Logs:Something We're Missing

Something We're Missing
Dramatis Personae Jax, Scott	2023-06-07 See, this kinda thing really makes the long hours of going absolutely out my mind almost bearable.
Location <NYC> Detention Facility - Jax's Suite - SHIELD Headquarters - 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; along one wall an easel has been set up in front of a small stool. 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 expansive windows. Several vividly colorful jigsaw puzzles have been mounted and hung on the walls. A large box on one side of the desk is permanently overflowing with cards and letters. A large sword with a dragonfly-styled pommel hangs in a simple wooden sheath on the wall by the bed. SHIELD Headquarters is a busy place during the daytime, but the prisoners' wing, such as it is, is a quiet change of pace. In the common room The Umbrella Academy has gathered a few people to watch over breakfast -- or, really, a brunch worthy of a lazy Sunday -- chocolate beer waffles with cashew cream, blackened tofu scramble with grits, curried roasted potatoes, espresso chocolate chip muffins, banana blueberry smoothies. Having only recently finished with cooking the feast that is filling the floor with delicious smells, Jax (bright as he often is in overalls hung off one shoulder and decorated liberally with colorful flower-patches and a long-sleeved turquoise crop top with slashed cut-out designs all over, his slightly iridescent makeup matching the peacock-hued ombre of his hair) has retired to his own room to settle at his desk with not much of a meal -- just one glass of orange juice (probably champagne free. Probably.) In place of walls in here, there are currently rainbow-misted waterfalls tumbling dry and soundless down two sides of his room; outside the huge window the striking view of Midtown has been replaced with a path winding into a dark and overgrown forest; where the ceiling should be, only bright sky with a sun that is at erratic intervals blotted out by the shadows of enormous winged somethings overhead. The door to the comfortable suite that is used for his cell is currently open, and the illusions that have taken over his room are creeping out into the hallway, just in case any visitors had forgotten in the large building which room is his. Incongruously, the hallway doesn't have waterfalls or plant life, though -- just a long cheerful red... carpet? with WELCOME! HAVE YOU EATEN YET? printed bright down its length. Maybe not actually a carpet, because every so often the end of it licks upward rather disconcertingly like a tongue. For a brief moment, as his visitor arrives, the doorway looms a little darker -- the frame flickering smaller and jaggeder like it might? Possibly? Chomp down on anyone who comes through. 'IT'S PROBABLY NOTHING.', displays the welcome mat instead, before blinking back to its original greeting. Scott startles slightly when the red carpet seems to lick at his boots, his steady gait faltering only for a moment before he resolutely keeps walking; he's slightly dishevelled today, his hair matted oddly from his helmet, but his expression is typically flat under the usual red lenses. He does not step onto the accusing IT'S PROBABLY NOTHING doormat, but reaches over it with the hand not holding a brown paper grocery bag of papers. Knocks on the open door, though he says as soon as he does, to further announce his arrival, "You saw me coming." Jax has been going through his email in a sort of desultory don't-really-want-to-deal-with-email fashion. His whole person brightens at the knock at the door, a soft flush of glow coruscating around him and then vanishing away. "I mean, sure, the whole point of takin' out the one eye was to let it get a better view." There is, notably, a bright blue eyeball hovering just behind Scott, now. It circles around to peer down at the older X-Man -- blinks several times despite its lack of eyelids -- and then bobs away to perch itself over the lens of the burned-and-broken security camera in the corner. Jax spins around in his chair, hopping out of it so that he can go retrieve the paper bag from Scott. There's a faint wash of heat that can be felt as he comes closer -- certainly he's run hotter than Human Baseline as long as Scott has known him, and hotter still in the summers, but usually not so much so to be clearly felt at a distance. Thankfully the air conditioning is working plenty good in here, the room a perfectly reasonable temperature once he has absconded back to the desk chair (a comfortable distance away from the couch and beanbag that make up Other Sitting Options in here.) He offers Scott a cheerful "thanks!" as he peers curiously into the bag, pulling out -- this one is a card in the promising but unrefined style of one of his younger art students; on its cover Jax is swooping down toward land astride Sugar, raining fire down on a blazing and crumbling White House. Jax holds the picture up below his chin, his single eye wide and delighted. "See, this kinda thing really makes the long hours of going absolutely out my mind almost bearable." "Sure." Scott doesn't seem inclined to get into the taking-out-the-eye thing; he holds out the paper bag for Jax to take, then sticks both hands into the pockets of his jeans, thumbs tapping restlessly at his hips. He can't help looking around at the decor of the day, tilting his head at the (new!) sword on the wall before his attention is called to the drawing. He awards it with a slightly strained smile, which drops immediately into a slightly pained grimace. "Yeah" is maybe not an especially emotive thing to say, but it rasps out almost roughly. "We're all pulling long hours. Been easier this week since…" he seems to decide against saying 'school's out.' Instead he shakes his head. "We're looking." Jax is shuffling through the papers, still -- tucking cards into a stack, pulling out a crumpled copy of Phoebe's Oracle to look over its headlines. "I feel like half of New York City's lookin'." Probably he only means half of mutant New York City; maybe that goes without saying, given he only barely associates with Human New York. "Got a horde of hackers scourin' the web and telepaths scourin' the world and -- where's it going?" There's a sag in his shoulders as he looks back to Scott. "If there been any progress I ain't heard it. M'starting to think..." But here he seems to decide against finishing this sentence. "Not just New York." Though Scott looks painfully stiff and awkward just standing in the middle of the room, he manages to look more so when he crosses the room to sit heavily on the sofa, propping his elbows onto his knees to regard Jax, his hands clasped between his knees. "Yeah," he says again. "Pretty big world to scour. Let alone the web. We're finding a lotta places they're not." His posture doesn't shift when Jax looks back at him; his expression pulls slightly tighter, but his voice is still low and even. "Never seen Spence not land on his feet," he says. "They're resourceful kids. Maybe they'll find us first." He rubs his stubbly chin with one hand -- "I figure you have your people looking, too. We…" his hand tugs at the corners of his mouth, then drops back to his lap. "We'll get them back home." "I have." The already-crumpled newspaper Jax is holding is crinkling further in his tighter grip. "Spence is smart and he know how to take care of himself in a lot of situations but --" He's shaking his head as he sets the remaining papers aside. "Those is mostly all situations he can jump outta. The number of places he could even be and not just be able to leave is -- well, historically there ain't been any, even when we was in the lab together he blipped back to his family more'n once." There's a bitter note in his voice here. "They just brought him right back. Guess it'd be different now with the suppression grids an' all but he ain't never had to --" He's breaking off here, his brows knitting hard. It might be as much to himself as it is to Scott when he's asking: "-- this can't be Prometheus, can it? They wouldn't have no reason to take Gae and Spence sure as hell wouldn't --" Now he's biting down on his lip, teeth wiggling at a lip ring. "Prometheus wouldn't --" He doesn't seem to be very successfully convincing himself, though. "-- where else could they all be that he can't just come home from?" Clearly, he is hoping Scott has drawn some other conclusion, here. "They'd have to be idiots, they know who Spencer is and they know who you are. Besides, the labs can't be the only facilities with that tech." Scott's brows are pulled together grimly. "They wouldn't be hoarding all the good stuff for themselves -- surely there's government buildings, military bases, federal agencies well-protected against mutant attacks by now. I just can't figure what any of it would have to do with the kids or the Tessiers." He pinches the bridge of his nose over his glasses, adds offhand, "Elie Tessier, I mean." "Yeah -- yeah." Jax is by no means relaxing, but he is nodding along as Scott speaks. "I mean -- yeah. They definitely ain't the only places, just -- the only one I can think of would keep people a while, like, I'm sure I couldn't just waltz into the Pentagon to give 'em a light show but -- then they'd send me --" His anxious wiggling transfers from piercings to Other Jewelry, unthinkingly sliding one of several colorful glass bangles from a wrist to spin it restlessly around a finger. "No, right. I'm -- sorry, I'm sure you done thought about all this -- obsessively, half the night for a month, I just. Ain't --" He offers Scott a wry smile -- a little self conscious, like, right, look who I am talking to here, if anyone understands -- "... no good at sitting 'round doing nothing." He spins the bangle faster; the tiny points of colored lights that twinkle around the room with this motion start to dance off erratically in improbably different directions. "... I don't even know where to start thinking 'bout surprise not-dead mom, but being honest, everything I done heard about her --" He shakes his head uncertainly. "I don't know but we might should be hoping it's some kind of fake out." "Yeah," agrees Scott simply, quietly. "Neither am I." He scoots backward in the sofa -- this doesn't make him seem more relaxed, by any means, but his broad frame seems to sink into itself a little, his troubled expression not particularly enlivened by the multicolor lights that dance across it, glinting off the surface of his glasses. "Pretty sick joke to play," he remarks. "I don't think I'd feel better if it's a fake, but -- I don't get any of this. I keep thinking I must be missing something obvious." "I'm sure there's gotta be plenty obvious we're missin' about a third member their family returning from the dead." Is Jax serious? Is this sarcastic? He's evidently giving it earnest consideration, anyway. "I didn't know as improable pseudo-resurrection was genetic but it seems to run in that blood." His mouth twists to one side as he considers. "This all a big episode of Punk'd," he finally suggests. "Ashton Kutcher been waitin' a whole month to jump out an' surprise us all but he ain't managed to get through perimeter security." Scott huffs out what might be a laugh, or then again might be a sigh, looking down at his hands. "Sera shouldn't count toward that statistic, technically speaking," he muses. "I'd say only two and a half improbable resurrections." He seems to still be calculating this, as Jax thinks -- his mouth is moving silently -- but he cuts himself off with a smothered chuckle, glancing back up again. "Ashton Kutcher's messing with the wrong guys."