ArchivedLogs:You've Got a Friend

You've Got a Friend
Dramatis Personae Micah, Horus	15 June 2014 Talking (and singing!) in the playground.
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Space Station - Lower East Side
The soft grass and paved walkways of the courtyard give way to rubberized flooring in black and blue tiled squares, marking out the boundaries of the playground. The equipment that stands on the softer flooring is brightly-coloured, a definitive space theme going on. To one side a tall rocketship takes the place of a more traditional castle, handholds on one side to climb up to the inside and a tall sliding pole and wavy long slide on the other sides to get back down; its inside holds an abundance of platforms and nooks for climbing and hiding. The rocketship-castle is connected to a twin one by a swaying bridge and a set of monkeybars or, in a more roundabout fashion, a series of tunnels to climb through; on the other side, the ship is a tall climbing structure composed of cross-crossed beams and netting. Separate from the elaborate climbing structure, a swingset holds two side-by-side pairs of swings, and over to another side a large sandbox has a retractable cover to roll up over it when not in use. Micah is taking a day off from furniture building and other New House Chores, Father's Day having been busy with more leisure activities for once. Breakfast with Dusk and an afternoon picnic with Jax and the kids has wound the day on down into early evening already. The weather seems to be /asking/ for more time outside in the balmy, sunny day. As such, he is wandering outside in his weekend clothes: bluejeans and a T-shirt on which a group of Minions are gleefully making off with the TARDIS. An olive newsboy cap is pulled on over his messy auburn hair to give his eyes a little shielding from the bright-bright sun. He is singing softly to himself, Jason Mraz's 'Unfold', as he wends his way around the grounds, taking in the new space. When he catches sight of Horus, he waves and redirects his steps toward the swingset. Horus is perched at the very top of the swingset, huge talons clenched around the bar. He's /very/ occupied with his tablet at the moment, taptaptap, taptaptap; whatever is on the screen can't really be seen from his high-up perch but it takes a moment before his attention shifts. It shifts, first, in reflexive SPOOK, feathers ruffling and his wings shifting as though readying a takeoff; a second look to identify /Micah/ has him calming, though. Small twittery-chirp. Talking again requires switching out of whatever application he's currently absorbed in, but eventually his robo-voice speaks loudly for him. "Micah Micah Micah I know that song you should swing no sing you should sing to me more you can also swing. If you want. There's swings right here." "Hey, honey," Micah calls back with a beaming-broad smile. "How're y'doin'?" He takes up the offer of Swings, settling onto one, and craning his neck back to look up at Horus where he's perched. "Hm. Kinda hard t'chat with you set up this way. S'there anythin' more on my level that makes convenient perchin' for you?" The request for singing earns a little chuckle. "Could sing s'more. Wanna check in with y'first, though. Then maybe singin' /and/ swingin'." "No no no you come up. Up up up look you just need to comb comb climb climb up better up here." Helpfully, Horus demonstrates, sliding his way down off the metal beam to grasp the chain of one of the swings with his talons, working his way down along it with his beak gripping at the chain too to keep his balance. Then back /up/. "See up can you get robot talons then you'll climb good. Talon-foot. Better than running-foot by far." "Ohgosh, honey, I don't think I can pull off gettin' on top the swingset. Might be able t'compromise an' meet you on the part of the rockets that ain't all ropes an' nets an' things?" Micah glances around at the play structure with a small furrow of brow as he judges his own capacity for getting up /and back down/ from the various pieces of equipment. "Maybe over there?" His hand gestures at the rocket with the ladder and climbing tubes. Horus's large eyes flick down to Micah over to the rocket down to Micah over to the rocket. Tick-tick-tick; it's only after an oddly long consideration that he spreads his huge wings and flutters swiftly over to sit on its roof instead. His claws click against it, and he flits from one perch to another, testing them out before he finally instead perches on the monkeybars that connect two platforms. "Okay okay," he finally answers, "but I'm the Captain." "Aye aye, Cap'n," Micah agrees easily, chuckling softly as he heads over to the rocket. He takes his time moving up the ladder, glancing down frequently to assess just what his left leg is doing and to help visually guide his foot from rung to rung. "Okay, I'm here," he says finally, twisting himself to sit facing the monkeybars. "So, as I was sayin'... How're you doin'?" "Tired I'm tired tired tired how are you doing is your house ready is it perfect my house is perfect it's the perfect house." Horus watches Micah's ascent with steady interest, starting to speak again only once the man is situated. He shifts restlessly from side to side on the bar he's perched on, eventually tapping at his tablet again. "Are you going to sing now you can't swing there you have to do one of them." "Tired? Y'not sleep well last night or y'been busy with somethin'?" Micah's tone is one of casual concern, his feet swinging idly where they dangle off the side of the play structure. "Hee, kinda swingin'. M'feet at least. More singin' after we talk a bit. Can't really talk an' sing at the same time 'less you're amazin' at impromptu musical numbers. An' even then, those tend t'be a little on the inefficient side." "Flying flying flying I flew everywhere today I flew thirty forty fifty thousand miles." After this announcement Horus ruffles his feathers up slightly, tipping his head down to preen at one wing. "Wings hurt. So tired. I can't talk and sing my pen falls." His beak opens to twitter, quiet and cheerful, though as promised this does drop the stylus to dangle by its cord around his neck. "We're talking now. Now we're talking. What did you do today." "That's a /lotta/ flyin'." Micah watches the preening with a small smile. "Yep. Guess that means talkin' now, singin' later. Went t'breakfast with Dusk at Home this mornin'. Then the kids took us out for a picnic an' just kinda hikin' an' enjoyin' the day outside. Was a good break from all the hurryin' between work an' gettin' the house ready t'move in lately." He leans a little to the side to prop an arm up on the rocket. "How'd finals an' all go for you?" "Yeah I'm the best fleet flurry flyer. Flyer I'm the best flyer. Better than Dusk now. He won't fly with me anymore." This statement is accompanied by a small huffy fluff of chest feathers. "Nice day I enjoy. Enjoyed it. Also." He doesn't answer the question about finals, though, just drops his stylus to very fussily preen at his wing again. “You /are/ a pretty amazin' flyer. Dusk just needs some time t'get back on 'is...wings. S'gotta get used to 'em again, an' they aren't exactly the same as his original set, neither. Sure once he's had time t'get 'imself straight he'll go flyin' with you again.” Micah fishes through his messenger bag, pulling out a water bottle and sipping from it. “Has been a gorgeous day.” He pauses at Horus's lack of answer to his question, brows dipping toward one another. “S'everythin' been okay at the school, honey?” "Pretty pretty pretty wings. He has pretty wings. I still fled flee flee flayed wait is that not a word. Fly ed. With Rachel. A little. Dusk gives better hugs. Have you ever flayed with him." Horus sets his stylus down again so that he can carefully flutter over to drop down on the platform beside Micah, wing bapping light and brief accidentally against Micah's head as he lands and situates himself. "School is over summer now," is the answer he finally gives once settled, dropping his stylus again to free up his beak to stretch upward and start tidying at Micah's messy hair (messier still, now, for its wing-ruffling.) "Very pretty. An' Dusk is pretty much the /best/ at hugs." Micah catches his hat when Horus's wing knocks it loose, stuffing it into his bag rather than trying to put it back on. "Never been flyin' with 'im m'self, though." He doesn't resist the preening, looking rather amused at it, truth be told. "I know it's over, honey. But it was your first time at school, right? I just wanted t'know how things were goin'. Classes, meetin' people. If there's anythin' y'might find helpful t'adapt on your tablet for school purposes. Any of it." At first Horus doesn't answer, just focusing on careful arrangement of Micah's hair. After a little bit of this he pauses, beak resting atop the other man's head and body shifting to make sure he is pressing soft feathers and not the hard edge of his tablet up against Micah's shoulder as he reaches. There's another stretch of silence, beak gently preening at another few wayward strands before he finally shifts back enough to write again. "Done done done done done done over over done school is finish." This seems to suffice for answer at the moment; he returns to his preening rather /intently/. Micah's brow furrows at the silence and then the rather /definitive/ response. “Sugar, was somethin' wrong at school? Y'sound awful happy that it's over. An' in more than a 'yay, summer' kinda way.” He reaches a hand up to pet gently along a wing, careful not to disturb the feathers. Horus is back to preening, for now. Careful and /thorough/ and even once Micah's hair is very /neatly/ tidied he is just nuzzling closer, cautious of his large stabby beak as his feathered cheek brushes against the other man's. He finally rests his head on Micah's shoulder, eyes drifting closed with the petting. It's slow and reluctant when he pulls back to talk. "You're not swinging." His clawed feet shift awkwardly on the platform after this. "Summer is better no people no class no people no no no." After a moment he admits as well, "I failed school." Micah's arm wraps around Horus as he leans in, continuing petting but at a more comfortable angle. “I'm not swinging,” he agrees softly. “What part was hard, honey? Was it class? Or people? Did people give you a hard time?” He gives the teen the room he needs to reach his tablet but doesn't withdraw completely. Horus shifts in closer, head butting up beneath Micah's chin and his wings pressing flat against his sides. Clickclickclick, his talons shift restlessly again. "Yes," he gives in initial answer. Just yes. To all of it, maybe. It's a long time before he continues with the further statement: "Too stupid for school." “Honey, you are /not/ stupid,” Micah answers quickly and firmly. “Y'just hadn't /been/ before. It takes some time t'ease in. A lotta the kids from Prometheus as end up there, they start off with all kindsa remedial tutorin' 'cause they didn't get t'go t'school regular.” He chews at his lip thoughtfully. “Who's your advisor there? They should be helpin' y'navigate the class part. Might just be y'need more help getting' started.” He hugs Horus closer at that lean. “An' with the people. Were folks hasslin' you, or just overwhelmin' 'cause there's so many?” "Stupid stupid stupid. Had remedial everything. Still failed. Stupid stupid stupid." Horus's words come much slower, now; he's reluctant to move his head all that much, busy instead with rubbing up against Micah's shoulder, so it's more sporadic when he takes the time to pick his stylus back up and write. "Don't know," he finally answers the question about people. People stick stick stuck suck. Suck people suck. And I suck. Too stupid worth class too stupid worth with people." "Honey, no. No, stop that." Micah hugs Horus closer. "Did y'have tutors, like pre-class tutors? Or did they just throw you right into classes? 'Cause sometimes the one on one tutors are really a better way t'start." His hand continues its steady stroking along the teen's wing. "D'you talk t'your advisor? D'they know what's goin' on?" "Don't talk I don't talk. To anyone. My talking is stupid. Ghhhkkibbbcfsfh." At this last Horus isn't really attempting words so much as he is just tapping his stylus quick and frustrated against the tablet. He drops his stylus again after this, feathers ruffling; it takes a moment before he composes himself enough to write again a little more clearly. "Everyone thins I'm a dream fall dream what no no no. Freak everyone thinks I'm. A freak. Don't want school want to fora for for die die fcccvbhfg." "Honey, if y'don't tell nobody what's goin' on, nobody can help." Micah puts a hand up, fingers just brushing the edge of the tablet. "Your talkin' is anythin' /but/ stupid. D'you know how amazin' this is, how well y'do communicatin' usin' equipment, despite nothin' bein' made for you? It's /impressive/." The concern on his features only deepens. "Not everyone thinks you're a freak. The twins don't. Ducky doesn't. I'm sure there's /more/, those're just the ones I know of in advance." "Don't kbps know how. To have people. Friends. Don't know how to friends." Horus scoots back slightly on the platform. Then forward, then back, fidgety and unsettled. "You made this for me Horus upgrade Horus 2.0 MechaHorus." For a moment his chest puffs out, a little bit more pleased, but then his head dips to hang unhappily. There are tears welling up in his large eyes, glistening bright but just soaking in to vanish into the feathers of his face when they spill over. "Just hard I don't know how to be. A person." "You do. Honey, you /do/ know how t'have friends. 'Cause you've /had/ 'em. Aren't you friends with Ryan an' Hive an' Dusk an' me'n Jax an' Shane an' B? Just t'name a few? We all /love/ you." Micah reaches up to pet at Horus's head the way a person might pet another's hair. "An' Ducky cares 'bout you enough that she went through turnin' a /sponge/ into money t'get your new tablet." He kisses the boy lightly on the cheek at that first sign of tears. "We'll help. Y'got all these people who love you. Just let us know what y'need an' we'll /find/ ways t'help." "Ducky is the best ducky," Horus agrees with a small rustle of wings, head nudging up against the petting. "But I'm not the best Horus. Better at being a bird. Not a person." His chest is hitching, slightly, breathing a little bit shakier. "Some days I think maybe I'll fly t the end of the world just go go go go till tithing evening everything stops. Change name to Harris Isis Icarus flour fly straight into the sun. Can you hello help with that?" "Would you /really/ rather be a bird than a person? Live outside, not talk t'anyone ever?" Micah's fingers press in a little more firmly at the nudging. "No cuddles? I think. Maybe y'can do both. /Have/ those things an' also spend some time just flyin' an' bein' out an' away an' havin' alone time where y'don't /have/ t'worry 'bout talkin' an' all." He pauses for a moment, just letting his fingers continue their work in silence. "There's folks at the Clinic that help. Sortin' out what y'want an' what y'feel an' how t'deal with things. Jax an' I both go every week." "Yes," Horus answers promptly, "live outside not talk to anyone not be a freak. Don't talk right don't think right don't dress right don't eat right don't anything right do all bird-things not person-things." There's a stretch of quiet as Horus shifts back closer, nestling in carefully against Micah's side. After a pause: "But I do like. Hugs." He taps his stylus against the edge of the tablet, this time, a fidgety tic that this time does not result in a stream of gibberish. "Folks. Help. How? You go? Jax go es?" "I think prob'ly y'might find that...lonely. At the very least," Micah observes with a sad note in his voice. He pulls Horus in once again when the teen moves closer. "They have a mental health department. Psychologists and psychiatrists. Counselling, mostly. Jax's been goin' for awhile. Some of the same...feelin' not-right things. Not exactly the same as you but kinda. I started goin' after the whole thing with Sublime. The leg that weren't mine. Havin' that lunatic in m'head. S'just kinda stressful, crazy things that go on with our lives. But the people there are good, at listenin' an' not bein' overwhelmed by the crazy we throw at 'em. An' they're used t'freaks. We're pretty much their bread an' butter." Micah shifts a little, rolling his shoulders just to move after sitting for a long time. "I'd like t'get Dusk goin', too. S'a lotta us dealin' with a lotta things. An' there's help for it." "Maybe then Dusk will fly. With me again." Taptaptap, Horus's stylus raps against the tablet again. "I don't know how to make atonement assortment appointment. Don't like doctors don't want doctor maybe counseling though. Maybe I need that stressful crazy things stressful crazy life I'm a stress and crazy. Can you help make that. Appointment." "That's the hope," Micah assures, small smile returning to his face. "An' the Clinic's pretty okay. I work there. An' Flicker an' Jax. An' Io. An' B works for Io. An' Hive built the place. Y'can do counsellin' without doctorin'. We'll ask for just a clinical psychologist appointment for you." Horus's question is answered with a nod. "Of course. We can set it up t'morrow." "Tomorrow. OK. Tomorrow you'll help." There's another pause before Horus butts his head up against Micah's shoulder and then writes again, "Thank you I miss. This." “S'a date.” Micah nestles back against Horus. “No problem, honey. I've missed a lotta bein' 'round everybody. But...y'can always text an' e-mail me when I'm /not/ here, too. Okay?” He drums the fingers of his free hand against the rocketship. “So. There was some /singin'/ we're s'posed t'be doin'. Y'got any requests?” "Yes okay. I just I used to have. A long time ago I used to have." Horus pauses, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other before he finally writes, "Dad. Once. A long time. I miss." He drops the stylus to preen fussily at a wing feather, looking away towards the sky and then back at his tablet. "Yes do you know any songs about friends." It takes a little bit of fidgety but practiced maneuvering before he gets the tablet's harness off, setting it carefully down on the platform. He settles himself down next to Micah more snugly, now, tucking his wings in and nestling his head and chest against the man's lap. His eyes close as he tucks himself in comfortably, but his head tilts a moment later to peek one eye up at Micah. Just to make sure he's still going to sing. "Oh...oh, hon..." The words are mostly just sounds to convey feelings, not formed thoughts. Micah snuggles the young man into his lap, hand returning to stroking his feathers down. "Know quite a few. There's one that Carole King does. She's one of m'momma's favourites." No peeking needed, he eases simply into the folk singer's version of 'You've Got a Friend'. Horus's eye closes again, and he snuggles in close, feathers plumping up and then smoothing back down under Micah's touch. His head nuzzles against the other man, quiet throaty crooning accompanying Micah's singing softly.