ArchivedLogs:Uncomprehending
| Uncomprehending | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2014-11-10 ' |
| Location
<NYC> The Unicomplex - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side | |
Flicker and Hive split the basement in this apartment; coming down the stairs emerges into an open expanse of shared space, with a pair of desks on opposite walls and large cabinets holding an enormous library of board and card games. The bookshelves here are packed predominantly with sci-fi and fantasy as well as a mass of roleplaying sourcebooks. The walls are eclectically decorated. A replica of Arya Stark's Needle, a few bright-colored but anachronistically somewhat morbid paintings of Jax's, a Mega Man X poster, a stained-glass suncatcher hung in the window and a collage of feathers framed on one wall. Up near the ceiling there's a large square hanging frame strung with netting -- a nearly ceiling-wide sort of hammock though it's hard to immediately discern how to access it. A side door leads to the bathroom, small but neat in pale stone tile. Towards the back there are walls dividing off the actual sleeping areas, tiny-cosy rooms mostly only large enough for the bed-dresser-closet combinations they contain. It's generally easy to figure out which one of the bedrooms is Hive's from the large amount of /clutter/ contrasting Flicker's perpetually tidy space. Flicker's full bed can be folded up into a recess in the wall, while Hive's larger queen hangs from the ceiling by sturdy black chains. Hive is sprawled out in Flicker's room at the moment -- it looks very bare just now, with his bed tucked up into the wall, closet doors closed, there's very little to take up space. Except for Hive, a bony figure draped across a nest of pillows and blankets dead center of the small space. He's in pajamas, soft and fleecey-black paired with plain white undershirt, Columbia sweatshirt, fleecey Theta Tau beanie. Some time earlier, he'd been curled up into a /ball/ here rather than sprawled, but a helpful application of Lucien has left him far more relaxed. Less coiled up in pain. Nearby, not sprawled but leaning up against his dresser, one leg outstretched and one tucked upward: One Flicker. Matching Columbia /t-shirt/, black cords, bare feet, mechanical hand rested in his lap. "Get you something?" He's not speaking to Hive. Matt's bucking the trend and standing! Bouncing, more accurately, restless-pacing around the edges of the room. His fingers trail against the wall as he goes, drifting over to feel out the edges to Flicker's HIDDEN BED. "Your bed's like some kind of ninja. Always think it's going to just jump out at me." Tap tap tap, his fingertips drum against the wall. Bed. Panel on wall where bed is lying in wait. He's in his 'Best Time Machine EVER!' shirt, faded old bluejeans, a plain green sweatshirt over the tee. Barefoot, too. "Na-a-ah, Luci'll bring back something. Once he's rested. Your brain's always a frakking /mess/, dude." "Thanks, I'm fucking /aware/." Hive's tone lacks sharpness. Just tired, gruff -- he has a curl of smile on his lips, though, as he cracks an eye open to peek towards Flicker's bed. "It's goddamn /solid/, don't worry." "Really solid." Flicker's voice is quiet. Eyes track perpetual-motion-Mattchine across the room. "Means it'll make a good hard /thump/ when it comes down on your head." Matt's tapping stops, his pacing stops. His palm rests flat against the bed -- then pulls away fast as he scooooots his way out of its path with a chuckle. "Uh-huh." This does finally drag him away to puddle himself at the edge of Hive's nest, folding his legs up into a pretzel and resting his hands on his knees. "Might be good for me, my head could use a wake-up call these days." "That'd be more like a go-the-fuck-to-sleep call, dude." Hive snorts, eyes closing again. He lifts a shaky hand to rap knuckles at the back of Matt's head. "Seems like a good head to me, though. Solid, too. Just got a fucked-up world to deal with." "You've got a good head. Kind of -- head-sized," Flicker agrees with Hive, smile easy and amused as Matt scoots away from the bed. "Something been wrong with it?" Matt shakes his head, ducking it downward at Hive's rapping. "Bad decision-making, I guess. I don't know. Sorry. I'm here for helping, not whining. Crack /your/ head open. You ready?" He looks down to Hive, poking the telepath lightly in the forehead. "Fff, no, whine away. It's all /I/ fucking do these days." Hive tips his head back to snap teeth halfheartedly at Matt's finger, but this playfulness fades into a frown directed up at the other man. "-- You talking about that Toure shit? You think that was a bad decision? I mean, you think he's really --" Flicker slips into quiet. /Attentive/ quiet, thoughtful and pretty earnestly focused on whatever Matt might have to say in answer to this. Matt frowns. He props his elbows on his knees, cheeks puffing out and then deflating in a sharp huff as his chin moves to est in his hands. "I don't know," he admits, quiet. "What we were doing, it could help so many people." The mental image of Sera, sick and growing sicker, that surfaces in his mind is sharp and aching. "But /Themis/. He's -- tried to call me, I can't even bring myself to answer." "Could hurt a fuckton of people, too." It's just flat and bland. Hive's eyes have fixed on the ceiling. "A fucking -- year and a half now? Two? He's been helping us. He was helping mutants /before/ it was fucking cool. You think he'd really just -- what, not even care?" Flicker shifts an eyebrow up. His arm is resting over his knee, and that hand turns up along with the lift of brow. "S'your friend, isn't he?" Quiet, then. For a while. "He was." Matt slumps back to lie down against the blanketnest. "Man, the /threats/ I've been getting..." He trails off, scrubbing his knuckles across his eyes. "... he's probably getting ten times worse. I don't fucking /know/." Not so much exasperated as exhausted. "I think he cares. Not sure he /understands/." After a pause, reluctantly: "... which, I guess, he won't ever if I don't talk to him." "Not sure I understand." Hive does sound a little bit more bitter, on this. "This world's gotten too goddamn fucked to understand much. You gonna be safe, dude? S'assholes on /every/ fucking side that you're in the middle of now." "If you need anything --" The offer is open-ended. Flicker's hand drops again. The sharp strong thought making its way to the top of Matt's mind is that he needs /this/, needs them, needs -- /Hive/, his friends, /not dying/ -- but he only shakes his head, drawing in a slow breath and sitting back up. "Caffeine. But my brother'll fetch it. C'mon, slacker. Let's get you," knockknockknock, his knuckles tap against Hive's forehead, "some exercise." | |
