ArchivedLogs:Watchers

Watchers
Dramatis Personae Micah, Nox	28 June 2013 Micah goes to visit Nox alone.
Location <MOR> Below New York
Buried beneath the bustle and noise of New York's busy streets, the world underneath the city is a quieter place. Quieter, but far from deserted. Occasional ladders, often rusting, ascend to the city above and are evidence that at /one/ point these tunnels had been in use, or had been planned for it; perhaps by way of maintenance, or access to subways or sewers. These stretches have been abandoned by civic infrastructure for some time now, though, but occasional scraps of evidence -- discarded food wrappers, piles of tatty blankets or moldering old mattresses, sometimes voices carrying echoes through the dank concrete -- give evidence that /someone/ still uses these tunnels. The rumbling of subway trains sounds frequently through the walls, many of the train routes accessible through various doors and openings. It is a lovely summer evening! The sporadic thunderstorms have managed to keep the air relatively cool, and there is even a gentle breeze accompanying the sun’s beginning to puddle into gradients of warm colours on the horizon. Micah is busying himself with the typical task of a young man in the city on a lovely summer evening: surreptitiously levering up a manhole cover to climb into a sewer in search of a fugitive shadow-woman. Like you do. He is dressed inconspicuously enough in faded jeans and T-shirt depicting a Darwin-inspired sketch of finches with upgrades like laser eyes and jetpacks. He makes his way slowly down the ladder. Slippery rungs and decreased sensory feedback from a prosthetic leg do make for slow going. He darts a glance over his shoulder now and then as he descends, eyeing shadows with more interest than they are typically due. There is a wealth of shadows to eye! A /plethora/! They wreath the walls at the bottom of the ladder, partially obscuring the T-junction access tunnels that lead off left and right. The ground itself is soggy, courtesy of those thundershowers and the layer of dead leaves and Other Stuff (don't ask, don't even /think/ about) that's built up over the years, through one lazy or unmotivated Public Works crew after another. And once Micah is low enough, he will find himself helped the rest of the way via supporting tentacles beneath his arms--apparently he triggered some sort of shadow-laser trap by climbing down here? That seems as good an explanation as any. It's the rightmost tunnel where Nox is lurking, big black eyes giving off the faintest glint of reflected light. She sounds puzzled when she whispers, "Micah?" As if the city might contain two cyborg bundles of sunshine with a taste for amusing T-shirts. Micah also has the typical reaction to suddenly being grabbed by inky tentacles from the depths of dark sewer tunnels: he pets at one. “Nox?” Because there /might/ be two sewer-dwelling shadow tentacle creatures. One never knows these days! “It’s me,” he reassures, also taking the fact that his name was spoken as confirmation of Nox. “Is it okay for me to be here now? Ain’t really a good way for me to /call ahead/ for a visit.” He settles onto his feet once he reaches semi-solid ground, blinking as his eyes adjust to the lack of light. In turn, he is patted! More due to the fact that Nox needs to convince herself Micah is actually here and not some strange hallucination brought on by...living in the sewer or something. Tunnel /madness/. But no, he does not vanish, though once he's safely on the ground, the tentacles that had supported him /do/ disappear. Have no fear though--their vanishing is followed by her emerging from the tunnel, shadows piling higher until she's got her person-shape on. "It is safe here," she says eventually. Her head continues to tilt at a quizzical angle. "You...were just here. I thought. Is this a new visit? I forget the days. Is all well? Mr. Holland? His boys?" Micah smiles brightly at the darker form amidst the darkness. “That was a few days back. I didn’t like how things were left.” The smile is interrupted briefly by lips pressing thin, brow creasing. Only briefly, before it picks up where it left off. “They’re as good as they ever are these days, I s’pose. I…thought it might be better if I sneaked off down here between supply runs. Think you’n Jax are likely t’make one another fidgety for a bit.” "Oh. Oh...that is...you are very thoughtful." Nox looks neither right nor left but she hesitates for a moment, as if considering something. Then more shadows slink towards her visitor. She can do nothing about the damp dank surroundings, but she can arrange the darkness in a way that he has a comfortable place to sit. The structure taking shape behind him even has a high back and arms for resting against. "He has every reason," she says once she's accomplished this. "What I did was inexcusable. To lose his friend...will he be upset with you, Micah?" Micah watches the flow of shadows, a pensive sort of observer, and it takes him a moment to process her intention. His lips part slightly with a silent ‘oh’ of realisation. She has made a shadowchair! It would be downright rude not to sit after all that effort. When he does so, it is somewhat tentatively, as if he does not entirely trust that it is a solid thing at first. Perch! On the edge of the seat. Like a bird sprung forth from his shirt sketch. “It’s… Honey, it’s just an /emotional/ thing. Understandably! But it ain’t really /logical/. I know you didn’t mean for all the things that came of…what happened. Ain’t you as pulled the trigger on Ian. Fault for that lies with the officer as did it. An’…I think this was /comin’/. Just happened t’be your particular match as hit the city full of gunpowder. I’m sorry. For you feelin’ responsible for so much. For…just everythin’ bein’ what it is.” He bites nervously at his lower lip at the mention of Jax being upset. “I…I’m honestly not completely sure? S’a lot of raw nerves around this.” It is a very comfortable shadowchair! Slightly overstuffed, perhaps, and no sane person would use velvety upholstery in a sewer, but nonetheless. Once he's settled, Nox also settled, though it's more that her lower half becomes chair like and she adds the shape of legs afterwards, so the two of them match. Cosy! Her hands fold in her lap and she listens solemnly, though it's difficult to tell just how much was getting through--especially when at first, all she murmurs is, "He should not be upset with you." She pauses. Then, carefully, as if speaking each word required /prying/ them from her brain, she says, "It is hard. To be between. I am also sorry that...you were. It is like...trying to be here and above both. Or. Human. And me. If he is upset you can say I asked. To see you?" Micah is a quiet observer again as Nox becomes the centaur of the furniture world. Interesting. “Ain’t no real should or shouldn’t to how people feel, hon. Like I said, it’s mostly emotion an’ not a lotta logic right now. He prob’ly didn’t even /wanna/ be upset before.” He shakes his head at Nox’s recommendation. “No, I’m not gonna lie to him about it. That’d give him /good/ reason t’be upset. If he’s upset, we’ll talk about it an’ figure out what t’do from there. We’re big boys now, hon, we can handle some discomfort like mature folks.” He pats…the arm of the chair reassuringly. “Are folks holdin’ up down here?” "I did not want to either, until I saw him in the park. Free. I am...glad? Yes. You can speak with him." Nox's eyes move to that patting, and she reciprocate--the arm reciprocates--by folding up a little to give his hand a squeeze. "It is not so very different from before. Masque and Jim have...they keep us safe. We are lucky to have them. But we have lost...yes. I meant to tell you. Anole. He is gone. No one has seen him and I have been...I think I have been afraid for him. If they would kill Mr. Holland's friend." "It's...y'know they got whole /legal defenses/ based on what trauma does to people? Battered Person Syndrome. People who've been tortured just losin' control when they see the person responsible out in public years later an' the like, too. You just...can't expect these things not t'have consequences for people /mentally/." Micah doesn't really find holding hands with a chair as strange as he probably /should/. He settles more comfortably, slouching a bit against the shadowchair's back. "Sorry t'hear that... Maybe he's hidin' out somewhere? I'll ask the twins when I see 'em next. In case they've heard or seen anythin'. But...you're right. It ain't safe up there now. 'Specially not for folks lookin' as he looks. We'll keep eyes out topside." Micah gives the chair-hand a squeeze back. "Are people down here bein' okay with you, at least? I hate t'think you're bein' ostracised by just /everyone/. You need...people. To be able to talk. After all you been through." "I lured him," Nox whispers, "I did not just lose my mind. I lured him to the bushes, thinking I would scare him, perhaps. Or...take him? I am not sure what I thought but when I had him...it was wrong, Micah. Whatever the defense might be. But everyone says to stay. That I should stay instead of...doing what is /right/. I am trying so hard to remember what is right. There is no help for someone so broken they cannot remember right." Fingers spring out of the makeshift hand that holds his, lacing through his and gripping tightly. "If they know, please...tell him this tunnel is clear? Or...no. The school. He should go to the school." "Ain't sayin' it wasn't /wrong/, hon. Just sayin'...it wasn't snatchin' an innocent person off the street. It's a thing that can be understood." Micah shakes his head again, a gesture that comes too frequently anymore. "The justice system don't do anythin' for you. The mental health system don't do anythin' for you. Y'all are /used/ to havin' to do everythin' for yourselves. An' with all the stress of it... I hardly think that was a thing you would've /usually/ done?" The statement lilts as a question, inviting her to confirm or contradict. "I'll bring word of whatever I can find. Either take him up the school myself, or maybe have Jax do... They was a rightfully paranoid bunch up that way before all of this. Might want me around there even less than before, considerin'." "I...if I had...had they not brought lights...I might have killed them. When they came to take us. I remembered the labs. I remembered being taken before. The things they make you do, Micah, it shows you that you /can/. Be what they see. They knew I could be and so they showed me, and there is no forgetting that except when I make myself very large." Because this is perhaps not the most reassuring of statements, Nox keeps a firmer grip on his hand--nervous, maybe, of his running away. She attempts a small smile. "The people here, they understand. But who would not want you with them? Sometimes I think perhaps you are the only one who is...not touched. In the head. By all of this." “Can’t say I’d blame you for /that/, either. Folks comin’ t’kidnap you an’ yours. I’d fight tooth’n nail, too, an’ I ain’t never been stuffed in a horror-lab, m’self.” Micah presses his cheek into the back of the chair, nuzzling just a bit against the velvety ‘fabric’. “What they force you to do, in a place like that. That don’t reflect you, not really. That reflects /them/.” He smiles at Nox’s assurance that her people have not turned their backs on her. “I’m glad. That you still have your folks.” Micah’s smile contorts into a wry grin. “I’m still only a plain-ol’ human, Nox. That makes…a lot of the genetically enhanced crowd fair nervous. More of ‘em now that their persecution’s been turned up even worse.” A snort of laughter couples well with the grin at Nox’s determination that he is the only untouched one. “S’easy enough for me t’be a bit detached about this stuff. Ain’t nobody tryin’ to kidnap, torture, abuse, mistreat, or discriminate against me over a single gene. S’everybody /around/ me as is takin’ the real heat of the fire. I’m just—“ a ponderous sigh cuts his statement in half, “watchin’ it happen.” "Do you think so?" The puzzled is back. Nox is quick to add in cheek-strokes and hair-petting, when he signals willingness to be touched by shadows; the chair obliges. "You are...you are like the little voice. That tells you to think. To...be better. If I had found that voice instead of the labs, perhaps I would be different. That is not being detached. But it is hard too, I think. To be a voice. To hurt for others and to not be able to stop what is..." Oops. Micah's chair grows temporarily shaky, quivering like jello before she gets a grip on herself again. "I would give everything to be human." Micah chuckles softly. “The folks as have reason t’be nervous, yeah. I think I mostly confuse the others. With what I’m doin’…just bein’ around.” With that sudden shakiness, Micah braces his arms out against the shadow-chair. Not so much to stabilize himself (which might be the /wiser/ approach, truth be told), but to stabilize /her/. “I know, hon. I’m…sorry that it’s so hard. It’s not fair. An’ it’s not lost on me how much /easier/ I have it.” He curls up into the resettled seat like a cat. “Think I might have /human/-guilt. If that’s even a thing.” His tone is half-joking as his head bonks against the chair’s arm. If he's going to curl up, Nox will take on a shape better suited to lounging. She does bean bag /really well/ and steadies herself in order to cradle her guest. The /other/ Nox, that chair/woman centaur, slowly fades. It means her voice is a little closer now but that only makes conversation easier, her whispering more readily available. "You should be just as you are and not guilty for it," she claims. "You are needed. And loved. And good." The change in form has Micah giggling with his ever-so-slight collapse into it. "Ohgosh! Shape-changin' furniture. Would be amazin'." His tiny attention span truly has not gotten any better. "Oh...um...I know. It's another one of those things that's ridiculous on a logical level but. Just kinda gets me in the gut sometimes." He cuddles into the shadow-beanbag, where a hug might typically go to a form he wasn't already pressed against. "You're loved, too. Still. Y'know that, right? I just wish...there was better help. For you an' the others. I wonder if Iolaus has found any /psychologists/ for his clinic? If anybody ever could use some help'n guidance with real unique problems...I know more'n a few folks for /sure/." "I am better for some things than others." It's difficult to tell if she's joking but...that sure sounded like an attempt at humor. Even if it falls a teeny bit flat. Nox compensates for his shifting, offering support where a hug might otherwise not go amiss. Then she goes still, silent. Thoughtful? Maaaaybe. But there's another slight tremor--it's what a mild earthquake would feel like through a waterbed. "Yes. He told me. When I went to apologize. But sometimes there is no help, Micah. It just is." Nox’s joke earns a little chuckle, as well. Micah pets at the beanbag ‘fabric’ with comforting sort of strokes. When he speaks, however, it is just a touch awkward and halting. “That…has to be another immense hardship for you. But I meant. Not just him. You have /people/ who love you. Plural.” His hand continues its movements idly. “There is always /some/ help. It can /always/ get better. Usually not ‘all better’,” someone is clearly used to talking to children regularly, “but at least /something/ better. Givin’ up on ‘better’ is the first step in makin’ sure it don’t happen, though.” "Better is to be shadows. Being a person is less better." Talking to children is probably a /strength/ in this situation. Nox is matter of fact but she must also be taking some comfort from his presence because the bag she's become gives him a squeeze. A partial one, and carefully gentle. "But I cannot be just shadows, I know. I am trying. When Ms. Basil says it is time, I will try to make it right, what I have done. Too many people who care have been hurt, yes?" “D’you really think you’re better as just shadows?” Micah asks, genuinely curious. “There has been…too much of everythin’ with this situation, yes, to hope it will just go away. But it is /delicate/. I’m hopin’ Claire got some kinda magic t’come up with a scheme that won’t just fuel all the fires been burnin’ since this thing happened. S’gonna be some /kinda/ balancin’ act.” "Oh, yes. It is like...like dying must be except it isn't an end. It is just being. Peaceful." Nox can't exactly sigh but she seems to, beneath and around him. Up and down, just the once. "I wish I could show you. Ms. Basil, she is...she does not like what they are choosing to do. It is hurting her inside, I think? But she helped me remember how to be a person again, once. If anyone can, she will." There's a brief pause. Then, softly, "They have a radio. To speak with me. If you need me. They said Lucien will have one soon as well but I have not heard him yet. I listen, every night that I remember." “I would miss you, if you were just shadow. Somehow…it seems like you would be somewhat less /you/. I s’pose it must be like sleepin’ for a very long time?” Micah sort of /mushes/ the side of his face into the supporting surface. “It is all terribly broken. It hurts to see it be broken. It hurts to work /around/ the broken. There is no good answer other than…the people in the system miraculously bein’ /fair/.” He may be an optimist, and an idealist, but he doesn’t sound too /hopeful/ of that happening. “Oh, that is clever. To try to get some sort of signal to you down here.” He pauses a few beats, considering the information that Lucien had not reached out to her. “Would it help…if I checked in on him for you? I can’t guarantee I’d get /much/ outta him, ‘cause he’s about the /cagiest/ person I’ve ever run into. But I can be /present/ at him periodically. As much as he’ll allow, anyhow.” "There is no missing, when you are shadow. It is not like sleeping but like...God, perhaps? I am there, touching everything, but I am apart. And I am not a god." That last statement comes rather more quickly than the rest. Even she has to recognize it borders dangerously close to the sort of statement that gets people committed. Fortunately, Micah is there to provide Nox with /happier/ things to discuss. This time, her hugging of him /lingers/. "...would it be an inconvenience? He is not cagey, it is only that he...has so much. To do. And he cannot be himself for any of it." "Just there, watchin' silently. More like a Watcher than a god. They're angels, sort of," Micah muses. "It's not an inconvenience at all. I'd count him as a friend, but...couldn't even be sure he'd say the same, to tell the truth." He nestles into the hug-like chair-squeeze. "It's not...I didn't mean t'sound judgemental about it. S'just. Difficult t'read. An' he don't offer much up freely." "I am not an angel either," Nox says, far too solemnly to be joking this time. "But I am very good at watching, yes. That is what Masque calls me. Little spy. He has become better and I have become worse." She'd smile if she could at that description of Lucien; it barely shows in her voice. "Pretending is difficult to stop. Even with me, he forgets. Even with Matt, I think, sometimes. But. We said our good-byes." "No, you are just you," Micah confirms, with a hint of laughter in his voice at just how solemn Nox's response had been! "An' that's all very subjective..." He doesn't argue further, over better and worse. "It is...unfortunate. That things are that way for him. But I will check on him for you. And deliver any messages, if you have them?" Micah moves to check the time on his wristwatch and realises he can't make it out at all in the darkness that has only deepened throughout their conversation. "Prob'ly, I should also be gettin' home. Before I can't even find the way out anymore." Does she have messages? Nox has to think about this. And in the meantime, she eases Micah up to a standing position, supporting him until certain he has his footing and then guiding him through touch towards the ladder. "I cannot think of anything to say," she has to admit. "I do not know if he is angry with me, or has decided to forget me. But. I will...I will continue to listen. Between 9 and 10 at night, Mister Law said. And if I hear him, I will speak. Will you be safe, going home?" Micah is /extremely/ grateful for the guidance to the ladder. Because finding it would have been a difficult task, indeed, otherwise. “I will tell him simply that, then. I should be as safe as any other person walkin’ around the city at night. It’s a thing I do often enough,” he adds with a reassuring little smile. Nox will help boost him up, too! If needed. Otherwise, she might just...hover. A little. It's so easy to assume that surface folk aren't as good at /climbing/. "Thank you, Micah. Please, be careful. And if there is anything I...anything we can do. Please." “Likewise,” Micah replies simply. To everything.