ArchivedLogs:Ugly

Ugly
Dramatis Personae Micah, Lucien, Jax, NPC-Matthieu
In Absentia	25 July 2014 That Prometheus-Themis connection.
Location <NYC> {Lighthaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
Bright and sunny-light, this house lives up to its name. With a plethora of enormous windows flooding the place with light and an open layout, the ground floor feels more spacious than it is. The small entryway has a closet space for shoes and coats, and doors at either side leading to the neighboring apartments. Past this it opens straight into the living room, a wide expanse of space bordered on one side by a curved set of stairs leading up (with colourful glass tiling on the risers between each stair) and next to these, the half-wall into the kitchen. Cool pale tile underfoot and many dark cabinets with a small walk-in pantry, plentiful custom granite countertops, black and speckled faintly with rainbowy flecks, lots of hanging space overhead for cookware, a large double-oven. There's a strip of rather detailed mosaic-work in the kitchen backsplash, colourful glass tiling depicting strange fantastical herbs and small faeries and firelizards darting among them. In back of the kitchen, a door opens up to a small sunroom, wide and two-stories high with a balcony overlook from the second floor; two of the windows here have cushioned windowseats, and there's a wealth of herbs growing in hanging pots and small window-boxes. The back wall of the living room is nearly entirely dominated by windows, huge and allowing a view of the river beyond with bench windowseats lining the sills. There are plentiful paintings on the wall, surreal and fantasy-inspired, mostly in shades of blacks greys with bright bursts of colour that are mirrored in the decor -- monochrome upholstery on the couch and armchair but colourful throw-pillows, black and white huge corduroy beanbags (and one large red doggie-bed,) soft throw rugs also in mostly black and white with splashes of rainbow woven in. The hand-built furniture -- tall chairs by the kitchen/living room counter, dining table and chairs in the kitchen, low coffeetable in the living room -- has been hand-painted as well, black with bursts of colourful abstract designs. Along the living room's other wall, doors branch off to a full bathroom -- in white and deep blue with one wall of the shower done in colourful intricate mosaic too, an underwater scene full of strange mythical water-creatures; tiny water-sprites have been interspersed at random points in the rest of the wall tiles, as well. There's a small studio space beside the bathroom, large windows as well and a gratuitous amount of shelving and cabinets along the walls; this room has very /little/ colour in it, just white walls and black furnishing. Lighthaus is smelling fresh and summer-basily today to match the glorious sunny day outdoors. Admittedly, a lot of the Commons has been the same, with the profusion of pesto cooked for masses that didn't arrive. The kitchen has produced another pot of this, reheated, with some sauteed mushrooms, roasted red peppers, and zucchini added to the mix just to change it up. Enhancing the summery bouquet is a freshly made raspberry walnut spinach salad as an accompaniment, already in bowls at four set places on the table. Micah is still placing utensils here, straightening a cloth napkin there, and generally just fussing over things until the guests arrive. He is dressed simply, as usual, in jeans and a TARDIS blue Doctor Hooves T-shirt, though it looks like he may have combed his hair again just prior to starting dinner. Jax, for once, is not fussing. No fretting, no /helping/; Micah is left quite on his own for guest-prep. He is at least dressed -- if drab and colourless for him, black skinny jeans and a white sleeveless undershirt. No makeup, no sparkle, just a silver-edged blue eyepatch on his eye. He's curled up in an oversized beanbag chair by the windows, laptop in front of him and drawing tablet in his lap. His stylus has not moved in a very long time, though. Over near his seat, the heat radiating out from him is uncomfortably intense. His laptop's fan is whirring loud in protest. Knock! Knock knock! That would be the door. Lucien, outside, is dressed neatly -- grey trousers, salmon-pink button down. Hands folded behind his back as he waits. Matt is a lot more casual, jeans and a black t-shirt with an image of Gunnerkrigg Court's Coyote on it. He hasn't folded his hands; on the doorstep he is a little bit /bouncy/, a little bit restless. Fidget, bounce. Knocknock! KNOCK. Maybe a little impatient. He's been waiting on hugs a /long/ time. Micah drops the last napkin he was placing to scurry to the door rather like a smallchild bolting from his bedroom on Christmas morning. It takes very little time, indeed, for him to answer the ongoing knocking with a thrown-open door. "Luci, Matt, hi! Come in!" His hand squeezes gently against Lucien's sleeve where it covers one upper arm, though it lingers not at all. It doesn't have the chance with the pounce-hug with which he nearly attacks Matt, crushing him close. Jax flicks his glance up towards the door at the knock, but his eye returns to the computer screen just a second later. He doesn't stir from his beanbag, though around him there's a sickly-green haze of light that joins the overheated aura. Lucien's head tips in greeting as the door opens, but he says nothing. Just lets a small smile tug his lips up as he takes a half-step back, perhaps anticipating that hug before it is delivered. Matt's smile is wider, brighter; though his face has a bit of sleepless-shadow drawn across it for a moment these signs of strain are overshadowed by the warmth. His arms curl back around Micah, returning the hug tight and fierce. Tighter and fiercer than he ever /could/ before, with muscles strong and fleshed out -- captivity, it seems, has been good to him. There is one last tighter-squeeze before Micah relents, remembering to be a good host and take a step back so his guests can actually come /inside/ the house. "Come in, come in. Oh/gosh/ it's so good t'/see/ you. I mean. We was suspectin' an' there were these /dreams/--did Luci /tell/ you 'bout the dreams?--but t'see /you/. Actually /here/." There is a bit of extra shine to those wide hazel eyes just now. "Did y'want the tour? Or t'sit? There's food. I made /so much/ pesto on account of we were hopin' you'd..." Finally he gives up on trying to finish a thought, just waving the pair inside. Jax just curls tighter into his beanbag, faint threads of dark shadow coiling through the green light. His head tips down to rest against the corduroy, eye closing. Lucien slips inside once Micah steps back -- his eyes skate over Jax in his corner, a small crease furrowing his brow, but he says nothing. "He had the same dreams." He is slipping off his shoes by the door, drifting further into the room to stoop -- no greeting, aloud, but he leans down to press a small kiss to the top of Jax's smooth head. Less out of /affection/ and more for the swell of soothing calm that his touch brings, bolstering and warm. Matt holds the hug a good bit -- it takes until Micah steps back before /he/ remembers to let go, eyes kind of glistening as well. "He -- he told me. I mean, I had dreams but --" His cheeks flush, faintly. "But there weren't /many/ nights I /wasn't/ dreaming about you guys so." He shakes his head, also shedding his shoes as he moves further in. "Oh. Oh /wow/ this place is --" But his admiration stops short as he looks over at Jax, swallowing hard as his brow creases. He opens his mouth, closes it again. Dips his head, scuffs a hand over his short fuzz of hair. "You don't look so good." "I know. I know. Wild, huh?" Micah says of the shared dreaming, taking a moment to close the door behind their guests. "It is kinda ridiculous. Hive outdid 'imself on every inch of the place. Should definitely take you 'round /all/ of it after dinner." He tenses at the comments on Jax's well-being, eyebrows knitted with concern for a moment until he forces them back apart. "It's been. Really hard..." This last is soft and hesitant where the words were spilling freely from him before, vying for attention. Jax's eye flutters closed at Lucien's touch; it comes with a powerful wash of ugly feelings, a crushing heavy guilt and a sick knot of nausea, a throb of headache nearly blinding in its intensity, a deep aching wrench settled somewhere deep. Reflexively he tenses at the contact but he is relaxing soon after, kind of /pushed/ into it by the rush of the other man's power. "You look good." It is, in fact, the first thing he's /said/ aloud since returning home two nights prior. "'pologies. It's been a little." He gives his head a small shake. Lucien rests his hand atop Jax's head once he straightens, fingers kneading down against the scalp. The nausea, the headache, these things he eases away; the guilt and the ache do not evaporate so neatly but the calm he provides helps blunt the edges. "Understandably," he murmurs in reply; "it would take a hard sort of man /not/ to be affected by such an ordeal." Matt hangs back still, curling one arm around his chest and tearing his gaze away from Jax to look instead -- at the floor. At the sunroom doors. Out the window. At the mosaic tiling in the kitchen. "I still can't -- really process it." His expression tightens faintly. "I only look good because someone else is dead. That -- seems to be kind of the story of my life lately." Micah nods at Lucien's comment in agreement. He wraps an arm around Matt's shoulders for another squeeze before climbing onto the beanbag next to Jax, curling up against him. He near-literally bites his tongue to avoid telling /both/ of the others that the outcome isn't their fault, the sentiment something that has tried and failed /so/ many times already. "Did...y'all just wanna sit? Or food?" This last is asked with a /hopeful/ look at Jax, who really hasn't been eating like he should. "I'm okay, thanks." On food, at least, though /affection/ Jax is more than happy to greedily partake of, nestling in at his husband's side readily with none of the usual caution that he has when overheating so badly. His head tucks to Micah's shoulder, eye closing again. A small shudder runs through him at Matt's words, and he slips back into silence. Lucien's hand lingers on Jax's head a moment longer before he moves over to take a seat on the couch, settling there with legs folding up beneath himself. "Food can wait." His eyes linger on Jax a moment. "He's been /stuffing/ me all day yesterday," Matt confesses -- still a little hesitant-awkward in his motions but he moves further in, settling down on the floor between couch and beanbag. "I tell him they /did/ feed us in there but he doesn't seem to believe me." He sits cross-legged, one foot tucked up above the other thigh. "Hff." Lucien exhales sharply. "If you tell me they cooked better than I do you can go right /back/." A faint smile flits across Matt's face. "They cooked better than --" But it dies halfway through with a faint shudder, evidently not wanting to tempt even this clearly idle threat. His hands lift to press palms to eyes, drop back to his knees after. "-- I feel like I have so much to catch up on I don't even know where to start." Micah is all too happy to give Jax something.../anything/ that he needs just now. He wraps his arms snugly around the other man, tugging him even closer and heedless of the excessive heat. Their first aid kit is well stocked with particularly effective burn creams for good reason. "S'hard not t'wanna feed you when it was...harder t'feed y'before y'were taken. An' sure's y'didn't get so much /choice/ in what t'eat after." A few gentle kisses find their way to the top of Jax's head. "S'been...so much. I wouldn't know where t'begin either. S'anythin' you been wonderin' about specific?" "Luci's a Southerner at heart." That is all Jax opines on the matter of Lucien and Food. He curls an arm around Micah, fingers gripping in tight against the other man's side. Slowly the sickly-green around him begins to ebb away, at the kisses. "As Quebec goes, Montreal is rather /south/." Lucien will allow this much. Matt shakes his head, rubbing a hand against his face. "I don't -- I don't know. How /is/ everyon --" He frowns, glancing over at Jax. Quieter: "Sorry. That's -- that's a stupid question. Just. You and the /kids/ and -- it's been so long." Mention of the kids puts a fleeting frown across Lucien's face. At the moment, though, he is quiet. "Hm." Micah eyes Lucien for a moment, trying to put a Southern accent on him and giving up because it hurts his brain. The fingers of one hand find their way to the back of Jax's neck, rubbing in softly at first. "Spence is gettin' so big an' too clever by half. Still just /eatin'/ books an' workin' on catchin' up to B with /buildin'/ things. Speakin' of which, B's goin' by B now, entire. An' no more male pronouns. Ze don't really care much which other set y'wanna use or if y'wanna mix 'em up, even." His fingers press a little more firmly, moving in small circles. "Shane bought an' reopened Evolve an' s'just /amazin'/ with 'is violin." Something dawns on Micah, widening his eyes and stopping the flow of his narration. "Oh/gosh/. I forgot t'even... Jax an' I got married back in December. An' adopted all three of the kids." Jax holds up his hand at this, turning his fingers outward to show the white-gold band with its cradled sunstone. "Shane's auditioned for a youth orchestra. Like /the/ youth orchestra 'round here. An' B --" Now /he/ frowns, brief. And curls in closer to Micah. Lucien's frown remains. Deeper, for a moment. "B has been having some..." This trails off, and he shifts slightly uncomfortably in his seat. "Matt, what do you /know/ about Themis House? Or its -- spokesperson. Neve, is her name." "Oh -- /oh/. Oh wow." Matt's eyes light, a small bounce in place at the news, the sight of the rings. "That's amazing. They're really /yours/ now? I -- well, they always were yours but now the government can't /mess/ with you by -- that's awesome." The smile fades into just puzzlement at this question. "Huh? About who? What?" His blank expression suggests: nothing. Jax's hand lofting cues Micah to display his own ring, its tiny silver chain wrapping around his finger and holding a deep blue-glittery glass bead. "All ours. An' y'actually ain't /missed/ the weddin' part so much? We keep sayin' we're gonna do a real one, since the first was kinda rushed an' at the courthouse. Were talkin' 'bout doin' it in the courtyard here once it was all together. Maybe in the fall'd be nice..." He trails off, his hand returning to massaging at Jax's neck and shoulders. Micah frowns at the mention of Themis House, Lucien very effectively derailing his train of selectively happy news to relay about the past year. "There's this group now that's claimin' t'have medicines t'suppress X-gene expressions. Surgery t'change physical manifestations. Counsellin' an' pscyhologists an' such. I went in real hopeful they just meant t'help folks, but... Their rhetoric's all...achievin' full potential by becomin' more /human/ an' more /normal/. An' their founder don't seem t'understand why that don't /sit/ right. An'...it's suspiciously comin' about the same time as Prometheus's been developin' darts with chemicals in 'em that stop abilities an' machines that make zones where abilities don't work right." Micah almost sounds /apologetic/ in delivering these details. "Neve's their spokesperson. The head-guy doctor's daughter. He's claimin' he developed all these systems for her. But... I dunno. She seems real skittish an' not at all like someone who ever /meant/ t'be the poster child for /anythin'/ really." Jax drops his hand back to his lap, his own expression shifting back into a frown. "Matt's been locked /up/ all this -- why would he --" But he drops back into quiet as Micah explains. "S'jus'," is all he adds at the end of this, "B's been -- checkin' 'em out an'. None'a it feels okay to me." "I received a letter," Lucien explains, quietly. "Last week. Anonymously, but it said that it was at --" He tips his hand out towards his brother. "Matt's request. That he was alive and --" His lips press together, thinly, jaw tightening. "Regardless. It was from someone who had clearly seen you in the recent past. I turned the letter over to Jim to investigate and he matched the handwriting to this -- Themis House spokesperson. Neve Leone." Matt's brows shoot up. His mouth opens -- closes again. His head bows. "Neve -- /Leone/?" His shoulders tighten; he curls fingers in a firm grip against his knee. His back straightens stiffer and uncomfortable. "As in /Edward/ Leone's -- daughter." He says this last word with some distaste. And, very slow, a little stilted: "I don't know any -- Neve. B shouldn't go to these people. He -- ze. Should stay far away." "B ain't sure what ze wants. We had a talk. Agreed ze should get set up with the mental health department at the Clinic an' maybe a gender identity specialist at Common Ground. It's all /real/ complicated, but what /most/ of us agree on s'that this Themis place is /off/. They was /real/ defensive when we asked anythin' 'bout connections t'Prometheus. I mean...even someone havin' worked there long ago or receivin' any research information from 'em." Micah's expression twists slightly into something ill at ease. "Neve? How would Neve know anythin' 'bout Matt? An'...yes. Edward Leone's the guy in charge of the place. Claimin' he single-handedly developed this 'mutant cure'." His nose crinkles along with clear distaste for the phrase employed. "I don't like it. Research don't just /happen/ in a vacuum. It ain't a solo venture. An' it don't just come up all /sudden/-like." Around Jax there's a faint tremble of shadow, shivering dark against his skin. He turns his head in against Micah's shoulder, briefly, looking back at Matt after. "You know Edward Leone, then? 'Cuz -- /gosh/ I wish I could say I'm feelin' surprised right now." Lucien slides down off the couch, settling on the floor beside Matt. His hand moves to rest fingers against Matt's arm, eyes slipping half-closed. Matt's tension eases -- somewhat. "Dr. Leone spent a good while at the lab I was at," he answers, finally. His words are slow, here, his eyes fixed down on the ground. "Giving -- /therapy/," there's clear disgust in his voice here, too, "to people in my facility. Teaching them to hate themselves. And working with the team that was developing the --" He shudders, turning his hand up abruptly to clench fingers /tight/ around Lucien's. "The. Suppression --" His eyes close. He twists around, slightly, lifting up his shirt to run fingers against his back -- the tiny scars there would be negligible, spinal taps don't generally leave /much/ of a mark, except for how /often/ it's been done has left a patch of skin there dimpled and, this soon out of the labs, still faintly bruised. "He didn't develop it at all. The people at Prometheus took it out of me and gave it to him." "That 'no' did feel /way/ too quick. That sanctimonious.../liar/ just... Every /bit/ of it." There's a gesture filled with several parts each surrender and disgust as Micah indicates the thick paper-filled blue folders sitting on a shelf. "I'm so..." The hand fists on its return, finding his heart and circling over it. He doesn't seem capable of saying anything else just yet. Jax's hand lifts, pressing fingertips over his lips. "Oh -- oh. Honey. They -- that. They was takin' -- takin' that from. /Oh/. Oh, sweetie, I'm -- so." He also breaks off into a hard swallow, a fisted hand circled over his heart. "So his daughter knowed you from workin' with them there? Was -- I mean, why would she -- why would she write Luci, though?" Matt's fingers stay curled tight around his brother's. He looks up slowly -- at Micah's face first, then Jax's, then Lucien's. "I don't --" He pulls in a slow breath. "-- think Edward Leone had a daughter -- at least. Not any that worked with us. But he. While he was there, he was --" His eyes lower, then lift again. Back to his brother's face. "He spent a whole lot of time working with -- Nox. In the labs. They brought her in and -- brainchipped her and. Used --" His hand moves back to the small of his back again. "-- Suppressed her powers. And Edward Leone was her. /Therapist/. Teaching her the mutant side of her was. Evil and she should be --" His words cut off here in a sharp /hiss/ of pain. Lucien's face hasn't /changed/, much, through this, eyes still half-closed and his expression almost one of repose. Matt's hand jerks back away from his instinctively, though, returning there only a second later to rest atop Lucien's. Lucien, though, stays quiet. A slow roll of swallow is pushed down his throat. "So that's more lies? He went out an' just...found some poor girl?" Micah's brow furrows when Matt mentions Nox, confusion readily apparent. "No. No, honey, Nox got took, but they didn't bring 'er t'Vermont. They had her down Virginia an' Malthus. He took her powers an' it /killed/ her. That was after. After you'd...been stolen." His head shakes, not understanding what is being said fully. For once -- it's rare enough but it has to happen some time! -- Jax is quicker on the uptake here than Micah. His teeth press in against his lip, and he pulls his gaze -- to Lucien's face. Then Matt's. Then his husband's. "Micah -- they told us Matt was dead, too." Lucien, meanwhile, is just getting out his phone. Swiping at its screen -- it takes a bit before he brings up a video clip, Neve on some morning talk show chatting with the host about her book. He tips the screen out towards Matt silently. Matt shivers again, pulling his knees towards his chest and dropping his chin down onto it. He only gives the phone the briefest of looks. "She was brought to my lab. Brainwashed, really. And tortured and -- they're suppressing her powers. And that's --" He nods his head towards the phone. "Her. I didn't realize they were going to give her a whole new -- I guess I /should've/ realized, there's no way they could put her out in the world /as/ Nox. Or even Audrey. Not if they're pretending she's dead. But she's not. She was there, and they transferred her out -- not /so/ long before you guys came. She said she was going to /help/. Help other mutants who -- I told her this wasn't /help/ but she wouldn't. They'd messed with her head so bad." For a moment a twinge of pain, deep and sharp, passes across his face. "You know --" His voice is a little bit more ragged, here. "She was in that place with me so long, we spent so much time together. She knew what they were -- were doing to --" His mouth hooks upward at one side, though his smile is sad more than anything else. "When Hive first spoke to us, when I knew you guys were coming, I -- I hoped -- I thought. Thought that once she got out she'd. She'd maybe -- maybe helped you. Come back for --" His eyes close, head turning down further to bury his face against his thighs. "That was dumb." "But he ripped her powers out. Took 'em. Y'saw. Y'/saw/ he did. Don't nobody just...survive that." Micah's head continues to shake very slowly, slightly back and forth in confusion and denial. His eyes narrow watching Matt explain and identify the image, just...lost. "She...didn't? She knew. She let 'em use you t'change her. An' everyone else. An' spread all these...lies t'keep right on... An' sat right across from me how many times tellin' me the same?" He gestures again, helplessly, this time at /that/ book, sitting on the coffee table with a bookmark midway through it. "S'an entire /life story/ full of lies in there, too. I just. I'm... I don't..." Again, that circling of fist over heart. The narrowed eyes move on to squeeze shut, leaking slightly even before he manages to tuck his forehead against Jax's shoulder and face away from the others. Jax curls his arm tight around his husband, hand sliding up to run against the back of Micah's head. He presses lips to forehead, his own eye squeezing shut tight. "But she -- /cared/ about you, she. I mean, if she /knowed/ what they was -- doin' to you she. She must've -- she couldn't. What did they /do/ to her? Can it -- can we /fix/ it? Cuz Nox, she -- /cared/ she. Wouldn't have..." He trails off here, at a loss. "Your team brought back a plethora of information on the lab, at the least." When Lucien finally does speak again, his voice is oddly calm. "I will talk to Mirror. And my government contacts. At the very least, Themis House will not /continue/ to capitalize on your suffering." "A lot of people's suffering," Matt says, very softly. "That whole facility was -- a lot of my. Friends there who --" He shoots a quick glance to Jax, then looks down at the floor again. "A lot of people died to get them that drug." He shakes his head at Lucien's words, though. Frowns at Jax's. "I don't know if we can fix it. We /must/. With therapy -- telepaths -- I don't know. They messed with her /pretty/ bad, you guys. She's not -- really entirely. She really thinks she's doing some good, I think. Even knowing -- where it -- came from." The pain that lingers in his voice /here/ is evident. "But it's not /her/, they /did/ this to her. And if she's out there -- on /TV/? With a /book/? Making out like --" He shakes his head. "I know you're taking Prometheus down. But you'll shatter her life too." Micah stays face mooshed to Jax and hidden away through the majority of this discussion. "What /life/? She's some...fake person right now. If she actually believes all..." Another flapping of his hand indicates the book on the table. "It ain't /real/. She's not real. Not like this. Just a...puppet." "Fake person -- still with real /feelings/, though." Jax's fingers rub slowly against the back of Micah's head. "But the damage Themis is doin' -- the damage they're /profiting/ off --" His breath shivers out of him. Lucien's forefinger and thumb press hard against the bridge of his nose. "I think --" His voice is low but very even as he unfolds slowly to his feet. "That I have quite a few calls to make. Please, do not wait dinner on me. It has been a while since Matt had good pesto." It takes a moment even after Lucien is rising before Matt lets go of his hand. He wraps that arm, too, around his knees now, hard and tight. "It's just -- going to. Get ugly." "You missed the past year, Matthieu." Lucien stoops to kiss the top of Matt's fuzzy-shorn head. "It has been ugly a long while." "We have t'stop 'em. We can't /not/ just for her...feelin's. Her made-up, brainwashed feelin's. We can help her an' we can get her help. /Good/ psychologists. Teeps who can help. Healers. It'll be a lot of work, but what's the alternative?" Micah scrubs the back of his hands over his eye sockets several times before standing. "Right, food. S'all ready t'go if anybody's hungry. Or even...if not. Jax, honey. Y'gotta eat somethin', please." "Sometimes --" Jax's eye closes, hand falling away from Micah's back only reluctantly. He answers the request to eat only by curling down tighter into his beanbag, closing his eye as a shiver of shadow curls around him again. "... sometimes ain't no good choices."