Logs:Fazed
| Fazed | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
Ryan, Hive, Dusk, Fury, Scott, Charles, Elie, Sera, Lucien, Gaétan |
2023-05-07 "Nothing." |
| Location
<NYC> Detention Facility - Jax's Suite - SHIELD HQ - Times Square | |
A bit larger than the other detainee's rooms, this one has been converted from a small corner lounge for the guest rooms. Tall windows with a southern exposure let in copious sunlight if the unnecessarily high-tech curtains are drawn. The sitting area is small but comfortable and the sleeping area beyond it is screened off with interior partitions. There's a bulky desk in one corner with a computer rigged up nicely for video calls and a kitchenette tucked into another. A video comm panel by the front door allows for quick communication with both in-person visitors just outside the door or the security staff down the hall. The room decorations have been proliferating wildly -- the bed is now home to a menagerie of stuffed animals, mostly all Very New except for one old much-loved Cheer Bear perched atop the pillow. Greenery spills over from pots by the window ledge and hanging baskets. Art in many people's varied styles has been hung on the walls, with numerous of Jax's own sketches -- portraits of friends mingling with anthro characters and surreal cityscapes and nightmarish body horror, a large drawing of a stained glass window bearing an image of Apollo done in traditional church-window style -- tacked up on the desk. A number of stained-glass hangings refract colorful light in from the expensive windows; a large canvas painted with an otherworldly tree blooming with faces in its farflung branches stands in the corner. There's been music playing quietly, here, from Jax's computer -- violin, some sort of classical crossover. The imagery continuously shifting around the edges of room has kept time with the music, mostly an abstract play of colors though every so often something more concrete takes shape out of the otherwise formless mass, there for an evanescent moment and then melting back into the strange glow. Here the flowering boughs of a peach tree, there a creek flowing along the floor beneath their seats, there a roiling squirm of hook-lined tentacles clutching at an ankle, there the glint of a scalpel blade slicing down but vanishing just shy of his missing finger -- these, too, oddly in time with the warm and hopeful strings. Perched on the stool he never actually uses for painting, one ankle hooked around a leg and the other bouncing restlessly, Jax is, today, far less colorful than the room around him. His hair is still in its trademark peacocky ombre, but devoid of either makeup or illusion his face just looks pale; he's in faded old jeans, blue-green flannel over a tee from Ryan's last tour, the graphic of flowers blooming across the front (quite identifiably his own artwork) the brightest part of his current ensemble. "-- and I done asked Hive and Dusk to see what they can see -- I'm getting near desperate enough I'm fixing to go down Nick Fury's office an' see if his spies don't got no leads, I swear." Not for the first time, his fist thumps, jittery, rapid, against the top of the stool. Not for the first time, he's repeating, incredulous: "Nothin'!" Kitty has taken off her jade bracelet somewhere earlier in this conversation, holding it in her left hand and running her thumb over the smooth surface over and over again instead of twisting at the golden Magen David hanging from her neck. She's wearing a cropped red corduroy jacket over a grey tee with the NASA logo on the front, tucked into black jeans. She's taller than usual, though still much shorter than both men, boosted by the platform soles of her sneakers, though it doesn't matter for much when she's sitting down on Matt is melted into the corner of the of the couch, looking pretty pale himself. He's wearing a crimson tee with a stylized snake coiled around a black filigree heart, soft blue jeans, and black low-top sneakers. There is a (new) braid of many-colored cords tied around his left wrist, but it's the (not-so-new) black titanium ring on his right hand he's fidgeting with right now. "Mm. I think if Chaz knew how to fix Cerebro, he'd have probably done it at some earlier point. The last time a bunch of our kids went missing, perhaps." His intonation is typically wry and less typically flat. "If you do get desperate enough, I'd love to be a fly on the wall when you go to collect on Fury's Life Debt." He pops the lid of his thermos and immediately snaps it shut again without drinking. "Oh gods, did I tell you Scott 'It's Probably Nothing' Summers updated the school's paperwork to account for resurrected family members?" There's a sort of sharp-edged giddiness in his voice. "So the next time someone's dead mom shows up to spirit them away the receptionist can make her sign some extra forms about it." "Did that EMP make it more broke?" Jax's fretting is now accompanied by a small back-and-forth rocking, his fingers drumming against the edge of the stool. "I don't even know how no giant brain amplifier works let alone --" His head shakes. "If t'weren't for the whole dead mom thing I'd be half tempted to think the kids blew the electronics on purpose to hide some kinda escapade -- which'd be a lot less worrying, but this is all just --" His brow furrows, deep. There are hands clawing up from the floor, now, grasping intangibly at Matt's legs in some fruitless effort to pull him down with them as they sink back to wherever they came from. "It couldn't -- we don't -- that can't have been actually your mom, right? 'less we making this other-dimension thing a whole habit?" "Probably," is Kitty's assessment of Cerebro's current state. She sinks further into her corner of the couch, wide brown eyes glancing back to Matt. "What's more absurd, dead mom being not dead, or Scott doing forms about it?" Maybe this was meant to be a joke, but Kitty's delivery is landing somewhere closer to resignation at the facts. "If interdimensional nonsense is seriously on the table you should probably ask Fury, they're spying on the planet for that sort of thing, right? But, like, it's got to be a metamorph." Her thumb presses harder against the surface of her bangle before she continues, a little quieter -- "I can talk to my dad." She's looking squarely at Jax, here, gaze steady even as the words come slowly. "Even if he's actually gone legit, I'm sure he's still talking to all the same people. He might have heard something." "Have you met my family? Scott trying to patch things up with red tape is definitely the absurd part." Matt scrubs his face with the heel of one hand. "We were pretty sure it was some kind of metamorph-involved escapade, until the rest of them went missing. I'm still not sure it isn't, but there are definitely other explanations. Plenty of telepaths can make you think they're someone they're not. Illusions?" He gestures at the ephemeral beauties and horrors lacing room around them. "Illusions are a thing! And there are so, so very many weird powers out there, to say nothing of aliens and ghosts and parallel universes. Is any of that up your father's less-than-legit alley?" He flips open the thermos again, but still doesn't drink. "Anyway, I suspect the Elie Tessier from the rift would have stolen Sera, and our actual mother is actually dead. I missed her funeral, but considering why I missed it I think Luci would have mentioned if he had any doubt the bitch was properly dead." In a prison, doors usually do not lock from the inside. The fact that this one does does not help much if Jackson has not, in fact, locked it. For Matt there is a clear forewarning, the familiar too-busy clockwork hum of his brother's mutation. For the others -- save for the fact that Lucien has texted Jackson ahead, but that was many hours ago and ADHD and lots of stress are not, likely, a good combination for remembering these things -- there is only Lucien's uncanny ability to slip unobtrusively into a room, honed from far too many years serving billionaires who do not under any circumstances want to be reminded that The Help exists. He's come from a show, clearly, dressed down-but-not-too-down for the stage door crowd, neatly tailored dark blue jeans, pale blue short-sleeved button-down, arms crossed over his broad chest where he leans just inside the door. His thumb is tracing small circles against the side of the matte black thermos he carries, and at some point in someone's speaking one eyebrow has hitched high. How long has he been standing there when he finally speaks? Perhaps only Matt will know. His voice is, as usual, soft, when he breaks his silence, gentle and just a touch wry. "Our family does have something of a tendency -- but she was quite dead. And shares our flair for drama, I cannot imagine she would want to repeat the same act twice, mmm?" He has tipped his thermos out towards Matt in indication -- though all this while it's been Kitty he is looking at, his eyes only lowering now, thermos tucking back into the crook of his arm. "I suppose I ought ask Fury. Aliens and ghosts and parallel universes are, at least -- up his alley." "-- okay but you know Luci'd at least want a proper form to -- oh gosh!" Speak of the devil, apparently, because Jax just about startles off his stool with a small eep when Lucien speaks. The walls blossom with greenery, too-vibrant and unearthly as vines twist their way down around Lucien's broad shoulders. "Oh gosh sugar I'm sorry I plum forgot you was -- my head's been a bit of a mess today." He's scuffing his fingers through his hair, his other hand dropping to stabilize his wobbling stool. He shakes his head at Kitty, not retaking his seat now that he's up but just shifting his restless bouncing to a standing position. "You shouldn't have to talk to your dad. Someone else could talk to your dad -- Luci could talk to your dad. That's probably -- not like, a job duty but he's very convincing." Kitty starts, too, at the sound of Lucien's voice -- not so much visibly beyond a widening of her eyes as she turns her head to Lucien, but Matt can sense the clench of her power rendering her briefly untouchable, though the invisible flicker only lasts a moment. She meets his gaze for a moment before she, too, stands. "Okay, so, that specific rift in time and space, off the list. I can totally talk to my dad, I've been talking to him, kind of, Lucien does not need to talk to my dad." Kitty slides her bangle back through her hand onto her wrist, though she doesn't let go just yet. She glances at Jax, then Matt, then -- well, probably this is meant for Lucien but she's saying it to a vague space in between the two Tessiers. "You definitely should not tell him about Gaétan being missing, at all, whatsoever, in any context." Matt's power curls soft and familiar into Lucien's and he relaxes enough that his teammates could probably see it in the set of his already seemingly relaxed slouch. To Lucien's senses it's far more dramatic, the tight grip of hypervigilance on his attention easing and the glassy weight--of terror? rage? grief? he's not altogether sure--on his emotional landscape growing just that much more permeable. "Talking to him is likely a very different proposition than asking something of him." His voice is gentle, and only his brother can tell how much he's struggling to keep it that way. "And for that matter a very different proposition for you, also, than for Luci. I don't get the impression he's inclined to do favors without reciprocity, even for his own child" An infinitesimal pause, then, "Perhaps especially for his own child." He does not flinch at his absent brother's name, but does finally take a sip of his tea, closing his eyes momentarily. "We could probably adjourn this meeting, if you had plans. Like strategizing about asking Fury's assistance, perhaps." "I thought my strategy might be to go to his office and ask for his assistance. Did you have a better one?" Lucien drifts further into the room, now, with an idle brush of hand against Jackson's -- it comes with a soft wash of calm, cool and soothing against the edges of stress and anxiety, that carries over somewhat concomitantly to Matt where his mind has twined itself through Lucien's. He turns over the thermos (coffee, not tea, a strawberry oat milk latte strong and sweet), setting himself down on the stool Jax has just vacated. His head tilts just slightly to the side at Kitty's caution, and though his expression remains steadily neutral Matt can feel the slow tightening coiling through his mind. "What might happen, do you suppose, if he hears? These things have a way of travelling." "Luci was comin' just to -- come," Jax says, almost reaching for a hug when Lucien nears but instead reaching for the coffee. "I think I got a bit frazzled and double-booked my -- friend. Time. S'been a bit of a week." He pops the thermos, takes a long drag; somewhere between Lucien's flutter of chemical comfort and the coffee's, placebo though it might be at first sip, his jitter-bouncing is easing and the coils of illusion are fading back to only soft shifts of colourful glow to match the music again, warm and melodic at the room's edges. "I think Luci gets kinda more access --" Luci's actual SHIELD badge (LUCIEN TESSIER, CONTRACTOR, not just a visitor pass but a Real Legitimate Worker here) "-- I don't know if that means no kinda favors but, very convincing an' all." He hugs the thermos to his chest, thumb circling against the pleasant matte surface in unconscious mimicry of Lucien's. "Been talking don't mean you oughta keep talking," he says with an edge of concern. "Plus you been saying -- hoping -- he don't get back in with his -- those -- kinda folks, right? Maybe maybe this ain't a great path to explore." "Yeah I can go it's not a problem," Kitty says far too quickly after Matt's suggestion. To his senses she's already halfway gone, though this is just a moment's warning before she starts to step backwards towards -- into -- through the couch. With this barrier between her and all the men in the room, Kitty wraps her arms around herself. “I know that,” she says, with a faint bitter edge, “I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I didn’t think “underground mutant trafficking ring” or something was also a relevant possibility, okay? Not everything is — parallel worlds or aliens or whatever. Sometimes it’s just, bad people. Maybe he knows, maybe he doesn’t, but if he does and it’s me asking he’s not as likely to dangle their safe return just out of reach.” Her gaze slides to Lucien, here, then his brother, then quickly back to Jax, fingers pressing tighter into her arms. “I can come back when you aren’t double booked. Maybe after you all talk to Fury.” Matt's eyebrows lift minutely. "I've never interacted with Fury in any capacity other than defying his authority. Much as I meant it about my curiosity, I don't actually think it would be wise for me to tag along." He takes a long draw of tea to gather himself. "I suppose we can't rule out 'underground mutant trafficking ring', but then we're back to the whole dead mom thing, no? None of this makes any godsdamned sense." He rolls his head back to look at Kitty, upside-down and sideways. "I'm getting 'you don't want to talk about it' vibes, and certainly how you engage with your father is your own decision, but this sounds more likely to harm you than it is to help the kids." There's a keen intensity in his green eyes and belies the slightly ridiculous lassitude of his posture. "And, all else aside, I do think you are sorely underestimating Luci." Lucien's eyes have lifted again -- steady, thoughtful, on Kitty, somewhere around underground mutant trafficking ring, his brow hitching just slightly at just out of reach; a keenbright stab of rage lances through the previously clamped-down stillness in his mind. "No?" Just softly, eyes now lowering as he lifts a hand. Scuffs knuckles light, thoughtful, against the side of his jaw. "Mmm." Jax's hand tightens around his thermos, and it's Matt his eye cuts to, only for the briefest moment, at Lucien's soft reply. He digs his knuckles hard under his eyepatch, and rocks back on his heels. "-- Maybe you oughta go talk t'Fury, sugar." He's looking away now, toward his easel and the painting there. "Maybe we all oughta..." But here he falters, trails off with an uncertain wilt of shoulders as the glow bleeds out of the room. For just a moment he's looking a little blank, a little distant, before he refocuses with a jarring snap of color, Dorothy-stepping-into-Oz style; glimmer on his eyelids and faint sunkiss-tan in his cheeks and rainbow patterning eclipsing the shading on his flannel. "-- Sorry," he's saying with a small shake of his head, "Next time I swear I'll keep better track'a my schedule." "It's fine, you're fine," Kitty says to Jax, though she's getting shorter, soles of her shoes sinking into the floor. More defensive, too, when she continues, "Nothing about this makes sense so we should try everything until something does, right? I'll talk to him, Lucien can talk to Fury, we can cover more ground that way without crossing, like, weird professional boundaries." She starts forward, arms uncurling, like she's going to approach Jax for a hug -- stops herself before she can step through the couch again with a glance at Lucien that crumples her doggedly determined expression. "I'll let you know what I find. Good luck --" to Matt, now, "-- on the, uh, everything, I'll text you both. Later." She steps up onto the floor proper -- just solid enough to walk to the door, and then through it. | |
