ArchivedLogs:Wake-Up Call

Wake-Up Call
Dramatis Personae Hive, Lucien	2013-04-01 Hive brings the worst presents.
Location <NYC> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. It's late. Late late late, the night of Ryan's (long-since-past, now) show. Late enough, really, to be /early, for those inclined to mornings. Hive is not generally inclined to mornings and /yet/. Lucien's house has quite recently grown itself +1 Hive, actually in the flesh this time and not creepily mindlurking. OK, he's creepily mindlurking, too, because he hasn't come alone; there is one dark-skinned young man still wearing a navy blue hoodie reading "EMS PARAMEDIC/CITY OF NEW YORK" over his breast and one girl who does not seem conscious and is getting laid out on Lucien's couch and there is Hive in /their/ minds but -- but. But for Lucien just a quiet nudge. Not prying just /announcing/ its presence. Knock, knock? The knock encounters a bleary-sleepy mind somewhere, not in the house's upper levels but down in its basement. Two sleepy minds, in fact, although the one joined with Lucien's is lost in deep pleasant-dreamed slumber. Lucien is quick to wake at the touch, though upon waking he just -- lies in bed. Uncertain what has woken him. Slightly frowning at the man in bed beside him, who stirs slightly when Lucien shifts; a brief touch from Lucien quiets him back to sleep even deeper than before. Lucien fumbles for his phone, checking the time with a wince for its sudden bright backlit screen and then shutting it off again. He exhales, slowly, nestling back further into bed. But there's another nudge. Knock, knock? This nudge has Lucien awake in a heartbeat. He lies very still in bed, breathing calm and slow though his muscles are instantly tensed. His mind instantly tensed, which registers mentally as nothing so much as a deeper stillness in the tranquil-calm planes of his mindscape. Another nudge. Knock, << Knock? >> Hive's voice is a strange one, echoing with a chorus of many voices together. << Tessier. Wake up. >> This time there is not tranquil-calm. There is a sharp /stab/ of pain that tenses Lucien's muscles further; it flares /through/ him, clenching his fists, clenching his teeth. << /Out/. >> To this there is the quiet mental echo of a /hiss/, and that mental presence recoils from this flare of pain. For a time. It flickers in again shortly, pain be damned, though those voices are tighter, speaking tense-edge. << {Need you. Upstairs.} >> In French, this time. There's a mental image of Lucien's living room. And then it withdraws again. Now it's Lucien who hisses, soft through his teeth in the quiet darkness of his basement. He glances over to the man beside him. His fingers reach out, rest against his companion's neck for a long moment before pulls away, slipping out of bed. He shivers briefly as he leaves the warmth of the covers, stopping to use the toilet and pull on a thick black robe that he ties around his waist as he proceeds from bedroom to dungeon to the stairs up to the house proper. In the living room there were three and now there are two; teenage girl still lying on the couch, Hive standing near the aquariums, looking at the marine fish. Hands folded behind his back. He looks grungy-casual as ever; faded fraying bluejeans, falling-apart sneakers, a t-shirt with an outline of Zelda's Link in dotted line that reads "404 Link Not Found". He's watching the seahorse intently. Lucien stops at the top of the stairs, surveying the house with a thoughtful expression. He does not head to the living room, immediately; he heads for the study first and returns armed. The fact he is armed is not /immediately/ apparent, hands free though an extra weight lodged in one of the large deep pockets of his robe. It's not immediately apparent in his mind, either, quiet-calm as ever. It /is/ though in his initial announcement, from living room doorway: "{How strong a telepath are you, exactly? Could I shoot you before you stop me?}" << {Probably.} >> Hive sounds unconcerned, though. He's still watching Seahorse, which has his apparently rapt attention. << {With /your/ mind, almost definitely. Do you want to shoot us?} >> He straightens, now, turning around to put his back to the aquarium instead. There's another flicker of tension, another /spike/ of self-inflicted pain when that voice sounds in his head again. Lucien eyes the aquarium behind Hive, and eyes Hive. "{Not presently,}" he says, eventually, though he says it through gritted teeth. "{Get out of my head.}" His eyes skip down to the girl on his couch; at first briefly and then, with a sudden sharp narrowing, for a longer inspection. His muscles tense hard. "{/What/.}" It's terse, clipped. He's staring. "{You sorted our head out, once.}" Hive takes a long time to offer this answer, a time in which there are one-two-three false starts of mental /feeling/ as he starts to speak, starts to withdraw, starts to speak again. Struggles to find his /audible/ voice. But it's there, eventually. He is watching Lucien's face instead of the girl's. "{Norman Osborn did something to her mind. Had three different telepaths and a healer try to undo it. Thought maybe --}" "{-- maybe you've gone fucking /insane/?}" There's still a hard edge to Lucien's normally gentle voice. "{The police are looking for her. The /FBI/ is looking for her. How did you --}" He stops, hissing through his teeth. "{I do not want to know.}" "{People are looking for her. Probably more than just them. You hear what they said? At the Gala?}" Hive's words come slow, again, each one chosen careful and rather deliberately formed. It still doesn't seem an /easy/ task, talking. "{I heard a group of very /troubled/ children.}" Lucien leans, resting one shoulder against the doorframe. His arms cross over his chest, hands lost in the large sleeves of his robe. "{Yeah. But troubled doesn't mean wrong. The cages they're talking about? Those are /real/. People are out there, kidnapping us, locking us up, /torturing/ us in the name of -- of what. Of science. Of national security. Of new fucking weapons to kill people more efficiently.}" Hive isn't blessed with Lucien's even-keel, gentle calm. His words come harsh-hard, his hands balling into fists. Lucien's expression doesn't shift, a little tight, a little schooled. But the plane of his mind does, a ripple that doesn't tell much by way of thoughts but does carry a tight-brief note of anger. It melts away into its previous calm before he speaks again. "{I had heard -- rumours. I do not doubt many horrors happen in this world. A man would wear himself ragged trying to stop them all.}" "{Yeah, and some men do.}" Hive looks to the girl, now, tearing his gaze away from Lucien to settle on her face. "{Our next stop's the hospital if we can't wake her. She can't live like this. But that'll just mean another cage.}" There's a pause, as he takes a half-step -- but then stops, returning to his post in front of the aquarium. "{The drones Osborn was using to serve /caviar/ to his guests were the same that shot my friends to death at one of these camps.}" This is met with silence, from Lucien. He watches Hive's shift of motion, his hand twitching briefly when the telepath moves from the aquariums. But then resting back when Hive resumes his position. "{What did Osborn do to her?}" he asks, eventually. Hive shrugs a shoulder. It's a stiff motion, jerky and hesitant much as his words are. "{There was something in him. A monster. Inside. It rose up and -- swallowed her. Don't know what he did. Don't know if it's fixable. Don't know if you --}" His lips twitch. "{Don't know /what/ the fuck you do. But we were running out of options. And time.}" Lucien eyes Hive, a long time. But then he straightens, and moves over to the couch. He takes a seat on the floor in front of it, moving one hand to rest against the girl's forehead. Instantly, his expression tightens, lips pressing together, twisting downwards, his teeth clenching as he represses a shudder. He glances back over his shoulder, towards Hive. "{Do you know how to make tea?}" he wants to know. "{We may be here a while.}"