ArchivedLogs:Planning

Planning
Branching Out
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah	9 June 2013 Jax comes home! Things are still pretty horrible...but, there are plans to be made.
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Rooftop - East Village
It tends to be windy, up here, but the presence of plastic table and folding chairs suggests that nevertheless building residents occasionally make their way out to this rooftop. With a good view of Tompkins Square Park less than a block away it's a good spot for city-watching. There's a railing around the edge, though it might be possible (if /unwise/) to climb over it to the narrow concrete ledges beyond and from there to the fire escape. Centrally, someone has broken down crates and constructed a small raised-bed garden up here, barren in winter but filled in three other seasons with a small assortment of herbs and vegetables. It’s late at night, on Sunday, when Jackson returns to his apartment. A little /worn/, a little frazzled, but no worse for wear for his sudden departure on the back of Giant Dung Beetle. He stops at his apartment, first, for a somewhat /stressed/ check-in with the children in the wake of the city exploding. Second, upstairs. He’s quiet as he opens the door to the roof and peeks outside. In the distance there are sirens; there have /been/ sirens throughout much of the city throughout much of the night. It’s -- not /quite/ peaceful, really, but the rooftop is at least an approximation thereof Compared to much of the city tonight it’s paradise. Not a single beating in sight. Hopefully. Though the careful caution with which he slips out onto the roof might suggests he has small fears of /finding/ one. Micah has had one ridiculously long night. He finally wandered back from pancakes to find there were /still/ no updates from Jax. Too fidgety for work or crafting or /anything/, he has finally decided not to subject others to his presence and fled to the roof. To sit and stare at the night cityscape. Then pace. Then fuss at the plants in the garden. Then sit again. Which is what he’s doing currently, looking slightly worse for wear. His auburn hair is beyond tousled to truly messy, jade-green button-down shirt untucked. He’s having the kind of stare that doesn’t really register the door opening. “Micah?” Jackson’s voice is kind of hesitant. So are his steps, as he approaches. He’s dressed just the same as when he took off; black silver-edged capris, red sandals, red ‘All my heroes have FBI files’ tee. No sunglasses, though; those have been exchanged for an eyepatch crafted in fabric that resembles SPACE. Swirls of galaxies. Bright stars. “Um -- Micah. Hi. I.” His teeth drag against his lower lip. “-- am. Sorry.” The sound of his name startles him, but he seems to be missing the energy to /jump/ at it appropriately. So Micah just swivels slightly to face the…Jax. Wide-eyed. /That/ brings him to his feet in a stumbly-rushed fashion. “Ohmy/gosh/, are you okay?” He darts across the roof, nearly tripping over a chair in the process, and pins Jax with a forceful hug. Jackson lifts his arms almost immediately, wrapping them around Micah /tight/. His head tips, pressing cheek to Micah’s neck. “Yeah, I -- yeah. I’m OK, I just. Micah, I -- panicked, the kids were missin’ and -- and oh gosh I’m /sorry/ I -- I just run off an’ left you there and -- that. Was. Really unbelievably terrible of me and I didn’t. I’m sorry.” Micah seems to have been waiting for that confirmation of /non-damaged/ state to grab Jax by the shoulders and shake him. Not /hard/, but not exactly /gently/, either. “Don’t ever do somethin’ /that/ stupidly dangerous when it is /that/ unnecessary again! I’m not upset you ran off to do somethin’, especially since you were worried about those kids, but…what good is you bein’ injured or dead doin’ anybody?” It is fairly dark on the roof at night, but the flush that has overtaken his cheeks may still be apparent. Jackson cringes slightly, head ducking at this shaking. “No -- no, I don’t -- know, that was -- incredibly dumb,” he agrees with a wince. “I just -- I was scared if she flew off we -- wouldn’t /never/ find where she took them.” His hands drop to his side. “That was -- oh god I jumped onto a /giant dung beetle/.” It’s possible this is only now setting /in/. The shaking stops, but Micah’s grip on Jax is still quite firm. “It was a giant beetle fightin’ for its life against /animated ground/. An’ you jumped into the middle of it. On purpose! Either one of those things coulda hurt or killed you. An’…then you were unconscious when the woman took you an’ she might /not/ have been friendly an’…” His forehead falls against Jax’s shoulder, his hands releasing their hold. Jackson lifts his hand, curling it up against the back of Micah’s head. “I know. I know, it was -- I’m sorry, that was -- really dangerous. Really /dumb/. I’m -- I’m sorry.” His head tilts down, pressing his cheek to Micah’s head. “... I found the kids,” he says, quietly. “They’d all been took -- they’re back now.” “That’s…that’s good,” Micah sort of sighs the words out. His hands, unable to stay still long, have moved to grab fistfuls of Jax’s shirt. “I just…I was thinkin’ about…all the things. An’ /your/ kids.” He swallows hard, kind of mashing his face into Jax’s shoulder. He musters enough composure to ask pertinent questions. “Is everyone okay? Why did they steal a bunch of kids, anyhow?” “Everyone’s -- I don’t know. The girls are OK. Ivan --” Jackson exhales heavily. “Ivan’s -- gonna need some help. They didn’t. They wasn’t trying to hurt nobody. They was --” He hesitates, curling an arm tighter around Micah, fingers fisting up in the other man’s shirt. “-- they was trying to make a. Family.” He swallows, looking down below as another set of flashing lights whiz by. “-- Micah.” His next question is -- hesitant. “Have you -- seen the news t’night?” “He’s not hurt, is he?” Micah feels the need to clarify. “Seems a funny way to make families…bugnappin’ people. I guess giant bugs don’t have the same social customs as people, though. Maybe it’s normal to bugnap other bugs.” He sighs heavily, breath warm into Jax’s chest. This last question is unexpected, however, and he finally looks up to regard the other man. “No? I been… I was at Hive’s, kinda freakin’ out. I sorta called everybody an’ freaked them out until Dr. McCoy said he’d heard from you. Um…then Mel took me out for drinks and I went to an IHOP and then I checked to see if anyone had heard anythin’ and they hadn’t so I came up here…” Rambling, Micah. It is happening. “So…no? I’m guessin’ maybe somethin’ to do with all the sirens, huh?” He sounds like he might not want to know at this point. “He ain’t hurt. Just kinda messed up in the head. It’s hard for him bein’ around all the -- bugs.” At Micah’s answer, though, Jackson tenses. Slowly pulls back, drifting away from the other man towards the wall. His elbows rest against it, eye turning down to the city below. “Micah --” His voice has dropped quieter, shorn of its apologetic tone, shorn of guilt, shorn of anything. Tired. He doesn’t actually answer the question, yet. “Right. Bugbrained,” Micah replies with a quick nod. Something about Jax’s tone… Micah nods again, retreating to collect a pair of plastic chairs and scraaape them across the floor, depositing one right next to Jax and the other across from it. “Sit. You look an’ sound exhausted. An’ I get the feelin’ I don’t wanna know but I gotta know so we’re prob’ly gonna be sittin’ here a spell.” As if to demonstrate, he collapses into his own chair. Kind of boneless. No energy to operate muscles. “There was a cop killed in Central Park today,” Jackson says in answer. Heavy in tone. He doesn’t take the chair Micah offers, but does pull away from the wall. He drops down to sit on the roof instead, in front of Micah’s chair, his cheek resting against Micah’s knee. Hard and wired tense, in contrast to Micah’s bonelessness. “That’s terrible,” comes Micah’s response, tone far more genuine than what is typical for the thoughtless utterance of those words. “But…I get the feelin’ this is even worse than just a cop gettin’ shot stoppin’ a purse snatchin’?” His hand hovers a moment over Jax’s head before settling there, somewhat leaden. “He was the one who.” Jackson stops, his voice momentarily faltering. “He took the boys. Shane says when he done it he beat Bastian near to death. I -- they think he mighta been the one /running/ the place.” Even with these words there’s a slight hesitation at the end of his words. Like this /still/ isn’t everything he’s meaning to say. “Oh.” Micah takes a moment to process that, before hazel eyes shoot open wide, his ragdoll-like posture snapping to attention. “Oh. It was one of them. The folks we rescued.” This is a statement and not a question. Because there are no coincidences in life anymore. “Micah, I --” Jackson’s voice is quieter still. “-- The city’s kind of going nuts already. Dusk got beat just on his way home. The cops stopped Bastian to harass him for an hour. Left some bruises. Ian -- ain’t home yet.” Which he sounds even more leaden about, considering that his next words are: “... Micah, I think it was Nox.” Micah nods, slowly, several times. Like a very solemn bobblehead toy. “It’s prob’ly best if nobody…obvious…goes out for awhile. I can fetch stuff for people.” His eyebrows scrunch together. “Y’know, you also kind of count as obvious. Unless you disguise yourself with the--” he waves a hand in front of his face to indicate Jax’s illusion abilities. The revelation about Nox has him nodding again. There is only so much he can take in with /expression/ for one day. “She was in horrible shape after. Not just…physically. She had said that she regretted not killin’ all of ‘em when she had the chance.” A hint of worry finally cracks through. “Did…did she get away? Does anyone know where she is?” “I don’t know.” Jackson curls his hand up against Micah’s leg. “I mean, she got away. I don’t know where she’s gone. Home, I’d wager. Micah, the kids both got work -- /I/ got work, I -- they’re gonna --” His voice cracks. “... there’s gonna be blood.” “It’s gonna be hell for her people. None of ‘em are gonna be able t’go anywhere… Need to work out a way t’drop supplies where they won’t be seen pickin’ ‘em up. Can’t use the garden anymore. Too public.” Micah frowns, chewing at his lower lip as he does so. “Then you’ve gotta let me drive y’all where you need t’go for a coupla days. Just while it’s still at its worst out there. An’ don’t go anywhere not /mandatory/, okay? Just a coupla days, maybe. Can we take the boys to school? That’d be safest, I’d think.” His mind is racing with plans, almost /legible/ in his face. “It is. We could maybe keep harvestin’ the gardens for ‘em, leave food where --” Jackson draws in a breath. “... Micah, I gotta be a lotta places, I’m startin’ work for Io tomorrow -- /Bastian’s/ starting work for Io tomorrow,” the laugh he breathes out at /this/ remembrance is a little edged. A shred of hysteria in the sound. “Shane’s gotta be at Mel’s shop, I got appointments at the studio outside’a bodyguardin’ -- have to stop by the school to check in on the /other/ students -- I don’t actually think s’logistically possible for you to drive us where we gotta be. ‘Specially not considerin’ /you/ got two jobs yourself. I --” His head turns, face mashing harder up against Micah’s leg. “It’d be safest. I just. I don’t. I don’t know how to.” His voice falters again. Micah is nodding again, agreeing with the plans for the gardens. “I know y’gotta. We can…sit an’ draw up a schedule, maybe. Either make it so you go in groups, or I can drive folks when they can’t be in a group. You an ‘Bastian workin’ together will help that, a little. We gotta do /somethin’/. For a coupla days, at least. I mostly make my own schedule, so…we can work around it. Just put y’all in like other appointments.” He’s not dropping this, apparently. Jackson nods at this, slowly. “OK. A schedule. Alright. We -- ok.” His grip on Micah’s leg is tightening. Also his facemashing. Moosh. Mash. “OK,” is muffled again. “Thank you, I.” He finally pulls back, straightening shakily. He gets to his feet, just long enough to slump down against the wall. “Micah, honey, are you. Gonna. Be okay, I -- Nox is -- your --” His head turns, to look at the other man. “Good,” Micah says simply, at the agreement to his plan. Planning is good. “Good,” he reiterates. He watches Jax move away, his expression bordering on forlorn—deprived of his Jax-presence and his planning at the same time. Then, that question comes and Micah slides down in the chair again. Trembling faintly. “No. I’m not okay.” Jackson moves away from the wall, and this time when he crouches at Micah’s feet it isn’t to lean there. Just to rest his hands on Micah’s knees. “We could -- try to --” he starts, but then just falters. Kind of at a /loss/. “Supplies,” he finally just falls back on, “and make sure they get their -- food and.” His hands squeeze, gently. “... but that’s,” he continues with a frown, “for /them/ I don’t know. What. To do for. You.” Micah’s eyes track Jax as he returns, much the same way as when he had left. “We’d need to contact them first, but… I don’t know how. Used to leave notes in the cooler, but that’s not…safe.” He presses his eyelids closed tightly for a moment, before looking back down at Jax. “That’s fair. I don’t really know what to do for me, either. Short of puttin’ everyone I’m worryin’ about in one room so I can /watch/ ‘em like some…creepy…watchin’ person.” He tangles his fingers in his hair, just sort of pulling at it. “Can leave notes at Evolve for her,” Jackson muses, “or just go down -- I been down to where they live.” His hands creep up further, inching their way up Micah’s legs as he rises higher on his knees to ultimately curl around the other man’s waist. “We could,” he suggests solemnly, “jus’ stick everyone in a panopticon. Put you at the center.” “Can’t imagine her goin’ to Evolve right now. Or me goin’ down there… Prob’ly they’re all more’n a might /jumpy/ right now. Couldn’t take well to some random human bumblin’ around with things the way they are.” Micah cringes at his own word choice, but lacks anything better to express the idea. “Or I can just tie everyone t’the furniture in your livin’ room. Y’don’t mind some guests for awhile, right?” The faintest hint of a smile tries to make its way onto his face, a tentative little creature. “Nox, admittedly, hard to tie to furniture unless she’s lettin’ you do it on purpose.” “They had problems with, um, the giant bugs, too, they was jumpy /before/ this -- now it’s --” Jackson shakes his head. Stretches up further, to press a tiny kiss to the corner of that smile. “-- Ohgosh, I’m pretty well used t’packin’ my house full of people. And, um, the twins are -- moving out -- sortakinda? -- so there’ll be extra /room/. We can tie all the people. To all the furniture -- /um/ though, beanbags, are kinda pointless to tie anyone to.” He pauses, looking downwards for a moment. His arms don’t leave Micah’s waist. “-- Micah, you. Would you want. I mean this is not really a great -- um. I --” His head tips back up to look at Micah again. “-- would like it a lot if you stayed. With -- me. I mean I know you’re -- already over a /lot/ I just -- with everything that’s.” He blushes. “... I don’t want to tie you to no furniture to keep you there but. But knowin’ you’re gonna be home at night -- is -- with everything happening. Maybe. You could. Stay.” “Who /ain’t/ had giant bug problems lately, for the love of little green apples… What are they /up to/?” Headshakes must be the order of the day, because Micah has some of his own. Oh, kisses! Kisses make things a little better. “They’re movin’ out? Like…goin’ t’school full time? Not runnin’ away to the ocean again?” People running off and/or being kidnapped has moved surprisingly high on the list of possibilities lately. “An’ it would be /hilarious/ to tie people t’beanbags. ‘Cause they might still try to move, but…rolly, or maybe waddly. Either way, guaranteed entertainment.” This fails to come with the giggle that would typically accompany such a ridiculous observation. As Jax continues talking, Micah slowly colours from a delicate shell-pink to a fine apple-red. “Um…that would. I think that would be a good plan.” “I don’t think Ryan’s run into a /single/ giant bug yet,” Jax informs Micah. “He might be the only one left who ain’t had problems with ‘em.” His head shakes in answer to the questions about the twins. “They’re gettin’, um, they’re renting the empty apartment next door t’ours. With Shelby and Daiki. Ain’t goin’ /far/ or nothin’.” His nose crinkles up at the mental image of tying people to beanbags. He leans in for another kiss, this one softer and lingering. And then stands, offering Micah his hand to do the same. “I ain’t hardly usually the tie-people-up-/er/, but I’m so gonna try it. Tie you t’a beanbag and film what happens.” “I think you found the answer, Jax. The bugs must be allergic to pot,” Micah deadpans, easier since he didn’t /start out/ grinning, for once. “We should inform the public at once! Start a sachet-makin’ party.” Okay, so, the deadpanning still doesn’t last long. “That’ll be nice for ‘em t’have some space…an’ still be close enough to supervise appropriately. Make sure they don’t get into too much trouble or destroy the place with their teenagerin’.” Because it is a verb: to teenager. He slips a hand behind Jax’s neck, holding the kiss a moment longer before letting him stand. Then he takes Jax’s hand and follows along. “Hm, if you ain’t used to it, makin’ sure someone stays attached to a beanbag might be a little /advanced/ in the tyin’ department. Soft, round…sort of challengin’.” He quirks a brow. “I object to the filmin’...the rest is negotiable.” “Quickest way to get pot legalized ‘round here,” Jackson suggests, amused, “convince everyone mutants are allergic to it.” His fingers curl through Micah’s, a little bit tighter than is strictly necessary as he starts towards the door. “Hey, I was a Boy Scout. /And/ I rock climb, I am excellent at knots -- um. Usually. Around trees though,” he admits with a sheepish blush. “But I could branch out.” “We might be onto somethin’,” Micah agrees with a chuckle. “Those are two very good points, as well. Prob’ly time we find you somethin’ more challengin’ anyhow.” He presses his lips together tight for a second, as if to hold back laughter. “Ha. Trees. Branch. I see what you did there.” The hand holding Jax’s squeezes firmly as the other reaches to operate the doorknob. Jackson hesitates, even after the door is opened. His head turns, looking back to the city -- tilting slightly at the distant wail of sirens providing a near incessant background noise to the night. His hand squeezes Micah’s back. “S’never a wrong time to /pun/,” he insists, at a delay, with a quick flash of smile to Micah. He is still kind of tense as they head in, door shutting out the siren-sounds behind them.