From X-Men: rEvolution
Dramatis Personae

Daken, Jax, Micah, Spencer


"Not like I wanted to play any of your reindeer games anyway."


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

Bright and sunny-light, this house lives up to its name. With a plethora of enormous windows flooding the place with light and an open layout, the ground floor feels more spacious than it is.

The small entryway has a closet space for shoes and coats, and doors at either side leading to the neighboring apartments. Past this it opens straight into the living room, a wide expanse of space bordered on one side by a curved set of stairs leading up (with colourful glass tiling on the risers between each stair) and next to these, the half-wall into the kitchen. Cool pale tile underfoot and many dark cabinets with a small walk-in pantry, plentiful custom granite countertops, black and speckled faintly with rainbowy flecks, lots of hanging space overhead for cookware, a large double-oven. There's a strip of rather detailed mosaic-work in the kitchen backsplash, colourful glass tiling depicting strange fantastical herbs and small faeries and firelizards darting among them. In back of the kitchen, a door opens up to a small sunroom, wide and two-stories high with a balcony overlook from the second floor; two of the windows here have cushioned windowseats, and there's a wealth of herbs growing in hanging pots and small window-boxes.

The back wall of the living room is nearly entirely dominated by windows, huge and allowing a view of the river beyond with bench windowseats lining the sills. There are plentiful paintings on the wall, surreal and fantasy-inspired, mostly in shades of blacks greys with bright bursts of colour that are mirrored in the decor -- monochrome upholstery on the couch and armchair but colourful throw-pillows, black and white huge corduroy beanbags (and one large red doggie-bed,) soft throw rugs also in mostly black and white with splashes of rainbow woven in. The hand-built furniture -- tall chairs by the kitchen/living room counter, dining table and chairs in the kitchen, low coffeetable in the living room -- has been hand-painted as well, black with bursts of colourful abstract designs.

Along the living room's other wall, doors branch off to a full bathroom -- in white and deep blue with one wall of the shower done in colourful intricate mosaic too, an underwater scene full of strange mythical water-creatures; tiny water-sprites have been interspersed at random points in the rest of the wall tiles, as well. There's a small studio space beside the bathroom, large windows as well and a gratuitous amount of shelving and cabinets along the walls; this room has very /little/ colour in it, just white walls and black furnishing.

The kitchen smells like coffee, and waffles. It's possible that Cooking is not high on the list of Things To Be Doing With A Chest Full Of Stitches, and yet. At the moment there is a sleepy-eyed pale-faced nine-year old sitting droopily at the kitchen table pushing a half-eaten waffle around his plate in a desultory kind of way, and a bowl of chocolatey batter still on the counter. Jax is ladling a fresh round for himself into the dual-sided waffle iron. He's kind of half-dressed and half-in pajamas, still, in the /process/ of getting ready for his day but not quite actually there. Soft purple yoga pants and fuzzy mismatched socks, but a red tee reading 'All my heroes have FBI files' around a screenprint of a monkey wrench, a silver and black and red sweatshirt, hair and goatee and nails and makeup done up today in black and red and metallic-silver as well. His movements are occasionally stiff. Occasionally.

Micah is a little more together already, since Jax claimed the cooking (likely over gentle protest). He is in his ubiquitous TARDIS-blue polo shirt and khakis, busily piling papers and tablet and laptop into his messenger bag in preparation for his morning class. Eventually, he ends up back in the kitchen to grab a glass of orange juice. "I'll take Spence t'school t'day, hon. I've also let folks know at work that I may need t'leave at any time? If y'need anythin'. I can still just call in..." His teeth dig into his lower lip, trying and failing to keep worry out of his eyes. "How're you doin'?"

Daken arrives after asking a few questions, and having a few asked of him. He's dressed in a white jacket thrown over a black v-neck shirt, and the jeans he's wearing are a bit frayed in places, most prominently the right knee. He pauses outside the door, nostrils flaring slightly. "Looks like I'm crashing breakfast." Then he's ringing the bell.

"I'm /fine/," Jax insists (likely not for the first time this morning.)

"I can take myself to school," Spencer insists (likely not for the first time this year.)

The sound of the doorbell puts a sudden sharper tension in Jax, his eye flicking towards the door quickly. Obie is first to the door, the one-eyed beagle scampering over hastily to snuffle at it, tail wagging eagerly. Jax is a little slower, stopping to slip his sunglasses on, pausing too with one hand on the doorknob and a small frown on his face. "... y'ain't expectin' no company, are you, honey-honey?"

There's a hesitation before he opens the door, security chain still in place and a barely-visible translucent shimmer spread across the door and the crack where it has opened. "'kai help you?" His thick Southern drawl is very polite, if reserved.

"I'll take you. Gets me a little more Spence time 'fore I hafta give you up t'learnin' things for most of the day," Micah insists to Spence with a playful smile. "An' I know, hon. I just don't got an 'off' switch on the fret machine an' I love you." His hand pets gently at Jax's arm, not enough to interrupt his cooking but enough to have that /touch/ there. The doorbell is enough to startle him stark-upright, heart beating faster than it should over such a thing. "Nobody I know'd be comin' over this early. Be careful, sugar..." There is likely more he'd like to add about their address not being the hardest thing to find, but he doesn't want to scare Spence. "You stay here an' finish up breakfast." His voice is a mustered casual with that instruction, adding a gentle ruffling to Spence's hair as he moves past to stand a few feet behind Jax, watching the door.

"Jackson Holland?" Daken greets, polite smile touching his features, it only takes a glance through the partially opened door for him to confirm it is indeed Jax, and he continues speaking. "I assume you haven't seen the news this morning? They've issued a warrant for your arrest. Apparently you, of all people, beat down three human rights activists and put them in the hospital. But it /was/ Fox reporting." He pauses a moment to let his words sink in. "I'm Daken, an interested third party. Not for the 'human-rights activists', but for the truth. I followed the other trial you were involved in, and putting bigots in the hospital doesn't seem like something you'd do. Unprovoked anyway. Oh, and I have a few other questions, and you two are the only people I could think to ask."

"I'm faster, you know," Spencer points out to Micah, pushing a square of waffle around his plate. "/And/ eco-friendly." He does kind of obey the /letter/ of the law in Staying There, keeping his knee planted on his chair as he rises, stretching out as far as he can to peer towards the door.

Jax does not get any less tense at the sound of his name. The faint shimmer of shield doesn't fade from the door, though his expression is very slightly paler. "I ain't -- really been lookin' at the -- ah. Oh." His brow rumples at this news, his fingers tightening on the door handle. A small turn of his head casts a glance back towards Spencer, then to Daken again. "Apologies, I don't -- /who/ are -- why are you here?"

The full-name delivery also sets Micah's teeth on edge. Sure sign of an utter stranger. His eyebrows dip in a near attempt to meet one another at the news said stranger delivers. Though it is destined to be a matter for another time, since the man is still there. "'Third party' s'awful vague for showin' up on a family's doorstep uninvited. Not t'be rude, but who are you an' why should we be answerin' your questions?" A hand settles into his pocket, over his phone.

"I suppose you're right. I should have introduced myself with my slave name." Daken sighs, and he doesn't really look happy about it. "Akihiro Howlett, son of James 'Logan' Howlett. I think you know him, and that's part of why I'm here. I know you've worked with him. Oh, and please don't share my name please?" His right hand raises where Jax can see it, and there's a soft SNK as two ebony claws spring forth from between his knuckles, but they're gone almost as soon as they appear. More him offering proof to who is father is than him trying to be intimidating. "But in reality, I want to know what really happened for them to issue a warrant. I don't think you attacked anybody."

"... slave name?" This just makes Jax look more confused. There's a very brief flicker of light around him when those claws come out. The door doesn't open any wider. "I jus' -- I don't -- forgive me, I don't understand why you're /here/? Or who you -- what's -- this is all jus' -- kinda real sudden, you know?"

The confusion is pretty well shared, though Micah only /mouths/ his repetition of 'slave name' rather than questioning out loud. The phone comes out when the claws do, Micah stepping forward as if he would be much use should a fight break out. No matter the intent, flashing weapons on a stranger's doorstep seems to come across as threatening to him. "Are you a reporter or somethin'? This ain't the way t'go about gettin' a story."

"Alright, let me slow it down a bit. It's a bit early, and you weren't expecting company. I'm not a reporter. I had a friend who was attacked not too long ago. Arrow to the midsection, it was coated in rat poison. So I want to know who the activists were, and what really happened. Because things aren't adding up here, and nobody ever has anything to say about you that's bad, unless they're a right wing reporter." Daken exhales through his nose, fingertips finding their way into his pockets. "And, I wanted to ask you about Logan before you turned yourself in, or went into hiding. I never met him, and what I have heard from people that know him here doesn't match up to what I was told growing up. I know about his involvement in both world wars, how he allegedly murdered my mother while she was pregnant with me, and how he went off the grid for a few years before coming back with shiny new bones. But I've never met him, and I don't know who else to ask that would be impartial about it. The bastard's my father, and the truth is hard to find. If you want me to leave though, I'll turn around right now. And you won't have to worry about seeing me again for a while."

Back in the kitchen, Spencer has abandoned his waffle, wriggling out of his seat to peer towards the door. "-- Who /is/ that? Someone's been /murdered/? /Again/?"

"-- What? No, nobody's -- that ain't --" Jax lifts his hand from the doorknob, though between the shield wrapped around it and the security chain it still doesn't open any farther. He scrubs his knuckles against his cheek, head dropping forward to rest against the edge of the door. Behind him, there's a faint shiver of light again. "I don't -- what? You come here t'ask me about your -- look, I'm -- m'sorry for whatever -- family -- difficulties you got in your past, that sounds -- real -- awful, but I -- I can't give you no information about nobody. That jus' ain't -- I ain't even sure what exactly you're. Lookin' for here but I. Ain't sure m'the right person to -- I wish I could help you but I don't exactly give out other people's personal information t'strangers, you know?"

"Just someone askin' a lotta questions," Micah answers Spence with that put-on calm again, turning back to the child. He...might also be stepping directly in the line of sight between Spence and the door. "Nothin' t'worry 'bout. Finish eatin' so we can get y'to school on time, hon." As far as the rest of Daken's story goes, Micah just...blinks. And apparently has nothing to say in answer.

Daken just sighs. "Alright. Hopefully I'll meet Wolverine alone and we can have a father-son chat." A hand comes up to brush over his hair, "I'll be sixty-nine next month. /Sixty-nine/. You'd think I'd have people for stuff like this by now. Guess I better go find Jack." He seems to remember he has manners and inclines his head politely. "Thank you for your time. Even if it was through a crack in a door."

"/Hey/." Spencer blips out of his seat /now/, frowning as he reappears on the other side of the kitchen counter where he can see the door better. "I can get to school on time /fine/ it doesn't even take /me/ any time at all it's not /my/ fault your car is slow why are they asking a lot of questions?"

"I don't rightly know, honey-honey. Some people jus' --" Jax straightens, face a little paler but a harder tension in his jaw. "/Excuse/ you? Exactly /why/ do you think you need to go hasslin' /kids/ now with your family issues, too? You're a sixty-nine year old man, you can work out your problems without draggin' teenagers into it or so help me --" His lips press hard together. "You do what you need to do with your father, but you had best not be bringin' no children into it."

"Jack?" is all Micah manages at first, mouth remaining open a little too long in disbelief. "Do you /know/ him? Y'/don't/ go stalkin' an' harassin' injured kids. It ain't no kinda right." He might be prepared to express further thoughts on the matter, but Jax is doing well enough and with closer proximity to the person they're addressing. "You're obviously able t'find people y'don't even know t'put questions on. Might be y'could better spend your time findin' the people you /do/ know yourself, who're the appropriate people for your questions, rather'n draggin' kids through your personal problems."

"I'm not interested in asking anybody else about Logan." Daken says politely, though the anger does add a slight curl to his lip. "But what exactly, would you do?" An obvious challenge. "Burn me, put holes in me? I suggest waiting until you heal up though. Wouldn't exactly be.. Fair." A tongue darts out to wet his lips and it's obvious that he finds the idea amusing. "And I never said who Jack was, but I guess we're all talking about the same person. I've met him. Watched you all come and go from the safehouse nobody ever thought to invite me to. Not like I wanted to play any of your reindeer games anyway. But if he's injured, and you're injured, I bet it was from the same place. And I bet it was the same person that hurt my people. And /that/ is what I came here to find out. You working with my father was a side-venture."

Jax's jaw tightens at the mention of the safehouse, a faint flicker of shadow curling around his hands. "Have you been /stalking/ us?" He doesn't actually sound surprised, though he does sound a little bit disgusted. He takes a half step back. "Get off my doorstep. And don't come near my family or any of my students." The door closes, firmly, the locks (there are quite a few) clicking solidly shut.

"Showin' up on strangers' doorsteps makin' threats ain't no kinda okay, neither." Just in case Daken truly wanted to know. Micah just cringes at the rest of it. "That's... Very. Stalkery. I think you should leave an' not come back. Now." Again, Jax seems to have that well in hand. What /Micah/ has in hand is his phone. "Should I call Dusk?" The question comes once the door is closed.

Daken goes to say something else, but the slamming just pisses him off. "Alright, I'll keep this in mind." he says quietly. "Can't ask a goddamned question anymore." Then he turns to leave, hands finding his pockets.

Jax slumps back against the door, the shield fading as he slides down to sit on the ground. His face is very pale, his hand very shaky as he lifts it to -- half-pet, half-wrestle Obie away from slobbering all over his face. "... well." His head bows. "... y'all should. Get t'-- school. I -- should email Jack an' -- warn him. An' then." He frowns. Deep. "I guess. Head t'the. Police station. 'fore they come smash everything up /again/."

"Alla those things, yeah. I'll hold off with Dusk. S'probably asleep, this hour. But I want t'get 'im t'put that fella on the ping list /today/. Don't like not one thing 'bout the way he was actin'." Micah moves forward to put a supporting arm around Jax, using the other to help contain Obie once his phone has slid back into his pocket. "Can I take you, hon? I can't... I'm not in a teachin' class place right now. I can e-mail m'lesson plan for the day or they can let the kids watch a video or somethin'. Be more effective than me right now, I... I'll get Spence t'school then go with you. It's better if there's someone with you." The squeeze applied to Jax's shoulders is gentle. "Meantime, y'should eat as much as y'can. S'always a fight gettin' your food situation straight. An' sit in the sunroom t'eat it, maybe."

"I," Spencer says with a small annoyed /huff/, "can get /myself/ to school. You look sick. Is that guy going to come back? Are you going to fight him?"

Jax grimaces, shaking his head fiercely. "... ain't plannin' on it? I don't think he -- I don't know, honey-honey. I /hope/ not. I think he was jus' -- a little -- off." His head thumps back against the door, a small shiver running through him. "I'm fine," he insists to Micah. "Jus' want to send Jack a head's up an' maybe a quick -- sketch of who t'look out for an' then. Get down t'the station." The shiver this time is a little more /ugh/. "... maybe text Eric an' let him know I'm comin'. Deal with someone less likely t'shoot me. It'll be fine."

"If he does come back, we'll have him set off alarms on the camera system, sugar. It'll be okay," Micah reassures Spencer. He lifts a hand to pet through Jax's hair. "Honey, please let me fuss over you a little? Get you fed an' sunned 'fore goin'. E-mailin' Jack's a good plan. An' tellin' Eric. I'll text Eric while you talk at Jack. But I want t'take you. Please? It's better when y'have someone." Sadly, this is the voice of experience talking.

"Oh, /gosh/, m'waffles is burnin' all up." Jax pushes to his feet with a grit of teeth and a grimace, shaking his head quickly. "Food, yes. But I --" His arm curls around his stomach as he heads back toward the kitchen. "Spence-honey, y'should finish your breakfast."

"Oh...oh, apologies, I was so distracted I didn't think t'check on 'em, neither, sugar." Micah's head shakes slowly. "Should set yourself up with more. At least /try/ t'eat what y'can. Make this as...less bad as we can." A little distracted still, Micah locates his discarded OJ glass to drain the rest.

"I'm /eating/." Jax goes to pry the charred husks of waffle out of the iron, fingers glowing as he brushes the iron clean not with a paper towel but with his fingertips. He sprays it down with oil, ladling fresh batter in. "An' I don't want no fuss. I jus' -- want t'get things done an' get down to the station. I'll," he says again, quiet and slower, "be fine. Y'all should -- get on with. Your mornin'."

"Okay, hon. It won't take me a minute t'get Spence t'school an' be back. You'll prob'ly still be gettin' ready. I can take you there. I want to. An' like I said, I' good for teachin' this mornin' no-how." Micah's head shakes slowly again. "S'no trouble, honey. I want to. Love you."

"/You/ want to," Jax finally replies, a more frustrated edge sharpening his tone. "I /said/ I'll be fine on my own more'n once now an' I'm /sorry/ but can you please jus' --" His knuckles press down against the countertop, arm a little shaky where his weight leans on it. "Jus'. Back /off/ an' leave some space for what I want on this?"

Spencer's eyes open a little wider at the sharper tone, a small flush of colour in his cheeks. He picks up the rest of his waffle, vanishing to disappear upstairs.

"You're shakin'," is all Micah can reply at first, clearly still concerned. "I...don't understand. But if y'really want t'go by yourself. I guess it'll be okay in the end." His teeth do more damage chewing at his lower lip. "Just not sure when I'll get t'see you again."

"Of course I'm /shaking/." Jax's voice is a little bit clipped. "I had a little bit'a a long /night/. An' I'm /tired/ an' some stalker shows up first thing in the mornin' after I been /shot/ an' I'm drained all t'heck an' I didn't have near enough time t'recover from last /night/ 'fore wallin' that door off an' I jus' want t'crawl back int' bed for a week but there's a warrant out t'/arrest/ me for defendin' myself an' I'm /just/ a little bit stressed." He pushes away from the counter, getting out a plate to set next to the waffle iron. "Don't none of that mean I done suddenly forgot how t'take /care/ of myself, I was cooking my breakfast 'fore we knowed about the warrant an' I promise i still know how t'cook it after. An' with crazy stalkers and vigilantes runnin' around I ain't gonna be no bit /less/ stressed headin' out an' havin' /two/ people to fret over when I leave here 'stead'a jus' myself."

"I know you're perfectly capable, sugar. But I /also/ know you're hurt an' strained and stressed. I just wanted t'help try an' take some of that so you wouldn't hafta hold /all/ of it alone. I love you." Micah looks a little hurt for the rant, but not in any way angered. "I'll stay if it makes you feel like I'm safer. I swear, I'm a capable enough person t'leave the house, honest. But I don't wanna...make nothin' feel harder for you. I' t'Tian-shin when I get back, instead. See if this is the kinda mutant rights case she was wantin'."

"I don't /care/ if you stay /here/, Micah." The previously small edge of frustration is sharpening further in Jax's tone, at least, towards actual anger. "/I/ wasn't never the one sayin' /you/ wasn't capable of leavin' the house without me. /You/ can do whatever you shardin' well please with your day, alls /I/ said is that it /ain't gonna be helpful to me/ t'have you escortin' me around. That'll make me /more/ stressed, not less. If you seriously want t'/help/ maybe actually listen." He retrieves his waffle from the iron, loading it up with strawberries and maple syrup and cashew cream before taking it to sit down at the kitchen table. His head drops down into his hand, fingers scrunching tight into his hair and the air around him pulsing faintly with a dim shiver of greenish light.

"I heard you, sugar. That's why I said I wouldn't go with you if it makes you feel like I'm safer. You're upset, an' I think that's makin' it hard for you t'hear /me/." Micah takes a slow breath to match his even tone. "I was only sayin' that I would find other ways t'help that ain't bothersome t'you. Was hopin' t'offer some small reassurance in that." He shifts a little, foot to foot. "I'd like t'give you a hug. If you'd rather I go, I'll just follow Spence upstairs."

"Please," Jax's voice is quieter, though largely by virtue of his teeth now being gritted, "I love you but for now jus', go."

"Okay," Micah returns softly...simply softer, no gritting involved. "If you're still here when I get back I'd like t'say goodbye b'fore y'go." He looks up then, head tilting slightly as he regards Jax. "Love you, honey." He rests his glass in the sink rather than washing it as he usually would, retreating up the stairs.

Jax's fingers just stay fisted up in his hair, the light still shivering unsteadily around him. It takes a while before he picks up his fork to work his way slowly through his breakfast.