deal /better/, for all his turning into a long-term medical guinea pig. He is neatly showered and dressed in a fresh set of light blue scrubs. The dark circles have finally faded from beneath his eyes, attesting to actual /sleep/ being accomplished the night before. The bright red sunburn look to his skin has started to fade, as have the myriad bite marks and the worse burns on his arms and hands. The only worsening sign is the bruising on his arms from many, many needlesticks. He is curled up in a hospital bed in his assigned room with a laptop, typing away at something. THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP it sounds almost like the repetitive banging of the dead except that unlike the dead, Shane can use /door/ handles. Though the Clinic is closed and the basement in particular restricted he has the benefit of possessing one father on guard staff; that might explain how he's gotten down here unannounced. And is currently BARGING IN to throw himself at Micah, laptop be damned. Arms flinging around neck. No words. He looks a good deal worse than Micah does, new if fading scars peppering his face and hands, his arms even /thinner/ than their usual, a slightly sunken look to his face. Boots flecked with blood, as is his jacket, though beneath the jacket his clothes for once are clean. Jackson is less exuberant in his greeting. He slips in soon behind Shane, dragging in behind him a large duffel bag that he leaves in the corner of the room. He's showered now, too, changed clothes -- though his attire isn't really straying out of the cargo-pants-and-sweatshirt look. None of his usual (eye-catching) (attention-grabbing) bright colours, these days, save for the still flame-hued ends of his hair down past where the near-black roots have grown out longer. He's traded his semiautomatic for a long knife sheathed at his hip, a heavy crowbar in one hand that he rests against the wall by the door. For a moment he just watches the other two, a very small smile briefly touching his lips. "Eep!" serves as Micah's greeting at incoming small sharkboy. He reflexively closes the laptop and sets it aside moments before Shane takes its place pretty much in his lap. "Shane, hi! Oh, it feels like I haven't seen you in forever." He presses a kiss to the teen's forehead. "How're you holdin' up?" He tsks softly as he pulls back to regard his face. "You're not eatin' enough. I got...some jerky in a bag that I brought in with me. Almost forgot about it." His fretting-face is brightened by a wide smile as Jax sneaks in. "Hey, hon. You're lookin' even more action hero than usual. You had lunch? I made some innkeeper soup. Odds'n ends mostly. Everybody else 'round here's busy actually bein' /useful/, so I may as well cook when we've got food. No meat in that, though. Sorry, Shane." "We brought more food, too," Shane informs Micah. "It's up in the kitchen now. But it's all kind of, um, more of the same. Cans of -- cans. I think there's peaches in this one, though." He doesn't let go, just sinking his head down when Micah pulls back to rest his chin on Micah's shoulder now. "S'not really enough out there /to/ eat," he admits. "The dead people already got most of the fresh meat out of stores. We're -- we're holding up okay, though, um. I keep losing Spencer." He sounds really guilty about this. "Action hero." Jackson laughs, just one short quiet breath that briefly lights his face with its usual warmth. "All I feel like is a puddle'a jelly. -- Ain't eaten since breakfast," he admits, which likely explains his current pallor though stress and sleeplessness and medical testing might explain it just as well. "Soup sounds great. -- An' Spence is pretty good at losin' himself, honey-honey, t'ain't nothin' to be done 'bout it 'cept try an' keep him calm an' -- take care'a him when he shows back up." Though his expression at this is more troubled still, given how much more dangerous than usual losing himself in the world currently is. "How're you feelin'?" "Oh, excellent! We'll have more...somethin' for dinner." Micah's hand scruffs over Shane's spike-hair, the opposite arm tugging the teen up into his lap. Enforced rest break. With cuddles. "Spence...yeah, he's been doin' the disappearin' act even more lately. Ain't no fault of yours this illness is makin' his ability extra erratic. Hopefully it'll settle down in 'im some with the medication, poor kid." His brows start to knit together, but he forces the worst of the worry from his face. "Should take you t'the cafeteria for some food, then, Jax. An'...if I can remember what became of that bag. At least /somethin's/ better'n nothin' for you, Shane." He grins at Jax's claims to jelly status. "We need t'find us some /bread/ t'put you on, then, because that sounds /kind of/ delicious." He cants his head slightly at the question. "Me or Shane? I'm...actually doin' better. Kinda a constant low-level nausea an' my arms ache from gettin' stabbed at all the time. But...I'm mostly just sittin' around doin' nothin'. Got the easiest side of any of this /possible/, I think. Everybody else is either researchin' or' fightin' things or both." "Lucien says Pa cleared out about seven million zombies yesterday singlehandedly." Shane is all too happy to be tugged, clambering up onto the bed to tuck himself in against Micah. "And I haven't had /nothing/ it's just been -- rough. Kinda hope Bastian is doing better. He's sort of more hardcore than me anyway." His expression shifts back into troubled at this. "-- Do you want me to see if I can find you some. Um." He frowns slightly. "-- Nausea medication? Or maybe just ginger. Can make tea." His lips compress after this, though. "... it's not easy. I mean. Being a labrat. Can be pretty --" He shrugs. "Spence's home just right now," Jax assures Micah, "'least he was when we left. An' -- wow yeah bread an' jam does sound kinda great." His cheeks flush dark after this. "It weren't no -- seventeen million an' I didn't." Now he suddenly looks uncomfortable, hand scuffing through his hair. "I just wanted to get the entrance safe again." He drops his hand to his side, his other arm curling against his chest. "... When'd you last hear from B?" The talk of being a labrat drops his gaze to the ground again. "You're helpin'. A lot." "If we /had/ seven million zombies, that would be the bigger headline. I don't think it's gotten near that bad, fortunately." Micah's arm curls around Shane's shoulders snugly. "S'just a little upset tummy, hon. I'll live. An' they kinda need t'be able t'document the side effects. I shouldn't go takin' any other meds. that might futz with the results, no-how." He squeezes Shane tighter. "Pretty much everybody even workin' with me's friends. An' I got plenty of hospital experience from both sides of the bed, so...it ain't that bad, really. Safe in here. More'n most people can say." He nods at Jax's question, seconding it. "I haven't heard from 'Bastian much, myself. Been talkin' with Spence a couple of times a day...but it's been a hot minute for B." "I haven't heard from him since the weekend," Shane admits. Very low. His head turns in against Micah's neck. "... what do you think things will be like? After?" Jackson swallows, his other arm crossing through the first to squeeze tightly against his chest. "I'm sure he'll --" His fingers press hard against his biceps. "I think -- we're gonna have a whole lotta rebuildin' to do, honey-honey. -- With how much business comes through New York, I think the /world/ might have a little recoverin' to do." “I can start just...callin' 'im periodically t'see if I can get an answer. Since I'm on sittin' around detail.” Micah's hand rubs against Shane's shoulder reassuringly. “It's...gonna get better. But it'll be messy. Lots of people gone. Lots of property destroyed an' lost. Hopefully insurance'll be able t'handle a lot of things for a lot of people so they can get back t'runnin' again. It'll be...pretty much like natural disaster recovery, more'n likely. Maybe there'll be some disaster relief from outside, once it's safer here.” Watching Jax hug his arms to himself, Micah waves him over, patting at the mattress on his other side. Still plenty of room, apparently. “His phone goes straight to voicemail. And he doesn’t answer my texts.” Shane’s gills flutter faster, whispering up against the fabric of Micah’s scrubs. “It does kind of look like a disaster zone out there. Parts of the city are on fire. I keep trying to -- help where I can with -- people. Who can’t really fight. Or get their own food. When I’m out on supply runs. But there’s just so /many/.” “I know what you mean,” Jackson says with a small grimace. “Even just goin’ out there yesterday an’ today s’jus t-- always more folks. An’ y’do what y’can but --” His head shakes. “An’ it still feels horrifying. Every time I attack one, it’s like -- I know they’re already dead but even then it feels --” He shudders, squeezing himself tighter, and finally moves away from the wall to circle to the other side of the bed and climb up beside Micah. There’s a faint tremble running through him, not big enough to be all that noticeable though it’s easy to /feel/ it once he’s nestled against Micah’s other side. “There is relief comin’ in already but it’s slow an’ it ain’t near enough. Cuz any’a the /aid/ workers who come in -- I seen a fair few of ‘em. Lotta Red Cross. Some Salvation Army an’ -- the Southern Baptists been tryin’ to feed people too. I got nothin’ but respect for them, they all know they might not ever be comin’ back out cuz they’re stuck here for the long haul till the quarantine’s up an’ this ain’t noways a good place to be /stuck/.” “Hm. An’ he didn’t tell nobody where he was goin’?” There is no helping the concerned-face with Shane’s news on ‘Bastian’s lack of communication. “It’s good you’re helpin’ people, hon, but...not at all surprisin’ that it’s overwhelmin’ for now. We’re gonna need a more coordinated effort eventually.” Micah wraps his other arm around Jax, hugging close at the little tremble. “There’s nothin’ else t’be done, hon. Once they’re gone that way. It’s good you’re helpin’ folks as can’t help themselves, too. Buyin’ time… If we can get this controlled enough t’lift the quarantine, more people are likely t’be /willin’/ t’try t’help. Can’t say as I blame folks not wantin’ t’walk into this on purpose.” “I don’t think it’s really a quarantine.” Shane’s gills finally settle down, slowly. He rests his head against Micah’s shoulder, reaching out to scoop up one of Jax’s hands in his own and drag it closer to tuck it under his cheek. “At least not of the disease. I mean, the thing’s gotten out already. Out of New York, I mean. I don’t think they’re trying to stop that so much as just. Contain the masses of zombies trying to kill everyone. It’d be hard to keep them all in if they started letting people back out. -- I ran into what’s-his-name the other day. Luke Cage. Alone, thankfully. -- I feel like if B ran into his rapey friend during an apocalypse there would be no more rapey friend left.” Only belatedly does he admit, quieter again: “He didn’t tell /me/ where he was going.” “Really hope they’re catchin’ it quick when it crops up outside. Though maybe the folks in here’ll come up with a cure an’ stop the whole /world/ from --” Jackson shivers. His hand is easily commandeered, one finger brushing slowly down Shane’s cheek. His nose crinkles at the mention of Cage. “S’best to just not engage with them, I think. Only lead t’more trouble.” The light around him shivers with the mention of Sebastian, but past this he is quiet. “Prob'ly not a bad idea t'keep /both/ illness /and/ zombies from spreadin', honestly,” Micah assesses with a shrug. “As much as these things can stay contained is as much of the rest of the world can keep /goin'/ the way it's s'posed to. Just...makes things a lot harder for those of us who are stuck here.” He winces at the talk of Luke Cage and friends, though he keeps his response focused only on Luke. “I feel like Cage /would/ be up t'his eyeballs in zombies, now that there are zombies.” His head turns slightly to allow for a little kiss to Jax's cheek when he shivers, another when the light does the same. “They're sure pokin' at me often enough t'be makin' headway on that cure thing. Just hope they come up with it /quick-like/.” “He seems kind of like he was /built/ for a zombie apocalypse. Just big and muscly and indestructible and stupid. Wade singlehandedly into the mess, don’t care what /other/ mess you’re causing while you do it -- s’like,” Shane decides, “the perfect combination of violence and no accountability that action movies are built on.” After a moment: “Saw Tag out there, too. Grabbing food. He’s just as squirrely as ever.” Jax’s shivering calms at the kisses, and beneath Shane’s cheek where his fingers lie they curl in tighter against Micah’s shoulder. “-- I brung Hive back t’the building from Rachel’s,” he suddenly remembers to tell Micah. “She was maybe gonna follow t’day with Jim an’ Tag but I been out since early. Safer there -- ‘leastways from getting /killed/ if not sick. An’ easier t’bring food an’ all all to one /place/. Gotta get in touch with Mel an’ get her over, too, maybe.” He grimaces at Shane’s commentary. “Accountability ain’t really in large supply for anyone lately. Think mostly folks is jus’ tryin’ to survive.” “Don't like thinkin' of Tag runnin' around in the middle of all this.” Micah nuzzles his cheek against Jax's shoulder. “Hive managed not t'get sick through this, at least? I'm not...sure what we're gonna do for 'im this time. Gotta get help just t'get 'im t'let people go this time. Then...Lucien's pretty stretched thin doin' /this/ t'be straightenin' Hive out after.” He just nods at the grouping of people. “Seems like the best idea. The zombies are a more /immediate/ threat than the illness anymore, at least.” “We almost died,” Shane informs his fathers almost cheerfully, “but then we didn’t. I kind of made a giant glue-pile of zombies though. It was pretty gross.” He sits up slightly, so that he can look down at Micah’s bruised arm with a frown. “That’s a lot of poking. Do you like ice cream? Maybe I should find you ice cream. Spence gets ice cream when he has to get shots.” Though this just makes him frown deeper: “-- I didn’t get him any for his medicine this time.” His eyes move from Micah’s arm to Jax’s, next. “Are they still poking you, too?” And now it’s /his/ turn to shiver: “... can you imagine if Hive got sick?” “Lucien’s -- been seizin’ pretty frequent, I don’t think --” Jax’s teeth wiggle at one of his lip rings. “-- I don’t know. I was gonna ask Joshua or someone for help gettin’ Hive /back/ but even after that he’ll be -- not in no good place.” He tenses at the comment about almost dying, the light shivering around him again. His arm bears its own share of needle marks, but he just shrugs one shoulder. “Still pokin’, but I kinda just gotta /tell/ them how I been feelin’ while I was out. An’ when this is all over we’ll get him a whole /boat/load’a ice cream.” “Please...try t'be careful? All of you,” Micah insists at the /almost dying/. “I like ice cream, but honey, findin' an' deliverin' /frozen/ goods is about the least of anybody's worries right now. Just...necessities an' keepin' safe for now, okay?” He nods at Jax's idea. “So much ice cream once everythin' settles down.” Then his head shakes slowly. “I had some thoughts about what Hive gettin' sick /could/ be like. It's part of why I wanted him not at the Lofts once this started lookin' like more than a flu. An'...yeah, that's what I was concerned about. Lucien's not gonna be up for it this time. Not for awhile. I don't know...what else we can do.” “Desi says he had a stroke,” Shane volunteers. “Isn’t that, like. For old people.” He bares his teeth irritably at Micah’s insistence. “Bullshit. Ice cream is the /most/ priority. Everyone’s just fucking -- scared and sad and miserable /all/ the fucking time I am sick of it.” He pulls away from Micah, stomping back towards the door to grab the large bag Jax brought in. “Pa packed you clothes and shit. And games. Sit up we are playing a fucking game.” He says this with a scowl, dumping the duffel bag down on a bedside chair to unzip it. “I don’t know. We’ll figure out --” Jackson trails off at Shane’s scowling. His lips twitch slightly upwards, and he presses a light kiss to Micah’s cheek. Sitting up, he slides off the bed to pull up a chair instead. “Sure. Why not. Got time.” Micah's teeth find his lower lip. “No. Even babies have strokes sometimes. Ain't just for old folks, unfortunately.” Seeing the duffel bag sparks a memory. “Under the bed!” He slithers over the side of the bed on his stomach, fishing out a backpack and pulling the half bag of jerky out of it. Righting himself, he mock-salutes Shane with a lopsided grin. “Games, right.” A moment later he tosses the bag of jerky at the teen. “Oh, thank /goodness/, clothes. The main reason I been sittin' in bed is for the /blankets/. These things provide no insulation at all.” He picks at the fabric of his scrub shirt. Jax doesn't get away from the kiss without being pulled in for a hug. “Love you guys.” “That’s what you have Pa for. To keep you --” Shane glances between the two older men and finishes mildly, “-- warm.” He digs into the duffel bag, pulling out the first box he finds. Innovation. “I don’t even know what this is,” he informs them, “but we’re going to play it and you’re going to /like it/. And afterwards I’m getting you all ice cream even if I have to go all the way to goddamn Brooklyn to find somewhere with that coconut milk stuff.” He sets the box down on Micah’s lap. DECISIVELY. For Mandatory Fun Time.