ArchivedLogs:What Friends Have to Offer

What Friends Have to Offer
Lots of help floods into Apt 303.
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Melinda, Micah, Doug, Joshua, Liza	11 March 2013 Warning: Bronies. Also, kissy stuff..if you skip a bit.
Location <NYC> 303 {Holland} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late bright coloured sealife has made its way into being painted on the wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. Monday evening finds Jax's apartment still quite busy. It's had a /rotating/ roster of refugees, some drifted off towards Ryan or Hive's apartments, some drifted /over/ here from those, some shuffling back and forth from school to city. Liza is a constant fixture, the teenager nestled comfortably in an armchair, blankets draped over her somewhat truncated lap; there is a lavender-skinned teenager with pupilless yellow eyes playing Carcassonne on the floor with a middle-aged woman, hair tied back in a bun. A short boy with dark skin and short-cropped hair examines the fishtank intently. Jackson is in the kitchen, bright-coloured as usual in a Fluttershy hoodie, sleeves rolled up, a bright red t-shirt reading 'All my heroes have FBI files', a black skirt hung with a few straps hanging off silver D-rings, knee-high mismatched socks. He's working his way through a Very Large pile of dishes, when the buzzer rings; yet again it's Joshua who answers it, and Joshua who answers the door afterwards, too. Micah is smiling and faintly flushed with the exertion of climbing several flights of stairs when the door opens. His arms are full of green puffy coat and he has a lumpy, overfilled messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He is wearing patched jeans and a black T-shirt with a “Reading Rainbow” logo on it that was altered by some pun-minded artist to place Rainbow Dash on a cloud beside it, curled up with a Derring Do book. “Hi there, New Person!” He offers to Joshua upon noting an unfamiliar face. “Well, new to me, anyhow. I’m Micah. I have supplies.” A hand sort of…peeks out of the mass of coat for shaking purposes. "Hi Me -- oh hey," Jackson's initial chipper greeting does not turn any /less/ chipper, but it does sprout a deep blush to go along with it. "Sorry, I was um, expecting, hi!" Joshua gives Micah a small smile, a small nod. "Hi. Supplies, awesome. We have piles." Many piles. He gestures Micah inside. There's clothing. Food. First aid. The piles are at least /neatly/ organized, now. If still just sort of stacked against the wall. "Oh, wow, you didn't hafta bring," Jackson is saying, "I mean thanks! Hi. Um. How -- are you?" Melinda follows Micah, opting for the elevator for once, on account of having lots of stuff and the need to conserve energy when she arrives. She is able to see Micah enter when she arrives, but takes her time with her two hefty grocery bags of supplies (reusable, because handles are useful!) and a backpack with further stuffs. She sets them down at the door and knocks. Micah leaves his coat in an appropriate coat-leaving place by the door after a quick handshake with Joshua. “Hi, Jax! I made some hats and scarves and brought a big thing o’ Mom Cookies. Because patients’ mothers seem to think I am chronically deprived of baked goods. It’s a blessin’ I have the metabolism of a hummingbird or it’d do horrors for my girlish figure.” He pulls a big pile of varicoloured fabric items from the bag, depositing them in an appropriate clothing pile. A disposable-type plastic container stuffed with a few dozen cookies finds a home on the kitchen counter. “Oh, also, I brought a couple end caps and nuts to see if any of them might fit your grocery cart dealie so maybe the wheel won’t come off anymore.” These are held up in a little plastic baggie. “I’m good! How’re you holdin’ up?” "/Are/ you chronically deprived of baked goods, cuz I made espresso chip cookies and man they might be most all devoured by now but you /really/ should try 'em, my cookies are --" Somewhere in this, though, Jackson stops and blushes again, deeply. "Wow, um -- wow. That's -- for the cart, really, that's sweet, you -- thanks, I'm -- good. Tired. Good." He's turning off the sink, pulling a dishtowel off his shoulder, skirting his way (still limping, but only slightly) around the counter to offer Micah a one-armed hug when the knock sounds again. Joshua /has/ returned to the couch, settling down by a sleepy-eyed boy, but at the knock he grimaces and gets up just about as soon as he's seated. He frowns suspiciously out the peephole, but then his frown eases and he opens the door with another small smile. "Hey. There's cookies." "Well, I hope everyone didn't fill up on those, because I brought dinner." Mel smiles brightly at Joshua and sets down her grocery bags where both of the door dwellers can maneuver. She then starts stripping off her shoes and winter gear to reveal jeans and a pale blue teeshirt. "But the cookies sound great." She puts her backpack back on and grabs up her grocery bags and heads toward the kitchen. "Hey Jax! Hello... you." Mel eyes Micah again, vague recognition pulling at her features. Micah chuckles at Jax’s recurring Feed People compulsion. “Really, I just came in here with a whole box of baked goods, I should be--” and then Jax blushes at...word choice…and that makes Micah stop talking and blush /back/. “Um… That’s good. You been rememberin’ to sleep?” He returns the hug, gently to avoid the injuries. “Oh, hi…” Micah pauses briefly to access his name memory banks. “Mel. I didn’t know we were goin’ to the same place or I would’ve walked you up.” "Oh! You know each other? I mean. Mel, Micah, Micah -- right." Micah /just said/ Mel's name. Jackson blushes again, slipping back around to the kitchen as hastily as his limp will allow to continue Dishing. "Hi, both of you, thank you. I mean, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be -- I feel like I'm just /hassling/ all my friends right now to come be helpful but it's been so hectic." His words tumble out hastily, cheeks still flushed. "I filled up on them," Liza speaks up from her armchair. "I ate seven. You should have some." Joshua has been watching the blush-off in silence. He returns Mel's smile as he returns to his seat, adding, deadpan, "I have no doubt he wants to taste Jax's cookies." It's quiet. He's not smiling, even. Totally Serious. Jax turns a liiittle more crimson. "I kinda slept. A little bit. Last night. Don't come easy," he admits. "What's for dinner, Mel? I, um, maybe didn't plan much of nothin' cuz I knew you was coming." He sounds quite apologetic about this. Mel gives Joshua a little eye roll, but pauses when she sees what he's referring to. She brightens her smile and heads in further. "Ha. Don't worry about it. I think we were both a little distracted by the stuff with us." She moves the grocery bags onto the counter by the stove. "I've got pasta, pasta and more pasta, with three types of sauce. I'm assuming we're going for a vegan theme? If not, I am sorry. There's also salad and marinated tofu." She starts laying things out. The sauces have already been prepared and are in clamp sealed plastic containers. "And thanks, Jax, for the introductions. I met Micah before at Evolve, but I couldn't remember his name." She does not blush. She does not feel bad about this. "Do you have a large pasta pot?" Dry pasta rattles around in the next box she pulls out. “Don’t feel like you’re hasslin’ nobody, hon. Y’didn’t even /ask/ me for help. I’m pushin’ it on you. And you’re welcome either way,” Micah responds with a grin. Joshua’s comment is…a good reason to go looking for that broken cart, all of the sudden. Oh, look, cart! Micah slides the thing out from where it was leaning and busies himself with selecting an appropriately sized nut to slip onto the axel. He locates one, fits it on, and adds an end cap. Then returns the cart to where it was stored previously. Well, that might have been /too/ quick a fix. "Oh -- oh, yeah, man, all these people around I got /such/ big cooking pots. Right under there." Jackson points with one toe towards a cabinet, still scrubbing at a large skillet in the skin. "Vegan's good. My apartment's kinda weird cuz I just cook all the hippie food but then the boys just stock /their/ fridge with big slabs of corpse. Our diets don't line up much. Um, you don't mind rabbit food, do you, Micah?" He's stretching up onto his toes to peer over at Micah. "Oh! Oh. That terrible old thing's been broke /forever/. Did you really fix it? I -- um, I don't mind. Pushing. Kinda nice right now." Melinda makes herself at home, grabbing the pot and putting it next to the sink and waiting for Jax to fill it. She then finds other pots to empty the different containers of sauce into. "Now, I was kind of following a recipe I've never tried before for the white sauce. It's mostly nutritional yeast and fakebutter, so it might not be the best, so - um, there's plenty of marinara if it didn't turn out." She smiles and looks sheepish, but leaves a container of pure green stuff on the counter instead of heating it. She pulls the salad tubs out of her other grocery bag. “Shoot, naw, food’s food far as I’m concerned. I’m all kindsa omnivorous.” Micah stuffs the baggie with remaining small parts into his jeans pocket. Okay, it may be safe to return now… He gets back to his feet and ambles into the kitchen. “Yeah, it should be good now. Just needed replacement parts. Can’t expect a wheel to stay on all by its lonesome.” He sneaks over to wash his hands at the sink before Jax gets a chance to block it up with pot-filling, then sets about filling the pot himself. Ha, beat you to it! "Whatever you got, I'm sure it'll be swell," Jackson assures Melinda cheerfully, as Liza pipes up from the living room to ask Mel: "We've all been on prison rations for months /ever/ food is /great/. Is the salad /fresh/?" Because: Fresh vegetables. Her eyes are like O.O this big. Every time. "S'hard for anything to stay strong all on its lonesome," he adds, with a small crooked smile. The smile evens out, warms, as Micah sneaks over -- maaaybe he is lingering close at the sink now on purpose as Micah washes his hands. Only to take his dishtowel off his shoulder and thwap Micah in the arm with it -- albeit lightly -- when Micah commandeers the pot. "Hey," he protests, "m'trying to be helpful here and you two are takin' all the work." "That's because it's our turn, Jax. You've already done your share by rescuing people." Mel is pulling off the lid on the salad, which is full of romaine and arugula, carrot bits and shredded broccoli slaw - and of course grape tomatoes mixed in. "Yep. The salad is fresh, and none of that crispy water shit either." The woman may have something against iceberg lettuce. It is hard to tell. "Hmmm. I think I need to raid your spice cabinet for herbs to put in the vinaigrette." Micah counter-strikes by flicking water from his still-wet fingertips at Jax. Flickflick! “That would be the idea, you doin’ less work.” He flashes Jax a Cheshire cat smile as he picks up the pot and places it on the stove, then sets the heat to get the mass of water boiling. A little bit of olive oil and salt find their way into the water, too, because that’s just how it’s done. Spring Break should not involve this much activity not booze-based. Doug makes his way from the elevator to the door of 303 with a large duffel slung over one shoulder and a HUGE box in his arms. Dressed in jeans and a collared shirt under a pullover sweater, the blonde looks a little well-dressed for acting as a moving man. He manages /not/ to thump into Jackson's door when he comes to a stop, but full hands necessitate him kicking at the door. There may be an attempt to keep it light, but it sounds weirdly loud in the quiet hallway. "Jackson or someone open up," he calls. "My hands are full." Joshua sighs. Exaggeratedly. And heeeeaves himself up out of the chair. Liza sticks her tongue out at him. "You want me to get it?" she offers. Joshua looks at her like he's not /quite/ sure if she's joking or not, but heads towards the door to squint out the view hole and then open it . "Yo." It's a brusque greeting as he waves Doug in, locks the door again behind. "Oh gosh more help!" Jackson turns /on/ the faucet again solely for the purpose of running cold water over his fingers. He doesn't flick it at Micah. He just presses cold-wet fingertips on the nape of Micah's neck. "I got alllll the herbs," he's telling Mel as he inflicts this chill, "you just say the word. Doug, we're fooding. Well, Mel's fooding us. Plus there's cookies." "Which you can't have till after dinner," Liza chimes from her chair. "Yeah, right, Liza's going to eat them all before dinner's through," Joshua warns. Melinda finds a Jar and starts sniffing things. She starts with the vinegar she brought and then the oregano and the garlic, with the thyme in rapid succession. She sniffs things a couple times over before deciding on the grouping she likes best and pours it into the bottom of the jar. Then she fills it with half vinegar and half oil. Then there's shaking. Shaaaake, shake, shake, while the sauces are heating on low and the water is brought to a boil. "Hello! I'm Mel." Since she is being referenced, she raises a hand and waves. Micah startles, fumbling the--thankfully closed--salt container onto the counter with a clatter. "Biscuits and /gravy/! Jax, you little sneak!" He shudders exaggeratedly, pretending to be all Upset. Pretending poorly, because Upset doesn't /giggle/ like that. Micah recovers the salt, placing it back from whence it came. Doug has a bright grin for Joshua when he opens the door, and steps through as quickly as his burdens will allow. "Hey, Josh," he says brightly, looking around the living room and nodding at the others gathered there. "Oh, hey, I could food," he says, swiveling towards the kitchen and freezing just a bit at the sight of someone he doesn't know and Micah, who gets a slightly confused smile. "Hello, Mel," he says when she introduces herself. "I'm Doug. I live upstairs." Which seems to cover things on his end, and he looks around, again. "I come bearing gifts," he says to Jackson, hefting the box lightly. "Clothes and food, from one of my mother's friends." There are neat piles of supplies, carefully stacked and organized against one far wall, and Jackson -- well, he squeezes down a little harder at Micah's neck, maybe now less of an icyhands and more just an absent /rub/ before he drops his hand. To wave, towards the supply piles, with a thankful smile. "Clothes there, food too if it's vegan, if it ain't an' it's /fish/ it can go across the hall to Ryan but if it's any other meat it goes up to Hive's." Joshua scrubs his face at this explanation, and moves to take the box from Doug. "I got it," he assures Doug. "Mel brought salad and, um, tofu and /three/ kinds of pasta sauce and Micah brought cookies and I made cookies so s'basically like a feast. Thanks for the -- thanks," he adds, warm, with a nod to the box. He's wiping coldwet hands off against his skirt. When the water starts boiling, Melinda dumps a box or two of pasta inside and sets a timer to remind herself, giving the pasta a good stir in the pot so it doesn't stick together. "Wow. You really do have it organized. I suppose people can pick what they want to eat based on the apartment they chose to dine in? But now I'm imagining Hive's place is full of cow for breakfast lunch and dinner." She puts the pasta fork down on the stove and turns to smile at Doug. "Nice to meet you. Come on in. We're trying to do so much that Jax has nothing else to do but relax. You want to man the door for a while so Joshua can stay off his feet?" “Hey, it’s Doug! Hi!” Micah waves in greeting as Doug makes himself known. “Jax’s place has /all the people/.” And he’s back to giggling at Mel’s cow comment. “Now I’m picturing people stuffing all of these cartoon cows into Hive’s apartment.” He mimes shouldering a large object through a door. “Speakin’ of which, Mel, anythin’ else I can give you a hand with?” There's definite stiffness to Doug's movements as he hands off the box, his eyes tracking Jackson thoughtfully with a nod of acknowledgment, shrugging the duffel from his shoulder and handing that off, too. "Food's in the box, and clothes in the bag," he says, nodding at each in turn, then turns back to nod at Mel. "Nice to meet you, too," he says, although he seems a bit distracted, snapping back to focus at the question. "Hm? Oh, um. I don't know how effective a security guard I'd be," he admits. "Unless whoever came in started shouting their intentions in Mandarin or something." He sounds genuinely apologetic as he says this, turning to offer a mild frown to Joshua. "Sorry, dude." "Ain't security so much as opening the door a lot," Jackson admits with a sheepish wrinkle of his nose, "s'just people in and out of here nonstop and don't most of 'em have keys so. That ain't far off, you know," he's adding to the others with a flash of amusement, "s'just packed end to end with steer." A cow /appears/. Cartoonish. Spotted black and white. At one side of the kitchen. And then a second, and then a third. Jax, though, is looking a little quizzical at Doug's stiffness, brow furrowing in concern as he siiiidles (stiffly, a little limpy) back over to the still kind of dish-ful sink. Sneakily. He picks up a sponge. "Y'aright, hon?" "Oh no. Jax, your kitchen isn't vegan anymore. I am sorry." Mel's delivery is dry as she shakes her head and then turns to Micah. "Nah. Not really. Make the pasta. Have people add sauce. There's red, white and green." She points the pesto out to him. "Add salad and dressing." She finally remembers to pull her backpack off her shoulders and pulls out prepackaged blocks of flavored tofu, more than enough for everyone. "They expire today, so take a good whiff before nomming. They should be fine." And thusly, the administration of dinner is complete. “Aw, gracious, Jax, you’re givin’ me /high school/ flashbacks.” While Micah’s tone is joking, the ‘high school’ bit is not spoken fondly. “We had a cow from a neighbourin’ farm wander up outside my US history class and just start lickin’ the window this once. For like…half an hour. It was /ridiculous/.” He pauses to nod at Mel’s well-set checklist of food prep. “You’re a well-oiled cookin’ mach--Jax! No workin’!” His tone is decidedly ‘/bad/ puppy, no biscuit’. Micah moves to attempt to steal the sponge from Jax, hoping resistance is minimal because wrestling injured people without hurting them is /hard/. Doug lifts a shoulder, his wince a bit theatrical. "Overdid it at the gym yesterday," he answers Jax, and if there are any BS-detecting mutants in the room, they're certainly getting an earful right now. "Just aggravated it, is all." He doesn't seem to be moving towards the food; content, it appears to let the tide of rescued wash over him and eat first. "Smells good," he offers, falling in line behind the last of them. He shifts his weight, though, looking thoughtfully at the stack of supplies. "I don't know how much of that is vegan," he says, motioning towards the box. "I think it's mostly canned and dry goods. Felt like it." Jax, meanwhile, is initially holding on tight to his sponge! But something in Micah's tone makes him both blush and relinquish it with a duck of his head that /looks/ decidedly shamedpuppy. It dissipates a moment later into a crooked smile, a dutiful, "-- Yessir," but he's not very /good/ at obeying this because a moment later he's slinking away from the sink to get a stack of dishes and start serving Mel's tastyfoods. "My hometown was a lot like that," he admits, with a quiet laugh. "Was chickens in our schoolyard." He doesn't have as well-honed a BS detector as a (temporary) telepath, but he /does/ have a Doug-has-not-even-bothered-saying-hello-to-Micah detector, which draws another concerned frown. "Uh -- huh. You sure you're okay? Hey, you two still going to that Stark, uh, geek-tech-tour thing on Thursday?" There is too much going on and Micah’s more than a little ADD and thus /totally oblivious/. “Yeah, I know how that is. I got permission to start doin’ resistance training in overhead reachy ranges for my shoulder rehab. and /way/ overdid it because I’m a terrible patient. And when you do your own rehab. there’s no physio to give you the stink-eye over increasin’ your reps too soon.” He steals the sponge and sets at the dishes. Not a bad idea to clear the sink before /all of these new dishes/ fill it up again. “Hmm…yeah, as far as I know?” he responds to Jax’s question. "I'm fine," Doug says, a little too quickly, ignoring the glances from those in line just ahead of him. "It's like Micah said -- I just overdid it too soon. Probably should have come and gotten someone to carry the box for me." He shifts his weight, and his brow lowers briefly as he looks at the door. His head snaps back when Micah answers, and his eyebrows lift in an expression that's a little too pathetically hopeful to try and describe. "You still want to go?" he says, cocking his head. "I was holding off on getting the tickets, 'cause we hadn't really talked since all of," the gaze he flicks at Jax is so fast as to be hardly noticeable, "this happened." "All of this," Jackson says, with a quiet laugh, "is so much more reason to go, cuz Micah's apparently press-ganged himself into working here so he's gonna /need/ a break, s'hard to unwind sometimes with --" Well. He waves an empty bowl in indication of the room before filling it and handing it off. "Man," he adds, at the talk of overexertion, "is there /nobody/ in this room who actually just takes care of themselves?" “Yeah, barrin’ some kinda new emergency,” Micah replies evenly. Hopefully something in the kitchen is made of wood, because it is getting /knocked on/. “Gotta make time for purely fun hangouts /sometimes/ even when /stuff/ is goin’ on. Otherwise you just get all exhausted and aren’t any good to anyone.” That last sentence could, potentially, have /hinthintJAX/ attached to it, silently. “I’m gonna record what you just said for posterity, Jax, and /totally/ use it against you in the future.” Micah has evilgrin on now. Ammunition in the ‘Stop Jax from Overworking Himself’ campaign obtained! "Oh, good," Doug says, though his expression falls a bit while Micah is speaking, his brow coming down in a mild clutch. "Yeah, fun hangouts are fun." Is offered in a distracted tone, and when the line moves forward, Doug remains where he is, shoving his hands into his back pockets. "Oh, hey, I just remembered," he says, his voice a over-bright as he begins to back towards the door. "I should get upstairs and call my mom; let her know I got home okay." Poor Joshua; it's all so false, his name might not even be Doug. "And I probably could use the time to get started on my paper for my Business class, since you guys have things handled down here." He's backing towards the door more quickly, now, color creeping into ears. "But I'll talk to you later, okay?" That could be to...anyone, as it's said as he turns and attempts a hasty exit. Hopefully, Joshua will have the door open so he doesn't smack into it. Joshua does not get up, being in charge of letting people in but not out! Because from the inside you don't /need/ a key. Hopefully Doug will use his hands to open the door for himself, because Joshua has a bowl of pasta in each hand, taking them across to some of the less-mobile (or maybe just more-lazy) of the flock. "Oh -- I -- okay," Jackson says, uncertainly, his frown deepening, but then brighter: "See you later! Thank you so much for the things. -- Hey," he adds to Micah, "I didn't notice no recording and I ain't saying it /again/ so you're out of luck. Well, no, okay, I'll probably say it again some time if I hear of you overworking yourself again." Not a hypocrite, not at /all/. He's still dishing out pasta and salad. Even half-buried in finishing off a pile of dishes, /that much/ sheer uncomfortable-ness manages to get through Micah’s distraction-bubble. He winces as he sets the last dish in the drying rack. That talk he was thinking /maybe/ needed to happen? Definitely needs to happen. Soonish…once full-swing teenager drama has had a little time to settle. “Yes. /Definitely/ talkin’. Later,” he sort-of-reassures the fleeing Doug. Well…this room is awfully full of people, isn’t it? Pretending nothing is going on is a pretty good option after Doug makes his escape. “Pssht, kiddo, I don’t /need/ recording equipment. That’s locked in the /vault/.” He taps at his temple indicatively. Doug is perfectly capable of working the door himself, although there's a bit of fumbling with the locks before he's swinging the door open. He turns back, as if he might say a further farewell, but then turns, and disappears, closing the door behind him softly. "Well." Jackson is kind of slumping, slightly, against the counter as he serves up dinner. "That -- was." His lips press together and he winces, but then flashes a quick smile to Micah. "It's hectic around here. You might not be remembering correct. I toootally just said that /you/ --" He offers a plate towards Micah, now that he is done with dishes. "Should have some dinner. Can't have dessert till you do." “--teenagers,” Micah completes Jax’s sentence with a sigh. He leaves it at that, because /room full of people/. It only takes a beat for his lopsided grin to return. “Hmm, no, I think I’ve kind of got a crazy memory for people sayin’ things that /totally back up my case/.” He does take the plate Jax offers, but just kind of holds onto it. “I’m not eatin’ until you stop to eat.” Micah arches an eyebrow. Your move, stubborn-boy. Jax's wince is maybe enough agreement with the completion of his sentence. He is quick to smile again afterwards, though, maybe a little /sheepish/ now. "S'true, though. Think sometimes /everyone/ needs another person reminding them to take care." He does load up another plate -- okay, /two/ other plates, making sure the last of the room has gotten food /first/ -- and then keeps a plate for himself. "Look," he says, placatingly, "dinner." He picks up a pair of forks, offering one to Micah. "We should sit --" He frowns around the room. There's -- not much /place/ to sit. Nose wrinkling, he slumps slightly against the counter. "Your room's got space," Joshua suggests, from the couch. Where he is /so/ not getting up again until he's finished dinner no matter /who/ knocks at the door. “S’why we’re social animals,” Micah offers by way of agreement. He accepts the utensil once it is clear that Jax is actually going to eat a thing. He has just opened his mouth to say something when Joshua gets quippy again. Then there is just /blushing/ instead of sound. His mouth closes. He /may/ have just decided that Joshua is Teh Evils. If Joshua has heard this deciding he doesn't answer it. He's eating. Pasta. Tofu. Omnom. Jax, though, is busy blushing as well, deep and furious. "Yeah. And, well, resting is better with company, anyway. He, um," he glances towards Joshua, "s'right, though, it's -- crowded here and -- dinner," he finishes, a little bashfully. "Do you want to -- sit?" “Uh…sure. Have to get you to rest /and/ eat. So.” Yes, that /is/ all very convenient. Micah hefts his plate. They should probably get out of sight of somanypeople before one of them combusts from blushing. Jackson is quick enough to get out of sight. He slips -- well, limps -- away towards the bedroom, plate in hand. His bed today has at least been cleared of its piles of clothes. Maybe he's even slept in it the past night or two! There's a long beat of hesitation once they're inside before he shuts the door, with another blush, and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. "Ain't always so good at letting people take care'a things for me," he admits this like it is such shocking news, "but s'been -- weird. Nice. Normally after these things," maybe houseful of refugees is a commonplace event for him? "s'just kind of us struggling to do everything on our own. So many people keep coming to help this time, though. Kinda amazing." He's pushing his food around his plate with his fork, talking -- rapidly -- but not eating. Micah trails along after Jax and settles next to him once he sits down. The fact that the bed looks like it’s been used for something other than a hamper is reassuring. “Well, maybe by the end of all this, you’ll finally be able to write your ‘Dear Princess Celestia’ letter about acceptin’ what your friends have to offer there, AJ,” he teases, back to full-on lopsided grin. “This kinda thing happens…often?” "Not often enough," Jackson says with a slight dip of his head. "I mean. As often as we can --" He hesitates, his fingers curling loosely into a fist, thumb brushing against the missing stump of his smallest finger. "S'just a lot more people out there need the same help and we can't find them fast enough." Now he /does/ start eating, though he shifts /just/ a little closer to Micah as he spears his salad. Micah starts nibbling at his own food once Jax is actually eating, true to his word. He wants to ask /all the questions/, but at the same time doesn’t want to pry. Serious stuff. “It’s good you’re tryin’. Folks don’t look like wherever they were was much compatible with life.” "Where they were was kinda horrible," Jackson agrees, softly. Slowly, in between small bites of food. Though his sunglasses shade his eyes the slight turn of his head might indicate that he's /watching/ to make sure Micah is eating, too. He takes bites just a little bigger. "S'been hard. All those folks -- there was people -- the world's just not /kind/ sometimes, you know? People think it's okay to lock us in cages and -- torture and -- kill just cuz our genes ain't quite --" His head bows, slightly, and he spears another bite of salad a little more forcefully. "Sorry," he says, quietly. "I just, it's hard. But then so many people show up and help and --" His cheeks flush. "Makes it a little easier to remember the world /is/ kind sometimes, too." “Don’t apologise,” Micah replies to the ‘sorry’, gently. “I’ve…got family. Jewish. German.” He lets those words form their own sentences. “The stories I’ve heard… Y’don’t gotta tell what y’aren’t ready to tell. But if or when you need to tell ‘em,” he dips his head down slightly, canted, eyes turning up to regard Jax, “I can hold it.” Jackson is quiet, at this, his head tipping in a nod of understanding. It stays tipped, his weight shifting slightly to lean -- a shoulder up against Micah's, first, and then his forehead resting against the other man's. He sets his fork down on his plate, and moves his hand to Micah's, fingers curling around Micah's hand. Still no words. Just a gentle squeeze of his hand. Micah shifts slightly to accept Jax’s weight leaning against him more easily. The plate is…utterly forgotten. His hand returns the press of Jax’s in kind. The blush that had been abandoned in the other room returns, though faintly. His voice is husky-soft when he finally finds it. “I’m sorry. That the world isn’t always what it should be…for people like you.” "World ain't always what it should be for anyone," Jackson answers softly. He lifts Micah's hand, lips pressing lightly to the other man's knuckles. "Right about this minute, though, s'seeming pretty much a bit of alright." “Yeah, it’s pretty okay from here.” Micah’s smile at that is a small, silly thing. The word ‘okay’ seems to remind him of something, however. “/Are/ you okay? You’ve been hidin’ it from everyone.” The fingers of his free hand trace along Jax’s jawline…the right side of his face, partly to elucidate his meaning. Partly because that’s what his hand really wanted to do. Jax grows a smile to match, small and quirked up lopsided. His breath catches, for a moment, as Micah's fingers trace against his face, and his smile grows a little wider. There's a hesitation before the burns reappear, stippled faint red down the left side of his face; his arm bears (fresh) bandaging, where the sleeves of his sweatshirt have been rolled up. "M'an illusionist. I'm good at hiding," he says, a little apologetically. "Kinda habit. I don't like to worry nobody. I'm okay, though," he adds in quiet assurance. "Healing. But --" He turns his head, in order to kiss Micah's fingertips lightly. "But okay." Micah’s eyes close, briefly, with the little kisses. “Seems like it would take a lot of energy, keepin’ that up all the time,” he observes lightly. “Also, it’s harder to tell where I’m not allowed to touch when you’re doin’ that.” He leans in with this, pressing his lips to Jax’s gently, still cautious of healing and potential hurt. "I have a lot of energy," Jackson says, quietly. It's all he says. he returns the kiss, first light, then more firmly. When he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed deep. He shifts his plate, moving it off his lap to set it safely aside on the nightstand. "Might need to be careful with the burns, but," he adds, blushing deeper, "you're /allowed/ to touch wherever you like." Yeah, it's pretty much plates be damned. Micah's is shoved off onto the nightstand as well, without really as much attention paid to the process as probably /should/ be. "See, now, I thought we'd already established about that /not/ being the good kind of pain." He bites down fairly hard on his own lip for a moment, looking...sort of thoughtful. "You have to keep me informed, here." There are layers of teasing and seriousness in most of what he's saying at this point. "No," Jackson admits, quietly amused. "It'd just be the pain kind of pain." He steals another kiss, brief and light. "Micah --" He hesitates. "Would it be weird if I asked you to stay? Here. Tonight, I mean," he says, blushing deeper. "I mean. Instead of. You know. Leaving." “Hm?” Micah responds eloquently to the use of his name. He distracts easily. Especially with kisses. “Not weird at all. I mean…until it’s more grist for the spectacularly informed rumour mill around here.” /That/ draws more of a blush from Micah. “But. Weird is usually good, I think…I think I can deal.” Speculation fades back into suggestive smirking. “And I can pretty much guarantee we keep you in bed that way.” This just makes Jax's blush spread, tinting the air /around/ him pink, too. "... I wouldn't fight that." His smile is shy, nose crinkling up with the expression. "Like I said. Resting's nicer with company.” "Ain't that the truth," Micah seconds that sentiment. "And there is no need for cookies. On account of /all the cuddles/." He smiles brightly, picking up Jax's right hand in both of his. "All the gentle. No-bad-pain. Cuddles." Kisses are placed as punctuation for these words, on Jax's fingertips, then palm, then wrist. And Micah pulls at that arm to lead Jax to lie beside him, gently as promised.