ArchivedLogs:Out of Juice

From X-Men: rEvolution
Out of Juice
Dramatis Personae

Joshua, Matt


"We'll get through this."


<NYC> {Funhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side

The house might have started out looking capacious and respectable, but it has since moved through various incarnations, always colorful, but never colorful the same way for longer than a few days. There is little in the way of what most people would call furniture: a sectional couch buried in fluffy cushions, three bean bags of varying sizes, a scattering of bookshelves, what looks like a human-scale cat tree in one corner, and a low, square table surrounded by zafus.

The floor plan is largely open, criss-crossed by rope bridges linking small elevated platforms to the landing of the second storey, beyond which lie the bedrooms. The kitchen is separated from the living room only by a long counter, lined with stools. Even the appliances are decked out in unexpected hues, edged with designs that change on a daily basis. A row of tins and jars runs the length of the breakfast counter, none of which match and all of which bear brightly colored text describing their contents: teas, coffees, mates, and various herbal blends.

The Commons has found itself quite abruptly packed, a host of orange-clad recent refugees scattered around the grounds -- some eager to be out of doors, some just as eager to find a quiet place to hole up, some in the Commonhaus hungrily devouring a meal, some exploring the grounds with a decided air of Fuck Off projected strongly. The raid team has done their own scattering -- those who can still stand, anyway.

Which isn't all of them. Jax had not even made it /back/ to the truck from the prison before collapsing, carried by Dusk the rest of the way to their ride. Flicker /had/ made it the rest of the way -- with an enormous hole torn in his gut; by the time the vehicle was back in New York a good deal of the teleporter was pooled underneath him. Joshua /is/ standing, though he looks at the moment like he'd rather not be, jaw clenched tight and fists clenched tighter. Standing in his bedroom his eyes are fixed downward, flitting between his bed and a mattress set up on the floor -- both occupied at the moment, though the bodies in them are quiet, unmoving. In Ion it's a sharp contrast to his usual lively energy. Shane's blue skin has gone quite dark, faint cracks along its surface.

Matt is kneeling next to Shane's body, his eyes vacant and unfocused, his face pale and drawn. He still wears his Moby Dick t-shirt and old blue jeans that he had at the beginning of the day, though there are spots of blood on both now. His hands clutch a book tightly in his lap (/Through the Looking Glass/), but he isn't reading, hasn't been reading. "Do you need to take a break?" he asks very quietly, his voice dull. "I can make some tea. Maybe. Bring up a damp towel."

There's a dull look in Joshua's eyes as he sinks down, sitting cross-legged in front of Matt. His head bows -- a moment later there's a nearly tangible press of grief, twisting and raw and heavy, that ripples across the whole of the Commons in Hive's myriad-mind feel. Washes in, washes out, fades away again.

Joshua presses his palms to his temples as if that will keep it out. "Flicker's..." His hands are unsteady at the side of his head, his /voice/ unsteady. "And the child from the prison. I can't bring them all back." << I should eat. >>, and, << I can't eat, >> are both whispering simultaneously with these thoughts, far more matter-of-fact and prosaic than his shaky voice.

Matt whimpers, gathering the book to his chest. He doesn't speak at once, but rises shakily and goes to Joshua, laying his hands over the other man's. "But between you and Mirror..." << ...both exhausted already, but with some rest, surely... >> But he shakes his head. "You /should/ eat. Have some juice, at least, or soda."

"Mirror's working out press with your brother. I'll ask them. I'll ask --" Joshua's hands still shake beneath Matt's. Cold, trembling. "Four dead. {Fuck.} I barely feel like I can -- okay. Okay. Juice first. Juice first. And then --" His eyes close, head shaking slowly.

"Sit." Matt leads Joshua to the nearest chair and presses him down gently into it. "We'll get through this." The confidence in his voice is real, but beneath that confidence is quiet, not-quite-wordless acceptance that 'getting through' may mean making a choice. << The child was blameless, no threat at all-- >> But he pushes the thought firmly aside. "Juice first," he echoes, fleeing the room.