ArchivedLogs:Philosophy

Philosophy
Dramatis Personae Micah, Dusk, Jackson	5 August 2013 Philosophizing, dinner plans, and child fetch quests.
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. The windows of the apartment are all open to let in the blissfully cool breeze that has swept through the city. Micah is camped out on the couch with his laptop, back braced against an armrest and denim-clad legs stretched out over the cushions. In the way of cats, Sprite has curled up between the computer and Micah's stomach and is slowly attempting to push the laptop away. People working means attention time! Micah is diligently typing, though there is an occasional interruption for kitty ear scritchings. His black Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt may be picking up some extra decoration in the form of shed cat hair. Knockknockknock! It's quick and quiet at the door, and there's a key turning in the lock a moment later; Dusk is more /announcing/ his entrance than requesting it. He's dressed, typically for at-home-time, in shorts. No shoes, no shirt, wings folded in capelike against his back. He slips inside, locking the door behind himself. "Hey. Micah. You know, you've got this sort of --" He gestures with one wingtip towards Sprite. "Fuzzy -- growth? You should get that looked at." Micah startles just slightly at the knocking, but does not get a chance to so much as move his computer to head toward the door before Dusk is in through it. "Hi, Dusk!" he chirps with a bright smile and a bit of a wave. "Oh, not to worry, it's detachable." Sprite has either decided that her bed has become entirely too mobile or objects to the fuzzy growth descriptor, because she hops down with more than necessary force against Micah's midsection before haring off into another room. "Ungh...and also has really /pointy/ paws. Man. How are you?" He swings his legs around to sit more upright, depositing his laptop on the coffee table. "Sorry, you working? You don't need to stop on my account." Even though Dusk is totally heading straight /for/ the couch to lean his elbows against its back and tip his gaze down at Micah. "I just wanted to see how you guys were. If you needed anything. Or maybe if the school had /spoiled/ you with three meals cooked for you every day." "Nah, gotta stop at some point. Visitors are as good an excuse as any," Micah protests, waving a hand dismissively at his laptop. "Mmn, was glad for it, too. Made it easier just t'keep Jax in ridiculous quantities of sugar when I got up there in the evenin's instead of tryin' t'haul all kindsa food goods. An' y'know he'd have been tryin' t'cook things if there weren't a body t'already be on it on the regular." He picks idly at a few bits of cat hair on his shirt. "I think we're good. S'actually easier than it's been, not havin' to hoof it from here to the school an' back. Ain't exactly a short drive. You want a drink or a seat or somethin'? Jax is up roofside. Prob'ly fussin' over the garden or some such, since he's had to be away from it for so long." "I'm surprised he wasn't trying to cook things /anyway/," Dusk says with a laugh. "-- Though, OK, no, I've met the cook out there, she's sweet as hell but I think she's sort of the /dictator/ of her kitchen when it's mealtimes." He leans downward, plucking a stray cat hair off of Micah's shirt, too. "Good. He'll be happier with more things to fuss over. I know /Spence/ is happy to have him back to regular fussing, too. Though he was kind of enjoying Hebrew lessons with Liam." He glances towards the computer for a moment. "How /is/ work going, with -- everything that's been going on?" Micah giggles, fingers pressed to his lips. "Sorry, I was just picturin' Jax gettin' chased out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon. He'll be back to it here soon enough. Was mutterin' somethin' about curry at the refrigerator before he went upstairs. Yeah...Spence was enjoyin' the extra hoppin' around an' ferret time an' trips up to the lake an' all, but you can only mess up a kid's routine for so long before it starts to unsettle 'em a bit. Even if the kid's Spence." Micah's nose crinkles as he regards the laptop briefly. "It's been...a little tight. Been pullin' extra hours an' worked through the weekend tryin' t'make up, but there's only so much t'be done for it. Downside of bein' a one man show is that precious little happens when you're away for any reason." His shoulders rise and fall in a loose shrug. "Honestly, the worst of it with work has been keepin' up the car accident story. S'gettin' less bad since I don't look so banged up anymore, though." "He's a good kid. His life's already been so shaken up." Something a little more tired crosses Dusk's expression, for a moment. He shakes his head quickly, pushing it away in favour of a crooked smile. "Yeeeah, I guess the /real/ story isn't exactly work-safe, is it?" His weight settles downwards against his elbows. "Hopefully people stop asking about it soon. Though I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a part of me that wants people to know. Be kind of shitty for the Morlocks, though," he allows with a heavy sigh. "But /someone/ out there would have to get pissed off that the government is --" His head shakes. "Hive kind of showed me a bit," he admits. "Of the guy who was responsible for all this. He's creepy as fuck. Like if John Malkovich was a serial mutant-murderer. But government-sanctioned." "He's a tough little guy," Micah agrees with a fond smile that fades too quickly with the ongoing direction of conversation. "Yeah. Actually...talked about that with Hive. How this kinda thing could've been positive exposure, if not for havin' to explain why everyone was down there in the first place. Ain't fair to the Morlocks, shinin' more light on their home. 'Specially after all that. Still don't feel right just...clammin' up about it. Pretendin'. Makin' up palatable stories." His hand brushing at a last remnant cat hair resorts instead to tugging at the hem of his shirt, scrunching the fabric against his palm. "I don't think any of this is fair." Dusk's eyes close, his wings tightening in against his back. "If these people already know they're down there, though, I don't know if they're not /already/ in danger, still. I mean, who's to say they stop at going after Nox? They took Masque and Jim and /Jim/ certainly didn't do shit. What's going to stop them just coming back and cleaning the sewers right out?" “I know.  I had thought of…  I guess I just been hopin’ that since they didn’t do it when they was down there the first time, or /yet/, that maybe they really were just tryin’ t’get hold of Nox?  ‘Cause of the murder.  But.  I guess I figured even those…people…knowin’ is still better than the whole wide world knowin’ about ‘em down there.  An’ I…” Micah cuts himself off, chewing at his lower lip.  His fingers tighten “Mostly just been thinkin’ about the rescue plans an’ not about what else might happen.  Did Hive tell you ‘bout how the soldiers threatened Jax?  Knew him.  Threatened the kids.  Even the /dog/.  I mean, really knew him.  In a not likely t’just let him get away with gettin’ away kinda way.” Dusk's wings shift, at the word murder, flexing a short distance away from his shoulders and then tightening in again. "Hopefully they'll leave them alone," he agrees softly, though he doesn't sound particularly convinced. "I don't know what we do to stop this. We've gotten so used to running in /survival/ mode all the time. Squashing these places when we find them. But it never /ends/ that way. If the government now is -- I mean, it's just getting /worse/, you know?" He drops his head to rest his chin against his folded arms on the back of the couch. "He told me. I've been trying not to think about it. Thought of someone coming in to kill all of you -- Jax is," he says, tired, "a better person than I am." Micah reaches up to pet at Dusk's hair when his head falls to his arms. "I really wish I had ideas t'offer, hon, but... Even doin' what y'all have been doin' so far is taxin' all your resources, then some. I don't know how you're s'posed t'win against bigger numbers an' money an' control of the rhetoric an' /presumed/ righteousness all on the other guys' side." His lips quirk to one side. "I been tryin' not t'think of it, either. But it's hard. Hard with...everybody in the buildin'. Harder with Spence." Micah's other hand joins in the hair stroking, a teasing smile managing to creep back across his features. "Don't take it personally. Prob'ly he's a better person than most. Makes it hard t'compete." One hand drops to tap the seat next to him in invitation, at the edge of the couch where Dusk could sit with his wings over the side if he chose. Dusk's head tips into the petting, and he exhales a quiet contented sigh at the touch. "It's hard," he agrees. "At least here we kind of tend to have some warning, before horrible. I don't know about you, but I've had this /knot/ of worry balling up every time people are /out/ anywhere. Which is -- fuck, I mean, everyone needs to live their lives." He glances down to the cushion at the tapping, and straightens to move around the couch. He sits on it sideways, flexing his wings to drape them over the arm. "I don't know. I think you give him some pretty stiff competition." His eyes drop to look down at his hands, fingers lacing together. "I used to try more. The world lately -- it's been getting harder and harder to even remember what /good person/ meant." "Mmn. I might have tried keepin' people from leavin' the building for a few days after things...really got crazy," Micah admits, his expression somewhat sheepish. "Turns out most people don't wanna stay tied to the furniture in your livin' room, even when the alternative was bein' out there in what the out there /was/ at the time." He keeps a rather impressive note of mock disbelief in his tone, adding a slow headshake. Dusk gets a few moments of not being fussed at while he moves, but Micah scoots over close to him once he is seated. The declarations of good-persondom earn a pale blush in response, but no words to acknowledge them. "It's harder t'figure what 'good' is when it seems like every option leads t'people dyin'. An' doin' things just changes the who an' when of it." "I think you just need to figure out the right way to present it," Dusk suggests with a brief flash of fangy smile. "I'm sure there's /some/ people who'd be more than happy if you tied them to the furniture." The smile fades as Micah scoots closer, into something quieter. Thoughtful. He lifts an arm, curling it around Micah's shoulders. "Hard, yeah." His jaw tightens, voice softer. "But I'm pretty sure whatever 'good' is it doesn't include being one of the ones doing the killing yourself." Keys rattle in the front door; Jackson is quiet as he slips in. He has a purple metal thermos in one hand and is brightly dressed -- yellow capris embroidered with dragonflies, a strappy blue tank top layered over a longer green one. Shiny chrome nailpolish on fingers and toes. Dark mirrored sunglasses. "-- Oh, hey, honey-honey --" He slips across the living room to deposit kisses, first on Micah's head and then on Dusk's. The conversation he has walked in on draws his brows together. "-- who's dying?" he asks, and then, "Who's /killin'/?" "That's why I said /most/ people an' not /all/," Micah clarifies with a smirk and a redder shade of blush. He nestles against Dusk's side when that arm wraps around him. "Depends. Figure it's bad t'kill someone. Bad t'let someone else die when you can prevent it, too. Just a matter of...which is more bad?" He interrupts that thought to look to the door, tracking Jax across the room and tilting his head up to receive kisses. "Hi, hon. Told you I didn't let the garden go untended, didn't I?" A soft sigh escapes his lips. "Nobody. Not t'worry. We were just workin' ourselves into a philosophy class discussion based on the current state of the everythin'." Micah reaches up to take one of Jax's hands and pat at it reassuringly. Without leaving his snuggle spot, of course. It's comfy. "Nobody," Dusk agrees, but his voice is quieter. His head tips to the side, dropping against the couch cushions, and his fingers squeeze slowly against Micah's shoulder. "Just, if I'd been in those tunnels with your powers instead of /you/, I think those soldiers would be tiny singemarks on the sewer floor. Not that it'd do a bit of good. They were just --" He /grimaces/, before the next words, eyes squeezing shut. "-- following someone else's orders." One wing stretches, curving up against the edge of the couch so that he can brush its edge against Jax's arm. "Micah's tying you to the furniture, just FYI." "Don't know. I'd guess as either one weighs pretty heavy on the conscience. Try to avoid either when s'possible but these days," Jackson's brows furrow deeply, "-- gettin' less an' less possible." A small smile breaks through the worried expression. "Garden looked lovely, honey-honey. Y'stayin' for dinner, Dusk? I just offered Hive, too. Won't be ready till a bit, though, gotta get Spence from camp." His hand turns over, squeezing Micah's tight for a moment before he straightens. His cheeks flood crimson, deep, and he turns aside to head to the kitchen. "-- Ah -- tying -- /um/. I mean. I sure wouldn't /complain/." “Think ‘just followin’ orders’ stopped bein’ a legitimate excuse a good while ago,”  Micah observes quietly, his gaze fixed on Jax’s hand holding his own.  “Though it was certainly a good thing that we managed to make it out without any…of that needin’ t’happen.  You should stay for dinner.  Jax’s cookin’.”  He would have been seeking out brighter shades on the red spectrum on his own, but Jax blushing certainly makes it worse.  “Uh.  This was…old news tyin’.  From when I wasn’t gonna let anybody leave the buildin’.  After the giant bugs an’ the officer death thing.” "How about /you/ stay and cook, and I'll go get Spence from camp?" Though Dusk doesn't seem in an /immediate/ hurry to move, his wing settling back in loose drape against the couch arm and his arm still looped around Micah's shoulder. "But I pretty much never say no to Jax-cooking." His fingers trail up against Micah's shoulder, lifting to trace up the side of his neck and against one blushing cheek. "Tying can still happen even /without/ the city going crazy. Er. Not that it's /stopped/, really." "Um -- because for you it'd be --" Jackson starts to protest, but then frowns over at Dusk. Or, more accurately, at Dusk's wings. He exhales a sharp sigh as he turns to open the fridge and start collecting ingredients. "I guess you picked him up a time or two this week already and didn't /die/ in the process. Mnngh. I ain't quite sure it's got any plans of stopping any time soon. /I've/ had more'n a couple thoughts of tyin' everyone into place and I ain't usually the one on the tying /end/." “This would be that time where I offer again t'pick up Spence,” Micah does, in fact, offer again. Though he is momentarily distracted by Dusk's tracing fingers and nuzzling himself closer against the other man's side. “Mmn, doesn't /usually/ take the city goin' crazy, no.” Flushed a shade darker, Micah giggles at Jax's commentary. “Okay, maybe it /does/, but only if you're Jax. I'll take easier excuses.” "Honestly, I think Spence's flying /tackles/ were more danger than anything on the way to or from. I put on a big trenchcoat and people don't bother me because they think I'm a /troubled youth/ who's going to whip out a gun and shoot them all." Dusk's fingers continue to brush, lightly; against Micah's jaw, down the side of his neck, to curl back against his shoulder. He tips his head down, nuzzling right back. For a moment he is quiet, face pressed against Micah's hair. "I kinda need to get outside a bit, anyway, before I go stir-crazy. Wouldn't say no to company, though, but only if you want to come." He turns his head towards the kitchen, glancing back towards Jax. "-- You working tonight? I /bet/ that between the two of us we could come up with some much easier excuses." "It's turnin' into a whole Spence-retrieval /operation/," Jackson says with a laugh, nose crinkling up in a quick grin. "/Everyone/ can pick up Spence, /I'm/ makin' curry." Predictably, his cheeks darken a good deal further at that last comment. "Oh! -- Oh. Oh, no, I ain't -- working. Yet. And s'been a while since we --" The blush is spreading to tint the air around him pink, too, "-- I mean I was just way too tired for a while to -- /um/. I /mean/ I sure wouldn't say no. But you don't need no excuses. I'm plenty happy if y'all want to bust out the ropes for no reason at all." “'Ware the wild seven-year-old,” Micah jokes, making creepy-crawly gestures with his fingers. “Though in this weather, I'd guess folks're prob'ly more worried you're a /flasher/ than a troubled youth. Even the troubled youth figure out not wearin' coats in the summertime.” Catlike, Micah presses gently into Dusk's touch, following the path of his fingers. Equally catlike, he catches one of them between his teeth when it rests on his shoulder. Not really biting down, it is more of a play-chomp that serves well as an excuse not to speak as suggestions bring more impressive shades of crimson to his cheeks. “Mmn.” He eventually lets Dusk have his hand back. “Operation Spencer Retrieval is a go. Prob'ly we should get movin' so Jax can stop changin' everythin' colours.” Since Micah is one to talk! “An' there will be plenty of time for...things. After fetchin' an' food an' when children are in bed.” "-- Troubled flasher?" Dusk suggests, a small smile quirking its way across his lips. The smile widens at the little chomp, his finger wiggling in a very halfhearted not-really-attempt to dislodge it from Micah's teeth. His head dips, nipping -- rather /gently/ out of consideration for his much sharper fangs -- at Micah's neck in return. "Right. OK. Spencer. Then dinner. Then --" He grins, hand squeezing around Micah but then dropping so that he can start to stand. "-- then probably a while of some pretty epic robot battles before bed, really." "Probably," Jackson agrees lightly, "I think Bastian pretty much /lived/ in the workshop this past little while, that usually ends in a new toy or two for him." His cheeks are still pretty red as he looks over at the others, but the colour /around/ him is at least starting to subside. "... he's been gettin' to bed at a decent hour with camp every day, 'least." OK, maybe it's creeping back just a /little/. Micah giggles at Dusk's suggestion, before his eyes widen and then close at the nip with a pleasant soft hum/purr from his throat. “Mmn. Yes. Spence. Food. Robots... Time.” He nods, following Dusk's lead to stand from the couch. “Gotta go so we can get back. See you in a little bit, hon,” he calls back to Jax with a wave. "-- gotta stop by my place and grab actual. Uh. Clothes." Dusk flexes his wings briefly, one stretching out to curl around Micah's shoulders for a brief moment. They fold in against his back once more as he heads for the door. "See you soon. -- What do you think," he's asking as he makes his way out the door, "the odds are on Spence /jumping/ us all home safely on the way back?" "-- /Terrible/ odds, ohmygosh if you all /splinch/ yourselves m'telling Joshua to not even help you." It is very possible Dusk was /baiting/ Jax with that last comment but he totally rises to it anyway. One last parting /fret/ to send the others on their way.