ArchivedLogs:To Make Monsters

To Make Monsters
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Trib, Micah, Matt	31 July 2014 A lot of sore topics.
Location <NYC> Home - Greenwich Village
Nestled into the heart of the Village, Home is an unobtrusive place, with an unobtrusive name to match. A nondescript storefront opens up into an equally nondescript cafe, plain tiled floors, an assortment of veneered tables with plain wooden chairs or booths with cracking vinyl benches. What it /does/ have to recommend it is the food, hearty solid breakfast and brunch served twenty-four hours a day, with a wide variety of menu to cater to specialized diets as well. Well-known to locals and little frequented by tourists, its friendly serving staff tend to remember their regulars, giving the place a warm feel that lives up to its name. It is a bit early for the dinner rush to be /properly/ underway, many people still only just getting off work and not quite settled /in/ to the question of What To Do With Their Evenings. Lucien has had, therefore, no problem in securing a comfortably large table for himself -- it seats five though at the moment there's only one other person /there/ with him. The brothers are not talking, at the moment. There has been /plenty/ of Long Talks in the past days but at the moment their table is quiet in a way that suggests comfortable companionship rather than anything awkward. Matt is in jean-shorts and a bright blue shirt featuring a tiny cartoon person sitting beneath an archway constructed of books with the text 'Best Time Machine EVER' around it -- accordingly, he /has/ a book in his hands, Scott Lynch's /The Lies of Locke Lamora/, that he is devouring with rapt attention. Lucien, ever more formal despite the /informal/ setting, is in grey slacks, a vest, a neat green dress shirt. He's still perusing the menu, a very faint frown on his face. /Maybe/ he is not happy with the offerings. Trib rarely suffers from not having a plan for the evening. Typically, it involves working out or, on rare occasions, actually /fighting/. But it always starts with food. Which is why the boxer is currently pushing through the front door of the diner. He's dressed for a workout, certainly, in grey sweat shorts that are just short enough to reveal a strip of black indicating the compression shorts beneath. He's wearing a blue shirt with a white Nike swoosh on the chest that matches the new-looking gym bag he sports a little too perfectly to be a coincidence. The boxer pauses at the entry, grabbing a menu before wrinkling his nose as he glances between counter and tables and weighs his options. Then he spies a familiar face, and he meanders in that direction, waving his menu irritably at the server who tries to thwart this plan. Once she's dealt with, Trib rolls up on the huge table, studying Matt for a moment before turning his attention to the other Tessier sibling. "Lucien." Micah is only one step removed from the just-off-work look. The fact that he is arriving a shade /late/ can be attributed to the brief stopover at his /actual/ home for a shower and costume change. His auburn hair is still wet (not exceedingly impressive, given the humidity) and spiky with the damp, slowly working its way toward air drying. He is dressed in his usual simple-casual manner: sneakers, bluejeans, and a black T-shirt on which Flutterbat unfurls baby pink wings in front of a full periwinkle moon. The hostess knows him by now and he hurries past with a smile and wave in attempt to catch up with his already-seated party. "Matt, Luci! Hi! Apologies I didn't wanna come straight from work, so..." Hugs are immediate and incoming for Matt, at least, tight and warm. Initial approaches to Lucien generally take a bit more consideration, consideration that is brought to an /abrupt/ halt once Micah takes a second to notice the large form standing by the table. There could be a record scratch added in post-production, but for once the redhead is actually quiet, mouth slightly open but not making much use of itself. Lucien's frown remains, rerouting itself slowly from the menu to fix his eyes up towards Trib. It takes a long moment before he /dislodges/ himself from whatever thoughts had been holding him, a small twitch of smile pulling at his lips. "Ah. Trib. It has been a while, non?" Slowly his expression eases into something more relaxed, as Matt looks up from Book with a small startled jolt followed by a questioning lift of brows. "Mmm. You have never had the chance to make my brother's acquaintance. Trib, Matt. Matt, Trib. Trib is a boxer -- of no small talent, if the man I sent to his match some months ago is to be believed." Matt's expression eases into warmth a good deal more readily than his brother's does. "Oh, hey. A /friend/ of yours?" "{Don't sound so surprised,}" Lucien answers Matt in /dry/ French. "If you're eating you should sit, we're just waiting for -- /oh/ hey!" Now his voice is brighter still, arms lifting to squeeze Micah into a hug so crushing-tight one might wonder if he's not /still/ just relishing having muscles capable of such. "/That's/ okay I had a book it was --" Though Matt trails off, at noticing Micah's startlement. Lucien glances from Trib to Micah, curious. "Ah. Micah. Welcome. Do you two -- know each other? I should cease being surprised this is the /smallest/ of big cities." Trib also finds a smile when Lucien looks up, although his is a hard line tipped at one corner. "A while," he agrees, jerking his chin to his chest. "I was goin' to text you, but my fingers an' textin'..." he rolls his shoulder, and snorts a sound that might be laugh-like. Matt's introduction gets a lift of his eyebrows, and the other young man gets a more assessing sort of look. Then he's shoving his half-hand in Matt's direction for possible handshakes and grunting amiably. "Hey, everybody's got to have one friend, yeah?" he says in response to Matt's tease, showing a bit of tooth as he steps back. He might have a response for the invitation, but then there is a familiar, red-headed bounciness there, offering hugs and greetings. Which turns Trib into a sudden statue of uncertainty. Which probably looks like he's staring Micah down, unfortunately. Lucien's question, though, gets a slow blink, and Trib looks down at the non-statue. "It's a bit fuckin' complicated," is all he has to offer, which is pretty solid, as confirmations go. All the hugs! Micah doesn't protest being /attacked/ by Matt's newfound squeezy-muscles. "We've met," is what he finally manages in answer, tone a bit flat, tense muscles in his jaw and shoulders at odds with the need to be /polite/ given that Trib seems to be here as...Lucien's guest, perhaps? The /staring/ earns a narrowing of hazel eyes in reply. He seems to have forgotten exactly what he was doing, arm remaining over Matt's shoulders in an almost protective posture. "Oh, Luci's got about a million friends --" There's something a little bit /askew/ in Matt's tone with this, but his smile stays warm. Lucien's brows briefly raise. "Complicated," he echoes thoughtfully, "we seem to have rather a /surplus/ of that, lately." "Kinda happens any time you get humans together." Matt slips a MetroCard between the pages of his book to serve as bookmark, closing it and setting it down. "Actually, I know plenty of people who can make stuff complicated all on their /own/ too. Um --" He frowns for a moment at Micah, reaching up to pat at one of the protectively hovering arms. "Are you going to sit? I swear I got over that whole dying thing." When Matt mentions the number of Lucien's friends, Trib snorts softly in amusement. He doesn't respond, though, beyond a rise of his shoulder and a 'what-can-I-say' look for Matt. It's all sort of uncomfortable, however, with Micah's current stance and hovering. The boxer's smile has faded to something a bit more neutral and wary, and the straightening of his posture is slow enough to be almost casual. In the way that coiling muscles are casual. "It's a special kind of complicated," he offers for the Tessiers, and there's something shadowy and sad that flickers through amber eyes before inhales deeply through his nose. "Lot of misunderstandin' involved." He snorts again. "Which I guess is probably what makes /most/ shit complicated." Micah's cheeks take on several layers of red at an impressive pace when Matt asks him to sit. "I know. I know you're doin' better. Apologies, it weren't..." That arm gives Matt's shoulders one last squeeze before he slinks catlike over to one of the empty chairs, perching right on its edge. Had he a tail it would be twitching, tensely alert. The slight settling that comes with being seated is interrupted again, shoulders bunching at Trib's explanation. "I really don't know entirely how much /misunderstandin'/ there can be in you threatenin' violence at my /children/ near on every time they come into contact with you." His voice is lowered but firm in the argument. This time there are /two/ pairs of eyebrows raised, briefly mirroring expressions on the faces of the Tessier brothers. "I feel like I missed a story," Matt answers with an uncomfortable-soft laugh. The backs of Lucien's fingers drag against his cheek. "You missed /many/ stories," he affirms, "but on this one I am also in the dark." His brilliant green eyes have flicked to Trib, skating over the larger man with a slow gauging assessment. "Though I gather that being threatened with violence is a regrettably common occurrence in your teenagers' lives." The thoughtful look he's given to Trib may be trying to weigh exactly where this impetus came from. "I only did that one time," Trib says, matter-of-factly, holding up an index finger to illustrate. There might be a touch of regret in his eyes, but it's shadowed by the sudden, determined /clench/ of his jaw. "An' I /said/ I fuckin' over-reacted. So you can unwind yourself, Red." This is a bit more flatly offered, although it's not /mean/-sounding in its delivery. Lucien's questioning gaze gets a tick of the boxer's eyebrows that might be the tiniest bit sheepish. "It ain't much of a story," he says, hunching his shoulders and banging his gym bag against his knee. "An' it goes two entirely different ways, dependin' on who's tellin' it." "Too many," Micah agrees with Lucien about just what Matt's missed, the words gone sad and tired at this point. "It's a /very/ common occurrence. Which I s'pose just makes that seem /okay/ t'some people. So in case that weren't clear? Overreactin' t'children bein' afraid of you because of /previous/ threats of violence by threatenin' violence /again/, especially when they have every reason t'believe you're gonna act on it, is /not/ remotely okay." His fingers clench tightly at the strap to his messenger bag, never really completing the task of removing it to sling over the chairback instead. "It /sounds/ like it is rather a story," Lucien murmurs in answer to Trib, palm still pressing to the line of his jaw. "One time --" He echoes this with a small hint of /bemusement/. "Ah. Is that a /common/..." But he trails off, watching Micah's tension with a quiet thoughtfulness. "/Previous/ threats of violence?" Matt sounds slightly apprehensive, fingers pressing down against the cover of his book. "Um. We're talking about /B/ here, right, because ze's /so/ sweet all the --" Now /he's/ interrupted by the arriving server, his cheeks flushing dark at the reminder of where they are. "Oh. Oh wow I'm sorry," this word earns the faintest of flinches from the young woman come to take their order that Matt just looks puzzled at, "I totally forgot what I was going to order -- and we've been distracting Micah with chatter I don't think he's even picked up his menu -- can we have a couple minutes?" "Excuse me?" Trib's voice drops dangerously low when Micah begins speaking, and his eyes narrow sharply. "Threats? I never threatened your kids -- /any/ of them kids -- with /shit/, until they came in an' started in with that bullshit in front of my /boss/." He jerks his left arm up, thrusting his elbow at Micah, showing off a place where the flesh is definitely divoted. "Your kid did that to me," he says, lifting his eyebrows pointedly and nodding at Matt. "The /sweet/ one. I was bein' a smart-ass, an' had it comin', but even when he was latched on to me an' chewin', I only hit him as much as it took to get him to let go. An' I fried like a fuckin' fish the whole time, too." He drops his elbow and falls silent when the server appears, waiting until she's gone again before he leans forward. "So, before you get any further up on your fuckin' high horse, you should really fuckin' check your facts. Your kids an' their little buggy superhero friend wasn't never in no fuckin' danger from /me/." He offers Lucien a small, grim sort of smile. "Sorry," he grunts. "I wasn't tryin' to fuck up your meal or nothin'." There's a soft snort, and the boxer shifts his gym bag in a manner that indicates he probably /won't/ be sitting down. "Hell of a first impression for the family, yeah?" "Leveragin' a kid's starvin' friends for sexual favours counts as threats of violence in my book. An' yes, that was in an extreme place with that fightin' ring. That was the same place that made B feel threatened enough to attack you, I'd imagine, while ze was bein' starved. It really doesn't help your story of misunderstandin' that when the frightened kids brought it up after, the first thing y'did was threaten t'shut 'em up violently. Three very dif'rent kids with the same story. One of 'em /incredibly/ naive t'be comin' up with that kinda story on 'is own an' in /therapy/ over it after." While Micah's jaw and shoulders remain tensed, he doesn't change position in his seat or raise his voice or have any dangerous tone or posture to offer. "An' the way you're presentin' yourself t'me just now don't make me inclined t'believe you /aren't/ in the habit of threatenin'." "Wait." Lucien's voice has shifted very /abruptly/ from thoughtful to surprised, his eyes narrowing as his fingers press harder to his jaw. His hand drops back to the table, eyes faintly wider as they lock on Trib. "That was /you/?" Matt stays quiet, puzzling through this a moment before his face slowly drains of colour. He opens his mouth, and closes it again with a snap. Trib inhales deeply through his nose as Micah speaks, and his jaw clamps tightly shut as his amber gaze hardens. There's a weird tension in his frame, and he takes a step back, offering a look at Lucien that's half apologetic and possibly half angry. Or some other sort of painful emotion that only deepens at Matt's expression. "I did everything I could to keep them fuckin' kids /alive/," he says stubbornly. "Me an' Sloan. They didn't even fuckin' /ask/ where the extra meat came from, that day. Just fuckin' wolfed it down, an' made their fuckin' assumptions about what kind of fuckin' person I was." He winces as he catches himself, and his eyes narrow to tiny slits. Then he lifts a shoulder at Lucien, waving his half hand in a sharp /snap/ of fingers against the air. "Fuck this shit," he growls, and pivots on his heel. "You got my number," he rumbles at Lucien. "If you ever feel like callin' me again." He tosses his menu on the nearest table, startling the couple sitting there, and stalks towards the door. “Funny that. How Peter came out countin' Sloan a friend an' you a predator. If y'were both just out t'help.” Micah does finally loosen his grip on his bag's strap, reaching out for the menu instead. He /is/ holding everyone up, after all. Once Trib has left, a deflating sigh passes through his lips, expression only more tired than before. “Apologies for that. I didn't mean...t'make things even more unpleasant.” Lucien's hand has lifted again, pressing back against his lips around a slow push of breath. He is quiet as Trib stalks out, just shifting his other hand to rest fingers against Micah's wrist. The touch comes with a faint note of calming warmth. Matt's fingers pluck at the edge of his book, his brows creased and his eyes fixed down on its cover. "You didn't. I mean, that wasn't /you/ it just. That sounds like a --" He swallows. "After that all ended Desi said the boys were all kind of --" Lucien's eyes have followed Trib out, a faintly troubled look shifting across his face and then fading into clamped-down neutrality. "After all that ended, /everyone/ was rather a mess." His voice is slightly distant. "Those cages produced monsters." "No. I didn't have to...all of that. Some people just aren't gonna /learn/ nothin'. I'm just no good at droppin' when it's somethin' like that. /Apparently/ I have a tendency t'lecture." Between that and the mention of monsters from the cages, Micah winces visibly. "Those cages were /built by/ monsters an' produced traumatized people." He cuts himself off here, perhaps feeling a little lecturey...perhaps just simple gratitude for Lucien's quieting touch. "She really doesn't remember any of it. Any of us," follows softly on the heels of that thought. Ordering dinner may be a ways out yet, sore topics the theme of the night so far. "Did she tell you? She wants t'have all the...lies pulled away. What they did t'her head. I have t'wonder how much they did t'her b'fore she 'volunteered' for the rest. I told her maybe she should talk t'you about it." Lucien's eyes flick briefly towards the door -- then to Matt -- before he looks back down to the menu. "Those cages," he repeats, quietly, "produced monsters." At the quiet emphasis in Micah's voice, Matt tenses, closing his eyes slowly. "She volunteered," he says, softly, a ripple of tension tightening the muscles in his arm. "She had --" His voice is dropping even lower, a small shake to it. "I mean, there was a lot of." His lips twist in distaste. "/Therapy/. Convinced her that she was," his mouth twitches up at one corner, eyes slipping back to Lucien, "a monster." "Yes, and how she elected to move on from that was to participate in your torture." Lucien's voice is dry. "Good. Rasheed can take care of the chip. I imagine Joshua or Hive and I can take care of the /programming/. I rather look forward to being able to excoriate her without that insufferable blankness shielding her from her own misdeeds." "I can only imagine. She was /broken/ before they stole her yet again. What they did t'her. Just...that /man/. An' then him stealin' her ability. An' /then/ the mind-tricks. She weren't in her right mind when she made that 'choice'. That don't make it less wrong. An' it don't make any of it less awful, 'specially...for you, Matt. But it is a consideration. She /was/ an' very likely will be quite fragile all over again." Micah chews at his lip in that betrayal-of-deep-upset way that he has, blanching the skin as he worries it. "Maybe, when she first finishes those processes, can the riot act not be the first thing she comes back to? I mean, I get that she's got a lot t'answer to, an' by all means, but. She's gonna be so /fragile/. It'd help t'maybe. A little support first an' excorciatin' second." His fingers are running over his menu, at least. That's a step closer to choosing a meal. His eyes, however, fix on Lucien. "Is that really the /only/ thing you'd want if we can get her back?" "Fragile." Lucien echoes this with blatant /disgust/. "The woman we are trying to get back helped /torture/ my brother, Micah. Forgive me if I'm hesitant to /coddle/ your delicate flower through /her/ recovery while we are still working through /his/. Your husband, your whole family, his whole team, they've all been through every bit as much hell as she has and worse. /They/ respond to it by working to save others in that hell, not stomp on them in order to get out. /They/ are fragile. /Matt/ is --" His fingers clench hard against his menu, now, warping the plastic-sheathed pages. "I'll leave my sympathy where it is /deserved/." The last question earns a hard tightening of his jaw, his eyes fixing back down on the page in silence. Matt rubs a hand against his eyes, his shoulders tightening. "You don't understand what it's like in there. People get pushed to do things --" "-- Like threaten to rape little boys?" A thin hard smile flits across Lucien's lips. "I imagine Trib was also fragile. No matter who you are, places like that will beat you until some /cracks/ start to show. Should we perhaps also just cosset him? Be understanding? When it's /your/ family mistreated then you are firm. /Mine/, and we should handle her with kid gloves." There's clear conflict in Matt's expression, lips thin and his brows furrowed. What he says aloud, though, is: "I don't know what you think Luci's been /doing/ if not supporting her. She'd still be with that man without his help." “I'm not sayin' she ain't done nothin' wrong or she shouldn't answer for it, s'just...where she's gonna /be/ at first.” Micah's fingers grip tighter at the menu. “That's why I said I understood what that place was an' what it could do. But what /didn't/ help is that he got /out/ of there, claimed it never happened, an' threatened t'hurt the twins. Personally. That's /not/ lookin' t'/be/ understood. It's lookin' t'rewrite what happened.” His head shakes at Matt. “Not /that/ man. Not the one that... He's dead. I'm sure of that.” This comes with a shudder. “He /is/ supporting. For now. I didn't say he wasn't. I just think...when she /does/ come back t'herself. That moment is gonna need it /then/. Is all.” "Huh?" Matt just looks puzzled at this last assertion. "Dr. Leone isn't dead." There /might/ be a touch of regret in his voice at this. "Understood." The disgust hasn't left Lucien's tone. "I /understand/ just fine, Micah." His hand lifts, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. "From the sounds of it she will have plenty enough coddling without /me/ being there to indulge her. I am giving her," there is a faint edge of strain curling through his softening voice, a tightness at the corners of his eyes, "all that I /have/ in me to give her. /Forgiveness/, though, I am not quite so promiscuous with as you." "Not Dr. Leone. Malthus Rogers. Dr. Leone was far from the first man t'torture her." Micah bites down harder on his lip, hands still just pressing at the menu rather than opening it. "I haven't /forgiven/ her for what she's done, either. She /should/ answer for it. An' for Matt, especially. I just. Think that havin' someone. /Not/ attackin' her when she gets out of this might help her process it all an' maybe /be/ a person again. If she's still...if she's still who I remember her bein' under all that. The guilt's near gonna kill 'er when she realises." His shoulders slump, head following them nearly to the table. "Maybe she /won't/ be that person. But I'm holdin' out 'til it happens. An' if there's a chance of her gettin' t'/be/ a person again instead of just. A dangerous mess. Isn't it worth that chance?" A small, bitter almost-laugh is directed at the table. "It ain't the popular opinion. Pretty sure Jax's upset with me, too. I just. We've /lost/ enough people. I can't just...I can't." "You view the world through awfully rose-coloured glasses, Micah. She was a dangerous mess long before Malthus Rogers /or/ Dr. Leone got their hands on her. The person she /was/? Was a murderer who brought down more pain and suffering on the mutants in this city than nearly anyone else because she was too selfish and broken to think of the repercussions of her actions. So, fine, she might get back to being /that/ person. I am not sure how well that would go for New York. My hope is that she can find someone /new/ to be. Someone who does /not/ sow pain everywhere they go. For a /first/." Lucien's words are clipped, his eyes fixed steadily on his menu. "For New York's sake, it is certainly worth the chance. But expecting me to help her on that road is a bit --" His voice briefly falters, his eyes closing. He finally sets down his menu, decision apparently made. Matt, though, has gotten quiet through this. He is staring down at his book, eyes just a little too bright. "No," he finally agrees softly, "You can't --" But here he breaks off with a small shudder, pushing up out of his chair as his fingers lift to run against the side of his shorn head, tracing the thin lines of scarring there. He picks up his book, pushing his chair back in without making eye contact with the others. "I'm sorry -- I can't -- I don't think I have. Much appetite after all, I'm. Going home, you -- you both. Enjoy..." Here he trails off, fingers clenched hard around his book as he turns, head bowed as he walks briskly for the door. "I know she was. After the cages. I was there, too. But she's just /never/ gotten the chance t'get help without just. One thing after another an'... I /want/ her t'have the chance t'get better." Micah's head shakes again, eyes squeezing closed. "I'm not askin' you t'help. Just maybe. Not. Break her down even further the minute she remembers herself is all. Just hold off for a minute." Moisture beads along the fringe of lashes formed by his closed eyelids. "Matt, no. I shouldn't have... This is my fault. I just keep upsettin' everyone. I love you both. I'm gonna go. You an' Luci should...I'm sure he drove you here an'. I'll just go." In truth, he hasn't ever really settled in, bag still slung over his shoulder. All he has to do is stand and head back the way he came. "We walked." Lucien actually looks faintly amused at the supposition that they drove, though it's a fleeting sort of thing. "Matt can do that now." He doesn't get up to follow his brother, just watching Matt's back as he heads for the door. "Stay. Eat. If I let the world's tribulations ruin my meals I would never eat," he says blandly to Micah. Quieter, less bland, his eyes dropping downward again: "What is it you suppose /I/ want? Or Matt? Or even that Jax wants? You speak as though you are the only one who loved her and the rest of the world just does not care as much as you." "But should he go alone?" Honestly, Micah /might/ still be a little used to Matt's previous level of function. The young man had already been quite sick by the time he so much as met him. Micah stays put, not really possessing enough will to push against even so simple a direct order just now. He blinks past the wetness in his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know. I know it's important that she answer for what she did. I'm just afraid that feelin' like she's lost /everyone/ an' /everythin'/ an' just bein' hit with all that at once. That we're gonna lose her. An' I'm not sure exactly what form that'd take but I feel like it'd be...bad. I'm not implyin' y'didn't care. I'm not. Y'all had somethin' special. It just. I just. Wish she'd had the time /before/ an' maybe wanna make up for it by givin' her just a little now. Maybe." "It is nine or so blocks. He will manage." There might be a trace of satisfaction in Lucien's voice with this assertion. It bleeds away as he laces his fingers together, drops his chin to rest against them. "We lost her a long time ago." It is soft and heavy, his eyes tightening again. He grows slightly crisper as he lifts his hand to signal their server back. "Now. If you would care to stop defending how much loving tenderness that woman needs, perhaps we can eat? /You/ do not have to live with Matt's nightmares every night. Too much more of this and I will lose my appetite as well." "I just...want t'help," Micah's voice by this point is a small, miserable thing. He nods and looks down at his menu like a chastised child. "Mmm. You'll forgive me, then, I'm sure, if you do not see very much of us while you're in your helping mood. Matt is too /kind/ to say the things he should, but the hell he has just come through --" Lucien's nostrils flare briefly. "She is not the only one who needs help." His expression switches like flipping a light switch into an easy polite smile as their server approaches, tension vanishing from him in a heartbeat as he places his order. “I want t'help him, too, I just. I won't bring it up 'round him again. I didn't mean...” Micah slumps again, lifting a hand enough to form it into a fist and circle over his heart. “I love you both. I'm not /tryin'/ t'hurt you.” His eyes scan the menu again, settling on a simple old standby that doesn't have a lot of options to select with it. Once the server has left and Lucien has surrendered his menu, he simply tips his head forward, dropping his forehead into his palms. "I did not for a moment imagine you /were/ trying that." His eyes slide slowly closed, hands dragging downward to press against his eyes. "Just seem t'be pretty good at it anymore." The apologizing hand circles one more time before dropping to the table. "Please. I know you've been havin'...it's been unspeakably hard. I just. We don't have t'talk about it anymore, okay?" Micah finally looks back up from his study of the table and its contents. "This situation is hardly of /your/ making." There's a hard tension curling into Lucien's jaw. "I know very few good people in this world, and save for my brother near all of them live at the Commons. I /put/ her there because she will need support. I just," he drops his hands back to the table, "do not wish to hear about it." “Okay. Okay, I won't.” Talk about it, apparently. Micah shelves the forbidden topic. His hand twitches as if to reach for Lucien but hesitates. “Just let me know if there's anythin' else I /can/ do.” To this, Lucien just lowers his head further, arms folding on the table as his face rests down in them. It is from this silent slumped position that he waits for his food. Micah /does/ reach out then, fingers gently petting at Lucien's hair as they wait.