ArchivedLogs:Rust in the Rain

Rust in the Rain
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Micah
In Absentia	12 May 2014 Snuggles. Mostly. >_> (Part of the Perfectus TP.)
Location <XS> Forest
Quiet and shady, the trees rise all around here high and thick. In stillness, woodland creatures make appearances, though sudden noises scare them back into the cover. Dappled sunlight filters down between the thick foliage, and the ground underfoot is heavily overgrown, though here and there paths have been worn, by deer or years of students wandering familiar trails. The day has been somewhat muggy, overcast but warm. The night is much the same, the air heavy out here among the trees. It’s far enough from the mansion that it’s quiet, dark, the school a distant concern -- here it feels almost like genuine wilderness. The chirp of crickets, the occasional hoot of night-birds; keen enough hearing might pick up the high calls of bats flitting between the trees. Or walking between them. One bony-dark shadow is marked here by the ember-red glow of his cigarette cherry. Dusk is dressed in cargo shorts, barefoot, shirtless, the wounds in his shoulder and leg neatly bandaged now. The dark velvety wings that drape against his back seem /bigger/ than they used to be; his hair is a floofy extravagant expanse falling floppy over his face and a dark scruff of beard has grown out over his pale face. He moves slowly, pace uneven-limping, through the trees, a dark silhouette among the cloudy muffled-grey moonlight. Micah is dressed in thrift store hiking clothes: waterproof olive pants that zip off at the knees (if one doesn't mind zippers that stick a little) and a rusty red-orange T-shirt. A light brown brimmed hat is designed to keep both rain and sun off of his face and neck, small spikes of messy auburn hair peeking down below the brim. He has a lightly-packed jogging bag on his back in place of a larger hiking pack, a testament to the shorter trip he intends. A single neon orange crutch is on his right arm, being used somewhat between balance pole and walking stick as Micah still isn't in perfect shape for hiking out in the damp. Micah's tracking skills make Dusk easy enough to find. The fact that he is not trying to conceal his own approach is obvious, considering he is a capable hunter and he is not moving with any particular stealth. The unstealthy approach pauses Dusk where he stands, head turning to listen to Micah’s steps. He pulls in another slow drag of cigarette, hand slightly shaky when he lowers it to knock ash off the end of the stick. His wings twitch at his back, toes curling against the damp ground. “I’m sorry,” he says, quiet, without actually turning around to properly /look/ at Micah. The steps continue without pause, bringing Micah about within arm's reach of Dusk before he stops. “Hi, hon. Y'don't have t'be. I understand...at least where things been comin' from for you. I ain't upset with you.” He blushes a little, free hand moving up the back of his neck to fuss through the hair below his hat. “Apologies for whackin' y'with m'crutch, too. But...figure it's much the same kinda situation.” His chin inclines to indicate Dusk's shoulder. “How're your bandages? Need changin'?” “You did that?” Dusk’s brow furrows, his eyes tracking down to Micah’s crutch; reflexively his wings tighten against his back. “Right. That -- happened.” His hand lifts slowly, fingers a little shaky as he takes another drag off his cigarette. He shakes his head at the offer of changing bandages, shoulder shifting in slow testing motion and then relaxing again. “Do you? Understand where -- because I --” ‘Don’t understand,’ he signs here. “I don’t. Fucking. Understand anything.” Micah's blush deepens as he nods in reply. “Yeah, it was...y'didn't know what y'were doin'. An' Jax... I just had t'get the two of you away from each other long enough for you t'be able t'understand what was happenin'.” He nods again at the question of understanding. “I know the story, at least. An' went through...somethin' similar in the meantime. Prob'ly understand what's goin' on with you as much as anybody. Second t'maybe Anole an' Rasa. Or the twins.” His teeth find his lower lip, pressing into it. “How much d'you wanna hear? 'Bout what all went on?” His eyes blink rapidly for a moment. “I just...missed you. Love you. Been so afraid all this time of what might...” Dusk’s head bows, his breath expelled in a slow stream of smoke. “I hurt him --” His wings shiver against his back, eyes fixed on the ground. He wraps his wings in against his shoulders tightly, thumb flicking rapidly against the end of his cigarette. “Rasa showed me -- showed me. Some -- some of.” He shakes his head quickly. “But it’s hard to -- I thought I was -- I wasn’t sure what --” He turns, now, finally, to look at Micah properly, one wing wrapping a little stiff and slow around himself more fully, curling cloak-like in around his chest. “Afraid of --?” “He's okay. An' he understands, honey. He's just been worried 'bout you. S'just like...when Shane first got out of the labs an' clawed at 'im a few times?” Micah pats at the air in front of him. “It's...just let me know. If y'wanna know. An' how much. 'Cause I can tell you.” He takes a step closer to Dusk, then stops, not knowing just how comfortable he is with People, yet. “Afraid of what'd happen t'you. Of losin' you. Did...stupid things. Just tryin' t'get you home. Still wasn't fast enough.” The quick-blinking makes a return appearance. “Stupid things?” Dusk shakes his head, uncomprehending. He moves a few feet over to sit down at the base of a tree, wings awkwardly spreading out to the sides behind him. “Tell me. I didn’t -- I thought I was.” He takes a last pull from his cigarette and then curls his hand around the butt, crushing the ember against his palm. “... dreaming. I don’t know. It was all -- gone I. Woke up and it was -- gone and I -- didn’t. Know what --” His arm curls around his chest, eyes turning up to Micah. “Tell me.” Yet another mute nod comes from Micah in answer. “It's a long story an' some of it's real gruesome. So...tell me if there's somethin' y'heard an' I won't rehash it. Or if it's too much, I'll stop, okay?” He follows behind Dusk, moving to sit near him. Looking /very much/ like he wants to snuggle up against him but not doing so uninvited. “You an' Ion got /took/ off the street by the safe house. Both of you such good fighters an' y'got /took/. They used water t'short out Ion or somethin'. Shot you. We didn't know what t'...where t'even start. Figured maybe it was the same folks as took Anole.” He pauses to run his tongue over his lips, a quick-darting triangle of pink. “Jax an' Sage went t'the place of the one person that got killed rescuin' Anole. He had all this crazy research stuff. An' a reference to a church. We ain't had no other leads an' it weren't safe for nobody with special abilities t'even /go out/ anymore, the way they kept takin' folks. So I went. T'the church. An' faked like I wanted t'join up with 'em. So I could maybe find you.” Dusk just nods along, head bobbing in numb mute acknowledgment as Micah speaks. “Fried Ion good. Is he even -- is he.” His head thuds back against the tree, eyes locking blankly up at the canopy overhead. “Rasa was scared. Scared they’d -- find out -- about you --” His brows crease slowly. “They took -- hir -- leg.” His head turns down, eyes slowly dropping to look down at Micah’s legs. “Ion's fine. He got away...through a power line or somethin'. Ended up at a Chuck E. Cheese, then in some guy's house in Tennessee. Think he was in jail for a second 'cause they thought he broke in. But he's just as...Ion as ever.” Micah manages a small smile at that. “Um...yeah. They got real bold 'bout takin' folks. Nabbed Rasa in broad daylight outside a coffee shop in Westchester. They put the school on lockdown.” He cringes at the shift in Dusk's gaze. “Um. They were. A creepy cult. Called themselves the Perfectus Church. Preachin' the perfectin' of humanity by makin' a Third Race. I convinced 'em I was there t'get m'leg fixed. 'Cause they was all talkin' 'bout healin' an' I met this blind girl. Oh goodness, Dusk, most of 'em didn't never /know/ what was bein' done. They took the girl in some back room an' she came back out with...with /your/ eyes, honey. Talkin' 'bout it bein' a layin' on hands kinda miracle. I almost couldn't...couldn't even...” Micah's shudder travels visibly down the length of his spine. “Did you get your -- leg --” Dusk’s eyes stay fixed down on Micah’s pants, brows creasing further. He reaches out, hand moving to Micah’s thigh, sliding down against it to run fingers down to the other man’s knee. He exhales heavily, eyes closing. “... could she see?” His other hand lifts, fingers pressing to his eyes. “I -- lost them. It was -- dark.” Micah doesn't answer that question immediately, cringing with a tiny sound from his throat at Dusk's sigh, which he interprets as misplaced relief. “She did. Does. Can now, yes.” He bites down on his lip again. “They invited me to a party with a bunch of 'em. Guess so they could meet me an' feel things out. An' then I got invited to a private meetin' where their cult leader'd be. I went back. That was the night we sent folks out t'rescue y'all. One of the Morlocks managed t'kill one of the super-powered cultists that came after 'em. An' got the license plate from the van. We were able t'find all the properties associated with 'em t'send people. An' I knew they'd be busy at the thing where I was. An' I could contact people as soon as it was over. Know exactly when their guard'd be lowest, right? An' they rescued y'all, but. Oh, honey. By then, your wings... We found out later they tried t'put 'em on some guy. But he didn't survive the process. Not everyone did. An' even the ones that survived the graftin', sometimes reject it later. An' if they get power with 'em, they're sometimes unstable an' evolve an'...” Finally, Micah just swallows hard and finishes the damned story. “The cult leader was John Sublime. He'd been gettin' information on people from his centres an' usin' /that/ t'know who t'take an' where an' how. What their abilities were. It's how they were so /good/ at it. He has this ability...t'/consume parts from people with abilities. An' then /grow/ them back onto other people just by puttin' his hands on 'em. An' he gets this...sorta remote vision connection t'the people he grafts. Access t'their thoughts an' memories.” His eyes track down to his leg now, too. “I didn't think they'd do anything with me so /soon/. But he wanted me. Because he knew how many of you that I was connected to. By that point, I couldn't say no. They...would've known somethin' was up. Might've killed me. Might've figured out the rescue raid. So I let 'im... Rasa's leg. An' hir ability, the touch telepathy. An' he...rewired m'brain for both. T'walk with a biological leg. T'have the telepathy an'. He was in my head. I hid in m'van for a week I was so afraid of what might happen if I was around people.” “-- No, but your leg is --” Dusk’s fingers curl against Micah’s knee, head shaking in confusion. He drops his hand back to his own lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shorts. “Sublime --” His lips press together, and he lapses back into quiet. “It still just. Feels like -- like I --” And then quiet again. His fingers continue to twitch restlessly against the fabric of his shorts. His wing slowly curls upward, shifting against the bark of the tree and snaking around behind Micah’s back to wrap around the other man’s shoulders, pulling Micah in close to his side. Micah spills the last of his knowledge of what happened. “'Cause they knew 'bout things like Jax teachin' at the school, an' Rasa an' the boys an' Anole goin' there. They thought maybe...they could pick up a few more people there? Absolutely brazen...all the super-powered cultists an' Sublime /attacked/ the /school/. Everybody's fine. None of the kids got hurt. Some of the teachers did, but they're recovered now. They had t'keep Sublime in the Danger Room, he was so...well, dangerous. Every time he took a part from somebody, he gained their /abilities/, too. He's...gone now. I ain't asked. What Xavier finally /did/ with 'im.” Micah's hand moves to his knee. “I couldn't /take/ it, Dusk. Knowin' he was in my head. /Him/. After what he did to all of you... An' not bein' able t'/touch/ nobody? 'Specially Jax, 'cause of how...bright an' loud an' painful 'is mind is. It was so hard on him, too. I had 'em...take it back off. It was the only way t'get rid of the power an' t'get Sublime outta m'head. An' it...it felt /wrong/, anyhow. The leg. It wasn't me. It didn't fix the brain rewirin', though. That took...two weeks of appointments with Lucien an' a loan bigger'n some folks’ annual salaries t'pay for it. I'm still in therapy for it.” He taps the crutch indicatively. When Dusk's wing wraps around him, a small whimper comes from his throat, a hint of tears finally limning his eyelashes as he presses tight in against him. Dusk’s hand returns to Micah’s knee -- or Micah’s hand, now, fingers curling over top of the other man’s. “It’s hard,” he whispers. “When you can’t -- trust yourself to be --” His fingers squeeze in gently against Micah’s hand. “... and when everything. Feels wrong. And your body isn’t yours and --” His wing tightens, too, drawing Micah in closer against him. His breathing comes a little quicker, wing pressing in against the other man’s back in a firm rub. “We should've been /faster/. I'm sure we must've missed somethin'. We should've found you faster. I could've...pushed harder. Not waited for Wednesday. Y'shouldn't've had t'deal with...this.” Micah's face burrows into Dusk's shoulder. “I missed you. I love you. I just thought we'd never get you /back/. An' it took /so long/ t'get the help y'needed. The healers. An' you were just so...alone. An' they wouldn't let me /near/ you after... They put a phone in your room an' I read. Alanna books.” Dusk’s wing slides up, curling around the back of Micah’s head, too, to press it in against his shoulder. “... I like Alanna.” A small hitch catches in his throat; a moment later, softer, “... I miss Alanna.” He tips his face down, burying it against Micah’s hair. “Wasn’t safe. Near me. I --” He stops speaking, though a quiet growl rumbles in his throat. He lifts his head again, hand lifting to to brush fingers against Micah’s jaw, tip the other man’s face up towards his. In the dim night his eyes shine, though only briefly before he closes them, forehead tipping down to rest against Micah’s. “I can’t -- stay. I don’t know how to -- it all feels --” His head just shakes, wing still wrapped snug around the older man. “Oh, honey, I'm sorry,” Micah replies whisper-soft at the mention of the ferret. His eyes fall closed briefly at Dusk's nuzzling against his hair. “I know. /Logically/, I know. But I felt like I was just /leavin'/ you.” He leans in as Dusk tilts his jaw up, placing a soft-light kiss at the corner of the other man's lips. “Y'can't /just/ go, though. Y'gotta...have some kinda plan. Take care of your wounds. Have a /phone/ an' keep it /charged/ in case of emergencies. Is there...maybe some place that's just /kinda/ isolated where y'could have a lotta alone time but also get help when y'need?” He slides an arm behind Dusk's back, squeezing tight like maybe hugs will keep him there. “Wounds’ll. Heal themselves. At least -- the -- outside --” Dusk shivers at the small kiss, his breath catching again. His head turns, just slightly, chasing it with a second one, longer and fuller. “I need -- “ he echoes this last, very softly murmured just against Micah’s lips. His fingers slide to the back of the other man’s neck, mouth pressing to Micah’s again with a very small growl. “I know, but it's good t'have 'em looked after 'til then. An'...that's not the only help I mean, there's--” Micah's words are cut off by the longer kiss, but he certainly doesn't seem to be protesting, eyes drifting closed once more as his muscles relax him into Dusk's grip. “Please, tell me. I wanna help. Have /wanted/ t'help, just--” And again, the next kiss covers his words and he returns it eagerly. “This.” Just a soft whisper before Dusk’s mouth captures Micah’s again, harder and fiercer than before.