ArchivedLogs:Some Comfort

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Some Comfort
Dramatis Personae

Iolaus, Micah, Ryan, Sebastian, Shane, Reg




<NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village

This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too.

Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within.

Lighthaus has been quiet, through much of the day. With Spencer at school and Tag and Micah at work and the twins refusing to /go/ back to school, they've had the house largely to themselves. Hive's moved into Jax's bedroom but he's been a /quiet/ presence; the twins spent much of the morning just sleeping, curled up in one of the enormous beanbags in the living room.

Sebastian's still sleeping, or sort of half-drowsing at least, still tucked into the beanbag with a damp towel laid over himself like a blanket. No other clothes, but that's not exactly /unusual/; between growing up in cages and having skin and gills easily snagged and irritated by most clothing, the twins have a kind of /animal/ attitude towards bodies.

Shane is -- kind of more dressed! In that he's wrapped a towel around his waist as he stands near the window, violin tucked beneath his chin. He's been practicing a /lot/, lately, far more energy devoted to this pursuit than to many others, and it's showed in his intermittent lessons with Ryan. He's struggling a little with the piece he's playing at the moment, though, a Prokofiev Sonata which is giving his clawed fingers a little difficulty in some of the intermittent pizzicato. The house still smells of pine from the lighted Christmas tree in a corner, the little Nativity set (sculpted of Sebastian's bone carvings and Jax's brightly colourful glasswork) still set up on the counter. No warm cooking and baking smells that Jax so often fills the home with, though.

Behold, the prodigal musician returns! Ryan Black, so oft sporadic or missing amidst trying times in the Lofts makes a concerted effort to be here /now/, as circumstances project at their most dismal. Heard before seen, he alternates between humming the backtrack and murmuring the chorus to a decidedly familiar tune; the selfsame one that earned him nomination for the Grammy Awards later this month.

Outside the door to the apartment, he grips the handle, knob turning to admit him into the apartment. He shoves himself in, frame propped by his back so he can balance the warm aromas of gingerbread spice and peppermint that flood the entryway with his arrival, two cardboard trays, one stacked on top of the other balanced in his hands, held up by an architecture of paper cups labeled to denote their origin from a nearby cafe. "Yo, Shane. You know, it's like, the second ice age out there, right?" He greets the towel-clad teenager, his voice a warm effusion of good cheer, contagious at it washes over them.

Proceeding to invite himself further inward, he pauses by the kitchen to set down his gift of caffeinated beverages, eagerly starting to shed outer-layers of clothing himself. Off come the the crimson beanie, the dark-grey peacoat, the black faux-leather gloves, and scarf he unwinds from his neck. Beneath, still compact in secondary layers, he wears a denim jacket thrown over a zip-up hoodie, tattered charcoal grey jeans with /thermals/ peeking through the holes, and laced-up boots.

"Shoes," Shane says automatically as Ryan enters, reflexive in his habitual -- keeping the floors pristine as Jax ever does, even without Jax here to /fret/ over them. He lowers his bow in frustration. "Should just pull out all my fucking claws," he mutters with a baleful glare down at his own hand. "... is that gingerbread /coffee/?"

Sebastian stirs in his beanbag, peering blearily up at Ryan. Then burrowing down further beneath his damp blanket-towel. "I thought it sounded good."

"I thought you were asleep." Shane frowns down at his brother.

"Was listening," Sebastian answers in sleepy mumble. "It's nice. Can't really talk in here but there's still -- music."

Shane offers his violin and bow out to Ryan as Ryan de-winterizes. Maybe like a /trade/, because he's also reaching to take the coat and gloves and wintergear so that he can stash them in the entryway closet. "You play it. You play it /better/."

"I'm getting there," Ryan protests, critiquing, "Don't apply so much pressure in your grip on the bow. Claws have nothing to do with it." Trudging with exaggerated steps for the seating area, he deposits himself on the corduroy sofa, lifting up his left foot to untangle laces, carefully unhooking them from the metal clasps along the sides of the tongue to /tug/ his first boot free.

"You realize it's almost, like, dinner, right?" This he aims at Sebastian, pointing him towards the kitchen with its festive holiday aromas. "Soy latte, technically. Look, I can't bake for shit, but I figured it could still smell /like/ cookies, even if the barista pumped it out of one of those syrup bottles."

Brow furrowed, the musician scans the room as he removes his second boot, hands freed just in time to take the violin and bow from Shane. "Gather round 'close, and even if they have /video/, all they'll see is our mouths moving."

Shane slips away to hang Ryan's winter gear in the closet, considering this last statement for a moment before disappearing into his bedroom. He returns in short order with his laptop, peering beneatht he coffeetable briefly and then setting the computer on it.

Sebastian gets out from his beanbag nest to drags the coffeetable farther from the couch. Drag his beanbag /over/ so that he can curl up again at the foot of the couch. "Don't /think/ they have video," he says thoughtfully, "though if they do, uh." He eyes his brother speculatively. "-- is it illegal to watch surveillance video if there's been teenagers having sex in it? Can we bust them for child-porn?"

Shane just smirks. He opens up his laptop, opening bing and typing in a quick query. Scanning through the /reams/ of porn that this brings up before he starts playing one particularly loud gay orgy. He positions the computer near one side of the table, cranking the volume up and then flitting away to retrieve the drinks. "Gingerbread is good." He drops down onto the couchbeside Ryan. "Mmnh. I have a lot of trouble with the pizzicato, though, when I have to /pluck/ the strings I keep -- thinking I'm just going to tear through them." His claws stretch outward, then retract down to small nubs again.

"Have you seen the videos?" Sebastian asks, once everyone is settled close to Ryan again. "They're all over the -- everything. Internet. Hasn't stopped the death threats but there's been a bit of sympathy thrown in all the random emails we're getting now, too."

Ryan sets his chin on the small plate clipped to the bottom of the violin, pressing the hairs of his bow down against the strings, fingers positioned along the neck. Poised, elbow crooked outward, he strums once, tuning, in appearance. The minute vibrations cast along on air-waves attunes /him/ however, sweeping the room for every audio device stationed in the apartment, seen or unseen.

"Uh. We can add it to their list of heinous crimes, but hopefully we get them on more /serious/ charges," he mumbles, grinning widely at Shane's choice of sonic interference he pulls up on his laptop.

"Mmm, maybe we can look into some more industrial strength strings. 'M sure we can tune it to sound the same. I dunno."

Frowning, he lowers both bow and violin down to his lap, nodding solemnly. "I watched a few, yeah. It's-- difficult. But it got me thinking."

There are a few recording devices hidden -- more or /less/ hidden, the twins have done kind of a lot of searching and know where at least some of them are, the nearest stationed under the coffeetable just beneath where Shane's set his loudly porny laptop. Shane takes the gingerbread latte, drawing in a deep hungry breath of its comforting cookie smell as he leans himself up against Ryan's side. Tucks head against shoulder. "It's ugly stuff," he agrees with a grimace.

"Thinking that a lot of people need to die?" Sebastian's voice is quiet as it often is, but his sharp teeth briefly bare in hard-clenched snarl that fades soon enough. He scoots his beanbag closer, aaaaalmost leaning up against Ryan's knee. Almost. He ends up settling just beside Ryan, head against the base of the couch instead.

"The news keeps talking about execution." Shane's gills flutter fast. "I just hope maybe with Vector out there -- saying that Pa had nothing to do with the virus, maybe. But. But /execution/, Ryan."

Ryan stoops over his feet to nestle the violin and bow between them on the ground, uninterested in playing. For the moment. Arm freed, he occupies it with Shane, encircling him in a wordless embrace as he situates himself, dropping a hand down on Sebastian too.

"Very ugly," he agrees, shaking his head at Sebastian, solemn. "No, not of killing people. It's too -- public for that. I think it's better that /no one/ dies." Here his biceps bulge, hold firmer around Shane in comfort, as the porn-sound backdrop pulsates with a counter-intuitive soothing sensation, empathic and relaxing.

"I was thinking, I could, like. Take clips of all your videos and turn it into a musical compilation. And put my own at the end. We could use the proceeds to pay for Jax's attorneys or -- fuck. I don't know. Maybe it's a shit idea, and I need to help out in a more serious way."

Sebastian leans gratefully into the touch, eternally shy about /initiating/ contact but drinking it in hungrily when offered. His head tips in against the outside of Ryan's knee, the gills along his sides and the side of his neck fluttering slowly open and closed. "... Pa's kind of a stickler about killing people, too," he admits softly.

"Gee, I wonder why." It's hard to see when Shane's pupilless eyes are rolling but easy enough to hear it in his voice. He closes his eyes afer this, though, nestling up close as Ryan's arm circles him. Just relaxing, into the touch, into the soothing empathic influence, probably badly needed after the strain his family has had this past week. His head tips up, eyes fixing on Ryan with a slowly puzzled frown growing.

Sebastian looks up, too, head tilting backwards so he can peer up at the others. "But. If you -- made a video of your own, that'd mean you --"

"-- would make the entire internet flip their collective shit holy crap. There just. /Aren't/. Mutant celebrities." Shane sounds -- interested. But a little /nervous/, too, leaking through underneath the spark of curiosity.

"Well, there's mutant /celebrities/. I mean, there's Pa and Cage, there's people famous for /being/ mutants but not. Mutants famous for being people." Sebastian's sharp teeth trace against his lip. "Your agent would pee himself."

"Probably make your sales skyrocket," Shane adds with a croooooked smile, "at least until they crucify you."

"No." Sebastian answers this quite earnestly, "getting assassinated would make them skyrocket more."

"We save lives, we don't take them." Often, being the unspoken conditional excised from that sentiment. Ryan closes his eyes, tapped into the sonic feedback of the apartment, tweaking it, shaping it around them to scramble the signals feeding into the bugged recording devices, surrounding them in a swathe of tranquility that laps at them like waves, crashing in a continual descent of good feels.

"It was a thought. I could look at my calendar. See if there's not some way for a /big/ reveal. Like, on national television, maybe." His cheeks redden at the prospect; fame of this extent is still very much /recent/ to the musician, and he is sometimes shy about it in the private company of his friends.

"I don't know. Maybe I should dress in black instead, assemble a squad to bust him /out/ of there. But at least with the courts he'd be guaranteed to be-- alive." Ryan sighs, thumbs running small circles where they come into contact with Shane and Sebastian.

"Grammys are later this month," Shane points out, quietly. He's on the couch next to Ryan, towel wrapped around his waist, tucked in against the musician's side. And for some reason there is gay porn playing on his laptop on the coffeetable, a very /loud/ dungeony orgy filling the apartment with angry sex noises.

Sebastian is curled up in a beanbag pulled up to the base of the couch, his own damp towel draped against the gills at his sides though past that he has not bothered with clothing today and only recently bothered with getting /up/ though it's /well/ past any reasonable time to have done so. His eyes widen faintly at that suggestion. "... people would listen," he says, quietly. "People like you." He reaches up to take the gingerbread latte from Shane, take a small sip, return it.

"I'd break him out in a heartbeat. If I thought he'd have a /life/ to go back to after. But -- but unless they actually /do/ convict him maybe there's just a chance this'll --" Shane frowns. "Get dismissed. You /should/. Make a thing. Video. Maybe help his /legal/ fund. I don't know."

Micah's opening the door is /extremely/ hesitant in light of the current...sounds spilling into the hallway. Fully wishing that there was just a peephole available on this side as well, his Jayne-hat covered head /peeps/ around the barely opened door, his body remaining in the hallway, his face...blinking really confusedly at what he finds inside. As if maybe scenery to /match/ the sound effects would have been /less/ strange. "Um. You guys? What?" He slips the rest of the way into the apartment, pushing the door closed to at least stop /some/ of the sound from leaking out. He peels out of layers of outdoor gear, leaving him in a TARDIS blue polo shirt, khakis, and blue socks with I <3 <3 the Doctor printed on them in white and red.

"I think I wi--" Suspicious, even controlling the auditory interference in the room, Ryan rotates his head to the door to monitor who enters. Muscles tense, his fingers stay on Shane and Sebastian, gathering them inches closer until he starts to relax, recognizing Micah. "Yo! Come to the couch. We were ... talking. Without being heard."

The exact topic, however, he chooses not disclose just /yet/, mulling it over in his head for the time being. "I brought coffee," he informs the other man, pointing a finger to the kitchen counter, where an assortment of peppermint and gingerbread caffeinated coffee-drinks rest in two cardboard cupholder-trays.

The twins don't look towards the door, though their noses twitch in quick-sniff that seems identifaction enough for them. "It's just Ba." Sebastian relaxes as Micah enters, leaning back up against Ryan's knee. He waves a webbed hand towards the laptop. "We were just --"

"-- giving the spies something to listen to," Shane informs Micah cheerfully, tucking closer against Ryan to free up space on the couch, pat the cushion next to himself in invitation.

"Cuz Ryan's making sure they can't hear /us/," Sebastian explains. "And also maybe he's outing himself?" /He/ has a trickle of concern for this.

"/At/ the Grammys," Shane adds. "... maybe. Though that's like three weeks away, Pa could be dead in three weeks if they're not feeding him right."

Sebastian shrugs. "If they're not feeding him right he'd be dead already." He bonks his head lightly up against Ryan's knee. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Micah beelines for the coffee before acknowledging any of the other statements, plucking up a gingerbread cup and cradling it like a precious little creature before making his way over to the beanbag and settling in next to Shane. He sips from the cup before he collapses fully, expression tired. "Oh/gosh/, I think I might be in love with you now, Ryan," he teases, raising the cup briefly, as if in a toast. "Oh. Y'know you're givin' the /hallway/ somethin' t'listen too, as well?" As he warms to the indoors, the cold-red fades from his cheeks and is replaced by a softer blushing-red. "Outing? Wow, that's a big step. /Are/ y'sure y'wanna do that?" His features cloud at all the talk of Jax's potential mistreatment and death. It doesn't seem to get much /easier/ to hear.

"The the hallway can enjoy it. Little entertainment. It's nothing they haven't heard from your bedroom /before/." Shane gives a quick grin at Micah's teasing. "And /I/ was in love with Ryan /first/."

Sebastian huffs out a soft laugh, though there's a heavy dose of sadness in it. "... Pa was in love with him first."

"Pa was in love with Ryan before it was cool." Shane tucks his face against Ryan's shoulder, with this, and snakes an arm around the musician's waist to squeeeeze. "Seriously, though. I mean. People would listen. If there was -- I don't know a defense fund set up I'm sure you could drum up so much support. With /anything/ you decide to do. But --"

"-- It'd be really hard. On you. Your career. Your everything. /We/ get death threats every day and we weren't even famous to begin with." Sebastian half-turns, coiling an arm around behind Ryan's leg to hug himself close.

Shane sits back up, slightly, when Micah joins them, setting his gingerbread latte between his knees so that he has an arm free to curl around Micah as well. "It /does/ seem like now's the time for everyone's life to fall the fuck apart, though."

Likely as was /intended/ by the comment, Micah's face and ears and neck flush vibrantly red. His mouth fish-gapes open and closed for a moment as he tries to answer back and just gives up, moving on to the next. "I'm sure Ryan can handle /everyone/ lovin' 'im just fine." His eyes open a little wider. "That sounded way worse than I meant it." He just hides behind another large drink from the coffee cup. "It would be immensely hard...t'do that as a public figure. I mean, people keep /throwin'/ things at me, an' I'm precisely nobody. Not even special-ability-equipped an' they know it. Just...ability adjacent. Or...accused terrorist adjacent. One of those." He frowns, mostly at the thought of the way people treat the boys, snaking his free arm around Shane to squeeze him tighter.

Shane's brows raise. He looks to the screen of his laptop and then back to Ryan. "Probably could handle it," he agrees, "that guy looks like he's enjoying himself."

Sebastian blushes fiercely darker, blue cheeks shifting nearer to purple. He veeery much does /not/ look at the computer. "Spence came home for lunch," he admits with a thread of anger curling into his tone, "I think school was -- rough today. For him."

"I told him to stay home for the rest of the day," Shane informs Micah. "But he doesn't have science till the afternoon so he went back." He sits up a little straighter to allow Ryan off the couch to answer his phone, leaning instead against Micah's side.

Sebastian almost starts to climb off beanbag and onto couch, too, but just nestles back down into the beanbag, curling his towel around his shoulders. "You're not nobody," he tells Micah very softly.

Outside the front door, there is a muffled popping sound - a whumph, reminicent of the sound of igniting a fire that had lighter fluid poured on it by an overeager pyromaniac. A few seconds later, there is a knock on the door, a light rap of knuckles on the surface of the door. On the other side of the wood, Iolaus stands next to to Reg. Dressed in a white dress shirt and a pair of grey slacks the doctor looks excited, smiling up at the peephole - even bouncing on the balls of his feet once as he waits. "Micah? It's Iolaus." he calls through the door. "And Reg," he adds, glancing back at the bodyguard.

Micah's blush flares on, still half-hidden behind his travel cup of coffee, having made the mistake of /following/ Shane's gaze to the laptop and its exceedingly explicit pornographic contents. He drinks from the cup again. The mention of Spence coming home shoots his eyes open wide. "Ohgosh, he's not /here/ is he? With all that goin' on." He gestures at the laptop. At the clarifications of school being rough and Spence not being here, his eyes settle but the muscles in his jaw set hard. "I'll look into...whatever's been goin' on. He's been through /enough/ without addin' all this. /All/ of us have. But he's just a little kid... I think I'll make tofu scramble for dinner. Maybe with some pancakes." Micah pats the couch cushions when 'Bastian makes like he is going to move. "I didn't...mean it like that. I meant in the public eye. They got no reason t'pay me any mind."

At the sound of the voices at the door, Micah's eyes widen again, skin threatening to discover a new shade of red entirely. "Ohgosh. Oh/gosh/, that's Doctor Saavedro. Turn that Just off. Oh/gosh/." His hand flails in the direction of the laptop and its rather /loud/ exceedingly explicit pornographic contents that were being used for sound shielding by Ryan and the twins, in light of Homeland Security surveillance of the apartment. Micah scurries to his feet, straightening his work shirt as he opens the door. "Iolaus, hello. What's brought y'out here in person?" He gestures the newly arrived men into the room, helping them to put up any winter outdoor gear they may wish to remove on their way in.

"Oh. Oh, good, he'll like that. And no he's not -- yet, um. Liam was going to pick him up -- soon." Sebastian glances to Spencer's door. Then tenses, with a sudden fix of eyes on the door and a low growl at the sound of other voices; the tense wariness in his posture doesn't fade at Iolaus's greeting.

Shane's abrupt tension vanishes as soon as it came, though. "Dude, have you /met/ Iolaus? /Giant/ fag, he'll probably like it." Shane's eyes track back to the laptop on the coffeetable -- which is currently very /loudly/ playing a video of a gay orgy in a dungeon -- with a small smirk playing on his lips.

The twins themselves probably aren't /helping/ the scene in the living room much. In the typically unselfconscious manner of kind-of-feral ex-labrats neither of them is currently /dressed/; on the beanbag in the living room Sebastian has a towel wrapped around his shoulders but no other clothing. Shane's towel is at least curled around his waist or -- /was/ until he stands. Not to turn off the porn, just to grab a peppermint latte and offer it to Io -- or on second thought, Reg, his eyes are /narrowing/ hard on Io. "What the fuck are you so happy about."

Iolaus takes a few steps in before hesitating, his eyes tracking first to the two twins, then to the computer and the noises coming out of it, then to Micah. His mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Closes. He blinks and then chuckles, stepping into the room. Neither Reg nor Iolaus are particularly dressed for the cold - a light wind-breaker on Iolaus, but that's about it. Hardly winter weather gear, especially for a native who should know better. Reg steals the latte before Iolaus can try and take it, though his amusement looks a little bit more pained than his bosses' does.

"Your Pa says hello, for starters." Iolaus says, looking back to Shane, and then to Micah. "After a long talk with the US Attorney's office, they agreed to let me consult with the prison doctors on his case. I went out to visit him and Dusk two days ago. I figured you guys might like to hear as soon as I got back." Iolaus explains. A pause, and his attention shifts back to the computer once more. "What, uh. What's going on?"

"Ohgosh. Shane. /Shane/, I said turn that /off/, it is /so/ not appropriate for the livin' room an' now we've got /guests/. Ohgosh." Micah's hand creeps over his face in attempt to hide the extremes of blushing threatening to combust there. "Homeland Security's buggin' our apartment an' the boys were here with Ryan an' oh/gosh/. I...I just got home," he finally gives up, offering the last as some /hope/ of adequate explanation. It's about this time that Micah looks over and notices that Shane is offering drinks to guests in the nude. "Shane, what happened t'your towel, honey? Remember that discussion about appropriate levels of clothing for when other people are around?" None of this is helping his skin to match his hair any less.

What /does/ help is the mention of Jax and Dusk. Micah falls right /out/ of dying-of-embarrassment and into fretting. "Oh! They let you? You, personally? I been gettin' nowhere with a whole /legion/ of lawyers an' even got a disability lawyer t'try an' get 'em the medical attention they needed an'... Are they okay? Is Jax gettin' light? Is he gettin' fed right? What about Dusk? Will they at least give 'em transfusions?"

With all this non-pornographic commotion in the living room, the audiokinetic exits the twins' bedroom, thumb hovering over the red "end call" button on his touchscreen. Ryan tucks his cellphone back into the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt, brows raised at the two newest additions to the room. "Uh, Shane. You can put it on regular radio. I'll still -- cover us," he promises the naked blue-boy, half-heartedly backing Micah's attempt to parent the sharktwins into decency.

Nodding his head at Iolaus and his bodyguard, he resumes his place on the couch, gaze trained on them. "What's going on with Jax now?" There's a tension that besets him as he looks upon the news bearer, a tightness about the eyes and a rigid posture that refuses to relax against the couch.

Sebastian is blushing furiously purple as he moves from his beanbag to turn off the video, switch on music instead. Riot-folk. Protest songs. The reminder of appropriate /clothes/ for guests makes his enormous eyes open huge-wide, gills rapidly fluttering. "Oh -- ohgosh, I'm s--" He switches into Vietnamese for the Forbidden Word, signing it /and/ saying it aloud, "{Sorry, sorry, sorry.}" He grabs at his towel, wrapping it around himself and /fleeing/, head bowed in no small amount of shame, towards the bedroom.

"He's a doctor," Shane says in puzzlement, "I'm sure he's seen a /billion/ naked people before. And Reg is --" He looks at Reg thoughtfully. "-- Hot, he probably has too." But he ambles back towards the couch to snag his towel, wrapping it around his waist. He leans against the back of the couch, dropping his chin onto Ryan's shoulders as he tucks his towel into place on his narrow hips. "... they're not dead?" His brows raise to Iolaus at the mention of Jax and Dusk, eyes narrowing again though this time just intently and not in annoyance. The sudden /fierce/ spike of worry spilling off him is probably more uncomfortable to Ryan than anyone else.

Iolaus laughs and reaches over to squeeze Micah's shoulder, shaking his head bemusedly. "I don't mind. It just... wasn't quite what I was expecting, if you understand." His smile is lilting as he turns to survey Ryan and give the audiokenetic a warm smile and a little nod. "Ryan. Good to see you again. Congratulations on your nominations, by the way."

Iolaus shakes his head once and turns back to Micah, a faint hint of red seeping into his cheeks as he looks after Sebastian. His hand raises, but he lets it drop back down to his side with a shake of his head as he turns his attention back to Micah. "Uh, oh, was the disability lawyer you? A lawyer had already done pretty much all of the hard work convincing him, and called me to see if I would be willing to do it. And... yeah, I went personally."

The doctor runs a hand through his hair and looks at Micah, sympathetically. "He's getting enough to eat now, and light. Dusk is getting blood, but... neither of them were in good shape when I got there. It was good you managed to get that lawyer; I don't think they had more than a couple of days left before they would have needed an emergency room. Or less. But they're doing alright, now. As well as they can be expected to, considering the circumstances. Not dead at all."

For his part, Reg seems more amused than anything else. "Thanks, kid." he says, with a bemused snort and a sip of his latte. Like a gentleman, he neither confirms nor denies Shane's suspicions.

"Ohgosh, B, I didn't mean y'had t'run away, it's..." Micah rests his forehead in his hand as one twin flees and the other questions the need for any sort of covering at all. "/Context/, Shane. Doctor Saavedro is not here t'/examine/ you. An' of /course/ they're not dead, please don't say that." His eyes widen, blush renewing in a paler pink at Io's hand on his shoulder. "Oh/gosh/, I should hope...that wasn't what you'd expect walkin' through the front door." Micah nods at the question of the lawyer. "Bless her /heart/, I owe her a box of somethin' delicious from Hanna's. Y'wouldn't b'lieve the number of lawyers I had t'call just t'get one t'take the case. She was drivin' all the way down here from Ithaca..." His prattle about lawyers is halted quite handily by the doctor's news that he had tended to Jax and Dusk and that their basic needs are at least being tended. He scrunches his eyes closed and feels his throat tightening such Iolaus gets very little warning when Micah practically flings himself on the other man to hug him tight. "Thank you. Thank you thankyou," he finally manages just above a whisper.

"Thanks, doc," Ryan smiles at Iolaus, pulling Shane against him despite the sand-papery texture of his skin. With the radio blaring, his influence over the room multiplies, blunting the sharp tip of anxiety that pierces the air. He doesn't /deaden/ the creeping sense of unease and fear laden throughout so much as /hone/ it into more positive emotion, channeled into calmness.

Ryan speaks little himself, attention rapt on the exchange between Micah and Iolaus as he tries to familiarize himself with the ongoings with Jackson and Dusk, silent as he bites his lower lip, caught on every word of news that relates the wellbeing of their friends. Clearing his throat, he asks, "So... at least we know they mean to keep them /alive/." For now.

Shane's gills flutter, restless-nervous, though their shift quiets some first at Ryan's couch and then at the empathic influence. "OhthankFrith," he breathes out, curling an arm down around Ryan's neck for a tight relieved /squeeze/ of hug. "-- Are they getting tortured?" is his next question, quite seriously as he looks to Iolaus. "If they've been trying to find Vector --" His teeth clench, and he slids back around the couch to settle in /properly/ beside Ryan again. "Are they going to get to see /their/ lawyers? Are they --" He swallows, a little more choked with the question: "... ever going to get to see us?" And, smaller: "Did you give him a hug? Sometimes I think he needs to. Be /touched/ about as much as he needs sugar or light."

Iolaus' eyes widen as suddenly there is a Micah pressing him into a tight hug where previously there had been a SUSPICIOUSLY SIMILAR looking one in front of him before. There is a moment of hesitation before Iolaus' arms wrap around Micah and return the embrace, squeezing him reassuringly. "It's... not like you think. I mean. It might be, I don't know. But I saw another prisoner while I was there, and it doesn't seem to be much like Prometheus at all. No torture. It just... felt like prison. It's not a nice place, but it's not hell." A pause. "I did give Jax several hugs before I left, but I don't know about the rest."

Iolaus looks a little embarrassed as he shrugs. "I'll be going back, though. Soon, I think. The prison doctor wanted me to follow up on another one of the prisoners, and I think I am going to talk to the warden about helping out with all of them, if I can. Or one of my staff. The prison medical staff, I think, are a bit... overwhelmed."

Micah just clings for a moment before thinking to let Iolaus go again with a slightly sheepish look. "I didn't...have /any/ idea what they'd be doin' but I was so worried they'd both just be sittin' an' /starvin'/ t'death I couldn't even /see/ straight sometimes." He nods at Iolaus's claim not to know much more, silently reminding himself how much more news they had been given thus far than was expected. "Please...please take good care of 'em as much as they'll let you. I can't imagine how hard it is...even if they're finally gettin' fed. Just bein' kept /alone/ all the time."

Ryan sighs in relief, a slow, long-winded expulsion of air through his mouth, palm clamping down over Shane's shoulder to apply reassuring pressure with his grip. He listens to Iolaus, still, waiting until he fully discloses the state of his friends, whatever momentary peace of mind he comes by short-lived as their imprisonment remains fact. "Is there any way-- to get his restrictions loosed? In the interest of his health? Or what about getting the lawyers in there to discuss-- I don't know, setting bail?" Helpless, he shakes his head, staring down at the violin still propped near his feet. "Man, I thought our days behind bars were /over/."

"We can turn Ryan invisible," Shane suggests after a moment. /Also/ completely serious. "And teleport him in for conjugal visits. Dusk and Pa /both/ kind of wither up and die without other people around to cuddle." He closes his eyes, picking his coffee back up and sipping at it slowly. "I was really scared, too," he admits to Iolaus more quietly. "Take good care of them, okay?" He butts his head lightly against Ryan's shoulder. "OK. But you can -- you can make a /song/ or something. Drum up support, fundraise. Maybe even record a video of your own if you -- if you think you're ready. To do that. We can get them back. We're /going/ to get them back."

"I'll do what I can. But they take security... very seriously. Even getting Jax food in his cell was a fight with the warden, in case he could somehow make it into a weapon. The food that /they/ make and bring him, mind you." Iolaus shakes his head and shrugs. "I don't even know where the prison is. Hours from here, somewhere. But, I'm sure they'll have to let him see his lawyers at some point, right? I mean... they have to, don't they?" This would probably be more comforting if it wasn't a question. His lips press into a thin line, and he nods. "I'll do whatever I can, but I wouldn't hold out hope for me being able to change anything. I think his lawyers are the best bet for that."

"I'd be satisfied just...t'know that they're bein' kept decently an' not hurt an' gettin' the chance t'talk t'their lawyers an' /maybe/ even defend themselves or have a trial an' not just be...detained forever with nothin'," Micah sighs heavily, drifting back to the coffee table to retrieve the cup he had left there and drink from it. "This helps, though. Knowin' somebody who can at least check on 'em regular. It's...a lot better than just imaginin' the worst. An' I'm sure seein' a friendly face don't hurt 'em none, neither."

"You're not turning me invisible, Shane." Ryan rejects this idea, indulging in a humored frown fading back into his scowl. Tilting his head, he plants his temple on Shane's forehead, leaning into him as he reclines, pensive. "Give me a week. To make a video. I'm going to talk to my agent, so it raises maximum awareness. Maybe if we draw enough attention to it, public demand will /ensure/ they're treated like... like citizens." Though he gives off an /air/ of determination, the actual resolution in his tone is less there, still doubtful. "I need to think over the concept. Figure out exactly /what/ will work best. But I'm ready."

The twins' bedroom door opens again. Sebastian is still looking distinctly uncomfortable as he peeks back out, cheeks flushed dark. He's dressed now -- not in any colorful feminine attire like he /usually/ sports but in a pair of black cargo pants and one of Shane's long-sleeved henley shirts, cream-colored. He's very much not meeting Micah's eyes, nor Iolaus or Reg's. He does look towards Ryan, though. "Nobody's going to blame you if you don't," he assures Ryan, softly. "You can't go /back/ once you do. And we'll get it. But. But if you /do/, we're --"

"-- going to be here for you," Shane finishes, for his twin. "Because it's going to be hard as fuck. But you're --"

"-- our family." Sebastian slips over to the couch, leaning up against it from behind and very timidly dropping a small kiss to the top of Ryan's head.

Shane nestles snugly at Ryan's side, but a small turn of his head brings his gaze back to Iolaus. "I don't know what they have to do. Once they say you're a terrorist they can pretty much lock you in a hole and feed you gruel and fuck you with pineapples every day and you have no right to complain."

Sebastian /frowns/. "Pa's allergic to pineapple."

Iolaus looks at Ryan with surprise. "Shit, I think your agent might just kill himself if you tell him you're going to do that." This, apparently, was supposed to be with his inside voice, not with his outside voice, for immediately after saying it, the doctor blushes and looks pointedly at not!Ryan. Micah, Sebastian, Shane, the floor, anywhere. "Uh, I mean. That... is quite a decision." Smooth recovery. He coughs, once, glancing back at Reg, then back to Shane. "I don't know either. But, so far, I haven't seen any evidence of abuse, by pineapple or anything else."

Micah cringes at the boys' colourful descriptions. "Good," he says down to his coffee when Iolaus claims to have seen no abuse. He's too busy looking /guilty/ (also at his coffee) to really join in the conversation on Ryan's Important Decisions. "That's the...last thing. Bad enough already. Don't need...nobody back t'bein' tortured for...bein' good people."

"I'll find a /new/ agent then." Ryan welcomes Sebastian back to the couch, wrangling an arm around his neck to drag the twins into an embrace, as much for their benefit as his own. "Right, and family is there for family. Jax's made plenty of sacrifices for /all/ of us. This is the least I can do. Now's when it might count the most, too. Fuck if I'll ever be able to reach this many people ever again to help him out." Interpreting those twinges of guilt, he stares at Micah, silently buffering him with happy! empathic thoughts coursing through him via the music playing. "We're going to put a stop to the torturing. No one is going to lay a hand -- or pineapple on Jax or Dusk. You'll see." Which leaves them to-- plotting. Coffee sipping. Some music playing. The door is open in Lighthaus; it always is, and so a myriad of people (including those gathered) will filter in or out, all extended branches of one fraught but determined support network, intent on justice!