Logs:Needs Must

Needs Must
Dramatis Personae Isra, Jax, Spencer	2019-03-27 "What I come to understand, /you're/ made out of star stuff, and /you're/ extra special."
Location <NYC> Isra's apartment - Morningside Heights
The apartment takes up the first floor of a beautifully restored mid-century row house. A step up from the tiled entryway, a long bar counter separates the kitchen from the living room, which is minimally furnished to take advantage of limited natural light. Simple and elegant brushed steel appliances and mission style furniture give the place a clean and austere appearance, but closer observation reveals no expense spared on any level. Striking framed prints of galaxies and nebulae adorn the walls, alongside original paintings in several styles and media. The bookshelves and coffee table are adorned with various objets d'art--glass vases and bowls in glimmering starry motifs and delicate macabre sculptures assembled from animal bones. The capacious master bedroom and its luxurious bathroom can be seen through a door left ajar. Another door conceals a small half bath, and beside it a hallway leading to the utility area near the back entrance. Spring seems to be having second thoughts this week, and though the day is bright outside it's quite chilly. Even inside it's a bit brisk, too warm for the heating to kick in. Isra is reclining in an armchair custom-designed for her inhuman frame, with an hourglass-shaped back that allows her wings free movement. She's wearing a soft black jersey wrap dress and has a soft-soft purple blanket draped over her lap, looking somewhat healthier than she was in the hospital but still rather pale and drawn. Her tablet is lying in her lap, but she doesn't seem to be attending to it at the moment. Instead, she's playing with a with a blob of night-colored goo dotted with tiny glimmering stars, staring at it as it oozes slowly through her shining gold talons. (Spencer -> Isra): Hiiiiiiii we're here! Spencer doesn't actually wait for a reply before materializing beside Isra, leaning against her side for a moment in a half-hug. He wearing a light blue soft shell jacket over a black t-shirt with a red heart surrounding a rainbow-colored strand of DNA, blue jeans, and iridescent silver sneakers with rainbow laces. "Oh hey you like that one?" He's grinning at the starry ooze in Isra's hands. "I can make more, in like different colors and every -- /wait/, I gotta let Pa in, you should really give him a key he has /everyone's/ keys it's super useful!" He has the presence of mind to pull off his shoes before scrambling to the front door, unlocking, it and pulling it open. Just outside the door, Jax has a large purple canvas tote slung over one arm (it has a pair of cartoon alien-looking creatures blowing bubbles printed on it with the words 'PROHIBIT ANXIETIES' written among the bubbles) and his phone in the other hand. His grey corduroy overalls are worn lopsided, one strap actually on his shoulder and the other unbuttoned; beneath his unbuttoned blue plaid flannel shirt half the familiar slogan of his BLACK LIVES MATTER tee is visible. He's stopping mid-text-message when the door opens, though, putting the phone back away. "Hi, honey-honey." He slips his shoes (canvas sneakers swirled with a rainbow galaxy print) off by the door, continuing in to start unloading /many/ containers onto the kitchen counter. "You hungry now I can make you a plate? Or should I tuck this all in the fridge for later?" "Hello, Spencer." Isra's wing stretches out and curls around the child. "I do like it quite a lot. It has...interesting physical properties." She pauses, cocks her head. "Also, it is full of stars." Her eyes follow Spencer across the room, though the rest of her body hardly moves, except for the wing slowly settling back to her side. "Good evening, Jackson." She inclines her head, offers a thin smile. "I fear the medications are still making me rather nauseous, but you have anything...light? I could use some food." Her wings tuck in closer, draping down over her shoulders. "I appreciate your coming by, I know you are a busy man and this is quite out of your way." Spence follows his father half-way across the apartment before remembering he's still carrying his shoes. They sneakers vanish from his hand and appear neatly beside Jax's in the entryway. "Pa makes /so/ many things /light/!" he blurts out with a gleeful smile, picking up one of the containers. "Basically /all/ the things. Oh hey spiced snickerdoodles are your favorite right? I helped with these." Then, stage whispering to Jax, "Are /cookies/ 'light'?" "Not cookies made /right/." Jax looks mildly /offended/ at this suggestion, eye widening and hand over his heart. "Lentil soup is light. I'll put the rest'a this away. And it ain't no problem, sugar. Lord knows we've /all/ needed a hand a time or two when we been laid up." He takes the time to get Isra a bowl first, though, half-filled, and deliver it to her chair before he starts putting the rest of the food that they've brought away. "Do I really /make/ things light? I mean, the light's been there all along, right?" "To the extent that we can be said to /make/ anything in Universe," Isra muses, "I would say that what you do qualifies." She extricates her talons from the starry goo between her hands. "You absorb light and re-emit it in different patterns. Your light bears /your/ mark--even if the energy traces its circuitous way back to the very beginning of time." Her eyes glint with interest as she returns the goo to its tub. "I have some small expertise in this matter. On the topic of food, however, I defer wholly to your judgement. Thank you." She accepts the bowl from Jax, /carefully/, as her coordination seems somewhat compromised. She stirs the soup thoughtfully, but does not start in on it just yet. "If I may ask...how are the twins getting on?" Her eyes lift from the bowl to follow Jax back into the kitchen. Spence scrunches up his face and /hefts/ the tub of cookies in both hands. "But they don't weigh that much! Light means /way/ too many things we need more words for some of them." Isra's exposition on light seems to dispel his fixation on feeding her cookies, and he starts helping Jax put away the rest of the food, passing him containers in bucket brigade fashion. "Whoa what if you soaked up /starlight/ from like, /billions/ of years ago, does that feel different? Would the stuff you make out of it be /extra special/?" His rhythm falters at Isra's question, though. "I don't know if they're talking yet. To each other I mean. I haven't seen. But --" He bites his lower lip. Looks to his father. "What I come to understand, /you're/ made out of star stuff, and /you're/ extra special." Jax slows -- though there's ample enough space he lingers with one of the containers, face turned toward the fridge and away from the others. "The pups ain't been talking really, no. They will. Shane's just -- it's been rough. For them both. B's planning on going back to Stark. Guess that'll keep her busy, at least." "Accurate on both counts, with regards Spencer," Isra replies equably, "in my very professional astronomical opinion." At father and son's respective assessment of how matters stand between B and Shane, her ears press back, low and flat against her hairless skull. "I expected as much, though admittedly the last times I saw either of them, together or separate, I was on quite a good deal more pain medication." She starts in on her soup, one slow sip at a time. "It may do her good to return to some familiar tasks, familiar people and places. But...I also think that she needs more than keeping busy." Spencer climbs up onto the end of the counter, his legs dangling off, head swiveling back and forth to look between his father and Isra. "But she doesn't need /school/, right? School isn't even actually a /good/ way to learn stuff and she's -- she's --" He frowns deeply, struggling to find words. "-- /B/." Jax closes the fridge, but doesn't turn away from it. His hand stays on its handle, fingers curled around it tight. "I couldn't say what she needs." His voice is a little stiff. "M'sure she needs some time to figure on that herself." There's a careful blandness to his expression when he finally does turn, leaning back against the fridge door and wrapping his arm across his chest. He fidgets with the dangling button on his overalls, head shaking. "Plenty of ways to learn stuff, sure. But there's a lot more to it than the learnin', Spence. Life is gonna be hard enough for B as-is. And whether she need school or not, the way she come to this decision weren't --" He flicks at the button a little faster. "It's gonna take some time to sort where to go from here, is all." "I did not mean to imply that /I/ know what she does need." One of Isra's ears rotates to follow Jax's movement, the other stays pressed back. "Had I that power, I would have gone to her /before/ she decided that dropping out in secret was her best option." Thouogh her expression is as flat as ever and her intonation calm, her second, lower set of vocal chords have engaged and lend everything she speaks an eerie depth of not-quite-harmony. "I am sure you that are quite right, that she--and you all, as a family--will find more clarity with time. Even so, I have..." She tilts her head, putting down her spoon. "...felt inclined to speak to her on this matter, supposing that my own experiences may give me some insight into hers. Do you think that wise?" Her bare eyebrow ridges crinkle together. "I do not wish to make this adjustment more difficult than it already is." Spence kicks his legs restlessly, suddenly looking younger than his twelve-and-a-half years. "Yeah she didn't tell /us/ anything either, before last week," he says, nodding. "Not even /Shane./ Said she didn't know how." His fingers drump restlessly on the countertop. "I don't know if it's wise but maybe she would be more okay talking to you because she won't feel as guilty for not telling you before?" The scrunch of /his/ eyebrows here bespeaks extreme skepticism. "I don't think there's been a lot of /wisdom/ near to any of this situation, but..." Jax worries at a lip ring with his teeth, his head thunking back against the fridge door. "I don't suppose it could hurt. Be good for her to talk to /someone/, and that someone don't seem to be us right now. An' you been there, in a way we can't really get." He looks up, over at Isra with a small slump of his shoulders. "Well, a way Spence and I can't really get. Not talking to Shane about that -- I suspect he's fixing to be sore on that point for a long while." Isra nods, slow and deliberate, horns gleaming in the low light. She is quiet for a moment, working on her soup in desultory fashion. "You are a good father, Jackson--I say this with no authority save that of someone who has a rather poor one. But no parent can be adequate support for a young person in her position--no sibling, either. I think that she suffered sorely from the lack of mutant community while she was away. She will have that again, now--and you, closer at hand." Isra's wings flex subtly in place to shift her position in the chair so that she sits up just a little straighter. "I will do what I can for her. And for Shane."