ArchivedLogs:Younger

Younger
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Micah	16 March 2014 What to do about the camera issue.
Location <NYC> The Roost - Village Lofts - East Village
Dusk's bedroom is a messy place as might be expected, cluttered with books and clothing, forgotten dishes, boxes of Magic cards, other miscellany. His bed is not 'bed' so much as 'mattress on the floor'; though there /is/ a full bed against the opposite wall, it's neatly made and has been untouched for a while. His desk holds the desktop -- somewhat literally. /Far/ more elaborate of a setup than his lack-of-bed, the desk /itself/, with see-through glass body and softly glowing lights inside, has been configured to /be/ the computer case. Closer inspection of a pair of small decorative aquariums sitting to either side of its three monitors finds them to /also/ be computer cases, their inner workings submerged in a pale blue liquid on a bed of aquarium pebbles alongside plastic plants and little plastic castles or fake coral. Early afternoon, and Dusk's room is quiet, at the moment. He is perched (shirtless as ever, brown corduroys, no shoes) on his stool at his computer desk, /frowning/ deeply at his monitors. One of them has a tiled panel of camera views, a few of the external surroundings of the Lofts, many more blank-black. The middle of his monitors has a terminal side-by-side with a text editor, lines of colour-marked code sitting in front of him as much more text scrolls by in the terminal. In the third screen there's just a music player, pumping music at the moment into his headphones; the glowy lights ringing the enormous earpieces over his ears are pulsing and changing in time with Our Lady Peace. Micah has made his way upstairs from the lobby, dropped off his winter gear, and set up his pharmacy purchases in the appropriate first aid kits at home. As such, he is dressed now only in his Batsignal hoodie worn open over a powder-blue Totoro face T-shirt and patchy bluejeans, his socks black and yellow striped with little bumblebees buzzing about the yellow parts. Either one of Dusk's roommates let him in or he did as much himself, because he appears at Dusk's open door, knocking at it even as he steps inside. "Hey, Dusk. How's it--right, I should prob'ly tell you why the cameras are actin' up 'fore y'start goin' crazy tryin' t'fix it." Dusk spins around on his chair, knocking one side of the headphones back off his ears to leave it freed up for conversation. There's a look of frustration in his expression that -- /partially/, though not fully -- eases up when he sees who is at the door. "Fucking Christ," he mutters, "I've already been -- S'just been /massive/ failure across the -- wait, /why/ are they acting up?" There's an uncharacteristically sharp-irritated edge to his tone that probably has very little to do with Micah and very /much/ to do with the lines of code in front of him. Micah's eyes widen appreciably at Dusk's expression and tone. "Ohgosh, apologies, honey." He pauses to /sign/ 'sorry', as well. "I prob'ly should've come up here right away 'stead of stoppin' home first, but I didn't think...it'd be a big issue this fast. Totally my fault. Um...Doug said there was a problem with an aggression-notification...algorithm, or somethin'. Kept alarmin' just from people bein' close t'one another an' not actually hurtin' nobody. An' he was takin' down the inside cameras 'cause they're buggy." For some reason, his cheeks have picked up a hint of a blush by the end of this explanation. Not that this is /uncommon/ for him. "What in the fucking /hellshit/ -- Dusk rakes his fingers through his hair, exhaling sharply as he turns to look back at his screen. "OK. OK, but if the /new/ algorithm is fucking up /revert it to the old one/ that worked /fine/. And work out your bugs in fucking testing not in /production/, Jesus -- and you don't /dismantle/ the whole system because your newest release went --" His palm scrapes down against his eye, and he turns back towards Micah with a slow sigh, an apologetic wince. 'Sorry', he signs, "shit, this isn't your -- just /seriously/ does he have any idea how many death threats your floor alone gets?" "Hey, hey. Easy, honey." Micah slips closer to Dusk, petting a hand down along one wing before sliding them in to rest on his shoulders and knead gently at the muscles there. "The outside cameras are still up. That feed's still workin', right?" His eyes flick over the little boxes showing on the monitor. "I figured maybe y'could go talk to 'im 'bout what other options y'all have with the system once /both/ of you've had a chance t'cool off a bit over it. I...um." His blush deepens to a rich rose. "I think he was more'n a little /upset/ 'bout some of the things he was gettin' pinged t'check out. An' prob'ly when he got frustrated tryin' t'fix the thing, that's what made 'im decide on the nuclear option 'stead of somethin' more sensible." Dusk slumps, wings drooping downwards against his back and his shoulders relaxing beneath Micah's kneading. "Outside cameras are still working, yeah. But they're also easier to /dismantle/ than the inside ones if you watch the building long enough. One bullet from across the street and you've made yourself an entrance. Hard to take out /all/ the inside ones --" He grimaces. "Unless someone just does it /for/ you." The irritation is bleeding out of his tone, though, as Micah's fingers work in at his muscles. He tips his head back with a puzzled frown. "-- Upset? At getting pinged? I mean, it gets kind of a hassle on days there are a lot of strangers but whatever we always knew it would be." Micah's fingers work in more firmly as Dusk relaxes. "Ohgosh, I didn't even think of people tryin' t'take out the cameras. Guess maybe the amount of wait-time on that discussion might...need t'be shortened more'n might otherwise be ideal." He frowns at the thought, cheeks burning brighter as he works his way around the wording to answer. "Think it wasn't so much the frequency of the pings as the content? Every time somebody hugged or kissed or...other...things. With anybody in the common areas. Was alarmin' at 'im t'check it out." "I'm paranoid," Dusk says with a sharp flash of teeth. "And Doug's never /had/ to be. So prooobably his brain doesn't quite get as twitchy as mine does when it comes to security." His fingers scrunch through his hair again, and then fall down to his lap. "OK." His voice is a strange blend of annoyed and relieved. "I'm glad it wasn't just the whole fucking thing exploding, after all the work we put into this --" With another sharp exhale he tips his head back against Micah's stomach, looking upward at the older man. "Uh. Wait. Are you telling me he dismantled our security /because he didn't want to see people kissing/?" "Is it still paranoia when they /are/ out t'get you?" Micah questions with a rueful sort of smile, both hands moving over to one side of Dusk's neck in order to better concentrate on their work there for a time. They pause again as Dusk's head tips back, however, in time with his blush seeping on into his neck and ears. "Oh...ohgosh, I think that's oversimplifyin'. T'put it like that. I mean...prob'ly it was a lot the algorithm not workin' an' bein' frustrated an'...knowin' that all the folks as've been gettin' threats are movin' out soon anyway. Think he's just...been depressed 'bout folks leavin' an' /generally/ lonely an' it can be real hard havin'...other people bein' all...that. Right. In your face all the time. An' he's still /kinda/ teenagery, yeah?" Micah finally covers his face with both hands either to hide or to stop himself from talking. "I actually suspect this /might/ kinda be my fault again. S'that...whatsit. Narcissism or somethin'? Vanity? T'always think things are about you? S'how that Carly Simon song goes, anyhow." Apparently the hands aren't working to staunch the flow of words very well. "Nah, okay, right, I think then it's just pragmatism," Dusk allows. A soft purring growl rumbles, layered lower underneath his voice as he relaxes back against Micah. "... if he's depressed about folks leaving he could come with? There's plenty of room. He hasn't mentioned wanting to or anything when /I've/ talked about the Commons with him though so maybe he'll be alright here." He shrugs a wing quickly. "And if other people being happy is /still/ pissing him off maybe he wouldn't even want to live there because holy /shit/ do I intend to be /nothing but happy/ there. I'm making out with goddamn everyone," Dusk informs Micah with a sharp grin. "-- Uh, but it's not like /Doug/ hasn't made out in that very same lobby before. With /your/ son." He shakes his head, perhaps a little exasperated. "How the fuck is this your fault?" Even busy with blushing and face-hiding as he is, Micah can't help but respond to the purring. He steps into Dusk a little closer, hands finally slinking back down from his face to play through the other man's hair. "I...haven't brought it up with 'im. It seemed awkward for me t'do. Since he's mentioned how it was still uncomfortable for 'im t'be in our apartment an' I think it still...is awkward to 'im t'see us at all. I thought maybe he'd be happy we were leavin'. S'far as that was concerned." He sighs heavily, fingers curling in to rub at Dusk's scalp idly. "It's the timin' of it. Considerin'. Um. I just...didn't know about the aggression algorithm thing he'd put in or maybe I'd've. I dunno. Controlled m'self better with the bein' in public an'. I really think it was that. That tipped 'im over decidin' t'take the cameras down." If possible, his face manages to find a deeper shade of red. That last comment brings his eyebrows lifting up curiously, however. "Really? Which...Shane, right?" “So -- he fucked with security because he's still /jealous/ over you. I don't know if that's much /better/." Dusk doesn't even sound exasperated, anymore. He doesn't really sound much of anything, except oddly /pleased/ though that likely has more to do with the lingering rumble as Micah's fingers run through his hair. He shifts his shoulders just enough to allow one wing to snake around Micah, holding the other man close. "I've talked about the Commons with him I think. Figure if he had any interest he'd say." His other shoulder lifts and falls. "-- And seriously there's /so/ many workarounds for this he doesn't need to have a teenage /snit/ over it. He could just silence the alarms he gets on that specific type of ping. Still get notified for strange faces or weapons, just not for aggression. At least till the algorithm's fixed. Or silence /all/ his alarms. Or," he suggests with an amused rumble, "he could get the hell over it you're married." His brows lift at the question. "... can you seriously imagine /Sebastian/ making out with Doug? Is he even interested in guys?" "Ohgosh, it sounds horrible when y'say it like /that/, too. It's not...that simple for 'im, I don't think. S'a combination of the frustration at the program an' the bein' lonely an' the not wantin' t'spy on people doin' things an' the... I think maybe the thing with me was the whole straw...camel...thing." At the rate the redness in his face is going, Micah could have a future as a strawberry impersonator. His fingers still work down to more firm stroking, nails eventually turning in for light scritching across Dusk's scalp, as well. "I just should've seen this comin' an' nipped it in the bud. Way back when we first met. It was stupid of me not t'immediately discourage 'im an' I can't believe it's /still/ causin' problems. It's...I don't even think it's just the me bein' married thing? I mean. He started bringin' up how you an' him are about the same age? I don't know...what else he could possibly've been bringin' that up over. I almost combusted on the spot." Micah's expression turns more thoughtful (if red and thoughtful) at the question of Sebastian. "Y'know, I /don't/ know? I don't think that B's really gotten t'do enough experimentin' an' all t'fully know /what/ he's interested in. I mean...he's a little shaky on how he even wants t'express 'is own gender identity an' all. An' this whole lookin' like Chelsea thing's another kettle of fish on top of it. Can't say I'd be /overly/ surprised if I'd heard it happened. The two of 'em /are/ friends an' coworkers an' all." "That's because it is horrible," Dusk answers simply. "Sorry, but it is. People could /die/ over this shit and he's throwing a /tantrum/. If he can't handle it he can turn the alerts off /altogether/. Plenty of people get them in case they're ever /needed/. I mean, it's shitty and hard that he's lonely and I feel for him over /that/, but fucking with people's safety isn't the answer." His brows dip down, head turning to nuzzle his cheek up against Micah's stomach. Lazy-contented save for the puzzlement creeping into his expression. "... same age? What does my age have to do with anything?" His wing hugs in tighter against Micah. "Mmmn. Well, it was Shane, anyway. I don't know who B's interested in kissing, either. How, uh -- /is/ he going to be Chelsea forever? Almost feels like he's happier that way anyway." "Mmn," Micah answers the proclamation of horribleness. "Still...maybe try t'be a little gentle with 'im when y'talk to 'im later? Just...considerin'. He's been havin' kinda a tough time, I think." His fingers continue through little circuits to cover the whole of the surface of Dusk's skin where it hides under his heavy-dark hair. "Um...in that the main reason I should've discouraged 'im right off. Was that he was too young for me t'even be considerin' messin' with, really. An'...I think seein' me kinda...with you. On the cameras. Just...brought that up when he thought you two were the same age. Is all. I think." He leans into the embrace of those soft wings. "I kinda get that feelin', too. Somewhere between the lookin' less sharky an' less like a boy, I think. He's been so much brighter since all this happened. An' as far as we can tell he's pretty /stable/ lookin' like Chelsea now. So...maybe? It'll just stay that way. Hank's still lookin' for a way t'reverse it. But I don't think we'd /force/ 'im to if that's not what he wants." "Yeah, because the /rest/ of us have been having it so fucking easy. Jesus Christ. I'll be gentle but if I have to listen to his spoiled little rich boy whining like he's got it /so/ damn hard --" The sharp irritation in Dusk's tone is -- mostly only returning as he looks at the screen full of blank squares where once there were cameras. He expels a quick breath, and perhaps expels most of his remaining annoyance /with/ it. He digs the heel of his hand against his eye, shoulders slumping. "Yeah, okay," is softer, now. "I'll be gentle. But I'm putting the damn cameras back up with him or without him." His head tilts slightly to one side. "-- We are the same age," he points out with a snort of amusement. "Or near enough." There's a beat of delay before he adds: "At least, chronologically." His wing slides upwards, pressing in warmly against Micah's back. Holding him closer. The nuzzling of his head turns into a nudge upwards at Micah's shirt, lips brushing against the older man's stomach. He rests his cheek against skin, now, not kissing again, just staying close. "He's so damn gorgeous in his /own/ --" But he stops, draws in a slow breath. "I'm just glad he's happier, though. One way or another, hope he stays that way. S'gotta be strange for Chelsea too, though." "I know, I know, he's just...young," Micah answers with a shrug and a sigh. "Even chronologically, you're near on a full year older'n he is. An' yeah, he's /young/. I think...you're understandin' what I'm meanin'." The kiss draws a sudden louder, deeper breath in past Micah's parted lips. His fingers briefly pause in their movement just to grasp loosely at handfuls of Dusk's hair. After a moment he relaxes, returning to the head massage. "Think B's just got a mismatch of how he sees himself, how he feels like he is, an' what gets presented t'everybody else. I get the feelin' that this body he's in right now matches the self in his mind a lot closer than /his/ does. I do...hope whatever happens that he can go after what he wants an' be happy with it." He nods firmly in confirmation of Dusk's speculation. "Ohogsh, yes. She was freakin' out so hard the night it happened. An' I don't think she's been willin' t'communicate with the twins since. Won't even answer their texts. Her dad says she feels guilty 'bout the whole thing." "But that just means he's as old now as I was /when/ we first hooked up," Dusk points out lightly. And, with another snort, "... chronologically." He turns his head to brush his lips in against Micah's stomach again, pulling in a slow pleased breath. "Hope it works out for her too, then. That's -- gotta be fucking jarring." His face nuzzles in against Micah's skin for a moment more, and eventually he reluctantly pulls back. "OK. I should get back to my /actual/ work, kinda got interrupted by the -- camera freakout." His wing squeezes Micah tighter, similarly reluctant when its hold on the older man loosens. "I'm not exactly gettin' any younger, either," Micah points out, a firm nod given to Dusk's repetition of 'chronologically'. The muscles of his stomach tense, skin shivering pleasantly under Dusk's kiss. "Whatever happens. I hope they can all just come out of it happy." He snorts softly. "Doug, too. Shoot... Us, too. Everybody." He wraps his arms in around the other man, leaning down to place a warm-soft kiss on his forehead. "Right. Gotta get back t'work. I've...gotta go sit downstairs an' wait t'be Healer Class deployed." His arms loosen their hold even as Dusk's wings do, his spine straightening back to pull him upright. "Love you, honey," he offers, his fingers trailing along one wing as he moves for the door. "Everybody," Dusk agrees wistfully. "That would be pretty alright." His wing brushes against Micah's arm, eyes slipping half-closed with the trailing touch of fingers. "Shit, right. Good luck." He presses his wing to Micah's fingertips, and then pulls it back in. He slips his headphones back properly onto both ears, swivelling back around to face his computers. "Love you."