ArchivedLogs:Quiet Company

Quiet Company
Dramatis Personae Jim, Hive, Micah, Flicker
In Absentia	17 August 2014 Hive comes home.
Location <NYC> The Unicomplex - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Flicker and Hive split the basement in this apartment; coming down the stairs emerges into an open expanse of shared space, with a pair of desks on opposite walls and large cabinets holding an enormous library of board and card games. The bookshelves here are packed predominantly with sci-fi and fantasy as well as a mass of roleplaying sourcebooks. The walls are eclectically decorated. A replica of Arya Stark's Needle, a few bright-colored but anachronistically somewhat morbid paintings of Jax's, a Mega Man X poster, a stained-glass suncatcher hung in the window and a collage of feathers framed on one wall. Up near the ceiling there's a large square hanging frame strung with netting -- a nearly ceiling-wide sort of hammock though it's hard to immediately discern how to access it. A side door leads to the bathroom, small but neat in pale stone tile. Towards the back there are walls dividing off the actual sleeping areas, tiny-cosy rooms mostly only large enough for the bed-dresser-closet combinations they contain. It's generally easy to figure out which one of the bedrooms is Hive's from the large amount of /clutter/ contrasting Flicker's perpetually tidy space. Flicker's full bed can be folded up into a recess in the wall, while Hive's larger queen hangs from the ceiling by sturdy black chains. Warm late evening in New York may not be overheated with the sun down, but the night harbors yet a humidity in the midst of city smells and distant night time traffic. All is quiet outside -- until a long-missing sound abruptly thumps into the door. Literally - Jim's terrible habit of gripping handle and thumping shoulder to the entrance BEFORE unlocking it doesn't seem to have faded with vacation time. Which means shortly after that is the sound of swearing and the jingle of keys. ... Also a howl of, "--Anyone home?" Out on the stoop, alongside Hive's wheelchair, he's riffling rapidly through his keyring. Hive's /scowl/ has not faded with vacation time, either, expression scrunched into a distinctly displeased look where he slouches in the chair. He's dressed in comfortably lightweight clothes -- white sarong with a plain blue border, sleeveless grey shirt; wrapped to fit him, the sarong makes him look slightly less emaciated than his generally too-large pants typically do. There's a prickle of impatient irritation at Jim's attempt to break his door down; the prickle comes with an equally impatient /shove/ of his mind into the other man's. Just long enough to pick out the right key before he jerks away just as quickly. Well, yelling outside late on a work night is one way to get attention. While a sleepier face may peer or glare out of a window here and there, the front door to Lighthaus opens to expel one Micah. It's clearly Pajama O'clock, even for him, hair beyond mussed, feet bare, and clothing consisting of a pale blue T-shirt and pajama pants dotted with tiny TARDISes tumbling through space. "S'everythin' okay out here?" he calls back, /considerably/ softer, volume aimed to be just enough to carry to his intended targets as he closes his door and makes his way over to the neighbouring stoop. "Ohgosh, y'all just gettin' in? S'good t'see you. I know Dusk's been missin' folks somethin' fierce but I couldn't say if he's home just now." He leans in to wrap an arm loosely over Hive's shoulders for a moment in a greeting half-hug. << Thanks >>, Jim KIND of thinks it at Hive. In that the telepath's such a familiar presence he doesn't really need to thank his own /mind/ for locating the proper key, but appreciates that it works all the same. Telepathic interaction is weird. "Pfff," he steps aside when Micah appears just inside the door as though he'd absently just expected the man to dive past him to inflict hugs on the bony bastard in the chair, "Yeah, sorry'slate. International flights haven't gotten much better. You'd think with all the money they pour into fucking holograms and /drone/bots, they could make airplanes a little more fucking classy." He steps in behind the chair once hugs are through to begin rolling Hive through the door. Just... a bit more gingerly than his gruff voice might want to admit to. "How's it." To Micah. Presumably. Hive doesn't exactly return the hug so much as slouch forward into it, forehead bonking up against Micah's shoulder and leaning there for longer than strictly necessary. The contact comes with a slow mental squeeze, coiling in around Micah's mind and constricting there for a long moment. He thuds back again so that he can be rolled inside, eyes flicking around the house in hungry exploration like he might possibly have been concerned it wouldn't /be/ here any more when he got back. He echoes Jim's question, too, curious-questioning images flicking through Micah's mind. Dusk. The pups. Spence. Jax. Horus. /Micah/. How are -- /everyone/. Flicker, unsurprisingly, doesn't /use/ the door when he appears; one blink and then another and then another and he is dropping bags in the center of the living room. Not a /ton/ of bags, none of these people are particularly fussy heavy /packers/. A backpack, a duffel bag, another backpack. Probably Mel and Tola had a lot more Things for him to cart around, babies tend to breed Stuff. "Oh /man/," he's a lot more effusive than the other two when he's finally free of Things and can blip over to give Micah a /fierce/ one-armed hug. "S'good to see you ahhh look nobody burned the place down see?" Micah's lean dips even further, chin tilted down to kiss the top of Hive's head as it rests on his shoulder. His arm squeezes tighter, only releasing Hive when he pushes into his seat back. "Everybody's okay, hon. Place is still here. Shane's still spendin' most of 'is time over Evolve. Spence's wrappin' up camp an' all excited school's startin' again. Jax actually went on an overnight trip upstate with that Georgia boy who was lookin' for 'is parents. Found 'em roughin' it out there. Horus is...still. It's been rough. The whole Themis. Thing. An' B, too. Ze actually left for awhile on account of...the situation with Neve." There is a /whole/ lot more guilt clinging to that last statement than it would imply on the surface. "But ze's back now. Though...come t'think of it, ain't nobody /seen/ Neve since Luci tinkered on her noggin' back Thursday. I been over there any number of times since Saturday mornin' an' there's no answer at the door." His brow furrows, lips switching over to one side, then the expression fades in a dismissive shake of his head. Not important just now. /Especially/ once there is a Flicker to hug. Both arms wrap snugly around the other man's ribs, squeezing tight. "S'good t'see you, too. Place is pretty much intact, yeah." Falling in step behind Jim, he follows the others into the house. Jim's mind pricks at part of this - and then compresses, cramming down the swell of some uncomfortable ache to a dull background noise, jaw tight and eyes focused straight ahead. And just focuses on listening. On seeing Hive further into the household, moving slowly to let the telepath get as much of an eye full as he needs, one hand set on the telepath's shoulder and... gripping the material of his sarong into a twist. That arm that's unfolding towards Micah's side - christ, some sort of almost-reflexive ... hug. Thing. PAT. To Micah's back once he's in proximity, right between the shoulder blades. << couch or straight to bedroom? >> Sort of just thinking this to himself. Sort of skipping the middle man and asking /as/ he thinks it. Hive's jaw tightens, too, teeth creaking in a slow grind. The crrrk scrape of enamel comes with a slowly tightening squeeze around Jim's mind, as well. It lets up with a relaxation that feels almost like a mental sigh; he answers the thought with a (throbbing) (headachey) image of his bed. Flicker's squeeze, much like Hive's head-thump, lasts a good bit past Standard Hug Time. Where Hive has withered a little further on his vacation, Flicker has filled out some, a healthier padding of muscles and sun-browned skin as testament to a whole lot of solid home cooking in between roaming the streets of Bangkok. "Erk. Should drop in on B, she could --" His brows furrow. "Probably everyone could use hugs." His green eyes flick to Jim, then down to the floor with the quiet addition: "... Neve's probably. Got a whole lot to think about." And then, because this house isn't /built/ for ease of wheelchair movement, a hand drops to Hive's shoulder. Together with the bony telepath, he vanishes, leaving -- people who can navigate /stairs/ to do so on their own. "Prob'ly everyone could use hugs," Micah agrees, just holding Flicker until the other man moves away. But, true to the statement, there are also Jim hugs, which Micah returns (thankfully) with a /little/ less pounce and squeeze than Flicker's. "I guess. S'just concernin' that she won't even let a body know if she's doin' okay. Or keepin' 'erself fed an' cared for an' all." He finds his way to the stairs to follow...a little on the slow side as is his usual when steps are involved. Jim's mind clenches like a fist, briefly, gratefully, around the pressure Hive's mind, deeply rooted and stubbornly /solid/ yet for whatever other turmoil may be here. Hardening further, if anything as Micah continues on speaking, so that his hug, brief but welcomed, also has a faint stiff-clench to it. Maybe he's just really shitty at giving hugs. He folds up the wheelchair to carry it down the stairs behind Micah, growling only, "We all got a lot to think about." And, as they near the top, he adds lower, "--I'll start looking t'morrow, 'f she's missing. See if I can't find where she went. Check the fucking... tunnels." He re-opens the chair once downstairs, heading for Hive's room where he'll likely need it later. There's a ripple of pressure up against the other men's minds, a little prickly, a little cranky; it comes with vague half-formed shadows and a mental image of Lucien that soon fades away. Downstairs, Flicker is settling Hive into bed, unwrapping the sarong to tuck the telepath beneath the blankets. His brows are faintly creased at this prickling, non-comprehension in his expression until some further silent clarification from Hive. "Mnh. I can't imagine Lucien's paying her rent but letting her starve," he acknowledges. Hive doesn't seem inclined to offer any /further/ thoughts on Neve, only resting his cheek against the pillow and settling in, eyes scrunched tightly closed. Micah waits to pick up the thread of conversation until everyone is in the same room once more. "I know...I'd just feel better if she were comin' t'the kitchens t'fetch food or if there were delivery people over her place or if she'd open the door." He frowns at this last, offering a helpless shrug to Jim. "We don't even know if she's /gone/ anywhere. She could just be holed up in her house not answerin' folks. I don't rightly know." Moving close to the side of Hive's bed, Micah runs a hand down the other man's back. "You need anythin', hon? Or just some quiet so's y'can sleep?" "Shadows don't starve," Jim intones neutrally, while rolling the chair up alongside Hive's bed where it's easily accessible. And from there, as Micah touches Hive's back, he rests a hand over the telepath's head - not ruffling so much as smoothing the short hair in the same direction a few gentle times. As though by touch he might smooth out the tense lines between his /brows/. "Any more'n trees do." He seems about to move his hand away - then stoops over and just mashes his brow against the side of Hive's head. "Fuck it. I'm going to bed. In my own god damn dirt." He loves his dirt. Standing, he claps Micah again on the shoulder. Possibly has an awkwardhug for Flicker. And, stiff backed and hands clenched, mind about the same, he sets himself in the direction of home. After maybe a few long rounds of patrolling the grounds outside. Reasserting his dominance on the local plants. Brooding. "It's probably well and truly Ash's dirt by now," Flicker answers Jim with a small lopsided smile, a small lopsided hug. He settles down onto the edge of Hive's bed, finally setting about the task of working his own boots off. The scrunch in Hive's forehead /does/ smooth out slightly with the touch, though his teeth stay clenched and creaking against each other. He huffs out a quiet breath as Jim heads out, his hand slowly shifting to find Micah's -- arm. Maybe he was aiming for hand. At any rate he is tugging gently, mind coiling in to give a small mental tug, too. It comes with a feeling of affirmation -- quiet, sleep, yes. But maybe the kind of quiet with /company/. It appears Micah has no more to say on the topic of Neve just now, a small nod offered to Jim at his last thoughts. "G'night, Jim. Rest well. Trips are usually a little exhaustin'." He pauses a moment before addressing practical matters. "Your appointment's all set for Tuesday. I'll take you...gonna keep the whole day open from work. An' Joshua's said he'll be available t'help however that can go." The tug on his arm is quickly answered, Micah clamping off the thread of chatter and climbing into the bed at Hive's side and holding him close. Another light kiss finds the top of the other man's head. "Y'just get some sleep, honey. I'll stay as long as y'need."