ArchivedLogs:Needs

Needs
Dramatis Personae Jax, Micah, Shane, B
In Absentia	11 January 2015 (Later the same day as Kay dropping by.)
Location <NYC> {Lighthaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Bright and sunny-light, this house lives up to its name. With a plethora of enormous windows flooding the place with light and an open layout, the ground floor feels more spacious than it is. The small entryway has a closet space for shoes and coats, and doors at either side leading to the neighboring apartments. Past this it opens straight into the living room, a wide expanse of space bordered on one side by a curved set of stairs leading up (with colourful glass tiling on the risers between each stair) and next to these, the half-wall into the kitchen. Cool pale tile underfoot and many dark cabinets with a small walk-in pantry, plentiful custom granite countertops, black and speckled faintly with rainbowy flecks, lots of hanging space overhead for cookware, a large double-oven. There's a strip of rather detailed mosaic-work in the kitchen backsplash, colourful glass tiling depicting strange fantastical herbs and small faeries and firelizards darting among them. In back of the kitchen, a door opens up to a small sunroom, wide and two-stories high with a balcony overlook from the second floor; two of the windows here have cushioned windowseats, and there's a wealth of herbs growing in hanging pots and small window-boxes. The back wall of the living room is nearly entirely dominated by windows, huge and allowing a view of the river beyond with bench windowseats lining the sills. There are plentiful paintings on the wall, surreal and fantasy-inspired, mostly in shades of blacks greys with bright bursts of colour that are mirrored in the decor -- monochrome upholstery on the couch and armchair but colourful throw-pillows, black and white huge corduroy beanbags (and one large red doggie-bed,) soft throw rugs also in mostly black and white with splashes of rainbow woven in. The hand-built furniture -- tall chairs by the kitchen/living room counter, dining table and chairs in the kitchen, low coffeetable in the living room -- has been hand-painted as well, black with bursts of colourful abstract designs. Along the living room's other wall, doors branch off to a full bathroom -- in white and deep blue with one wall of the shower done in colourful intricate mosaic too, an underwater scene full of strange mythical water-creatures; tiny water-sprites have been interspersed at random points in the rest of the wall tiles, as well. There's a small studio space beside the bathroom, large windows as well and a gratuitous amount of shelving and cabinets along the walls; this room has very /little/ colour in it, just white walls and black furnishing. Jax is just coming down the stairs. The sound of the shower turning on up above signifies Spencer starting the getting-ready-for-bed process. Jax's armful of dishes signifies supervising Spence cleaning up his /room/ just before bed, forgotten mugs and glasses excavated to be hauled back down for washing. He has a heavy slump to his shoulders as he trudges over to the kitchen, kind of clattery as he loads the dishes into the dishwasher. As a change of pace, Micah hasn't been very helpful at all through the afternoon and evening. For all anyone could tell, he's bundle of zipped-up Firefly hoodie and jeans, hood up over spiky-messy hair, and a pair of panda socks sticking out from the other end, curled up on the couch. He's been alternating activities primarily between sitting with his eyes closed and staring straight in front of him through red-rimmed, dark-circled eyes. There is a knock at the door -- not the front door, the one that leads between this house and the one adjacent. Despite the knock there's no wait for answer. Just a pause before it opens, twin blue faces peering in. Shane is first to enter. Hands tucked in pockets, kind of a slow saunter over to lean against the back of the armchair with a quiet rustle of the crisp fabric of his dress shirt. B is hesitant about following. Lingering in the doorway with a small frown, arms curled around hir chest, claws plucking restlessly at the fabric of hir pink-and-black sweater. Nose twitching. Gills fluttering. One of Jax's glasses clunks down into the dishwasher with a louder thump, clattering the thankfully short distance to land on its side in the top rack. His lips press together, eye widening and his hand reaching to rest against the counter. "Oh!" It's quiet, a soft surprised gasp as the twins arrive. "... hi. Hi. Oh. Gosh. I. You're here." Micah doesn't seem to notice the door opening or the movement in the room. He barely twitches at the unexpected clatter from the kitchen. Jax's words do finally get his head to turn, eyes taking in Shane and B almost uncomprehendingly at first. He shakes, just a little, preface to a ragged intake of breath. Long-dried, red eyes find themselves limned with tears once more. "Yeah." Shane shifts a little awkwardly, claws curling down against the corduroy of the armchair. He starts to shift, a little bit more towards the kitchen and Jax, but stops at the ragged-breath from Micah. His lips press together, and instead the shift of weight transfers back towards the door. "But, uh. OK. We can go." B is /already/ starting to do just that, slightly flinchy, eeeeasing back to creep further back into her own home. Creepcreep. "No." Jax's eye has widened, and he hastens out from behind the counter, leaving the dishwasher open and dishes where they are. He stops by the divider between kitchen and dining room, hesitating with his own arms curling around his chest. "I mean, if you -- if that's what you. But please. We'd like t'talk. Please." Initially, Micah curls in tighter on himself at Shane announcing that the twins are going to leave. He shudders again, working to stabilise his breath enough to speak. “{I'm sorry},” comes out almost a croak, in stilted Vietnamese. “{Please, I'm sorry.} Don't...go.” B hesitates, shoulders tense and gills fluttering. Still definitely on her /own/ side of the doorway. At least not retreating further, though. Shane blows out a heavy breath, dropping his hands back to his sides. "... yeeeah, what, seriously?" One hand shoves back into a pocket, the other gesturing sharply to Micah. "Can't even fucking look at us without losing it, how the fuck we going to have a conversation if you can't even talk. Maybe you call us when you have your shit together." "Please stay." Jax's gaze flicks between the twins, his weight rocking up onto toes. Back down to heels. "Please. It's not -- we've just had a -- it's not you. Today's just been really. A. Mess. And -- please. We want to talk t'you. We've wanted to talk to you." Micah's head shakes, just slow denial. It takes him awhile to work himself back up to sitting, a little dehydrated-woozy. His eyes squeeze closed against the brief wash of dizziness from being immobile for hours. He swallows hard in attempt to make his disuse-scratchy throat more functional for speaking. "It's not...it's not you. Please. It's just...me. It's always me. You deserve t'be heard more'n I need t'talk. Just...don't go." Shane looks unconvinced, hovering indecisively halfway towards the door. He looks back at B, frowning. B looks down at the floor. Tightens arms against hir chest. Eventually ze comes in, hooking hir arm through hir brother's en route to going to whump down heavily into the armchair. Ze doesn't look at Jax or Micah, just frowns down at the floor. Shane exhales heavily, gills pressing down flat as he follows along with B, tucking himself into the armchair together with his twin. "Dai and Ion say the Omelette's going to go live with the Mongrels." Jax nods, relaxing slightly when the twins settle in. He has a moment of hesitation before he moves, himself, but then shifts, further into the living room to curl into a beanbag. "Yeah." His hands rest on his knees, curling down hard against them. "Yeah, Ion an' Kay's gonna. Take them. This was th'wrong place for them. We --" He frowns, fingers tightening against his knees. "I'm so sorry. We hurt you an' I didn't never. Want that. I'm jus' -- I'm sorry. I want -- t'know what. What it is you need. Now." "Eri," Micah corrects weakly, out of reflex. "S'been gone since Friday. They're not comin' back." He just sways very faintly in place, nodding at Jax's words but not saying more to avoid redundancy. "/Good/." It's all B says. Sharp and fierce, the one word underlaid with a low growl. Her arm curls around Shane's waist, tight. Shane hooks a leg over B's knee. "The problem," he answers after a long stretch of silence, "is I don't think it fucking matters. What we need. I mean, why are we even /here/, seriously? Because the Frittata was too high-maintenance to cope? So what if they /weren't/? What if they came out a twee fucking flower like Tola, we wouldn't even be goddamn sitting here. You'd still have traded us for them and be done with it." Jax's fingers knead at his knees again. He pulls in a breath, slow, pushes it back out, slow. His head dips in a small nod, shoulders tightening up. "I can't say it didn't push things along faster, bein'. Sick an' -- but no. Losin' y'all, that wouldn't /never/ have been okay. This is your home an' you're my /kids/ an' m'supposed to be givin' you a safe place always an' I -- want t'do that. Hate that I didn't do that. Would always've done whatever it tooked t'give that back t'you if. If that's. Possible." Micah's head shakes slowly again. "Never traded. Never wanted y'to leave. Never would've /started/ any of this if I'd thought for a moment that you /would/." His hands fist up the fabric of his hoodie, grasping and releasing over and over. "Should've known better. But didn't. An' was flailin'. Tryin' t'fix it when there weren't no fix. An' I love you so much I just kept flailin' worse an' worse..." His jaw clenches and unclenches. "I'm sorry. I can't undo what already happened. But I'm done. I'm done helpin'. If you still want me at all, I'm here. But other than here, I'm done." "But you /didn't/." Shane snaps. "Fucking. /Think/. I mean, is that supposed to be reassuring? If you'd only /thought/ about us things'd have been different? Because we've /had/ this conversation. It just -- didn't change things. We're not. /Toys/ for you to /collect/ we're --" "... not a priority," B pushes in, quietly. "Yeah, I mean, done, right, you said that last time, too, you know. And what did it change, fucking /nothing/. So what's my take-away from that supposed to be?" Shane leans into B's hold, closing his eyes and curling his legs up underneath himself. "And you're done -- what? What, helping all people who ever need your help from here on out ever? What's that even /mean/? That's fucking /stupid/. The hell you even think we /are/, like we expect you to just. What. Sit at home and do nothing and care about nobody else for the rest of your life. If that's seriously what you fucking think of us --" Disgusted, he cuts off, head turning in against B's shoulder. Jax lifts his hands towards his face, but lowers them again before they get there. "I can't. Promise you we ain't gonna screw up again, cuz we probably will. But y'all are my -- y'all are the most important part'a my life an' if there /is/ anything we /can/ do, I'm still gonna try." He lowers his eye, the light around him trembling. "'least if you want us to, still." He laces his fingers together, elbows resting on his knees. "S'maybe. Where we should start? Y'all is nearabout old enough -- legally speakin', you don't /need/ -- I mean, y'can decide for yourself. Where y'want t'be livin' an' associatin' but. Don't matter how old you ever get we're always gonna be here for whatever support you --" His breath shivers in, slowly. "What I mean t'say is, y'come here t'talk, I -- figure that means y'maybe. /Want/ to work things out. I just want t'know what that'd look like t'you, ideally. An' then maybe from there can figure out the concretes of -- how. We get there." "I think about you. I think about you all the /time/, but I obviously...don't understand. Not as well as I thought I did or as well as I should. An' that's my fault an' I'm sorry. An' I'd like the chance /to/ understand better, if you'll let me." Micah's head shakes again. "I didn't promise t'be done last time. An' I should've. I only promised...t'be the one that stayed out of danger so someone'd be there. An' t'make sure I always made time t'be home more. But that wasn't /enough/. I /should've/ done more." His teeth dig at his lower lip, chewing on it probably harder than he should. "I'm gonna explain, 'cause I done upset you /again/. But then I'm gonna stop 'cause I wanna hear from /you/. I wanna know what you need an' I didn't mean...t'be doin' all this talkin' 'bout me." Micah shifts a little in his seat, achy from not moving enough most of the day. "When I say 'done', I mean I'm done /pretendin'/ ev'ryone actually needs me. I'm needed /here/. Or I hope so... An' I need t'stop doin' all these things that someone /else/ could be doin'. Should be doin'. Who don't have kids like you who need 'em more. I mean no more...ridiculous bouts of food preparation an' deliv'ry an' no more takin' in strays an' no more /inventin'/ classes t'teach an' no more runnin' 'round playin' medic an' investigatin' stupid /dreams/ an'... I need t'just. Have my one job like a normal...human. Stick t'my patients. Do any development that needs it straight through Stark. An' nothin' else." He takes in another deep breath after all of this. "No, I don't think y'all want or are askin' me not t'help nobody ever. It's not that at all. I just...need t'stop /inflictin'/ help on people that don't want me. T'make y'all the priority /always/ like y'should've been from the start. That's all I should've ever wanted or needed. So, please. Please, I'm gonna shut up now an' let y'tell me what I can do. Or not do. T'try an' fix this if it's what /you/ want." Shane keeps his eyes closed, his face pressed up against B's shoulder. His gills ripple, quick and agitated. B lifts a hand, sliding up from around Shane's side to press down at his neck. "Of course we want to work things out." Her voice is very soft, her fingers pressing firm to the side of Shane's neck. "And that's. All we've ever --" "... wanted or needed, too." Shane hasn't opened his eyes, still. "I don't care how you're spending your free time or if you have one side project or a hundred and one or how many fucking..." "People you want to help. You guys help people, it's. What you /do/, it's who you are, it's part of why we love you." B shifts uncomfortably, this time pressing a little closer to Shane. "The problem isn't /that/ you do it the problem is --" "/How/ you do it. Taking in strays or playing medic or whatever the fuck, okay, but. Making /serious/ /completely/ fucking /life-changing/ decisions, and we're the /afterthought/? It's not your impulse there that's wrong, dude, it's your execution. If we're /actually/ your family, goddamn /act/ like it. /Include/ us in the shit that's going to affect /the rest of our entire fucking lives/." Shane's hand has fallen to B's lap; his fingers curl in there in a hard clench. "There's always going to be other shit that's important in your life it's not like we're asking you to /stop/ giving a fuck about anything else. Just to --" "... remember," B finishes, other hand moving to rest over Shane's clenching one. "That we're. Your /kids/. And not your -- freak community cachet." There's a faint shiver of light around Jax, but it quiets. His fingers tighten together, eye fixing downward a long while before lifting to the twins. His head bobs again, a small dip of nod. "Okay. Okay. I -- that. With Egg, t'was. Not -- okay. What we did, an' that. I -- 'll try. T'not --" He swallows, nodding again. "I know I get caught up a lot. In all kindsa things. /Don't/ keep m'priorities where they should be, spread myself in seventeen million different directions when I should -- but maybe y'all can. Poke me. If y'need -- anything. From me. That I ain't --" His brow creases. "Jus' anything." "I don't think of y'all that way. I'm sorry if we ever made you /feel/ that way. You're not...status symbols or freaks or anythin' you're just...our kids." Micah's shoulders slump again, though he straightens and /laughs/ a little at himself when those last words are spoken. It's a sudden realisation sort of laugh, not a mirthful one. "Y'all are just so /grown up/ anymore. Livin' by yourselves an' workin' self-supportin' jobs an' graduatin' an' leavin'... I think I remember the 'ours' part an' forget the 'kids'. It ain't no excuse for how /backwards/ we done things lately. But it's true....I get so caught up in how smart an' resourceful an' successful an' /independent/ y'all have become that I lost track of that you're still kids an' you still...need us." There's a small hesitation in these last words. "You do, I mean? Still need us? 'Cause I'll inflict all the helpful parental meddlesomeness on you that y'can stand. 'Til y'hafta fuss at me t'back off like independent self-supportin' young folk do." B hisses out a breath through her teeth. Maybe it's a laugh, too. "Yeah." Her voice is a little rough. "Yeah. We still. Need you." "Even if B's pretty much going to be able to finish paying off this house on her own by the time she leaves for college." Shane jostles his twin with a small push of shoulders. "You should /see/ how much we're getting fucking /swamped/ with hype over this damn hoverboard." B blushes, sinking down lower in the chair and burying /hir/ face against Shane's shoulder now. "... I just wanted something cool to give Spence for his birthday." But for all this there's a definite note of pride in hir muffled voice. Shane lifts his hand, stroking fingers down B's gills. His eyes close again. "I got no problem saying when to back off." Now Jax does lower his face to his hands. Just briefly. Long enough for a slow shaky exhale before he drops his palms back to his lap again. "Always kinda feel like I'm jus' failin' at navigatin' -- all this. Everything. Parenty. When t'step up an' when t'step /back/ an' --" His head shakes fiercely, a brief crooked smile breaking through and then faltering away. "... guess every parent goes through that but I." He bites down on his lip, halting whatever he was going to say. Instead, just, "... jus' love you. I'll try harder." “Now's I'm bein' meddlesome again, s'that mean we get t'plan a party t'celebrate B's latest big accomplishment? Embarrass the heck out of y'both braggin' on what you're up to lately?” Micah nods agreement with Jax again. “We love you. So much. An' I promise t'stop confusin' y'all's brilliance an' independence for...bein' past needin' us no more.” He hauls himself off of the couch, a little teetery for standing the first time in too long, kneeling by the twins' seats an' holding his arms open wide enough for them both. “Hugs're part of bein' meddlesome 'til y'demand otherwise.”