ArchivedLogs:Prophecies, Tentacles, and Wings

Prophecies, Tentacles, and Wings
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Micah, Melinda, Tola	Friday, 10 November 2017 Part of the Future Past TP.
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Media Room - Lower East Side
Though this sound-proofed room comes equipped with the same complement of bright airy windows as most of the rest of the rooms around here, it /also/ comes with thick heavy blackout curtains for them, easily drawn to reduce the glare on the myriad screens around the place. The place of honor in the room goes to an enormous flatscreen television mounted on one wall; beneath there are a number of video game consoles hooked up to it and shelving to either side of the television holds an assortment of DVDs on the right and an assortment of video games on the left. There's plentiful seating with views of the television, in the form of wide microsuede couches and enormous squishy beanbags (plenty big enough to share) scattered around the floor. A mini-fridge up here stands beside one cabinet, both often kept stocked with snacks and (generally highly caffeinated) drinks. Across to the other side of the room there are comfortable armchairs and smaller tables, with plenty of outlets available for those who want to plug their computers in and work or play. Four common-use desktops sit on desks against the wall, accessible to any resident with a login. There's quiet in the post-dinner stretch. Downtime, before Friday Night begins in earnest -- with a /bang/ for many of the Commoners. But Fight Club isn't for a little bit yet and in the meanwhile Flicker is having himself a spot of peace and quiet. ...ish. Not all /that/ Peace And Quiet, given his laptop has been plugged into the sound system and is kind of blaring a very 90s-poppunk-heavy playlist. Just now he's singing along with Rancid's "Time Bomb", under his breath and much quieter than the music. He's squished himself into a beanbag, textbook in his lap that he's taking notes from. Halfheartedly. The other half his heart is waaay more occupied browsing tumblr, which has about seven thousand times more fantastic astronomy pictures than his textbook does. The television is on, though with his computer using the speakers it's on soundlessly; still, the captions at the bottom of the screen are /there/ to follow along with. For anyone not too distracted with gorgeous constellations, anyway. Blaring punk music is exactly what one needs to knit by...apparently. Micah is clacking (silently, for all anyone knows with the volume of the music) away at a blue and yellow starburst themed tinyblanket forming up slowly in his lap. He is half-sprawled over a couch, back to a corner and legs extended over the seat cushions, attention only partially on the knitting and partially on the television screen. He is dressed cozily, as well, faded jeans and a Batsignal hoodie over a navy blue T-shirt depicting a comic about a penguin who hatches from an egg and eventually learns how to fly via jetpack. "No no no no no no no. No bed time! Flicka time!" A small voice heralds the opening of the door. Instead of an obnoxious, rebellious cry for freedom, it is, instead, a joyful outburst of pleasure. Someone has been granted liberty from the harsh regiments of regulated sleep and turned loose in Geekhaus. A small green body comes barreling in, arms and legs outstretched wide as she runs, green eyes squinted in delight. Inch long, white petals peek out from the green material that covers the toddler's head and majority of her body. Tola is wearing her squidshark halloween costume... again. Big blue splotches cover hir body in somewhat iridescent patches of shark skin, her face in between the jaws of a great white's mouth. There are extra arms hanging around under and over her real ones, with more tentacles around her waist like a skirt. The bundle of energy waves at Micah as she hurdles by and heads over to Flicker, because he isn't holding pokey knitting devices. The television has just been finishing up with some eveningtime sitcom; one silent show segues into another. Evening news, much less sensational with the volume off. There's talk on the screen (so the captions say) about advances in technology. A push in New York to have /all/ the MTA buses switched to Stark Enterprises' fully automated self-driving electric vehicles -- citing the success of similar pilot programs in Europe and East Asia where Berlin and Zurich and Tokyo have seen huge savings as well as far more timely and safe trips utilizing the vehicles. A promising new battery out of Frost Enterprises that claims to last long enough to power a new fleet of transcontinental airplanes. It is, declares the anchor, The Future. No knitting needles, only book. Though even /that/ gets put down when confronted with a tiny tentacleshark! Tola is met with another tentacle -- Flicker turns in his beanbag but doesn't actually /move/. Just extends his limb -- and extends it, and extends it, telescoping out a foot or so longer than it had just been to /scoop/ Tola up and into his lap. "Oh, man, Micah we're getting a shark attack!" He seems /so/ alarmed as he flops back into the beanbag with Littleflower on top of him. "Nobody put up signs telling me it was dangerous to swim here!" "Hm. Good on 'em," Micah says at the television screen, adding a nod in its direction at the mention of self-driving vehicles. "S'the project B'd been workin' on forever at Stark." Pleasantly-thoughtful reactions to the science news are buried under amusement at incoming Sharksquidplantkid. He stabs the needles into the knitting, shoving the bundle off into his knitting bag. "Not a sharksquid attack!" Gasp! Swoon! "I've heard tales that the only way t'survive those is t'summon a--" the pause is as much for dramatic effect as it is to allow Micah to creep right up on the pair, "TICKLEMONSTER!" Tickly fingers find their way around the mixture of flesh and fabric limbs to seek out a little flowerbelly. "So dangerous." Tola announces, mid-squeak as she is scooped up and plopped on a Flicker. She lifts her arms and menaces with her less mobile limbs at Flicker's face, leaving herself open for Micah's attack. She giggles and squeaks some more, wiggling and squirming between the two adults, arms collapsing inwardly to protect her vulnerable underbelly. "Aaah! Weakness! Will... not ..savive." Melinda comes in shortly after, doing her own adult things, like making sure that the door is closed behind her and her coat is sloughed off in the warmth inside. She's wearing her favorite mustard yellow sweater over a pair of wide legged jeans, argyle socks peeking out from underneath the cuffs. "Hey, guys," she greats, just loud enough to be heard over the din of childish giggles and protestations. "I have released the Kaiju. Hope that none of your smallish cities have been crushed." She smiles a little as her gaze darts between the three faces. "Seems like you have things well in hand." Hey look! Here is a mention at the very end of the technology section about Micah's own work! Discussing the brilliant advances in prosthetics that have put some new limbs on the market that don't just replace but improve upon typical human limbs. Onscreen there is even a brief demo! It is Flicker (shirtless, mmm, look at that expanse of back muscles) on a gym-type section of bouldering rock, streeeeetching to reach a tricky hold and pulling himself up one-armed. One-tentacled? From the audience and surroundings it looks like some sort of university talk. Micah looks Very Professional. "S'okay. We happen to be excellent Jaeger pilots." Him and Micah, of course: see how they're working in tandem to capture Tola in the beanbag and apply tickles? Flicker tips his head back to grin towards Melinda, transferring Tola to his meat arm so that the other can snake out and reach for the remote. "Hey, look, it's you." He's totally going to ignore /himself/ on screen, because look Micah's talking! He switches the sound back over from his computer to the TV. "I hear," he adds to Tola, "that hugs are a great way to regenerate after tickleattacks." With such an opening, the tickles continue for some time...along with some very-minor wrestling about, all of which eases up before the little one hyperventilates from giggle-squeaks. Micah /might/ get caught making exaggerated snappy-bitey motions at the tentacle dangling nearest to him when Mel arrives. "Hi, sugar. Cyborg army defendin' the helpless populace. Y'know how it goes." Chomp? A touch of blush licks at his cheeks, reddening them faintly. "Hm. Seein' a lot more of you than I am of me," he teases Flicker with a bob of eyebrows. Tola squirms and giggles until her face darkens with exertion, tears forming on her thick eyelashes. She flops back into Flicker's arms when the tickling stops, breathing heavily for a little while. "You full of tasty raid-ation? Must get nuk-hug-power!" she adds breathlessly, her small chest heaving for oxygen. Somebody loves her Godzilla movies. She lets out a big sigh when her heart stops pumping so hard and turns into a little ragdoll. "And you, Flicker," Tola's mom adds, raising an eyebrow at the physical display. She walks a little closer and reaches out a hand to ruffle Flicker's hair, quiet for the television's explanation of her friend's new limb. "Though, it's gotta be nice for both of you, to end up on television for something that doesn't follow police action or prison time." Micah /is/ talking! For serious! It's just maybe less immediately eye-catching than muscles. But soon the muscles /and/ the Micah are both gone, technology segment shifting into a brief interlude of New York gossip (so newsworthy!) Shots of a glitzy-glamorous gala raising money for Spreading Wings, a charity dedicated to research and medical care targeting the unique needs of childhood-presenting mutants. There's a brief shot of Rasheed! Organizing the event, evidently. Together with other Celebrity Faces. The spot isn't focusing on the actual charity in question though but on the appearance of Stephen Strange, once a quite famous celebrity psychic until his increasingly erratic behaviour lost him a good deal of credibility -- insofar as pop psychics have such -- and popularity among the Hollywood set. He was there last night, though, "-- certainly livening up the mood," says one of the anchors as the volume unmutes (there's laughter distinctly in her voice) "with his continued doomsday predictions --" The other man cuts in over here (amused as well), "-- according to him shouldn't we all be dead right now? New York's still going strong and I don't see any war," "-- though I did," the woman says, moving on more brightly, "see War/ren/ Worthington there -- I hear he cut a check for five million on the spot." Flicker's cheeks darken to deep red. Deeeeep red. "So much tasty nuclear energy," he assures Tola. "Hug-fission." His arm curls around her to squeeze closer. His head bonks lightly against Mel's hip when she comes closer. "Thaaat's pretty nice, yeah. It's mostly just good seeing Micah get recognition for this. I -- can tell you myself it's. Pretty much revolutionary. For my life, at least." His eyes have drifted back to the screen, teeth gnawing at his inner cheeks with the faintest hint of a thoughtful crease to his brow as the television continues. "-- Huh." He dips his head, presses a kiss to the top of the sharksquid head. For added energy. "Are we getting trendy now? Has it become cool yet to give money to these things?" "That /is/ refreshin'. Talkin' 'bout m'friends 'cause they're awesome an' not defendin' 'em against trumped up charges. S'novel, really." When Tola goes rag doll, Micah seizes the opportunity to steal a kiss to her forehead, transitioning easily out of 'attack-cyborg' mode. "Hm." He replies simply, apparently entering into competition with Flicker for Worst Blushing. Again. "Thank Taylor. S'pretty much robo-Taylor attached t'everybody with one of these things." Taptap go his fingers against what would approximate Flicker's wrist, were he limited to human upper limb joints. "S'hard t'say no t'things when y'put little kid faces on 'em." And there's a tiny-boop to Tola's nose. "S'that guy again." His forehead crinkles, the rest of his head tilting to regard the screen. "Gets an awful lotta press for a supposed psychic." Tola reaches up and pats at Micah's face when he comes close enough to kiss her forehead. "Kiss torpedos," she mutters. "De-li-shush energies." She then curls up more in Flicker's lap, wide green eyes blinking at the TV. "Kin I have wings next? Wanna fly like Dusky and Issry." "Well, you're going to have to wait for a little while. Mom's sewing fingers still have holes in them from the tentacleshark." Melinda stays still when Flicker leans against her, her attention primarily on the glowing screen, fingers resting unconsciously on his shoulder. "Maybe. Then again, Worthington would do it even if it wasn't popular. I'm just glad he's giving his money to such a good cause." Her lips purse as she shifts her attention to Micah. "Yeah. Well, I'm kind of glad he was wrong." The anchors are turning their attention globally, now. A potential coup in Thailand? Again? Perhaps that's just how they like to get new governments over there. Hmm. Tighter, tenser, Flicker's smile gets a bit /skewed/ at the mention of Dusk and Isra. "How about like Horus?" he volunteers quietly, "if you want to learn to fly from someone, he might be -- a safer bet." He shifts in the beanbag, adjusting position to give Tola a more comfortable place to settle in on his lap. Properly settled. Not ticklesquirming now. "Maybe he is psychic. Or was." His brows furrow deeper. "Being precognitive would suck. He seems like he's gotten a little bit cracked. Though maybe that's just the fame getting to him. /I'm/ pretty glad for the peace, too." "Happy t'oblige." Micah's lips curl into a pleased grin at Tola's patting. "Wings're a pretty good idea. What're y'thinkin'? Bird? Bat? Butterfly?" He chuckles over the slight hunch of his shoulders, moving right past Flicker's comment with more light-hearted banter. "Or other things that start with 'B'." His nose bunny-crinkles faintly with an amused thought. "Though Horus /has/ figured out the whole wings-an'-tentacles combo. Mightn't be a bad plan." He nods his agreement with the others' opinions on the war. "Me, too. S'pose he /could/ be some kinda psi. Never did seem like a thing that rested easy on the mind. Or brain, for that matter." "Ohhh. Feathas next." Tola agrees with Flicker's suggestion, her hands reaching out to preen one of her tentacles slowly. "Mista Horus is good to snuggle. He gives good brushings. Such a good beak." She hunkers down until her head is braced on his thigh and her limbs are piled against her front. "He gets tha itchies 'tween the petals. Best at cleaning. No little 'fids now." She might have been ready to relax, but Micah said something that strikes the child as so ridiculous, she raises her head again, giving him an almost Hive like look. "B doesn' have wings." "Could be like Cassandra - where the gift comes with disbelief, hand in hand. But... well, at the same time, how many times can you claim to have averted the end of times when there's no real proof that disaster was going to happen in the first place?" Melinda shakes her head slowly. "Sorry, now I'm imagining every street corner prophet actually having the gift and being driven out of society by it." "Bugs," Flicker suggests, for Other Flying Things That Start With B. "-- Broomsticks. I bet B /could/ make you a flying broomstick. Be the best little Ravenclaw costume ever." He's clearly already got Tola Sorted in his mind. "Did he ever claim to /avert/ the apocalypse? From the sound of it he thinks it's still happening. Things have been -- kind of better though. Though prophesizing peace doesn't sell." "Mmn, feathers. Good choice," Micah asserts with a nod, /perhaps/ coming up with a few design plans behind briefly closed eyes. Twitch-tug and up goes one corner of his mouth in a lopsided grin, not bothering to correct the little flower's misconception. "Y'tellin' me y'think B wouldn't have wings in a heartbeat, ze got hir mind set on it?" His shoulders rise and fall in a slow roll of a shrug. "Dunno 'bout avertin' or not. But it seems t'be the way of apocalypse predictors t'set ways'n schedules, then back out of 'em when things don't go like they say. An' set new ways'n schedules after, 'cause what else s'a doomsayer t'do?" He reaches out a hand to pet at Tola's head gently. "Guess it /could/ be y'keep tellin' enough folks 'bout the end times y'get 'em dealt with long enough t'kick the can down the road, though." "I don't know," Mel concedes, shaking her head. "It's mostly a conclusion I jump to, unfortunately. I still remember the nightmares of people I love being killed back when Prometheus was still around. Predicting anything worse than that makes me want to get B to build me a rocket to another planet." The words are tempered as she glances toward her daughter, who is playing with the felt teeth on her costume. "Well, ze doesn't now. Maybe. Later. Maybe B build giant dragonfly wings and we go flying. And go up, up, up in the sky and live on clouds." She turns her head to eye B's dad. "When ze comin' back? Still a school?" "B's got a flying motorcycle, seems like wings enough." Flicker's fingers trail gentle and light over Tola's sharky head. He gives his abandoned textbook a grimace. Closes it, instead of picking it back up. "Hopefully Thanksgiving. She owes me a fight. I should get down there before everyone's too beat to --" Pause, twitch-smile; quick and bright it almost masks the tension that still reflexively creeps into him at the mention of Prometheus. "... beat?" Though he has a small tentacled shark on his lap that makes it difficult to get up just now. “Oh, hush now, sugar. Prometheus didn't drive us off the planet, so shouldn't some maybe-maybe-not prophesyin' succeed where they failed.” Micah nods in answer to Tola. “School does take a terrible-long time t'finish. But I expect ze'll be back for Thanksgivin', yeah.” He reaches out to help free up Flicker's lap. Baby kaiju, gimme. “Y'all take care an' make sure y'got enough healers t'handle you.” "Goo' goo'd" Tola nods graciously to Micah's and Flicker's declaration of when B would be back. Then the little flower yawns. "Nooo. Flicka time. Wanna watcha movie?" Melinda nods and inhales deeply. "I was going through a rough time, okay? Hormones all over the place, scared about raising the sprout, losing the lofts... it was a year of nightmares. I know things aren't so bad now, mostly because we're on the other side of it." She kneels down beside Flicker and watches as Micah scoops up her daughter and pulls her in close, freeing Flicker up to leave. "Maybe Micah'll watch something with you? We haven't subjected you to the latest Pixar for the fiftieth time yet, right?" She pulls Flicker in for a shoulder squeeze before letting him leave so she can have the bean bag. Flicker relinquishes the smallflower to Micah with one last kiss to the forehead. The flexible tentacle of his mechanical limb curls over Mel's shoulder in return, gentle in its small return squeeze. "We're so far on the other side of it." Just a quiet murmur of assurance. He gathers up his things. Gives Micah a smile. "Always do. See you later." A shiver, a shimmer of motion, and he's gone. "Weren't sayin' it wasn't a rough time. Was that'n then some, s'just...that bit's over with now. Take a deep breath, honey." This last Micah says with a warm-reassuring smile. "Whatcha wanna watch, little shark?" Behind Tola's head, Micah mime-mouths to Mel well enough to indicate he expects the baby kaiju to be asleep well before the movie is over. That little yawn only helps his assertion along. Melinda snorts softly and moves over toward the DVD selection, picking out a sufficiently bright and colorful animation for the trio to watch before picking something perhaps more interesting for adults to watch and knit to.