Logs:Still Alive

Still Alive
Dramatis Personae Hive, Matt	2021-10-13 "{But really, we're falling to pieces, no? That has been happening a long time. Only we are dedicated, now.}" (later in the day after running into Steve and DJ.)
Location <PRV> Tessier Residence, Halloween Edition - Greenwich Village
The Tessiers are always famous and infamous on their block for decorating come October, and this year is no exception. The pumpkins arrayed to either side of the door are respectable enough (for now), and the wreath of black branches on the door itself has a certain spooky elegance, but perhaps less so the whimsical hand-painted "The Witches are IN!" sign hanging beneath it, the two ravens perched on the lintel, and the skeletons scaling the facade of the house above. Inside the decor is slightly more sedate, with all the old seasonal standbys arranged a bit differently: the dangling spiders and ghosts and bats not so likely to bump tall heads, the cobwebs come in wisps and not clots, the purple and orange fairy lights strung carefully along the balusters of the staircase instead of the banister, the early jack-o'-lanterns softly lit. There's even a lid on the big black cauldron of candy on the tea table. Matt, however, is folded into his armchair in more or less the usual configuration, looking more or less as awful as he had a year ago, even if he's gained back (then lost and gained back again) a good deal of weight. He feels worse than he looks, feverish and exhausted and achey. He's wearing a black hoodie with white bones that render the wearer a cartoonish skeleton, a purple tee with a black silhouette of a witch flying across an oversized white moon and trailing a banner that reads, "Life is a witch, and then you fly!" He's got a soft sage green blanket over his lap, no book near at hand for once, and not one but two laptops--his own and one covered with punk stickers, both closed--stacked on the tea table beside the untouched bowl of soup. He accepts the tea from his guest with a quiet and only distantly embarrassed "merci" but does not yet drink. << {I don't expect all of that will make it up this far.} >> By way of "all of that" he's nodding not at the street outside but the more colorful of the two laptops in front of him. He sounds calm--is calm, his grief and anger immense yet detached. Hive has pooled himself onto the couch, jacket tossed haphazardly over its back, black chambray workshirt hanging loose on his boney frame, a blanket of his own over draped over him. << {it won't.} >> In Matt's head his voice is quieter than usual, soft and echoing. His fingers knead into the blanket, release it, knead down again. "{I saw him this morning. The. --}" A brief image of DJ flutters through Matt's mind, watching a woodpecker dart through the trees with a warm glow of joy. "{-- fake one.}" Matt curls a hand around his mug and tucks it against his chest. << {I think they've reinstated the curfew on Washington Square all the same.} >> He does not immediately reply to Hive's spoken words, turning over the image of DJ, trying to reconcile the wrongness of seeing Dawson in another man's face. << {Still alive, then.} >> The sorrow that follows this is sharp and physically painful, but doesn't really stick to him; it just gravitates toward the rest of his dissociated emotions and leaves a clawing need in its place. He breathes in slow and breathes out slow. "{Did he offer you condolences? Flowers? Thoughts and prayers?}" "{He told me he saw some good birds.}" Hive's voice isn't quite even on this otherwise prosaic sentence, a faint crackle near the end as he curls further into the blanket. "{... saw Steve, too. Fuck. Fuck today. Fuck this whole fucking week. What the fuck are we doing?}" "{I'm sure he did,}" Matt's reply is incredibly dry. Even his roiling resentment toward DJ feels distant, likewise the concern for him and for Steve. "Theoretically, we are honoring his memory, pushing for change, building a world where the government can't murder people for the shape of their genes." Those words were all cherry-picked from various protest-related media he's happened by, repackaged and delivered bland and perfunctory. He takes a small sip of his tea, eyes sliding shut. << I can stop this "perks of being a sociopath" thing if you'd prefer. {I can. Or you can share it.} >> Aloud again, though he doesn't open his eyes, "{But really, we're falling to pieces, no? That has been happening a long time. Only we are dedicated, now.}" "{Dedicated.}" The word just comes out heavy, Hive's palm grinding into one eye. "{To what. Getting ourselves killed so that -- shit.}" His hand drops into his lap. << {Even if we do succeed this weekend we're just dropping people from the frying pan into the fire. Bunch of broken fucked up...} >> This time, it's a flash of Jamie that ripples through Matt's mind; << But it wasn't my fault! >>, flinching in Hive's living room, the memory heavily colored with disgust. << And that's if. >> Matt's quick exhale here could be a very mild scoff or a very weak huff. "{Yes, there's been quite a bit of that.}" His eyes snap open and his fevered mind comes suddenly alert at Hive's memory of Jamie. << {Also still alive.} >> The violent bloom of his wrath feels like an ominous change in the air pressure. Soft disjointed snatches of the end theme to Portal drift incongruously across his consciousness: << "...and threw every piece into a fire..." >> Suddenly too warm, he sets the tea aside and struggles out of his hoodie. << {The last time we met he wanted to shank me because Prometheus liked me too much. I half expected he'd have turned himself back in by now.} >> He glances aside at Hive, one eyebrow arching. "{Still might.}" << {Though I guess it won't be our problem if we die horribly.} >> << {You look half like you're about to die horribly right here and now.} >> Hive pushes a breath out through his teeth, shakes his head hard. "{Also still alive.}" There's only a slightly bitter edge to his voice. << {Polaris is round the bend, you're barely on your feet -- think we might.} >> On this thought there is oddly little concern in his mindvoice, only a quiet pensiveness. << {Why do you do this?} >> << {It's just chickenpox.} >> Matt's rebuttal is reflexive, but he follows it up more frankly. << {Chickenpox that might kill me horribly.} Do we have some kind of quota on crazy? >> He retrieves his tea and huddles around it, abruptly cold now. << "For the good of all of us. Except the ones who are dead," >> GLaDOS supplies cheerfully, but no answer comes from Matt himself just yet. He's working around his rage, hemming it in with words and ideas--not an easy process to parse from the outside--until he can think critically again. << {I don't think I was so very unlike him, really. In the labs.} >> His annotative flash of recollection is of a newly liberated Jamie, pale and sickly and raging at Matt for letting Flicker down. << {I was smarter about it, perhaps. More charming. The researchers did like me, and I used that, too.} >> Shivering now, he pulls the hoodie back around his shoulders and sinks deeper into the armchair. << {That place tried to make me someone I'd fought all my life not to become, and I'm not sure they didn't succeed. I cannot abide that.} >> He takes a long, slow draught of tea. << {And I cannot abide leaving anyone else there for them to twist the way Mother twisted me.} >> << {We're way over quota. Been over. I told Jax and Ryan in not going if Polaris does and if you're gonna lose it too --} >> Hive shakes his head. Falls quiet. A long stretch of quiet, his fingers scrunching hard into his blanket and his eyes fix on Matt's mug of tea. << {They worry about you,} >> he says, finally, << {but you know why you're still in this. I...} >> He swallows, doesn't finish. "You'd better not fucking die. If chickenpox gets you I'll have Joshua drag your ass back here just so I can kill you myself." Matt nods, slow and thoughtful. << {If her twitter feed is any indication I feel sorry for whoever has to have that conversation with Polaris right about now. As for me...} >> His sigh is shallower than it should be, though not worryingly so. Not yet. << {I'd love to tell you I won't lose it, and gods know I'm trying to keep it together, but I haven't had as firm a hold on this as I'd like lately.} >> He gestures vaguely at his head by way of demonstrating "this." << {Jax and Ryan may have to make that call, because I don't know if I can. And if you think I'll be too much of a liability on this raid, I trust your judgement.} >> The hunger stirs again and he just vehemently sucks down more tea. << "Maybe you'll find someone else to help you..." >> Jamie, sight unseen at Hofstadter, his powers slippery and alien and, at least up close, stronger than Matt's. He appends, no infliction in his voice, "That was a joke." Hive snorts, lifting the blanket up over his head as he sinks back against the couch. "I'm not laughing."