ArchivedLogs:Talkative Prostheses

Talkative Prostheses
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Hive	27 February 2014 Commons and other planning.
Location <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. It's growing late into the evening and though the apartment still smells richly of curry-spices dinner has been done and packed away for some time now. Jackson is curled up in one of the oversized beanbags by the window, a pair of sunlamps trained onto his seating spot. He's dressed casually, baggy purple and black UFO pants, bright mismatched socks, bright mismatched arm warmers, a black three-quarter sleeved fishnet shirt with a purple tank top layered over top, silver stars dotted across its chest. His hair has changed colours yet again, jet black now with electric blue streaks shot through it. There's a plate of cake (chocolate stout cake topped with chocolate stout ganache) on the coffeetable near him and an empty mug that /once/ had tea and now does not. Alas. His laptop is out, and his drawing tablet -- he's /been/ working. Presumably. At least there's a three-quarters finished design in progress on his screen -- skin tearing away from a leg to show a prosthetic joint where the bones would otherwise be -- but at the moment he is ignoring his work in favour of just /lounging/ in the light, face turned towards one of the lamps and his eye drowsily closed, a softly shifting glow hovering around him. He might also be purring. A little bit. Micah had been working on his knitting, a baby blanket done up in Bedtime Bear theme about half finished marking his previous spot on the couch, knitting needles sticking out of a yarn ball. Currently, he is in the kitchen, with a pot of chocolate chai redolent of cinnamon and nearly ready for serving. Pajama O'clock may have struck early this evening, as he is already in a blue henley over pajama pants with tiny TARDISes tumbling through space decorating them, fuzzy Cookie Monster socks on his feet. The Cookie Monsters make their way back into the living room to fetch Jax's mug. Apparently his chocolate cake has requested a chocolatey drink to pair with it, since Micah doesn't even bother to ask if Jax /wanted/ tea. A few moments later, he returns with two mugs steaming with rich tea-spice-almond milk concoctions. He sets these on the table where Jax's mug had stood alone before, peering over at the artist's work curiously. There's no knock on the door, just a key turning in the lock and one very grumpy telepath outside it, ushering Spencer back into the apartment. At least, Hive has a scowl on his face though -- really that could mean anything, he so often does. << Found this upstairs, >> he informs the apartment's occupants, and then aloud, "-- you lose one of these? Cuz we don't normally have any this --" He sets a hand on Spencer's head for the express purpose of mussing the boy's hair. "Small. I think it was attempting ferret-napping." Or possibly has been successful at ferret-napping, judging by the amount of /squirming/ happening within Spencer's sweatshirt. "Oh --" Jax's lazy-contented smile widens at the delivery of tea, though he hasn't yet opened his eye. He rolls over onto his back, face tipping up towards Micah as though now basking in the other man's presence rather than in his pool of faux-sunlight. "Thank you, honey-honey, that's --" He /does/ open his eye when the door opens, squinting towards it with a sudden blush. "Oh-gosh-yep. That'n's ours. Kinda misplace him a lot -- Spence-honey do you remember how we talked about using doors and knocking an' not jus' teleporting into people's apartments?" Spencer is, though, very occupied at the moment with peering down into the front of his sweatshirt. "-- Dusk wasn't playing with her anyway he was," he informs them, cupping an arm beneath his bundle-of-ferret for support, "/busy/." Hands now free of tea (and blissfully /warm/ for having held the mugs in the first place), Micah slides onto the beanbag beside Jax. His fingertips run along one side of the other man's jaw before reaching up to pet through his hair. He does spare one hand to wave when Hive arrives. "Oh, Spence... Honey, no 'portin' into people's apartments uninvited. 'Specially not...people's bedrooms?" He arches a brow at Hive for confirmation on that, cheeks already taking on a soft shade of pink at the likely implications of Spencer's statement. "Did Dusk say Alanna could come down t'play? If not, she should go back home. It ain't nice t'borrow other people's pets without askin'." "Dusk does have company and let me tell you boy was she thrilled to have a six-year-old showing up in the middle of her --" Hive waves a hand in the general direction of UPSTAIRS, a small twitch of smirk pulling at his lips. "It's okay I think they /mostly/ still had clothes on. More or less." He makes his way slowly further into the room, sinking down to collapse onto the couch and tip his head to the side to /eye/ the cake on the table contemplatively. "Think he's a little too distracted to be missing Alanna right now though." "I'm /eight/," Spencer protests with an exasperated /huff/. "And he -- didn't say she /couldn't/ come to play," he hedges to Micah's question, as a little ferret-nose wriggles its way up out of his sweatshirt. Soon followed by forepaws and a bright pair of eyes. "Oh/gosh/." Jax's blush deepens furiously. "Spence you /really/ can't -- ohgosh. You want to go visitin' somebody, you go /outside/ their front door an' you /knock/, okay?" He turns his head to hide his face in against Micah's shirt, wriggling over to nestle in closer. "An' I think he was probably a little too busy to be -- honey-honey, you should put Alanna back -- an' /don't/ jump into his bedroom," he says with preemptive firmness. "If Flicker's home right now you can practice aiming for the /hallway/ an' knockin' proper." His mind is mostly very /loud/ with a whole world of apology. Like perhaps maybe despite lacking psionic powers he can project this apology up to Dusk through sheer force of will alone. Despite having rather anticipated the answer, Micah winces at it nonetheless, face colouring deeper into shades of red. "Honey, him not sayin' no on account of y'didn't ask or he was too...busy t'answer ain't near the same thing as him givin' permission." He nods along with Jax's prescription of appropriate behaviour at this point. "Please do as your pa says." Noticing Hive's glance at the cake, Micah leans in to kiss the top of Jax's head before extricating himself to stand again, fetching a large slice and a mug of tea for Hive and placing them on the coffee table. << We will /so/ always feed you. Please eat. Jax made the cake so's actually good. >> "Flicker's home," Hive confirms. "Doing homework and totally not boning anyone. He'll answer if you knock." He gives Micah a grateful smile for the slice of cake, though he doesn't yet take any. He starts to sit up, but ultimately just lies back down on the couch, hands somewhat fidgety where they're currently hidden in the sleeves of his sweatshirt. "-- Man. That. Actually smells good what's in the mug." Spencer frowns, nudging Alanna back down into his sweatshirt and curling his arms a little possessively around the ferretlump. "O/kay/," he agrees reluctantly. "But can she come play /later/?" "Maybe tomorrow, honey-honey, s'gettin' on near bedtime anyhow an' I don't think you should be pesterin' Dusk with any ferret-related questions for probably the rest of his evenin' so you can ask after school /tomorrow/. With proper knockin' an' everything," Jackson clarifies, wriggling up to sit just a little bit more upright in his beanbag-nest. Spencer frowns deeper at this answer, but doesn't argue. Just vanishes. Jax tips his gaze up towards the ceiling. "-- He gone properly in the hallway this time?" He looks back towards Hive with this question. "I don't actually know what's in the mugs. Somethin' proper delicious m'sure." Micah's mouth opens to answer Spencer, but Jax is already doing a good job of it. With clarifications and addenda and everything. Instead, he just nods. "S'chocolate chai. In almond milk. Crazy-rich...kinda like spicy tea cocoa." << You want I should bring 'em closer t'you or somethin'? I never know how much...your hands are gonna be shakin' or whatever at any given moment. I'll help with whatever. >> He stays standing near the arm of the couch rather than retiring back to the beanbag just yet. Hive closes his eyes, nodding after a moment. "Yeah. Knocked and everything. Though now he's pestering Flicker about video games so you might have some work to do retrieving him come bedtime." He finally sits up now, and slides off the couch to sit on the floor in front of it instead. "S'okay I got this." He doesn't actually sound very /confident/ of this, pressing his hands between his knees. "I mean I might. Spill chai all over your -- your." He waves a hand around himself. "But better than on the couch right?" He tips his head forward, resting it for a moment against his knees. "... I had something else to tell you. Besides. Returning your wayward." His teeth clench. "Fuck. I think it was important." "Oh/gosh/ that /do/ sound proper delicious." Jax scoots his beanbag a little closer to the table, leaning in to take a sip of the chai and then a mouthful of cake. "-- Oh. Honey /don't/ worry about -- we got three kids an' a dog an' a cat we can handle some spilled chai." He takes another quick mouthful of cake, licking his fingertips free of crumbs afterwards. "Important?" His teeth dig down against his lip lightly. "I mean, we ain't goin' nowhere, maybe it'll come t'you. You got a general idea what it might'a been about?" "Well, as long as he ain't interruptin' Flicker doin' anythin' important, s'worse things than retrievin' a kiddo for bedtime," Micah replies lightly, finally grabbing his own mug and returning to the beanbag, nestling in against Jax's side. "No big deal if y'spill a little. Just have a care with it bein' hot. Might wanna wait for it t'cool a touch." << An' just ask if y'do ever want help. I don't mind. >> He leaves the other man to it. "Important? Um...what would... Was it about your medical appointments? Or the Commons, maybe?" he attempts to spark Hive's memory with suggestions. Hive's legs slump down beneath the table, stretching outward and releasing his hands from where they were squeezed between his knees. "It's a piece of cake." He says this wryly, eyes narrowing as he stares down at it. "I mean, fuck. It's literally a piece of cake. I should be able to handle a --" His hands stay pulled into his sweatshirt sleeves, resting together down in his lap. "Fff appointments no that shit isn't important. Was something actually important. I don't think it was the --" He shakes his head slowly. "You guys are next though. On my -- list of. Houses, you're -- out of here in May, right?" His brow creases deep. "Was supposed to be all of Joshua's roommates they need to be out end of /this/ month but. Parley's not returning my damn --" His eyes scrunch shut again. "So I'll just do yours next instead. You'll need to -- tell me. What you want. In it." Jackson takes another long sip of chai and then settles back more comfortably, pulling his laptop closer and his tablet back into his lap so that he can continue working on the drawing on-screen. "May's the last month we're here, yeah. Is Parley still movin' in? Mirror ain't, I sorta imagined they'd stick together." He flicks a glance over towards Hive, brow creasing in faint concern. "We can talk about house-stuff whenever, honey-honey, but s'that what you wanted to talk about?" He eyes the cake with a small compression of lips, turning his attention back to his drawing to resist the urge to get up and help. Instead he hitches one leg of his pants up above his knee, sliding his sock down. His tattoos vanish, replaced soon instead by the image on his screen, skin torn away like a window to the mechanical workings inside. "-- I want an excellent kitchen an' oceans of light." "Your appointments /are/ important, hon. Don't...do that." Micah's brow furrows, lips pressing thin at Hive's dismissal. "Was the housin' what y'were wantin' t'talk about?" His head tilts, looking over at Jax. "Did you ever ask the twins if they wanted t'keep sharin' space with us, or if they'd rather be in an attached unit with Dai? I know they can /afford/ t'do separate, but...s'up t'them. An' they should be the ones t'tell what they're lookin' for by way of tubs an' all." He sips from his mug, /also/ fighting the urge to get up. "Want a big window with a window seat t'fill up with cushions in the livin' room. An' a porch out back t'sit on. With enough of a fenced-in yard for Obie t'run 'round in off-leash. Two bathrooms. Um...y'might need t'describe the kitchen more'n 'excellent', sugar." He chuckles, then is distracted by watching Jax's projection. "Copy-cat," he teases with a gentle nudge of his elbow against the illusionist's ribs. "My appointments are shitty." Hive's hands continue to fidget twitchily in his lap. Eventually he slowly pulls one hand out of its sleeve, tentatively lifting it towards his mug. He nudges the mug closer, not actually picking it up but just leaning in towards it to put his mouth on the edge and take a sip. "Yeeeah excellent can mean a lot. I know /Dusk/ wants our place adjacent to yours, we could make it a triplex if the pups -- if the pups." He takes another sip of his tea, frowning. "Wasn't housing. No. Something else. Jesus that's," he now directs his frown /towards/ Jax's torn-open leg, "creepy. Like a fucking zombie took a chunk out of --" He shudders, looking back to his tea. "Yard's gonna be shared with. Whoever the fuck else is in the house. But that's -- doable. And man /afford/, pfft, B could pay /all/ our rents. You guys can retire." "No, /now/ I'm a copycat." Jax's /leg/ vanishes entirely, flesh melting away to leave just the prosthetic leg behind. It returns to its former prosthesis-tattoo state soon, though, teeth wiggling at a lipring as he stretches his leg out in front of himself. Eying it thoughtfully and then adding to his drawing. "Actually, yeah, it's /supposed/ to look zombie-bit. I got a client in who lost --" He waves his stylus towards his leg. "-- his leg to them back in November. He's getting the ink on the flesh-leg now so he'll be kinda like a matched set. So I ain't," he informs Micah, tongue poking out at the other man, "copyin' /you/. Jus' him. Cuz I need a drawing-reference." He glances back up, watching Hive take a drink and then settling his gaze on the telepath's face. "I don't actually know what the pups want." A flush of pink floods his cheeks, brows knitting together. "I have this reflexive oh-gosh too-young-to-move-out thing goin' on when I think 'bout them gettin' a separate place they're only jus' sixteen. But they can /afford/ it for sure. -- Umm, excellent kitchen, mmm. /Lots/ of counter, lots of /cabinet/. Enough space t'eat in oh gosh can the kitchen have like a window nook for the table /too/. I can't never get enough sun." His teeth scrape against his lip again. "... an' a," << dungeon >> is what his mind fills in though aloud it is, "basement. Or at least somewhere proper /sturdy/. I guess if the pups did get their own space we'd have room for a office-room of some type but prob'ly not if we're gonna be needin' too many bedrooms already." "S'mostly that Dai's graduatin' soon an' wants t'move into the Commons an' /prob'ly/ with Shane, but...I don't know that he wants t'move in with Shane's /parents/," Micah explains further. "An' the twins are turnin' 17 in less than a month. That's before we'll be movin' by a bit. Figure if they're gonna wanna be movin' out soon anyhow, s'best t'get their place built t'order /now/. Though I'd love t'keep 'em with us, too. Right next door ain't so bad, though." He chews on his lower lip a moment. "Still would prefer if you'd ask 'em, Jax. 'Fraid Shane might take it wrong if /I/ did. S'been...misinterpretin' everythin' there is t'misinterpret comin' from me lately." "Should see if Spence has any requests for his room. 'Least he's still little enough he shouldn't be movin' out any time soon." Micah's head tilts to bonk against Jax's shoulder at that. "Hm. Gas range if there's a choice between that an' electric," he adds to the kitchen discussion. He continues to watch Hive with concern, dropping the issue of his appointments. "Not sure what else the 'important' coulda been, sugar." "Jax you were twelve when you -- pretty much moved out. I mean you went boarding school-torture lab-college-marriage so you really haven't lived at /home/ since have you?" Hive's brows raise. "And a connecting unit isn't exactly moving from New York to Georgia. -- s'all going to be gas, fuck electric." He shakes his head with a small grimace. "And everyone'll be glad of it when they can still cook through the /next/ fucking apocalypse when the grid's on the fritz." He takes another sip of tea, stopping when the tea in the cup has dropped too low to easily /sip/ without moving the mug. "Dungeon. Right. I'll ask Lucien what the fuck you need for one of /those/." His lips twitch slightly. "-- /you/ ask Shane about housing," he says dryly to Micah, "and he'll probably work himself into a -- fucking." He grimaces, gritting his teeth slowly. "-- thinking you don't want him around anymore." "Yeah. Dai'll have college next year but he don't really want no part'a movin' into dorms so --" Jax shrugs a shoulder, glancing over towards the twins' bedroom door briefly. "Seventeen's young still --" He frowns deeply over at Hive. "... yeah okay I was. Pretty young but. I /had/ a childhood they --" His shoulders tighten, and he leans forward to take another bite of his cake, another gulp of tea. And then slump back on the beanbag beside Micah. "They're very small," is his next complaint. "I can still tuck /both/ of them under my arms and carry them around like s'nothing." But despite this unhappy complaint he allows afterwards, "-- I'll ask 'em what they want." "I was 17 when I went off t'college, too... They're perfectly welcome t'stay with us. Even Dai, if he wants. Just...want 'em t'do what makes 'em happiest." Micah looks down at his hands. "Yeah. That's about what I was afraid Shane might think so's I didn't ask 'im." His cheeks flare bright red at the mention of dungeons, the colour only deepening and moving to claim his neck and ears as well with the addition of Lucien to the comment. It takes him some time to gather coherent thoughts again. "Hive, honey, we really can help you with that if y'want," he finally offers out loud at the telepath's continuing difficulty with food and drink. "Got a feeling Dai'll want space. Less the parent thing, though. His ability just --" Hive slouches back against the base of the couch, dropping his hands into his lap again and pulling them back into the sleeves of his sweatshirt like he doesn't even want to look at them anymore. "Fuck that," he mutters unhappily, "if I can't even fucking /feed/ myself then what --" His eyes close, teeth grinding again. "-- probably yours won't need to be as big as his, right?" He moves on determinedly to this through still-clenched teeth. "And there could be office space. Whatever-space. I don't know. Monthly mortgage on these places is going to be a little /less/ than comparable space in this building so you guys will have a little. Flex. Room. With how much space you want. Could be bigger than here and still -- pay about the. Same. -- Are they even going to /get/ bigger? You might be able to carry them like that when they're grown-ass adults." "No, ours ain't -- gonna be -- as big as --" Jackson can't actually finish this thought without turning brilliant crimson, eye fixing forward on his plate as he (unsuccessfully) tries very hard not to think of Lucien's -- well. Anything. Hive's muttering deepens his frown further, and he sets his tablet and computer aside, sliding out of the beanbag quietly to go loop his arm around the telepath's shoulders. He squeezes, slowly, and then gets up, slipping off to the kitchen and returning with a metal bombilla-straw that he drops into the tea. "We don't -- know if they're gonna get bigger. I guess I should /probably/ stop thinking of 'em as little just cuz they're – little." "I'm sure you /can/, sugar. S'just. Some times it's prob'ly harder'n others. An' I just wanted you t'know that when it's like that, you got help if y'want. That's all." Micah chews at his lip, nodding at Jax's addition of a straw. His blush burns brighter as Hive and Jax discuss...basement options, withdrawing himself from /that/ part of the conversation to take frequent sips of his chai. "We'll still watch over 'em, Jax, hon. Even if they wanna move out. They'll be /right/ close. An' it ain't like we stop bein' their parents just 'cause they ain't under our roof full time. They're off at school more often than not as it is, now. Ain't like we gotta give 'em up...they're still ours s'long as they wanna be." "Some times I don't -- remember I even fucking /have/ hands. Or legs. Or how to -- goddamn -- talk to them, I can't --" Hive exhales slowly, leaning forward gratefully to sip at the tea through the straw, now. "I have a friend from. Cornell, she's. Really fucking good, been talking to her about the -- Commons. Sharing what I've done so far, so she can finish everyone's -- homes if." His eyes close, and he slumps forward further to rest his forehead against the table. "I have a feeling they're going to want to be for a long time. You guys are the best goddamn thing in." His lips twitch faintly. "Well. In a /lot/ of fucking lives. Not just theirs." Jackson shakes his head at this, fighting back something sickened that clenches inside him and instead just kneeling to rest his hand against Hive's back. For a long silent moment he is just struggling to find words, to remember what part of the conversation he's even supposed to be responding to, stuck on trying to envision a home /without/ Hive there and failing at it. "-- Right," he manages finally, a little distantly. "Should just. Find out what'll -- make everyone happy." He breaks off a small piece of the cake, offering it towards Hive on a palm. "-- Micah does jus' fine with his leg bein' detachable. Maybe for a bit when you're strugglin' with the ones you got attached you can just think'a all of us like. Really annoyingly talkative prostheses." "I can talk t'some of the therapists I know. There's...massage techniques an' such that they use t'improve sensory awareness in folks with central nervous system disorders. I know y'don't wanna...go. T'anybody. But they might be able t'show me some simple stuff. There's things we can do." Micah sits up taller on the beanbag, but doesn't go over, just to avoid crowding Hive with excesses of attention. His jaw tightens at the talk of passing the Commons work on to someone else. "Honey, no. We...ohgosh. Appreciate you thinkin' of things but... Don't wanna...think like that just yet." He nods at the theory of what the twins will want. "Hope you're right about the twins. I like the idea of 'em havin' as many people in their corner as possible." He finally just looks at Hive with an odd, small smile. "You too, hon. We love you." "/Really/ annoyingly talkative," Hive teases, but there's a small smile creeping onto his face with it. He eyes Jax's hand for a moment, then lifts his head to lean in and pluck the bite of cake out of the artist's palm. He leans in against Jax after this, eyes closing and head dropping to rest on Jax's shoulder. "Massage techniques. You just want to get your hands on me, don't you." There's quiet amusement in his voice as he slouches in more tiredly against Jackson. And, softer, "-- I'm glad you're in my corner."