ArchivedLogs:Sanctuary?
| Sanctuary? | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
15 February 2014 Finding Horus. |
| Location
Clear Skies Bird Sanctuary | |
The Clear Skies bird sanctuary is a sprawling mass of parkland, at first arrival; the actual buildings of the place are nestled into its center, zoo-like enclosure set up like a veritable playground for the birds who reside there. Large habitats full of trees and perches, toys and puzzles, various healthy treats. The buildings are noisy, filled with the twittering tweeting chattering of bird -- song, insofar as some of the screeches can be called that. /Outside/ the buildings it might yet only be noisy to Ducky, the eager chattering of feeding time. It's been a long ride. By the time they arrive Hive is sound asleep, head nestled into the hood of his Grumpy Bear sweatshirt; he stirs only once they actually park. "Mmph." He unbuckles his seatbelt only reluctantly. "-- this place gonna be noisy and a /half/ for you isn't it." PROBABLY he's talking to Ducky. Micah has been busy /driving/ for all the long ride out. Even in the car, he's burrowed into his zipped-up Batsignal hoodie with some T-shirt or other under it, a pair of patchy bluejeans, Wish Bear fingerless gloves, and hiking boots. He retrieves his olive puffy coat, Jayne hat, liner gloves, and the impressively long Tom Baker scarf that he salvaged from his deactivated snowman to add over it before braving the outdoors. This last takes some winding...and winding and winding around his neck. Last, he collects his forearm crutches. Their holster straps crosswise across his torso, though the crutches are actually in /use/ to help him down from the van onto the winter-slick ground. He shoves the door closed behind him, stretching out his legs. "So, where d'y'all think we should /start/?" Jax is a brightly-plumed bird himself today, bright hair (black at its roots and bone-white at its tips, with fading colour from deep purple to blue in between), bright clothing (red skinny jeans, black and purple-embroidered bell-sleeved shirt with red 'All my heroes have FBI files' t-shirt over top, black and red-sleeved sweatshirt with silver butterflies flitting down the sleeves, silvery jacket, bright mismatched armwarmers, rainbow-striped scarf, his glittery-rainbow-black tophat worn over his rainbow-striped knit cap), bright /smile/, bright makeup. Large dark mirror-lensed sunglasses. He hops out of the car, darting around to offer his arm today to Hive rather than Micah, wobbly as the telepath has been lately. "With Ducky, maybe. Do he feel different than most birds? Maybe we should just wander a bit. See what we can see. See if y'can hear nothin'. See if any'a the birds've seen nothin'." Since she got the call from Jackson saying that she would be able to go with them to look for Horus, Ducky has been a bouncing ball of nervous energy. Kushi, her dappled gray pigeon, is safely settled in his cage back in her dorm room at Xavier's, under the assumption that a pet would not be welcome at a bird sanctuary. Dressing in non-descript layers, faded gray cargo pants, a brown long sleeve t-shirt, a black zip up hoodie, and a dove-gray puffer vest for warmth. Tucked into the inside pocket of the vest is the feather that had appeared beside the tablet from the dream, perhaps a touch of anxiety that if she doesn't keep it with her, it will vanish like the other dream things. She has been tugging at the somewhat thin patch of her short, ruffled hair out of nervousness, watching out the window at the birds that fly past and around. When addressed, she jumps in surprise, blinking a few times, "Oh, um, yeah. S'kinda gonna be really noisy and stuff, since they sort of just chatter chatter a lot." Not entirely unlike Ducky herself. She nods emphatically to Jax, "Yes. He's smarter. A lot smarter. But he also stands out from other birds kinda? I mean he can talk to them too, so I can ask the other birds at the sanctuary. They might be able to pass along information and find out what all was going on and stuff. This many birds, somma them have seen /something/." Assuming they're in the right place. Hopefully they're in the right place. "Mngh." Hive grumbles when he finds himself faced with a cheery-bright bundle of Jax, but slowly (shakily) he swings his legs down from his seat and out of the van, sliding to the ground and grudgingly accepting the offered arm. It becomes a lot less grudging when he actually stands and leans heavily against Jax, closing his eyes and letting the shorter but considerably more /solid/ man take the brunt of his bony weight while the world stops spinning. It only takes a few seconds, though, before he straightens more steadily. "-- Right, yeah. I mean, even if he's not here maybe he's -- how good are bird-memories." He closes the door, starting off towards the entrance of the biggest building. "Though /people/ memories are fine too. /Someone/'ll know something." He reaches out to tug open the door as they approach, exhaling in relief at the blast of warm air from inside. A cheerful volunteer approaches to greet them as they enter. "Hi! Welcome to Clear Skies, I'm Ellen. Have you been here before? Can I help you?" "Guess it's possible that y'might pick up some thoughts from 'im, too, Hive," Micah conjectures as he follows along behind Hive and Jax. Their slow progress doesn't seem to trouble him, his own steps taken carefully, as well. "I mean, what should we do, just...say we're lookin' for a real specific bird an' /describe/ 'im at folks?" He pauses long enough to shrug with that, then follows along behind the others. Micah hangs back at the door to loose his arms from the crutches and get them holstered and strapped to his back. "Ohgosh yeah I mean there'll be people /an'/ birds so I guess /someone/ might know /somethin'/." Jackson is a very solid-steady support at Hive's side, one hand at Hive's elbow and his other curling around the man's waist. "So I guess Ducky can ask the birds an' we can /ask/ the people an' -- if they remember nothin' Hive'll be able t'tell." He holds the door open with a foot, nudging Hive along through and giving the volunteer a warm smile. "Oh gosh! Hi. No, we ain't never, we jus' come up for a day trip from Manhattan -- gosh it's pretty in here." His head turns, sunglassy-gaze scanning the bird habitats around. "/Can/ you help us, miss, I'm hopin'. We're kinda on a little bit'a a hunt, we'd heard you might have a -- real unusual sort of --" He stumbles over the next, a bit, a very /distinct/ uneasiness in his mind about referring to Horus as anything /but/ a person. "Well, I bet you get all /sorts/ in here, yeah? Out in the city s'kinda all pigeons all the time. Who we're searching fore'd be -- real large --" He gestures about four feet off the ground. "Big beak, brown an' white speckled. Not common at all." Ducky bounces excitedly, anxiously, more to stretch her scrawny legs after the long car ride than out of impatience. "Yep. Depends on the variety of birds, really. Corvids hold grudges for years, and pass them on to their chicks and flock mates. Don't piss off a raven or crow. They'll remember," Ducky provides anxiously, still tugging nervously at her hair. She follows the others in, mind already starting to sneak out, searching for birds nearby that might know something, opening up to the chirping and squawking minds of the birds - thankfully, her time at the school has apparently been somewhat useful for her, as her mental responses are no longer quite so loudly chirpy to those who can hear it. When the volunteer approaches them, she freezes, eyes wide, though her mind is still poking about for the birds in the area already - she is content to let the "responsible adults" handle the talking to people in this case. The description of Horus makes her ponder the feather in her pocket, wondering if she should bring it forth as an example of color and pattern, finally pulling it out of her pocket, reluctant to let it go, though, "We think this feather was from the one we're thinking of. Saw one around at one time, but weren't quite sure what kinda bird he was." The inside of the sanctuary is loud, for everyone but for Ducky moreso, an eager cacophony of chattering and squabbling. Food over here and bickering over a toy over there, irritable fighting over a choice piece of fruit in one corner and a choice piece of tail in another, friendly playtime in a nearby cage and lazy-contented preening in another. Some of them are responding to her poking -- largely with requests for food, admittedly, as they wing their way over towards the edges of their enclosures. "Oh!" Ellen stops, head tilting in a rather birdlike fashion herself. "We do get a pretty diverse range of birds through here. A lot of species that aren't always native to New York -- sometimes people try keeping them as pets and then release them when they realize that wild animals, not so much meant to be kept in apartments." Her tongue clicks lightly against her teeth. Her eyes widen slightly at the description. "Oh, goodness, people must have been talking, huh. You know, the fella you mention --" Her head shakes slightly. "He's not in any of our public enclosures, for health reasons he's been in quarantine for a while now. Seems sharp as a tack but until we can be sure he's not going to spread anything to the rest of the population he's on his own." Up against Jax's side, Hive bristles. There's a prickling mental push against the others' minds, sharp and hard. Micah's hands clench and unclench as Ellen continues to speak, trying not to betray too clearly the degree to which the descriptions upset him. "How did this one come t'be here, Miss?" he asks, leaving a long pause after his question for the woman to at least /think/ of her answer, if not give it aloud. Hive could always glean more information than is offered freely. "An' can we see 'im?" Jax's hand tightens against Hive's elbow, a tight knot of worry coiling hard inside him. "He's sick?" The same worry edges his tone, head turning as he scans the room as though he might see Horus here despite just being told he's not out with the birds. "Has he been here long? We jus', we drove a long way an' we was hopin' -- we been lookin' a real long time for --" He stops to draw in a shaky breath, choking back something that's equal parts /fury/ and upset at the idea of Horus in one of these cages. "Please, miss, where is he?" Ducky looks distracted, eyes wandering off towards the birds that begin to come to the edge of the enclosure, birdlike curiosity perking towards the attentive avians. Rather than withdrawing from the birds, her mind opens, willingly and cheerily, puffing up mentally as though she were preening feathers. << Hi pretty birds >> she greets them, bubbling chirrups an undertone to her bubbling mental voice << Can you help me? Please? Looking for a friend. He's here. His name's Horus. Any of you seen him? Know any other birds who have seen him? Anyone able to talk to him? >> All the while, she is doing her best impression of a bored, uninterested teenager, seeming to zone out the conversation around her, still tugging at the hair at the nape of her neck in the only outward sign of anxiety. There is only the barest wince at the mental push, more of a flinch as she continues focusing on the birds, free hand tucking the feather back into her pocket, but not letting go of it. She tilts her head curiously in a birdlike manner, eyes narrowing at the discussion of Horus being sick and the potential of not being able to see him. Her anxiety flicks towards the other birds, accenting the pleading tone to her silent conversations. << Fruit? >> comes back hopefully to Ducky's greetings, and, << hi pretty bird, >> and, << Horus-horus-horus-horus, >> in twittering echo that passes from branch to branch in chirruping curiosity before it finally comes back in the affirmative: << oh-big-bird. >> It still returns with a hopeful inquiry about the fruit. Maybe? And a half-dozen mental images of Horus, feathers a little patchy from over-preening, << here, >> is a little confused and mingled with << no-not-here >>; it takes a sudden spate of loud arguing before the pair of conures currently answering finally works out a coherent answer: << here-enough >>; a mental image of the building next door, different cages, different birds who live there. "I told you," Ellen answers them with a little bit of tried patience, "he's in quarantine, there are plenty of other birds you can visit with today. If you'd like a tour I'm sure one of our other volunteers would be really happy to talk with you about the work we do here." Her smile is just a little bit strained, brows creasing slightly. "He's been sick already, we wouldn't want to put extra stress on him." "He's not," Hive grits out through clenched teeth, "/sick/. He's stressed already." There's another sharp prickling of mental energy, bristling up against the others' minds in quick needling. "How long has he been here." Within his sweatshirt pockets, his hands are clenching into fists. << Can't I just eat their fucking brains and get him out and be done with this shit. >> There is no mistaking the sharp anger in /his/ hammer-heavy mental voice, where it thuds into the others' minds. Micah shakes his head at those answers, finding them unacceptable. The press of Hive's mind doesn't help matters. << Enough of this already. Let's just try the /direct/ approach. It ain't like /these/ folks are the military. >> "Look, Miss. He /ain't/ a bird. He's a person. His name's Horus an' he's our friend. An' he wouldn't be sick an' stressed if someone hadn't kidnapped 'im an' stuck 'im in a cage." He heaves a heavy sigh. "Maybe y'all /thought/ y'were helpin'. But y'ain't. So take us to 'im. An' if he /is/ sick an' not just terrified 'cause strangers took 'im an' put 'im in a cage, let us get 'im to his /doctor/ so's he can actually get better." "He went missin' 'roundabout the worst of the zombie -- everything, so we been more'n a little worried, y'might imagine," Jax explains, rocking back on a heel and wiggling at his lipring with his teeth. "An' I know how he looks but he's human as you or I. An' probably scared out his mind. I think it'd help him no end to see some friendly faces an' get back home. Please. We been lookin' for months." << Maybe fruit. Might be able to see if they will give you more. Can try. Will try. Talk to Horus? >> The name Horus is overlaid several times with 'big-bird' and 'bird-man' along with a remembered image of Horus in flight from the dream. The response of the conures, however, gets a curious head tilt from Ducky, her hazel eyes tracking to the birds in question << Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. >> The information is shared readily with Hive, along with the impression that Ducky is trying very hard to not just turn and go over there and let him out. Hive's proposal is met with a ruffling of agreement, along with a displeased squawk at being denied access to Horus. Fingers tug at her hair more, dislodging a few short strands like an anxious bird overpreening its feathers. She opens her mouth as though about to say something, but her mouth closes again and attention snaps back into focus at Micah's words, and she nods, emphatically, eyes wide as she just quietly echoes, "Please, miss. He stopped answering texts in November, when everything kinda went wonky in the world. An... we wanna help. We miss him." She fidgets more, her thoughts falling back into the habit of rebroadcasting her words, quietly, to the birds around her. << Fff he's right next /door/ let's just /go/. >> This information has Hive bristling again, muscles tensing as his eyes cut sidelong, fidgety-restless and clearly ready to just /move/ there and be done with this. The fabric of his sweatshirt pocket shifts as his fingers flex and tense in unhappy unclench-clench unclench-clench. "A /person/?" At first Ellen just looks dumbfounded. "No, that's not -- possible, he's --" Her head shakes in denial, but then she stops and freezes, a look of something -- doubt? Some remembrance? -- crossing her expression. "Can you -- wait here? I need to get my supervisor." She holds up a finger, leaving them where they stand as she hurries off towards the back, disappearing through a set of doors towards some other room. "/Tch/." Hive shakes his head sharply, turning towards the exit as soon as the doors close behind her. << Fuck /that/, you know what building it was Ducky? The birds know? >> << big-bird-bird-man, >> the conures are helpfully echoing. << here-enough. >> "S'more than possible. I got pictures with 'im...in m'phone if y'need t'see. Didn't anyone find it the least bit odd that he's got human shoulders? I mean, there are /clear/ signs..." Micah's brows furrow when the woman starts to bustle off. "Miss, wait, we need to--" A nearly-growling sound of frustration comes form his throat. << Hive...are y'sharin' between us? Y'know what, let's just go t'him. If they need t'talk t'us, they can do it while we're talkin' t'him. Lead the way, Ducky. >> He is already turning for the door, readying his crutches for outdoor use. "Clear signs if y'/care/ enough t'see 'em." Jax doesn't try to stop the woman leaving. He's already heading back to the exit, too, as she starts to disappear, shoving it open to hold it for the others, his other arm slipping back around Hive. "Ohgosh. Oh/gosh/. Ducky-honey which -- way oh/gosh/ is he really here?" The bounce to his step is more nervous-agitation than his usual exuberant energy, a restless twitch to his motions that he makes an effort to /calm/ so that he can play steady-support for Hive once more. "He has a fucking Twitter account," Ducky grouses at the woman's disbelief, narrowing her eyes grouchily, mental sense of feathers ruffling and bristling angrily. The agitation in her posture carries through the link to the birds in the room, quite possibly being mirrored in their posturing and reactions as well. When the woman goes off to look for her management, Ducky grumbles, "Screw this noise." Barely waiting for the go-ahead, the teen turns in the direction the conures had indicated, she babbles readily, her voice bouncing and lilting, "This way. Yes. Here. Not-/here/. Other building. Different birds. Here." She looks around for the building that matches and the mental image, her steps bouncing, excited and anxious. Her mind, to the birds, and unfortunately Hive, is broadcasting an image of Horus, nestled in the chocolate cloud, happy, the tone questioning, asking for direction and confirmation that she is leading the group the right way. The building pictured in the conures' mind is directly adjacent to the one they have just left, a long brick-and-glass building that is, too, alive with the myriad voices of birds. Fewer of them, to be sure; in here they're in smaller habitats, in small rooms by ones and twos mostly separate from each other. And somewhere towards the middle of the building, distinctly, Horus's voice, soft but there. Tired, in a caged enclosure of his own, trees and water and a window looking out onto the icy winter grounds. There's a listlessness to his thoughts but they're still very much him, punctuated by a heavy-dull thud of pain as his head thunks up against the bars of his cage. << -- strolling by the Fen. Taste a morning out there like ordinary -- there like. Wait. No. Fen? That's in Boston what's in Paris. The Hunchback wouldn't want to stroll by the Fen would he? huh. Maybe I forget. When did I see that movie. That was a long -- long -- longlonglonglonglonglonglong ohgosh they don't have movies in here. B loves that song. Good-song-good-song do I love this song? I think I -- forget the words. I forget all the words I for -- get. Words-words-words nobody here uses words. >> The thudding grows harder. Stops for a while, as he struggles to come up with the rest of the song. There's another volunteer, cleaning out one of the habitats near the front of the building. The man straightens, moving to start intercepting their path with a cheerful, "-- Hi! Welcome to Clear Skies, can I --" Hive is ignoring him. Half /dragging/ Jackson along as he starts to just run. As they head toward the next building, Micah rests a hand on Ducky's back in reassurance to the understandably agitated girl. "We're gonna find 'im, hon. You're helpin' so much, thank you." His steps become a little bouncy at their increased pace, a kind of awkward jog. Keeping up with Hive /running/ requires use of his crutches, however, a niggling apologetic thought in the back of his mind for the state of the floors from the snow/ice attachments as the devices bear his weight through a swinging pattern, staying entirely off of his left foot like a person with an injury. "Horus?" he calls as Hive projects those thoughts at them, sounding so much like Horus's /typed/ words. "Ohgosh -- sorry," Jackson is abruptly flustered when he is faced with sudden brain-slamming thoughts /and/ a volunteer talking to him, looking between Hive and Ducky and Volunteer with a sudden shake of his head, "No, we're alright, we're just lookin' for --" But then he's being dragged off and he just shakes his head again, quickly. "No-s'ok-sir-we-got-this," he assures in a breathless rush, apologetic as he sticks to Hive's side. << Ohgosh. Oh/gosh/ Horus. >> There's an abrupt spark of hope flaring in his mind, matched equally by a sick concern. And, past that, the continuation to the song, a little breathless as he's dragged along, "-- Like ordinary men, who freely walk about there, just one day and then I swear I'll be content --" << Horus oh/gosh/ are you okay it's us we're /here/. >> "Horus?" Ducky calls out nervously, broadcasting it mentally as well, at the sound of Horus's voice in her mind, sounding desperate as she ignores the cheery volunteer to keep pace with Hive and Jackson. Her attention focuses almost entirely on her friend, undaunted by the slamming mental voice. Upon seeing him, and his condition, she whimpers in a hushed voice, "Ohgod, Horus." << We're here. We're gonna get you out. It's gonna be okay, you'll get to stretch your wings again and it'll be okay. It's okay. Can see movies and everything, and music and... and...>> she babbles mentally, eyes searching the enclosure looking for the door to get in, to get him out. Her mind is a flutter along with all the birds around her, their chirps and ruffles echoing her relief and nervousness as she approaches the cage. She presses her hand up against the metal mesh, carefully trying not to startle him. Hive pulls away from Jackson, sprinting the last few yards to approach the cage as well, dropping down beside Ducky to his knees to curl his fingers through the mesh, head dropping in against it. << JegusfuckingChrist bro you look like shit. >> << DuckyHiveJaxMicah, >> at first Horus's thudding only grows /worse/, head now /slamming/ against the bars of his cage in a rather desperate attempt to force himself straight through them. << MicahJaxHiveDucky, HiveJaxMicahDucky, wait-no, maybe-dream -- >> Horus skitters back a few paces, tipping his head up to examine the top of his enclosure uncertainly, then examine the others. /Suspiciously/. Critically, before informing Hive, << /You/ look like shit. >> And Ducky: << You're still pretty, though. >> He skitters back towards the cage to flop back against the bars, returning promptly to his listless thudding, picking the song right back up where Jax left off as though this interruption had never happened, << -- with my share, won't resent -- waitwait, nono, not-dream. >> THUD, goes his head against the bar again. << not-dream-not-dream-not-dream please? DreamDucky had wings last time. >> And, critically again, << DreamMicah is a /better robot/. >> Behind them, the volunteer has been chasing after them with a fretting: "Hey, guys, I don't think you're supposed to be in --" but his words cut off with a sudden /hiss/ of pain as Hive's fingers clench hard into the mesh, eyes narrowing abruptly and his shoulders tightening. Micah comes to a rather /abrupt/ halt upon reaching the enclosure. "Horus, no, it's not a dream. We're here. Ohgosh, honey, if we'd only known where t'/start/ lookin' sooner. But it's us." He winces, drawing back as Horus throws himself against the bars. "Stop. Horus, stop! You're gonna hurt yourself, please... Just." << Do y'know how we can get you out? Where the locks are? We're gonna get you out of here. >> His eyes are misty, lips turned incongruously upward in amusement at Horus's last comment. << Glad t'know I'm not quite up t'snuff in the real world, >> he teases, hoping that more casual talking will help Horus calm and stop bashing himself into solid objects. << Settle down, sugar. Where do we get you out? >> "Honey-honey, please, don't -- hurt yourself, it's gonna be okay, we're here now, we're gonna take you home. We're gonna take you home. /Today/. Now. Right now, okay. If I gotta /laser/ these bars open myself, we're gonna take you home," Jackson promises Horus, "jus' stay calm an' we'll get you out." He rocks back on a heel as Ducky and Hive move closer, examining the enclosure, too, and then just turning to the volunteer. "Sir, this is a friend of ours. Can you open the --" He /frowns/ as the man stops talking. "Hive are you --" His teeth sink in against his lip. "-- We need to get him out of here. He ain't no bird, he's a -- person, he don't belong here. Can you open this cage?" "Not a dream. Really here. We found you. I... I have your tablet. It's broken though, but we found you," Ducky says quietly, biting back a happy sob. Ducky presses her head up against the mesh, fingers straining through the mesh to wiggle fruitlessly, wincing visibly at each slam of Horus's head against the bars, "Please... please don't do that. We'll get you out. Please stop hurting yourself. We're /not/ gonna leave you here. No." She blushes at the compliment, though there is a ping of sadness at her lack of wings, buried beneath the repeated echoing of reassurances. << Not a dream. Promise. Not a dream. We found you. No chocolate rain, or flying in the clouds together, but you're gonna get to go home. >> She turns her eyes briefly back towards the volunteer, then to Hive, and to Jax, unsure of who would be most likely to get Horus out fastest, head turning back to bonk not-gently against the mesh, asking quietly, "Please let him out." Hive's shoulders stiffen further at Jax's almost-question, and he turns back towards the cage, eyes fixing back on Horus. << You're coming home, >> he promises, softly. The volunteer doesn't say anything, hands both pressing to his head, now, though a moment later they drop. He turns, walking down in silence -- a little stiffly, at first, and then more naturally towards the other side of the room, pulling up a set of keys from a stretchy bungee clipped to his pocket to unlock the door to Horus's cage. Horus scrambles away from the bars, skittering down towards the exit and out the door, half walking and half fluttering towards the others to throw himself in a messy heap of patchy feathers at Ducky and Hive, collapsing onto them both. He's quivering, thoughts coming in a jumbled stream as his head just butts up against Ducky's shoulder in heavy thumps like it had been against the bars. << not-dream not-dream please-now-home no-words-here wait-wait-wait. Still-home? Not-dead? City died everything died blood and biting and maybe no home but duckyhivejaxmicah go nownownownownownownow please now not-dream please not-here now please. >> Hive finally releases the mesh, lines dug into his fingers from where they had been gripping tight. He scoots closer to Ducky, half buried beneath the rumpled heap of feathers of Horus's outstretched wing, curling a bony arm up in some awkward semblance of -- as much hug as puddle-of-birdboy will /allow/. There are tears shining bright in his eyes visible in the moment before he tips his face inward, burying them against mottled patchy feathers. << Yeah. We'll go. Now. >> There's a little bit of a brighter note to his addition: << /Definitely/ still have a home. And we're building a whole new one. Gonna have one just for you, too. >> << Oh no, Hive, tell me you didn't... >> Micah thinks (without directing the thought, but just as easily heard by the telepath) when the volunteer starts acting strangely and...helping them. But then there is a flurry of feathers and /Horus/ out of the cage. "Horus, honey, can you fly? D'you need t'be carried? My van's out front. We're takin' y'home right /now/." << Can /you/ walk? >> seems to be directed at Hive, as well. Micah's sort-of hug encompasses both Hive and Horus when he moves forward to meet them. "Come on, guys. We're gettin' out of here one way or another. Let's go." Above his sunglasses, Jax's brows furrow deeply as he watches the volunteer; his mental thought is the equivalent of a dismayed groan, a very similar, << -- Ohgosh /Hive/ -- >> coming around the same time as Micah's thought. But he's derailed by Horus emerging, his breath catching and his worry for Hive now not so much lessening as being /joined/ by another swell of concern for Horus. "We got a home. Whole'a New York had a /rough/ time but she's still standin'. An' we're takin' you back there. Ryan, Clarice, Liam, they all missed you like /crazy/. All alive an' /waitin'/ for you. Got more hugs than you'll be able to /stand/, I don't doubt. C'mon." He leans in, pressing a fierce kiss to the top of Horus's head, a sudden warm glow blossoming around him that it takes a moment before he manages to quell. "One way or another?" he echoes with a heavy breath of laughter, head turning slightly to turn his mirrored gaze on Hive, "Lord help anyone who tries to /stop/ us." | |
