ArchivedLogs:Sibling Rivalry

Sibling Rivalry
Dramatis Personae Shane, B, Micah, Jax	13 December 2014 '
Location <NYC> {Beachhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Enormous windows and an open floorplan give this house an airy-open feel. Much of the wood-and-stone of the walls has been left exposed, and the flooring underneath is done in a mix of sandy-stoney tile in the bathroom and kitchens and foyer and natural wood throughout the rest. The front door opens into the small foyer, an open doorway leading to a small office space at one side and a sunroom looking out over the river at the other. The office is done in dark wood and deep red accents, a desk built right up against the wall beneath a connected also-built-in arrangement of shelves; there's a pale futon sitting on the ground against the opposite wall. A connecting door in the office space, usually left unlocked, leads to Lighthaus next door. The foyer opens out in back to a large sitting room, the kitchen connecting sitting room and sunroom at their corners; the furniture here is in pale natural colours, all built low to the ground. The kitchen table is low-set, too, kneeling cushions rather than chairs set around it. The sunroom and foyer, unlike the other rooms, have no ceilings at ground-level, instead having balconies between the first and second floor. A curving stairway leads up from the foyer to the second floor, while a door between foyer and sitting room heads down to the basement. A powder room sits off the back of the sitting room, opposite the kitchen. Beachhaus's sitting room has been taken over by a riot of colour. Fluffballs swarming the floor, squishier than their previous-generation counterparts, tumbling over and around each other. Shane is lost somewhere in the floof, sprawled out on the low floor-level futon with a trio of fluffy round critters rolling over on top of him; one seems to be gnawing on his arm, chewchewchew. Two more are rumbling in a quiet purring thrum. "... I think this one went feral," he's -- not /quite/ complaining. Sans clothing it's easy to see last night's damage, one set of gills /gashed/ raw in a large slice down his side, blue skin mottled darker with bruising, round red welts raised all along his chest and one leg. "You made it go feral." B is probably in worse shape, but it looks less ugly, actual bandaging stretched white over much of hir torso and most of one leg and arm. Both of hir sets of gills are entirely covered, compressed down under neat swaths of bandaging, and ze's missing -- quite a /lot/ of teeth, for all you can tell with new rows waiting to push forward already. "Have you tried not biting them?" Ze's slightly more dressed than hir twin, in that ze's at least put on a skirt, knee-length and purple. One of the furballs is in hir own lap, purring, too, as ze scritches at it. Shane looks at B like this is a crazy suggestion. What. /What/. Nonsense. Micah is in considerably better physical condition than...the rest of everyone for once, it seems. He is dressed for cold-weather weekend: Batsignal hoodie over Serenity/Starry Night tee over long-sleeved charcoal henley, lined jeans, socks that a little /redundantly/ are designed to give the impression of robotic feet. He has a canvas shopping bag over each shoulder with Vietnamese food in, veggie items in one bag and meat ones in the other. This keeps his hands free for operating the push-bar (there are no actual push-handles) on the back of his neon green (now with white and blue EL wire!) wheelchair, in which Jax is seated. "Hey, guys. Soup's on. Did your Tribbles get teeth?" The gnawing furball earns an amused lofted eyebrow. Jax is in yoga pants, again, black this time with tiny red-gold-yellow firebirds flitting over them in glittery-metallic colours. His rainbow colour-blocked sweatshirt is on over his Little Miss Sunshine tee, mismatched arm warmers on his arms and mismatched socks on his feet. "/Everything/ in here's got teeth. Y'all ever considered gettin' a real pet?" A pair of the colourful puffballs roll their way over to Micah, nibblechewing at one of his feet now, too. "What are you talking about?" B huffs, holding up one of the tribbles. "These are totally real." Ze curls hir legs up under hirself, clearing some space on the low table to put the food and then frowning apologetically. "... {Sorry}, it's not really wheelchair-height." Shane has started gnawing on one of his tribbles again. He stops, though, when the Dads arrive. "Tribbles version 2.0. Toothier tribbles. /Everything's/ better with teeth." He doesn't help make space. He just /pounces/ the meatbag with a small happy growl. "I already have Dai." "These're totally real! An' y'don't gotta worry 'bout feedin' an' poop." Might be that Micah's in a similar camp to B. It might /also/ be that he squees outright at the little puffballs nibbling at his socks. "Kinda get the idea that maybe most of 'em aren't as /gnawy/ as ones that live in the same place as Shane. Since they do adapt their programmin'." He relinquishes the meat-containing bag over to Shane, setting the veggie one on the table. There is pho, mixings in separate plastic clamshell containers from the noodle-protein-broth, rice-wrapped veggie spring rolls as a side in one and nem nuong in the other. "Y'think y'could handle transferin' to an' from the floor cushions, hon? No shortage of strappin' youngfolk t'help you up an' down." "Oh, I'm fine, don't you worry none." Jax does grit his teeth as he works himself out of his chair, but he does get /himself/ out of it, easing down onto the floor to settle onto a cushion by the table. "Y'should tell that t'your twin, ze seems t'have gotten rid of a /few/ of hir teeth." He scoops one of the furballs into his lap, too, curiously rubbing fingertips against it. "I gave some'a these t'Hive but they was the less-squish ones. Should give these kind now. ... is Dai your pet, I woulda thought that was the other way 'round." There's a crooked smile on his lips at this. Shane grins, bouncing up to dart off to the kitchen and return with bowls and soup spoons and chopsticks. He settles down cross-legged at the table, shrugging a shoulder. "Some days. And yeah, I might've taught mine to be a little bitey. B'll get more teeth." "Better teeth." B's nose wrinkles up. "Hope might've collected some." "Good thing it's soup tonight." Shane miiight be smirking just a little as he starts to spoon meat and basil and bean sprouts into a bowl. "So what's up?" Micah resists the urge to over-help, but does /hover/ while Jax gets out of the chair. Just in case. He finally settles onto his own cushion, unpacking the veggie bag for Jax and himself. There is still a Tribble attached to the toes of his prosthetic foot through all of this, but he doesn't make any move to try and dislodge it. "Squishy is nice. Makes 'em cuddlier." He shudders a little at the mention of Hope knocking out teeth. "Mmn. Yeah, 'least y'kids got teeth t'/spare/." Cracking into the box of spring rolls, he takes a pair for himself to nibble on before passing them over to Jax. "Gettin' right to it, then. How much do y'all know 'bout Dusk an' Isra's situation with the egg?" Jax's nose wrinkles at the thought of knocking out teeth, too. "Ghhh," is all he says at this. He shakes his head at the spring rolls, at the moment just ignoring the food. His fingers still work at the fur of his tribble, a small smile curling his lips as it starts to purr. "... oh gosh you got one stuck." He sounds a little giggly, with this, reaching out to poke at the one attached to Micah. The laughter fades from his voice at the mention of the egg, though, eye flicking between their two kids. "They talked t'you 'bout it at all?" "Oh shit wait /egg/? Is this is like a /serious/ talk? I didn't bring my serious face." Shane chopsticks up a piece of beef, chomping down into it, but then fills the bowl the rest of the way and passes it off to B. "I know that thing looks like it'd make a delicious omelette." B grimaces, nose wrinkling up. "Mmmnh," ze answers. And then falls quiet, picking up hir chopsticks and attacking hir pho with unnecessary vehemence. "Yeah, it's a bit...latched on. C'mere, y'little limpet." Grasping the fuzzball broadly in the palm of his free hand, Micah gives it a shake to encourage it loose before plopping it into his lap. "Might be kinda serious talk." His lips twitch over to one side at Shane's breakfasty opinion. "Dunno that I'd say that 'round Isra without a healer on hand. She thinks her maternal hormones or whatever done kicked in. S'gettin' super-protective of that egg." Ripping off another bite of spring roll to chew on gives him a chance to consider how to approach things. "Though she an' Dusk both independently decided they don't feel like they'd be able t'be parents--the caregivin' kind--for whoever comes crackin' outta that egg come hatchin' time." Jax actually looks mildly amused at the omelette comment, though he presses his lips together to stifle the chuckle that threatens to arise. "Tact ain't never gonna be your strong suit, is it, honey-honey?" His hand scrubs against his cheek, head shaking, slightly. "Y'can have this talk with whatever face you want, sweetie, but it's -- kinda an important one." He curls his fingers against the tribble in his lap, just feeling the purring vibrations as he looks at the twins. "This whole thing's been pretty rough on both of them. Didn't neither of them plan none'a this. We been talkin' options with them. How to make sure they /got/ options they feel okay with. Your Ba an' I offered t'-- be the. Primary caretakers for the eggling if. Since they didn't feel they was able to do it an' wasn't happy with none of the other choices they had." "I did offer it to them before Fight Club when Dusk got out of jail," Shane admits nonchalantly, shrugging a shoulder as he fixes himself his own bowl of pho. "Didn't take me up, though, she said they were still deciding though Dusk seemed like /he/ would've been glad to --" He stops, spoon clattering back down against his bowl. His eyes lift to his fathers, brows raising. B has put down hir soup spoon, too. Hir claws have extended, long, but otherwise ze has gone very still, and very silent. "... you offered what?" Shane sets his bowl down, rocking back down against his cushion. His brows are still hiked waaay up, voice very flat. Micah winces at the clatter and B's elongated claws. He sets the remaining half of his spring roll back into his bowl, hand moving to fuss at his Tribble's fur, instead. "They're in a rough spot. They ain't in a place t'raise the kid themselves, but it ain't exactly like y'can hook up with an adoption agency offerin' out your /egg/ t'families as want children. Ain't nobody gonna pounce on that opportunity." Scritchscritch. The little furball makes an excellent fidgeting tool. "So your Pa an' I talked it over. An' decided that we /are/ in a place t'take care of the egg. So we made the offer t'Dusk an' Isra so's they wouldn't hafta feel...trapped. Into doin' somethin' they didn't think they could do. They're gonna take us up on it." "To give a home to the kid, once it hatches," Jax reiterates quietly, looking between the sharkpups. "'cuz of they deserve to be supported in this, to -- be /able/ to make a choice that ain't. Just /forced/." Now Shane goes quiet, eyes dropping away from the others to just look down at his soup bowl. His undamaged set of gills ripples, claws scraping at the table. B is less quiet, now, a low growl rumbling up in hir throat. Ze shakes hir head, abandoning hir soup as ze gets up from the table and turns for the door. Micah nods along with Jax's clarification. "It ain't good for anybody in the situation t'be forced into that kinda thing." His brow furrows deeply as B stalks off. "B, wait, we..." But he leaves off calling hir back for now. "Maybe it's best t'give 'ir a few minutes. Um. We get that this is big. For all of you, not just us." He continues watching Shane's reaction, head tilted slightly, hesitant. "B, don't. Stay. This is -- we need to talk, honey, we can't just --" Jax presses his lips together, starting to actually get up after B but sitting back down hard when his body protests this motion. His knuckles scrub against his eye, brow creasing with worry as his gaze follows after B. "... I know this is difficult. This whole situation. Dusk an' Isra is -- they're family, we jus'. Are tryin' to make sure that weren't nobody -- backed into a corner they couldn't -- get out of." B just shakes hir head again, the growl growing harsher. Ze disappears down into the basement, closing the door behind hirself. "Yeah." Shane is standing, too. "They're family. Glad /you/ all feel okay with this, then. Get out of our fucking house." Micah's head shakes, hand reaching out to rest on Jax's arm, turning into moving over to help support him when he wavers. "It's like...Isra just told us yesterday. That ev'rybody'd prefer this ain't never happened t'begin with. That there was some kinda magic do-over wand out there if not. But there isn't. We're just...tryin' t'make the best of it an' help support them. An' give the child a chance at a...lovin'...family." The last words are rather inconveniently timed with B exiting and closing the door. He draws in a deep breath, a slight quaver to his jaw and firmer gripping of the Tribble in his lap at Shane's order. "This is a lot. We get that this is a lot. An' y'all need some time to process it. But we /will/ need t'talk about it." Fortunately, they hadn't really gotten far in getting food out of the containers. He packs the veggie items back into their bag and slings this over the push-bar on the wheelchair before returning to offer Jax assistance in standing. "M'gettin' a real good track record of gettin' thrown out 'round here. Have Spence toss me outta our place an' it'll be the whole buildin'." This last is just above a murmur, not doing a great job of hiding the hurt spilling into his voice. Jax doesn't immediately stand, this time. His eye narrows, his hand pressing palm-down against the table. "Shane." His voice is firm, if not sharp. "I know this is hard an' -- we should've talked to you all first an' I'm sorry we didn't go about this right, maybe, but you do not get to talk to us like that jus' on account of you're upset. We deal with you with respect an' we always have. If you need time or space or whatever you jus' gotta ask." Only now does he accept Micah's hand in getting back into the chair, slow and a little stiff. "I love you, pup." Shane pauses, gills fluttering again. His eyes fix downward, his arms folding across his chest. He's quiet, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he swallows, hard. "{I'm sorry,}" he finally says in low Vietnamese, a little sullen. "You should have talked to us first. This affects our whole family and you had no right to just /spring/ it on us. That /wasn't/ respect. That wasn't even acting like we're family. I love you, but you need to go." At first, Micah busies himself with helping Jax into the chair. Perhaps he just needed to take a moment to collect himself before speaking again. "We've been fumblin' with this," Micah says softly, not quite an admission or an explanation. Just honest information. "Not knowin' who t'talk to 'bout what an' when. Or how. It's been...complicated an' confusin' an' delicate an' we ain't been sure of the first thing in the whole process. It ain't an excuse, but it's...what it is. We only just figured out any kinda direction with this yesterday." Once Jax is set, he moves the food bag back to his shoulder and leans forward to unlock the wheel brakes. "That's fair. An' m'sorry for makin' y'feel left out of this decision. But we /do/ love you an' you /are/ family and we /will/ need t'talk about this. Just...let us know when you're able, okay?" Jax nods once, settling himself in the chair. His fist circles his heart, once. "We should have. An' I'm sorry we didn't. This has been -- we ain't been real sure of -- any of this, ourselves. I -- just. Please come talk to us. When you can." He lapses back into quiet, biting down on his lip like he /wants/ to say more but just fidgeting instead with the tribble that is still held in his lap. Shane nods. Quiet. He takes the bowls of meat pho that he'd served out, gills still fluttering as he carries them off to the basement. Once Shane has left, too, Micah's shoulders rise and fall visibly with a heavy breath, eyes scrunching closed for a moment. He leans forward to give Jax a little half-hug before starting them off toward the door. “That could've gone better. Or worse. I hope they just need time t'come around.” Jax's head tips back into the hug, his eye closing. He doesn't answer, this, though. His brow just furrows, a troubled expression on his face as Micah pushes him back towards Lighthaus.