ArchivedLogs:Pensieve

Pensieve
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Hive	2015-01-26 Part of Future Past TP.
Location <XS> Command and Control Center - B2
Here is the heart of the Xavier Institute's true operations, the room most central to its purpose, where the Institute's most adventuresome and powerful individuals gather to receive exposition. The room is dominated by an oversized viewscreen on one wall, presently displaying an intricate diagram of the planet Earth, as well as a large central holographic projector and a handful of computer terminals along the periphery. Curiously, the whole place is rather dimly lit, as though its designers prioritized dramatic lighting over being able to find anything. There's quiet. No meeting in progress, no strategizing going on. Right now nothing but quiet steady breathing, where Hive has taken up a perch kneeling in one of the chairs. Hands rested on his knees, eyes closed. He's in jeans, heavy workboots, a Cornell sweatshirt unzipped over his Link-as-Eddard-Stark tee. The door whooshes quietly open and quietly back closed when Flicker arrives. He's not far off from Hive in dress. Jeans, a stylized Coyote tee, his X-Men jacket on over it. His mind is quiet -- not blank. Just steady, deliberately focused right now so as /not/ to let the sick chaos of worry and dread well up and take over. Instead, he's brought cocoa. Hot and cinnamony, a small cup of it that he sets on the table in front of Hive with a quiet /clink/. Then a creak as he settles himself into an adjacent chair. There's no reaction from Hive, not outwardly. Just calm-quiet. Steady breaths. But his mind touches up against Flicker's. Heavy-thudding, slamming up against the other man's and then just settling. Slower in its spreading, blanketing, /squeezing/ press. Drawing Flicker in closer. This time, Flicker doesn't resist it. Quiets, relaxes, closes his eyes and presses his fingertips hard against his knees. Opened up and /surrendering/ to the crush of Hive's mind into his it's harder to stay quiet. The worry buried in him is fierce and clawing. << Can't lose you again. >> It's not a plea not to go through with this. Just a fierce and desparate affirmation. To the forefront of his mind he is pushing /Hive/, now, not worry or stress or sick anxiety, just the acerbic incisive (caring) (too much caring) brilliance that has become such a familiar feel in his mind. << You'll forget you. But I'll remember. >> Hive's mind clenches, squeezes -- merges into Flicker's with a sudden painful shift of consciousness. A brief sucking yawn of the empty-deep chasm that sits in his mind. In some part of his (their) brain he's listening, to conversation happening not far away, two other telepaths discussing the future. Discussing The Future. But in the nearer part he's focused inward on Flicker, a quiet solid lean up against the younger man's offer. << I'll forget. >> It's a soft and matter-of-fact acknowledgment. More questioning: << We'll forget? >> << No. >> Firm and solid. Stable. There's a hardness building itself up in Flicker's mind into steady stone pillars. Around which is strung webbing, knotted firm. Anchored hard. A rope brought to the edge of that empty chasm and lowered down in. << (on belay,) >> is a whispered suggestion accompanying the mental imagery. "I don't care how far you go." Flicker's voice is quiet, barely a murmur, though breaking into the room's stillness it seems louder. "I'm pulling you back." Hive reaches out to pick the cup of cocoa from the table. His eyes don't open through this but with /Flicker's/ eyes open that's not so much a problem. The warm rich chocolate flavor rolls slow over his tongue, mind settling into a quiet acceptance -- even as he ties that anchored rope /firmly/ to himself. He's silent as he sips the cocoa. Unhurried, but draining the whole cup before he stands. << (but who's got you?) >> It's felt more than voiced, a low background worry gnawing at him even as he leans down, curls his arms tight around Flicker's shoulders, squeezes hard. And turns to head out, door whooshing open-shut behind him. Flicker doesn't have an answer to that question. He lifts his hand, curling fingers hard against Hive's forearm through the hug. He picks up Hive's empty cup. Pushes the chairs neatly back in to the table. His steps are a little mechanical-slow as he follows the other man out -- pausing in the hallway, jaw tight and fingers clenched around the cup, to watch the brushed-metal door of Cerebro slide open. He doesn't stick around in the hallway long enough to see it close again, swallowing Hive's thin figure inside.