Logs:LKP

From X-Men: rEvolution
LKP
Dramatis Personae

Hive, Shane, Matt, Ryan, Dusk, Blink, Jax, Skye, B, Scramble, Ion

july 12-17


"Why is he like this?" (Part of Prometheus tp; follows Hive waking up.)

Location

friday. 12 july. 11:45 pm.

It's been a few days since the first burst of signal went out. Since then, only radio silence coming from the very slowly dwindling web of Hive's vast mind. There's little enough warning when the psionic presence returns -- leapfrogging its way back through the city to find one then the next then the next of the team. This time, with a greater caution, a heavy and deliberate care as he insinuates himself back into their thoughts. He offers no preamble, no particular context -- by now, perhaps, presuming they'll be well aware who he means when he offers only a heavy: << He's back in the labs. >>

---

saturday. 13 july. 6:30 am.

Evolve isn't open just yet. Won't be open for a while longer -- but the huge box of their coffee Shane brings in is fresh, as are the pastries that come with it. It's unlikely he's slept much but he looks put together, slacks and dress shirt neatly pressed; the grey pinstripe vest he wears over it has Mutant Mongrels MC and his very scaled-down skull-and-crossed-violin-bows logo embroidered small on the front left side. He trudges into Geekhaus, setting the caffeine and refreshments down on the table and shooting a quick glance to the assembling nerds gathered there. "Figured you might be a while."

---

sunday. 14 july. 4:30pm.


The apartment looks even more of a wreck than usual. Cardboard boxes litter the living room, spilling their contents onto tables, chairs, and even the floor. Most of the items are first aid supplies and meal bars, incongruously mixed in with boxes of ammunition. Matt is sitting cross-legged at the center of this maelstrom, tallying triangle bandages and printing the results on a legal pad at the bottom of a long list. He's wearing a red t-shirt with Calvin and Hobbes riding the Millennium Falcon and black cargo shorts. His hair is a touseled mess, but the intensity of his focus is almost palpable. "We'll want more of these," he says without looking up from his list, though he picks up one of the neatly folded and wrapped bandages and waves it in the air.

Ryan has been repackaging these things -- minus the ammo -- neat and careful into several large red bags marked with red crosses. He takes longer, even, than he ought to, intermittently lost staring at a roll of gauze or container of saline wash with a lot more scrutiny than is necessary. "I don't remember what supplies he had in his go kit." He pulls his eyes away from the stack of 4x4s in his hand, looking toward Matt. "Right. Sorry. I'll get us some more."

---

monday. 15 july. 6:30 pm.

There are by now several empty coffee cartons littering the kitchen table. A number of takeout containers, pastry boxes, bottles of Bawls. Despite the added stimulation, it's currently quiet in the apartment. Dusk is on the couch, in black jean shorts and an oversized pair of sunglasses. The droop of his head, the slump of his shoulders, these things can't be obscured by the glasses. His wings are spread wide, curled around his dozing companions as he stares at the holographic display in front of him. Intermittently types something into the also-holographic keyboard. He lifts a hand, pushing up at the sunglasses as he rubs hard at his eyes. "Hey, do you see --" he starts, leaning in to peer more intently at the display. He quiets immediately after this, though, glancing to his side -- tightening a wing around the small blue shark nestled up against his side. Stifling a yawn, he leans back, staring a little glassily at the scrolling text in front of him.

---

tuesday. 16 july. 10:00 am.

Sitting cross-legged on the couch, Hive looks haggard. Pale, disheveled, scraggly patches of stubble on his chin. His hands aren't entirely steady around the contrastingly neat package he holds -- its metallic black wrapping paper has been folded and taped off very precisely, the silver ribbon around it tied into an elaborate bow. The silver envelope tucked under the ribbon has Blink's name printed in small precise all-caps. "It was in the closet where his kit used to be. He's always. Really fucking --" Hive doesn't finish the sentence. He holds the box out towards Blink.

"-- considerate?" Blink looks fairly together today, in a black sundress with panels of purple-and-pink abstract organic patterns, her hair neatly braided and coiled up into a bun at the back of her head. Her eyes don't show enough white to look red, but there are shadows beneath them that her makeup cannot conceal. << Oh, Flicker... >> She blinks hard and takes the box from Hive. "Why is he like this?" she asks, her voice quiet and shaky as she lifts huge green eyes full of unshed tears to Hive. "Let me help get him out. When you find him." << If you find him. >> "Please."

---

tuesday. 16 july. 9:00 pm.

Jax's uniform isn't all that neat today. His vividly coloured hair a little mussed. He looks rushed, frazzled as he heads into the Clinic, making a beeline for the guards' room. He drops his bag beneath the desk, stopping at the time clock. He hesitates, long, in front of it. Carefully runs his fingers through his hair. Smoothes his hands down over his shirt in a somewhat futile attempt to de-wrinkle it. Only then does he pull Flicker's badge from his pocket, scanning it to punch the clock on the shift.


---

wednesday. 17 july. 3:00 am.

Despite the hour, Geekhaus smells powerfully of coffee. Even with most of the empty takeout containers cleared away, the apartment is more of a wreck than usual. Slumped into one corner of the couch, Skye doesn't look much better, her hair wild and her eyes bleary, wearing a black ribbed tank and short cutoff jeans. She has her gigantic ThinkPad balanced across one folded leg, and a floating holographic display beside it which she's flicking through lazily. Suddenly she sits up a little straighter. "Hey, take a look at this network activity spike." She shifts the hologram over a little and then maximizes it with a gesture like flicking water off of her fingertips. "Does the timing match up?"

B has been intently focused on hir own computer, lying on her belly on the floor beside the couch, a large set of headphones over hir ears. Ze pushes the headset down to hir neck as Skye's display blows up. Hir brows crease, and ze returns to hir own computer to pull something up quickly. Hir palm rubbing against hir eyes as ze examines both their displays. Ze doesn't answer. Just pulls up previous data from the labs and stares -- hir gills fluttering faster. Eventually ze picks up a pillow, throw it over at Dusk. "Can you please make sure we're looking at this right? Cuz if this is coming from --"

Dusk has been half nodding off, struggling to keep his eyes open on the couch beside Skye. He startles awake at the thump of the pillow, looking at his own laptop in a panic before focusing correctly. He shifts over to look at the others. "Ohio? That was --" He's flicking through his own files, a slow rumble starting in his chest. "... this one is Lassiter? Oh. We're fucked."

---

wednesday. 17 july. 11:00 am.

Like most of her teammates, Scramble looks like she hasn't slept in a week. Unlike some of them, she's not driving to Ohio today. She's wearing a red cropped top and back short shorts that lace up the sides, her footfalls heavy in a well-worn pair of Doc Martens. She carries a large orange medic kit over one shoulder and a small steel ammo locker in both hands, trudging out to deposit both in the van.

Ion isn't heading anywhere, either, but he's in the van at the moment all the same. He yoinks the locker from Scramble, moving to stack it next to a couple other heavy locked cases. He clambers down out of the back of the van, resting an arm on the door and staring in at the neatly packed supplies. "{You seen the report on this place?}" His usually booming voice is, today, just a grim rumble. "{I don't know if this is enough.}"

---

wednesday. 17 july. 10:30 pm.

It's been an exhausting scramble of a trip with a skeleton crew as compared to their usual team. By the time they're pulling up nearby Lassiter Joshua is exhausted, if only marginally moreso than the others with them. Hive has been quiet, through the trip, but the stirring in all their minds now is palpable. A broadening of their awareness, a rippling expansion as he reaches out to the nearby facility. Flitting from one guard to the next, weaving their way through the staff within the facility.

In the van, Jax and Matt and Blink are getting ready -- only to be stopped some minutes later with a swift mental clamp. Hive's touch is firm, and cold with a sick sense of dread. << Stop. He's -- not here. >>