ArchivedLogs:Secrets
| Secrets | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-11-19 Sebastian finally talks about what's been troubling him. (Part of Infected TP.) |
| Location
<XS> Workshop | |
A large barn-like building situated at the far end of the gardens from the mansion proper, this makerspace functions as a classroom for many of the more hands-on classes. An expanse of workshop space, it is subdivided into smaller segments for the different types of activities: Woodshop, Welding shop, Machine shop, Electronics, Bike shop, Screen Printing and Photography, Fabric Arts, and the Rapid Prototyping Lab with a trio of 3D printers. The space comes complete with a large host of tools available for use, although many of the more dangerous require prior clearance from administration to use -- students with appropriate clearance to use them can gain access to locked equipment with their student IDs. From sanders to MIG/TIG welders to soldering stations to industrial sewing machines to its own darkroom, though, this space is well equipped for teaching students how to /make/. It's late, some time after dinner (a rather hearty venison stew that Sebastian ate his extra helpings of with /relish/, though Shane still only forced his way through a regular-sized portion), and by now much of the school has trickled off to do homework or relax in the rec room or blow off steam in the gym. Grade papers. Browse the internet. It's almost like things are back to normal except for how they're /not/, too many students gone from classes, too many /classes/ cancelled due to lack of teachers. But almost. And back to normal means the workshop is a very /likely/ place to find a Sebastian, who is currently tucked away by himself into the workshop. Half the workshop is dark, only some of its lights switched on; it makes it that much easier to find him in its enormous space. The teenager has situated himself in the electronics shop, still dressed as he has been all day in knee-high boots, purple skinny jeans, a cheerful yellow Fluttershy tank; the gauzy top he's warn over it as well as his HERBIVORE hoodie have been discarded on a nearby stool. He's hunched over a small silver buckle attached to a slim black collar that looks /very/ much similar to the one Jackson already wears, working very carefully at the tiny fiddly components inside. Micah has been /around/ in pretty much every sense of the word. Popping off several times a day with Joshua the teleporting ferret on shopping trips, going in for daily plague-testing and Lucien-visiting at the clinic, entertaining Spencer (now with access to /real/ science labs! and a playground!), fishing, and assisting with dozens of other odd jobs on campus. His auburn hair is a mussed-mess as he comes wandering into the workshop, dressed in his black Batsignal hoodie worn open over an equally black Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt and a pair of multicolour-patched jeans. One hand balls into a loose fist to knock softly on the door as he enters the room. “Hi, hon. Wow, they were right. This place was worth seein'. I'm not interrupting, am I?” "Hi, Ba." Sebastian greets Micah softly, and doesn't look up. His gills flutter as his breathing stops, concentration focused downwards for a minute more. But then he puts down his tools to squint up at Micah, blinking with the sudden change of focus. "-- No, you're not interrupting. I'm just trying to -- with everything going on /nonstop/ I thought if I could make these a little more powerful --" He shakes his head, and offers Micah a small smile. "It's pretty awesome in here, isn't it." As 'Bastian introduces his work, Micah drifts further into the room, looking over the teen's shoulder at the collar. “Mightn't be a bad idea. An' it's always good t'have back-ups of a thing that needs chargin' from time t'time.” His hand reaches up automatically to press gentle fingers against fluttering gills. “You just usin' stronger LEDs, or more of 'em, or what?” He chuckles at the description of the shop. “More than 'pretty'. How do y'all even have /three/ 3D printers in one room? That's crazy.” Sebastian tilts his head reflexively to one side, a contented expression on his face at the touch to his gills. They quiet, lying flat, though even after this he presses gently into Micah's fingertips. "Stronger, but I'm giving it a longer charge too, sometimes I don't know how long it'll be between --" He shakes his head. "I don't want him caught without them." He smiles a little brighter at the mention of the printers, though his smile is short-lived. "I mean, they're not all for the same kinds of jobs. Sometimes you really need the huge industrial size but mostly you kind of don't. Plus only the crazy expensive one can do metal -- though I usually just make a mold /anyway/." Micah continues to pet at 'Bastian's gills with that press, even if it is no longer necessary. “S'both good ideas. I'm sure he'll appreciate it.” The ongoing printer talk earns a snort. “Oh, just the one does metal? I take back my bein' impressed,” he teases through a lopsided grin. The brevity of the teen's smile draws a shadow of worry across Micah's brow. His voice softens when he speaks again. “How're you doin', 'Bastian?” "Just the one." Bastian actually does wrinkle his nose with this, though, like the other printers have /sorely disappointed/ him. His head tips downward at the question. His eyes close, and he's just quiet, absorbing the petting. "I'm glad you're all here." The worry draws Micah's eyebrows closer together and thins his lips into a tight line. He steps closer to 'Bastian, such that the boy is all but hugged against him with Micah's arms on his shoulders, hands stroking softly at either side of his neck. “I'm glad we're here, too. Think it's what everybody needed. Bit of a more secure location. Some basic things as need doin' an' can get done. People where y'can keep an eye on all of 'em.” "I wasn't. Keeping a good eye. /Any/ eye." Sebastian sounds hollow, guilty. He leans into Micah when Micah steps closer, tipping his head back against the older man's chest. Beneath Micah's fingers his gills quiver, but then stay flat. "... or being kept an eye on. I just. You and Pa always do /so much/ I thought I could. Help." “Honey. You're sixteen. It's still other people's job t'be keepin' an eye on /you/,” Micah argues, the pads of his fingertips pressing a bit more firmly at the quiver of gills. “Y'were doin'...what y'thought would help. Buildin' things t'fight the zombies, yeah? Some phone calls wouldn't have gone unappreciated, certainly, but y'gotta stop beatin' yourself up over that, hon.” "Ba, oh my gosh, if you could see -- the thing we built --" For a very brief moment Sebastian is almost animated, his eyes opening again brighter and a ghost of a smile flickering across his face. It passes, though; he just sinks back down against Micah with a shiver. "I'm not. -- I mean okay I am. Shane's almost /dead/. While I --" He shivers again. "Ba, if /you'd/ been at the cops' -- if they'd put /you/ in a cage and told you to kill someone what would you have done." Micah's head tilts in interest as 'Bastian begins to describe his mysterious project. "What /were/ y'workin' on, hon? You actually finished buildin' a thing?" He spares one arm to wrap around the teen's chest, hugging him close for comfort. "Shane's not almost dead. He's seen better days, but he's gettin' better," he assures softly. The question earns a deep, thoughtful sigh. "That's not somethin' I think a body can ever really answer without bein' in that situation, actually. I think...it's different. When somebody's attackin' at you. Don't think I'd be likely t'just sit an' let myself get beat t'death. So like as not I'd've fought back at...whoever. But I'm also not the likeliest winner in your average fistfight, even so." "We finished," Sebastian agrees, and there's a tiny note of pride in his voice. "But I can't -- can you keep a secret, Ba? I don't mean -- not from /Pa/ that's okay. But from everyone else?" He leans into the hug, slowly curving an arm back around Micah. "Some people get in situations like that and they still won't hurt anyone. I -- I'm not. That good." “Well, see? Y'even got the thing /done/ y'were tryin' t'do. That's good.” Micah's arm squeezes tighter around 'Bastian once more. “I can keep a secret, hon. What's goin' on?” He isn't able to keep a touch of concern from tingeing the question. “I don't think...that's a matter of good or not. It's a matter of bein' put in a situation with no good answer. An' no right answer. Is it better for you t'die or the other person? The only one who's /really/ wrong is the one startin' that situation t'begin with. Ain't /wrong/ t'try t'/survive/.” "The thing we built might be one of the greatest things that's ever been built." Sebastian's voice has dropped lower, mostly because it's muffled quietly as he burrows in against Micah's shirt. "Have you seen in the news. With the big shiny. Robot. Fighting zombies." He's still squeezing Micah, fiercer and tighter now. "What if nobody's starting the situation? What if it's just. Like now. The world's falling apart. Nobody put me there I just. Am not. Good." “You...built a big, shiny zombie-fightin' robot?” Micah's eyebrows betray even more incredulity than his tone, one scrunching downward and the other making for his hairline. His other arm slips down to add to a firmer encircling hug. “Honey, what are you /talkin'/ about? I can't...help. Or understand, even. If I don't know what's wrong.” And the /fret/ wins out, dragging both eyebrows down in toward one another again. "It's -- not actually a robot. It's --" Sebastian blushes, admitting: "... I really kind of wished we had /you/ there, Micah, it's not a /robot/ it's a bionic /suit/. Gives about ten times the strength and well /way/ more durability than just /person/-flesh and it /flies/ and --" He blushes. "We built a big shiny zombie-fighting /cyborg/." He doesn't move from his hug, falling silent as he curls into it. "I --" He opens his mouth and then closes it again, shaking his head fiercely. "You'll hate me. /I'm/ wrong." “That's...interestin'. Kinda like the super-soldier exo-skeleton body armour things the military is playin' with, but better in every way. I'd...be interested t'see it, for sure. How effective has it been? How're y'gettin' enough power without overheatin' everythin' or makin' it impossibly heavy? It's--” Micah manages to curb his cyborg-enthusiasm, cutting off the string of questions that inevitably was meant to follow. “Sugar, I am /not/ gonna hate you. Even if you /did/ do somethin' wrong.” There's more silence from Sebastian. Finally, low and flat: "... I ate people." Micah looks less surprised than perhaps he ought. And certainly far from horrified, though his eyes betray a sadness. His arms don't move from where they hold the boy in his seat. “Hon...were they already dead?” "They -- some of them." Sebastian's shoulders tense uncomfortably. "I mean, I didn't. Um. The zombies killed them." “I guess I'm not sure exactly what it is you're thinkin' y'did wrong then, B. From what you've told me, it sounds like you came across folks as were already dead an' likely just about t'get eaten by zombies. An' you ate their bodies instead of starvin' t'death. Is that about the way of it?” Micah runs a hand over the boy's tightened shoulders, trying to calm him. “Doesn't sound a whole lot different from the stories of people crashin' in the mountains an' eatin' the people what died in the crash 'cause there wasn't any food around.” "They weren't all -- already. I could have stopped it," Sebastian explains, his voice still low. There's a small tremor running up his spine. "Some of them, I could probably -- maybe have. I killed a lot of zombies, they didn't need to. Die. If I'd stepped in." “I'm hearin' a lot of 'prob'ly' an' 'maybe' there, 'Bastian. I know for a fact there was some folks y'were out there savin', so it isn't like you were runnin' around just lettin' everyone die on purpose. You were takin' out zombies an' helpin' people an' buildin' a...zombie-fightin' cyborg suit t'do even more.” Micah rubs a hand over the teen's hard-spike hair. “I'm gettin' the idea that maybe the ones who weren't dead an' you /didn't/ jump in t'save were really, really outnumbered? An' you were just as likely t'get yourself killed just wadin' into that as anythin'?” "I'm hard to kill," Sebastian points out unhappily, his voice uneven as his gills start to flutter once more. "At least I'm hard for /other/ things to kill. My /own/ body manages it better than anyone else. I'm hard to kill but I was -- hungry. So I didn't try." "Y'know there's no /requirement/ t'put yourself in harm's way every time someone else is in danger, right?" Micah returns to stroking down 'Bastian's gills when they flare again. "You were findin' a way t'survive in a horrible situation. An' I get that...you're disappointed or feel like you were bein' weak t'give into your need t'/eat/. But it don't make you /bad/, 'Bastian. You also gotta remember that you had this sickness when you were doin' what y'did, too. It didn't make...judgement...easy. Especially when it came t'fightin' or food." He goes quiet for a moment. "Did I tell you that I tried t'eat Dusk? Bit 'im...prob'ly would've done worse if he hadn't fought me off. An' he's...I /love/ him, B. He was tryin' t'help me. An' I /wasn't/ at any risk of starvin'. An' I don't need meat the way you boys do. That's what this disease was doin' t'people's heads." Sebastian's arms tighten around Micah. He's quiet for a long while, fingers kneading into the fabric of Micah's shirt. "-- I'll just be glad when all this is over," he whispers. His nose crinkles up. "There's probably some kind of quip to make about you and eating Dusk. I bet Shane would make it proper." Micah nods once, silent for a moment. “Yeah...this whole thing has been pretty horrific.” He blushes a steadily brightening red through a hint of a grin, his gaze briefly turning away. “He'd prob'ly make that joke with far less provocation, t'be honest.” The grin has faded, though the blush hasn't, by the time he looks back. “Are you gonna be okay?” Sebastian closes his eyes, turning back towards the table to rest his elbows on it and his head in his hands. His gills flare again, fluttering quickly. “I don’t think I know what okay would even look like anymore.” His nose wrinkles up unhappily. “... I don’t know if I ever did, though. So. Maybe. Yeah. Okay.” “Okay with the idea that some morally ambiguous actions performed durin’ a time of crisis while your nervous system is impaired by a zombie virus doesn’t make you a bad person...I guess is mostly what I mean.” Micah pushes the stubbornly fluttering gills down again. “And okay...operatin’ somewhat near baseline functional levels without further outside intervention. T’be a little more precise.” He spares a hand to squeeze at ‘Bastian’s shoulder between gill-tending pets. Sebastian’s head stays bowed. His gills press back down at the touch, head tipping slightly to touch his cool-damp cheek to the hand Micah squeezes at his shoulder. “I’m functional,” he agrees, after a moment of thought. “I just kind of want the world to go away for a while. At least the world except for /you/ guys.” “That's fair. I think maybe y'should just stay here for awhile. Focus on your classes an' your projects. Remember you're still sixteen an' let us take care of you for a bit. That's allowed, y'know.” The back of Micah's hand brushes softly along 'Bastian's cheek. “Think y'haven't had near enough of it ever.” “And you’ll stay here for a while, too.” Sebastian’s voice is soft, not so much a question as a quiet reminder to himself. He is kind of careful about his nuzzling, very /slow/ in one direction so that his rough skin does not damage Micah’s hand where his cheek rubs against it. A very small smile touches his lips for a moment. “S’okay. You and Pa give us enough of it now to make up for the rest.” | |
