ArchivedLogs:Marketing

Marketing
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Jackson, Micah
In Absentia	6 December 2013 Lucien has a plan, and Jax and Micah have a lot of planning to do... (Part of Infected TP.)
Location <NYC> Candyland - Village Lofts - East Village
This bedroom is bright, bright, bright, a cheerful riot of colour in contrast to the more minimalist scheme outside. It, too, has a plethora of lamps to lend it even more light than what comes in from the large windows opposite the entry; many of them bear stained-glass coverings in cheerful mosaic patterns to add still more colour to the room. The walls have been painted in pale blue with darker blue trim, though one is instead a mural of surreal fantastical artwork, odd unearthly plant and animal life spread across it in vivid colours. There is scattering of furniture here -- a bed on the wall adjacent to the window (usually dressed in vividly patterned mismatched sheets), a dresser opposite the bed, standing beside the large closet, both in wood that has been painted black and then covered in a swarm of brightly coloured images, too. The wall near the door bears an enormous handmade shelving unit, similarly painted; it is filled largely with meticulously organized art supplies. By the window, a desk stands in as-yet-unpainted wood; besides laptops and drawing tablet it often bears an eclectic mix of items, too. Comic books, knitting supplies, a hiking pack of climbing gear. Presumably, Lucien knocked at some point. But there are a lot of people in this apartment and one of them has let him in from next door. He's made his way now to Jax's bedroom door, not entering but knocking on it quietly and then leaning in the doorway. To /spy/. There has been school and then /more/ school, Jax's /own/ college actually back in session now, and with no guard shift until tomorrow Jackson has been taking the downtime painting. In his own room, today, with his living room occupied with /crashers/. He's not working in his preferred medium of oil paints; today it is watercolours, in which he is working on an quiet half-deserted ice-frosted New York, its dusting of snow tinted with the warm colours of sunrise. There are photographs and sketches both, tacked up on the wall around his easel, different iterations on what will probably be a painting eventually though it's /not/ the one he's currently working on; these references are all Dusk, jeans and no shirt and enormous wings and huge headphones with glowing lights as he works intently in front of his triple-monitored computer, his laptop also up and open at his side. But right now: City. Jackson is dressed as he has been all day, rainbow hoodie and black zipper-adorned skinny jeans and cheerful smiley-face eyepatch. Around him the room is flooded with colours, pastels that shift as he paints, taking on the hues that he is working with and forming themselves into vaguely defined imagery as well, hints of the finished product. He barely looks up at the knock, still just focused on his work. "-- Mm? Y'need somethin', honey-honey?" The question comes without actually bothering to see /who/ is knocking. If they're at his bedroom door he probably likes them. Micah has only recently returned to the bedroom himself, hair spiky with dampness and arms full of clothing (bearing, at least faintly by this point, the combined motor oil and metal tang of the auto shop) that is presently being stuffed into a lidded hamper. He has changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a white T-shirt (on which a T-rex with an adaptive reaching aid in each hand is rejoicing under the heading 'UNSTOPPABLE!'), and his Batsignal hoodie is waiting on the bed to be added to the ensemble. Once the hamper lid is closed, he looks up to the door with a smile and only the slightest hint of surprise in his expression. “Hi, Lucien, what's up?” Lucien looks rather bland, really, for him. Jeans, and an excessively soft v-neck sweater in faded gradient from dark to light grey. He stays leaning in the doorway, for a moment watching the slow shift of light but then closing his eyes against it with a slightly pained wince. "I brought --" He curls an arm across his chest, wrapping his fingers around the opposing bicep. "Scones. Chocolate ginger. They're on your counter, and still warm." "Oh! Gosh, Luci." /Now/ Jax looks up, the colours around him skittering more erratically in a sudden whirling flutter as his attention shifts. "Hihi! Sorry, weren't expectin' -- hey. You -- /oh/ gosh that sounds good I think I need those. In my mouth. Just about now. How you doin', honey-honey -- uh." His brow furrows at Lucien's expression. "Y'look a bit uncomfortable." “Um, honey, I think the swirly-lights might be gettin' to 'im a little bit.” Micah gestures with an up-tipped hand to the room at large. “Can be kinda disorientin' 'til y'get used to it,” he adds to Lucien as he collects his hoodie and pulls it on to fight the post-shower chill /somewhat/. “Scones sound delightful, thanks, hon.” His lips quirk over to one side. “D'you wanna sit?” "Ohgosh!" The lights all wink out immediately, leaving the room -- still /bright/ with Jax's plethora of lamps but at least not /moving/. "Honey, m'so --" 'Sorry', he finishes in sign, "I kinda zone out when I'm paintin' I don't even /notice/ it just --" His cheeks flush dark red, head dipping sheepishly. "How 'bout you take a seat an' I'll -- go make us all tea an' grab some scones. While they're still warm." He sets his paints and brush down on the stool in front of his easel, darting off towards the door and /almost/ leaning in to peck Lucien on the cheek but instead then giving him a small squeeze on the arm. "Um, gosh, I mean, that is, if you was gonna stay." Lucien exhales, quiet and more relaxed once he opens his eyes again and the swirling colours are gone. "Apologies. I did not mean to interrupt your painting." Though now that he /has/ he straightens, giving a small twitch of smile at Jax's squeeze and then slipping further into the room to go /examine/ said painting. Then the sketches around it. "You offered tea. How could I leave?" “That sounds /extra/ delightful, Jax. Thanks.” Now that Lucien is looking a bit better, Micah directs a playfully lopsided grin in the other man's direction. “I see how it is. No love for us...just the tea stash.” He moves to stand next to Lucien, lightly curling an arm around his shoulders for a little hug. “How're y'holdin' up lately?” "OK. OK tea. I'll be right -- tea." Jackson gives a tiny smile and flits out of the room. Lucien doesn't return the hug, but he doesn't pull away from it, either. He stops still, leaning very slightly into it. "He is quite good," he murmurs, once Jackson has left the room. "And my own tea stash is an entire door away. /And/ I'd have to do the work myself. It is --" His eyes slowly close again, a small smile on his face, "rather nicer having someone to do it /for/ you. How are you doing, Micah?" Micah leaves his arm around Lucien's shoulders, a bit firmer and more supportive when the other man leans in. “He is good,” he echoes as he watches Jax dart off to the kitchen. “An' it's nice havin' things done for y'by someone who just likes the doin' of 'em so much.” His eyes return to Lucien's face once they move away from the door. “I'm doin' well enough. Back t'work, even if it ain't the usual quite yet. General mixture of good news an' bad news lately. You,” he accuses with a little squeeze of the hand on the other man's shoulder, “dodged the question, however.” "/Did/ I." Lucien's tone is so very innocent, his eyes just slightly wider. "Tell me," he speaks still in a murmur, slipping his arm only now back around Micah with fingers curling against the other man's hips, "some of the good news. Or some of the bad. Really, I am not picky." "Not sure why I even bother t'point it out anymore." Micah gives a little sigh, expression softly contented at the arm wrapping around him. "'Bastian got promoted at his work; Stark put 'im in charge of a robotics team. He's a little intimidated by it but also...I think it's just good for 'im t'get treated like a /person/ in a professional environment, y'know? I've had plenty of work available at the shop t'keep up while I still don't have much of my own available, though there's so much t'do primarily 'cause we lost a couple of the regular guys t'the whole zombie infection thing. Jax'n Spence's schools both started back up. Clinic opened /officially/, at last. Hive started communicatin' again, though only telepathically." While his tone sounds entirely grateful that Hive is doing better, he arches a brow at Lucien at that announcement. "Wouldn't guess y'knew anythin' about that, though?" "Because you are doggedly stubborn," Lucien answers Micah lightly, "which is frankly rather endearing. Put him in charge of an entire team?" His brows raise. "Impressive. Or insane." His lips twitch faintly at the comment on Hive, and he disengages, dropping his arm to move aside and sink down onto the edge of the bed. "Did you know Dr. Toure is one of the world's most respected neurologists? When it comes to repairing neurological damage especially." Jackson returns, now, toeing the door back open and then and returning with three mugs looped over a finger and a teapot carefully held in his other hand "S'an oolong -- oh /gosh/ I forgot the scones. Also ran out of hands." He clears aside some room among the sketches currently scattered on the desk, setting down the tea. "Oh my gosh," he's picking up on the tail end of this conversation with his smile stretching bright, "Luci has anyone ever told you that you're basically completely full of /so/ much BS." This time he /does/ lean down to peck Lucien, lightly on the cheek before flitting off again. For scones. “Both,” Micah concludes of the impressive/insane question. “Hive flat denies that it was the docs helpin' 'im t'do more'n stay fed'n watered. Said it's somebody comin' in, sittin' with 'im. Layin' on hands. S'a mystery I guess.” He grins at Jax's commentary, chuckling softly. “Thanks, hon...” And then the other man is off again. “I'd offer t'pour you a cup, but I think Jax might be disappointed if he doesn't get t'serve it up after all that.” His chin tilts in the direction of the door. "People have told me that quiet often," Lucien acknowledges with a small chuckle, lying back along the bed now with one hand tucked behind his head. "Mmm. I imagine he would be. He does love to serve." He's quiet, for a stretch; probably long enough to retrieve scones from kitchen. "I take it as a compliment, though. My line of work is by and large just an exercise in producing bullshit. If I were not an expert by now I should be doing something wrong. -- Was he in good spirits?" It doesn't take Jax long at all to return, three warm scones now laid out on a plate. He sets the /plate/ down on the bed, since that is where Lucien has elected to be now, resting it at one side. "Which line'a work are you meanin', exactly? Cuz you wear a few hats. An' he was --" His lips press together, and he turns aside to hide his expression as he pours the tea. He's wearing a small smile again when he turns, bringing one cup to Lucien and offering a second to Micah. "You know, everything that's happened, s'been a lot t'take in." "Y'gotta be careful not t'overtax yourself, though," for all his mild playing-along with Lucien, Micah can't help but add. "S'there anythin' we can do for you?" He perches himself on the edge of the bed, nodding agreement to the observation on Jax, then gives a little snort of laughter at Lucien's description of his own work. When it is offered, Micah takes the tea cup from Jax, trading it for a light brush of lips against the illusionist's knuckles once his hand is emptied. "It has...been a lot. An' Hive /has/ been takin' in an awful lot of it. I think he was glad t'be talkin' at people again, though." Lucien props himself up on an elbow to take his cup; his fingers brush lightly against Jax's with the transfer, a soft flutter of warmth washing out from his touch. "{Thank you,}" he murmurs in quiet French. "And I have had little to do with myself save sit around at a home that is not even my own. It is rather mind-numbingly boring. I had to do /something/." His eyes lower to his cup, a small smile on his face. "All my work. I was an actor and then I was a whore and then I was in PR. I don't think my job description changed all that much from one to the next." He doesn't sip, yet, waiting for his tea to cool and watching the steam curl off it. "I cannot imagine that the past month was an ordeal you would want to live through more than once. Let alone -- well. I do not know how many minds he held in his." Jackson's cheeks flush dark at the warmth and then the kiss, and his smile is warm when he claims his own tea and settles down. Not on the bed but kneeling at its foot; he reaches up to pluck a scone off the plate too. "Too many minds. Way too many for way too long. I can't even tell you how glad I am that that somethin' was helpin' Hive. You /are/ takin' care of yourself, though, ain't you? Because that brain of /yours/ is pretty precious, too." He nibbles at his scone, first, tea still hot; a contented expression slips across his face. "Oh. Oh that is good chocolate ginger should be everywhere in my life. -- Ohgosh." He blushes further at Lucien's description of his jobs. "I -- well. Gosh. 'least it means your skills are applicable across the board." “No...thank you, really. For helpin'. We really didn't know what t'do for 'im, an'... I just worry about you. Ain't that long since you were sharin' a room with 'im yourself.” Micah brushes fingertips lightly against Lucien's arm. He bites at his lower lip for a moment, nodding his agreement with Jax. “It ain't just the ones he took. He also just...kinda hears everythin' nearby all the time? An' what's nearby has been...horrible recently. He doesn't get t'just turn it off ever.” He gives his lip a break from being chewed on to nibble at his scone instead. Lucien sits upright, absently resting his hand -- tea mug still in it -- on Micah's knee. His other hand reaches forward, curling against the back of Jax's head to nudge the other man gently closer, pull him in to rub fingers slowly through his colourful hair in a steady massage. "Really, you two. Of all the skills I possess, I am by /far/ the most proficient in taking care of myself." His eyes stay tipped down, though slowly they close as Micah brushes at his arm. "He would have died, I am fairly certain. Or at least lain there until one of you decided to end support. In all honesty, after the things he must have seen, I am not certain I am doing him any kindness." Jackson gladly scoots closer, here, resting his head against Lucien's knee. A soft purring noise sounds briefly in his throat at the head rubbing. "Oh --" His breath catches, the purring dying. "No, that ain't -- I mean, maybe. Maybe not but it's -- that's his choice in the end. Ain't right to just have it made /for/ him." His brows stay furrowed, a deeply troubled look on his face that ripples off in waves of unease across the scape of his mind. He closes his eyes for a moment, now biting at his /own/ lip with a quiet click of teeth on lip ring. It takes a concerted effort before he pulls his thoughts back on track. "Really, though. No matter how terrible things got. Y'saved the world first an' then him on top." “Prob'ly I'm most proficient at worryin' about other folks, so it kinda works out that way,” Micah jokes with a self-deprecating little smile. “Though you /were/ workin' yourself into seizures an' strokes an' a /coma/, Lucien. An' you're not all the way /back/ yet. I think the worryin's warranted this time, honey.” He nods silent agreement with Hive's likely state without interference. “I don't think...no. He /felt/ grateful, thinkin' about y'bein' there an' helpin' 'im, hon. He was sharin' his thoughts on that direct, so I'm fair certain about it, even if you aren't.” He sits quietly for a moment, listening to all of the heavy thoughts being expressed. Then his smile spreads wider across his face. “Seriously, though. Got some stiff competition for heroics keepin' comp'ny with me tonight.” "And if I had not worked so hard, how many more people would have died before the end? How long would everyone have lasted before starving to death? I /was/ taking care of myself. Sometimes that requires a longer-term plan than immediate survival." Lucien lifts his mug, taking a small sip and for a moment just enjoying it in contented silence. "My brain is quite efficient at self-repair. I was confident enough of pulling through that the risk was worth it. Even if the recovery," he admits with a thin wry smile, "is excruciating." He sets his mug back down, this time between his knees to hold it there. His hand slips over Micah's. "I think you underestimate your own heroics." His other hand slides downward, fingertips pressing gently at the back of Jackson's neck to start massaging there instead. "Where did you go, just now." Jax's cheeks flush deeper. "Went -- worries'a my own, I guess. Kinda a habit'a mine, too. {Sorry}," this time in heavily Georgia-accented French. He frowns again, dipping his head both to bare his neck to Lucien's fingers and also to eat more of his scone. "I feel like I should be givin' /you/ this massage, honey-honey." Not that he really seems to be protesting it, just melting in against Lucien's legs. "An' he's pretty much right, y'know, Micah. Don't need to be flashy, you still spend so much'a your time helpin' so many people -- I don't know what that is if not heroics." “I know why y'did what y'did, honey, I just...feel like it don't hurt havin' somebody look out for you, is all.” Micah's hand turns under Lucien's to squeeze gently at the other man's. “See? Excruciatin'. This is why I ask if I can do things. Because there's a lot of room t'improve from /excrutiatin'/.” His cheeks colour at all the hero talk directed his way, his head shaking slightly. “Ain't so much heroics on my part as caretakin'. Very /necessary/ caretakin', mind, but... I'm just makin' it so the real hero-folks can do their jobs. Co-heroics, maybe? Is that a thing?” His other hand reaches down to trace along Jax's jaw. “Y'sure you're okay, hon? An'...you pretty much /always/ need a massage, so y'just /sit/ there. If Lucien needs I got hands, too, an' such things can be arranged.” Mostly arranged around not spilling multiple cups of tea on the bed. Micah takes a moment to sip cautiously from his. "Excruciating only because I am so disused to my mind working -- poorly." Lucien's smile is still thin. From his touch to both the other men now there comes a soft spill of contentment, warmth, happiness. "Perhaps co-heroics. You should not downplay your own contributions. There is its own impressive kind of strength --" His words quiet, fingers kneading more strongly at Jax's neck. "S'pose that would be unfamiliar for you. Me, my brain don't /never/ work right so I'd hardly notice." Jackson finishes his scone and licks his fingertips clean of crumbs. "An' /alright/ sir if you insist I /guess/ I'll sit here an' let him keep workin' at me. An' I'm -- alright I just. Long --" His head shakes quickly. His frown is melting away both at the scone and at the feeling spilling over from Lucien. "No. It's just straight-up heroics. Because, you know, the rest of us. We hardly got a choice, it's our fight whether we want it or /not/. An' once we're in it, we /have/ flashy powers an' can fly an' make forcefields an' heal an' -- an' you stand right there along with us. Keepin' everyone together even though y'don't gotta --" He bites down on his lip briefly. /He's/ flushed darker red by the end of this, tipping his head upwards to peek from behind a curtain of shaggy peacock-coloured hair up at Micah. "I don't know if I can rightly explain how extraordinary that is. Maybe you don't see it. Maybe the /world/ ain't never gonna see it. But we do. Pretty much every day, we do." “Oh, so long-sufferin' Jax, forced to receive neck rubs from handsome men,” Micah teases, the fingers at Jax's jaw slipping under his chin to tickle there lightly before withdrawing. His brows knit with concern, just for a moment, at the illusionist's upset, though he doesn't look down for Jax to observe it. He makes a mental note to ask later, not pressing for now, and forces the worry from his face. Finishing off his own scone serves as a cover for the stint of quiet. “Ain't even a choice, really. If it even was before...it ain't really anymore.” With that, his fingers press against Lucien's again. “So, what say you? Care t'join the ranks of long-sufferin' neck rub recipients?” "Tea first. I have my priorities, Micah. Neck rubs /while/ drinking drastically increase the potential for tea-spillage." Perhaps in demonstration of this, Lucien's fingers work in more firmly at Jax's muscles, tipping his head slightly more forward with the pressure. "Your pet is hardly wrong. In this particular war you are essentially defenseless, even if you can no longer count yourself uninvolved. And yet." His lips twitch. "Though. When it comes to the world seeing, Jackson -- I regret," here he sounds entirely unregretful, mild and even, "that there is a sizeable chance that in the near future I am about to throw you under a very large and media-shaped bus. Again. Brace yourself." "You ordered," Jackson reminds Micah cheerfully, "what can I do but obey? Even such difficult tasks." Such difficult tasks that currently have him a little bit melty where he leans up against Lucien's shins. He /is/ in fact lifting his tea for a sip when Lucien pushes down more firmly; he doesn't quite spill, but he does jostle his mug and then hold it tighter with a small crinkle of nose. At the next statement though, he /does/ spill, tea trickling down over his fingers with his sudden upward shift. He lifts his hand to lick his fingers clean before it can drip off. "Wait, what? Media what?" “Well, I /was/ practic'ly raised in a barn, you'll have t'forgive my lack of proper tea etiquette.” The fact that Micah is /giggling/ through this probably doesn't help the argument. “I wouldn't say /entirely/ defenceless. Been told I've got somethin' of a disarmin' manner an' an exceedin'ly trustworthy face. So helpful.” Said face is busy shifting through light shades of red, Micah's teasing proving successful on /himself/, as well. “Darn right ordered. Not takin' it back, either. No regrets!” He watches with a fond smile as Jax starts to get melty. “Media bus...what now?” Micah's head tilts, half-confused, half-curious at this. “See? Sudden mysterious announcements, far worse for tea spilling than neck rubs. I feel vindicated.” "Perhaps I shall venture into your homeland. As a missionary. Enlightening the savages in the ways of tea." Lucien drains his own cup, leaning down to set it on the floor. "You do have a certain charm to you, I will grant you that." He turns a small smile down to Jackson, kind of amused as he pulls the other man closer to set about giving a neckrub with /both/ hands, now. His touch still comes with its soft dosing of happiness, encouraging the melting. "There have been reporters poking around. The story of New York's salvation. I have no doubt they will get to Iolaus and Dr. Toure as well, but the full picture of exactly what went in -- well. These things always need a face. And there is an opportunity here --" His thumbs trace nails lightly up either side of Jax's spine. "My tea is done," he adds to Micah lightly. "/Now/ is the appropriate time for – rubbing." "The problem with that, Luci, honey-honey, is then you'd have to go to the /South/. You would so not approve." Jax moves willingly where he is positioned, his shoulders rolling slowly in a stretch. "Although there's worse gospels t'evangelize than tea." Beneath Lucien's fingers his muscles abruptly tense, his head craning backwards to look up at Lucien. Then Micah. Then Lucien. "The full picture what? I mean what's that t'do with me, that was. You an' Regan an' Parley an' the docs I think you got that covered. An' when it comes to /faces/? Pretty much couldn't get more photogenic a one than --" His hands come up, forefingers and thumb forming a little picture frame around Lucien's face. “Oh, honey, I hate t'tell you. But it was tried. An' then sweet tea was born. In mason jars. I think it might just hurt your heart t'witness,” Micah informs with a glee that matches the content of his speech not at all. He collects Lucien's cup when he announces that it is empty, setting it on the bedside table along with his own near-empty one. “Yessir. Goodness, but don't I feel all educated now?” he adds cheekily, though he does move readily to kneel behind Lucien on the bed. His hands sketch broad and light over the other man's neck and shoulders before setting about any actual rubbing. “Y'mean you're wantin' Jax t'be the frontman on the talkin' about what y'all done over at the Clinic?” Lucien exhales a sharp /huff/ that might be laughter or might be /exasperation/. "Heathens." His head shakes sadly. "I have /been/ to the South. Several times. I have clients who take trips down there for various reasons and occasionally want companionship. It is not, admittedly, a thing I would willingly do without generous remuneration." He lifts his hand from Jax's neck, pushing down the picture-frame hands even as he settles down more comfortably to lean slightly into Micah's touch. "Oh, goodness, no. Talking I am more than capable of, if it was a spokesperson I wanted I would be more than glad, though the Clinic has a PR team of its own. No -- no." He starts working again, slow and firm at Jax's neck and shoulders. The flush of happy-warm spilling out from his touch over to both men increases, a trickle of pleasure twined in with it. "As more details of this story break, I suspect more than a few people will be all too happy to paint this as the epitome of why mutants need to be locked up, exterminated. The story of what happened at the Clinic and -- all through New York, really -- does not need a spokesperson. It needs a hero. And, certainly, it will /have/ heroes. The doctors and Regan working tirelessly. The military and police men and woman fighting for the shelters. The aid workers keeping everyone fed and alive. But when this story comes out, it needs /mutant/ faces to point to so that when people think of what mutants did here, they don't think of the millions of dead. They think of you. You did originally pinpoint the transmission vector. /You/ assembled the team that found the cure. You kept us fed and fought back the hordes and kept so many fed and safe and you volunteered yourself to make sure the treatments were safe. I am quite a good spokesperson. And by the time I am through speaking, you may well have singlehandedly saved New York." Jackson listens to this in quiet. Maybe because the chemical cocktail Lucien floods him with is lulling him to complacency. But /even/ that gentle touch doesn't stop his eye from widening when Lucien is done: "Wh -- /no/, no /way/, I didn't -- /I/ didn't -- You. An' Dr. Toure an' Io an' Regan an' Parley. An' Micah an' Dusk an' -- there were /so/ many people who -- no. Absolutely no. Why on earth would -- /no/ there are so many people who did so much more than -- no. My family's had enough of media attention t'last all their lifetimes an' besides it's overblown /nonsense/ I didn't do -- nngh. No." Micah chuckles at Lucien's reaction. “That's what a good number of 'em would say right back, so I'm sure that's fair.” His fingers press in gently at first, just beginning to track along larger muscles. “Dunno, hon. Sounds like y'could just tell the actual story the way it happened. An' you're just wantin' the story t'be told from Jax's point of view t'colour it right?” he attempts to summarise. “I mean, y'did do the things he's sayin', honey. Not /alone/, no one's sayin' that, but...” When Jax turns the offer down, he just shakes his head, not saying anything further on the details. “Y'ain't gotta do anythin' you're not comfortable with, Jax.” "More or less," Lucien agrees mildly. "Because with the body count here, mutants are going to need a hero. And frankly, our most likely candidates for Mutant Hero out of all this are you and Luke Cage and if we put a microphone in his hand and let him be the one people look to for example, we are all," he says this very wryly, "so. Very. Fucked." His head tips downward, and he breathes out slowly, shoulders relaxing beneath Micah's fingers. "Of course he does not have to -- but he will." His hands slip down beneath Jax's sweatshirt, beneath his t-shirt, fingers running more slowly down the other man's back. He helps along that complacency in tiny little nudges, thin quiet threads of relaxation. "He will, because the alternative will be a slaughter. One mutant. And nearly a million people are dead in this city alone and that will be a field day for everyone who has ever wanted to hurt us. And for all you protest, Jackson Holland, you and I and Micah all know quite well that sitting back and /watching/ that storm rip through this country is not a thing you could possibly sit by and ignore." His head tips back, resting at Micah's shoulder for a moment. "It will affect you too, no doubt. You are rather integrally part of this story. And part of his life. And I strongly suspect that this is all going to get ugly. A spotlight brings more than its share of hell. And some people will very much not /want/ a mutant hero. This is, in fact, I strongly suspect /precisely/ the sort of move that led your friend Malthus to try so earnestly to kill Jackson." Jackson closes his eye, lifting his tea to slowly drain the rest of the cup. He's quiet as he drinks, letting Lucien's words wash through him as the tea does. In the end he breathes out slowly, too, setting his cup down and pulling away from Lucien's hands with great reluctance. He climbs up onto the bed, kneeling at Micah's side and tipping his head forward to rest at Micah's shoulder. "He's not wrong," he says with a tired hint of resignation. "About how incredibly ugly this is gonna be if we don't give people something positive to focus on." His jaw tightens, fingers pressing down against his knee, but his quiet tone is oddly calm. "-- An' about how incredibly ugly this is gonna be if we do." "Luke tries so hard, he's just...all heart an' muscles, sometimes," Micah defends gently, his hands conversely working harder, a firmer touch and deeper pressure at Lucien's neck. Any talk of Cage is quickly subsumed in Lucien's continued argument, however. "One mutant an' an entire government /agency/," he grumbles half beneath his breath as he listens. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine with...however I can be of use. I know y'all don't have whole heaps of phenotypically uninterestin' folks entirely on your side, so wherever that's /useful/, just let me know the hows an' whats of it." He bites down on his lip again. "I do worry about the kids, though, 'cause they--" Whatever he meant to say is lost to a sudden silence. Or, at least, silence to Jax. Still in physical contact, Micah's mind is likely quite /loud/ to Lucien the moment that Malthus is mentioned. Filled with horror and sadness and fear and a sick feeling all drawn together and wrapped around the memory of Jax with his face half gone from a wicked bullet wound. Of the twins frightened and angry and frustrated, huddled in this same room, even after Jax had been healed. Tinged sharply with a resigned resolve, a hint of anger, more dark fear from conclusions reached during conversations with the boys and Dusk. A feeling that has crept back stronger now that the worst of the infection is past and it is time to press on with details. Hows and whats. Weapons. Micah finally thinks to drop his hands from Lucien's body with a wince, eyes scrunched closed. "This is ugly no matter what we do," Micah concludes in a low voice, rough like that of a person first waking in the morning. "No good choices. Just. Have t'pick the least bad one." He sighs at how his own words echo in his head, a twisted repetition. And his hands return to their work, easing muscles where they are tense or sore. Lucien catches his breath sharply at the feelings spilling over from Micah; with /his/ brain still not really functioning at his prime there's very little /filter/ between Micah's feelings and his own. A shudder passes through him, his shoulders tensing until the contact breaks. He lets out the breath he's held, whistling through his teeth. His head turns, green eyes focusing on Micah's face for a long moment. But then he turns back forward, letting Micah continue his massage. "Where you are useful is exactly where you are." His hand turns up, gesturing back towards the others. "At his side. Loving children, loving partner. A good solid -- well, perhaps with a tasteful omission of the power exchange aspect." A brief hint of amusement creeps into his words, but it fades back into simple solemnity afterwards. "If and when the cameras find you, be exactly what you are, Micah. Be a /good/ person. A good, loving person who is doing the right thing." Another brief twitch of smile. "... and keep Shane away from the press." Jackson's head lifts from Micah's shoulder, a worried frown creasing his brow as he watches Lucien's reaction, listen's to Micah's low voice. "Sweetie -- Micah. Honey. This is -- I mean, yes, it's gonna be ugly no matter what but. Bringin' everyone into this -- it ain't just /my/ decision to make. I gotta know that this is somethin' you're okay with, too." His face just scrunches /up/ at the mention of Shane. His head thunks forward down onto Micah's shoulder again. Micah's touch comes loaded with a clear sense of /apology/ when it returns. “I can do that.” This sentiment is swept over by a tug of guilt when Lucien accuses him of being a /good/ person, right after the things he'd been thinking and the plans... He bites it back. “No, honey, I wanna do whatever's needed t'help. I was just somewhere else in m'head for a second. This is... You're gonna be the spotlight /person/, sugar, it's up t'you. I'll support whatever y'wanna do.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, considering the image that Lucien is presenting. “If we're gonna do this, though? We might wanna get all the legal paperwork in order sooner rather than later. For the boys. An' us. This is gonna sound more cynical than I mean it, but. It's not just for the security of it bein' harder for anyone t'try an' pull the boys away again, but...the image. Married an' adopted kids is better marketin' than livin' together an' fosters.” "Mmm. Cynical. It's an odd flavour on you, you do not wear it naturally." Lucien's shoulders shift slightly, pressing back as though they could /push/ away the sentiments Micah is feeling. "You are certainly not wrong, though. How do you two feel about getting married this weekend? There is already, I believe, a reporter scheduled to speak with Iolaus today. Doctor Toure cannot be far behind. And after that --" His hand tips upwards. Jackson shivers. His head still rests against Micah's shoulder, dark shadows clinging to his forearms. "Okay." It's just a quiet whisper. His arms creep around Micah's waist, squeezing in tight. Micah's hands leave Lucien at that press back, not so much abandoning their task as stopping the spill of unpleasantness from himself into the other man. He wraps an arm around Jax's shoulders instead, the opposite hand reaching up to pet at Jax's hair. “It's just the /legal/ part, honey. We can...we never really even got t'plan what we were gonna do. Can still do that later, the part that's for us, okay? This is just the paper part.” He turns to place a kiss at Jax's temple, warm and gentle. Lucien straightens, standing and looking back at the others. He's oddly a little too pale when he stands, a little wobbly on his feet. "Later you will have so much time for anything you like. So long as," he adds this just offhand-level, "you live through this first. I believe I have work to do. I will talk to you both soon." His lips compress for a moment. "Thank you for the tea. Have a good weekend." When Lucien stands, Jax just curls down further. Still kneeling at Micah's side though now mostly just hunched over, his forehead resting down in Micah's lap. He turns his head only to peer at Lucien for a brief moment. "Yeah. I -- yeah." That's all the farewell the other man is getting right now, apparently. His head turns back towards Micah's lap. "Okay. We'll do something -- later. Nice. Okay. Except but it wasn't that that's – upsetting." “Thanks for the scones, hon. An' you, too. Are you okay t'get over t'your place without help? Y'look a little shaky.” Micah watches Lucien just until Jax's forehead lowers. “I...know, honey. I was just reassurin' about the part that I knew I could reassure about,” he admits quietly. He bends forward, hugging Jax close, just-above-whispering, “What can I do, hon?” nearer to the other man's ear. "It's only next door. I will manage. I believe right now he -- may need you more." Lucien touches two fingers to his forehead in a lazy salute, and then heads off. Jackson nods slowly, then presses his forehead down again. His shaggy hair falls in a colourful curtain against Micah's jeans. "Okay," he whispers again, a little rougher. "I'm just. I'm scared. All this -- I'm going to get you killed. You an' the boys an' -- but s'gonna be millions more folks dead if they start usin' this as /more/ of an excuse t'point t'how evil we all are." “No, we can't let 'em use this that way. Not when...this is on /them/, it's even more backwards an' disgustin' than usual.” Huddled in close to Jax, one of Micah's hands pets at his back and the other strokes softly at his hair. “The twins...already have it hard. This world ain't treatin' 'em kindly any time soon, not without a big change. We'll have t'try an' keep Spence out of it as much as possible.” His fingers grip at the fabric of Jax's shirt. “I chose t'be with you, honey. An' that's what I'm gonna do. Whatever your life shapes up t'be, I'm there, okay?” Jackson nods again. There are tears damply dripping against Micah's jeans, though his face looks dry. His head tips slightly, nuzzling up into Micah's pettings. "I love you. Kinda -- ridiculously a lot. -- I don't know if I can do fight club tonight. Can we just – stay." "Jax, y'don't have t'do that," Micah reminds, his hand moving from the other man's hair to brush fingertips along Jax's cheeks, through the wetness hidden there. "I love you, honey. An' y'don't have t'go. I think with all the zombie fightin' these past few weeks, everybody's sharp about fightin', at least." He squeezes his arms tight around Jax. "Of course we can stay. As long as y'want." "I know I -- s'just. Habit, I --" Jax presses his face against Micah's fingers, tears glistening now on his kind of splotchy-red cheek. "Jus' shouldn't be fallin' apart right now, not --" He shakes his head, rubbing his tears /away/ against Micah's hand. "It's not the fighting, just, the boys are goin' an' I don't like to -- but Flicker'll be there an' Dusk'll be there, they'll be aright." He doesn't so much sound sure of this as sound like he is trying to /make/ himself sure of this. He curls back down, not kneeling anymore but just lying on his side, knees pulled up towards his chest and his head pillowed in Micah's lap. "We could just leave." His voice is a shaky whisper. His eye closes. Around them the room starts to change. Peach trees sprouting to turn the walls into groves, the floor around the bed growing with neat rows of vegetables. "Go far away. Live quiet-like." “It takes energy an' at least /some/ concentration an' y'ain't gotta hide from me anyhow, hon.” The hand returns to Jax's hair, playing through it with a comforting touch and rhythm of movement. “Y'had enough an' more piled on your plate /before/ just gettin' elected the face of the pro-mutant movement. I think takin' some time t'be a little upset is warranted. Ain't healthy bottlin' up everythin' all the time, y'know? Y'got permission t'have a little freakout from time t'time if y'need it.” Micah's other arm winds around Jax, cradling him in his lap--as much as he fits--like a child. “Is that what you /want/ t'do? 'Cause somehow I don't think that's the way of it.” Micah's breath sighs out heavily once more. It has been an evening for such things. “I know the twins would be okay with that, if it ever came down to it. Or at least they were last time we talked on that kinda subject. An' I'll follow you into /whatever/, t'be honest. But...only if it's really what you want.” "I want --" Jackson trembles slightly, and rests his hand on Micah's leg, squeezing gently at the other man's thigh. Around them the peach trees tremble, too, and then shake, boughs whipping as though stirred by a fierce wind. Branches start to crack and fall off in silence, thick red blood welling from where they break. "... I really hate him sometimes. Smug /bastard/. Maybe," he admits even softer, "hate him more because he's right." Then he is silent, just nestling close to Micah. Absorbing the touch as tears fall. They start to slow, though, tapering off as the images around them fade away. "I talked to Shane this mornin' on the way to school. He said he's scared that -- he says he's pretty sure that B's gonna kill himself. What I want -- I just. Want them safe. Want all of you safe. But the world ain't gonna let that happen, I don't think. S'like Luci an' wreckin' his brain for that cure. Runnin' off wouldn't help nothin'. The horror'd catch up eventually." Micah has made the fortunate decision to focus his attention on /Jax/ and not his projections. In spite of everything, he can't help the slightest twitch of his lips at the commentary on Lucien. “His intentions are good, really, honey. As much as he tries t'make it /seem/ otherwise sometimes.” His hand stops moving, briefly, lips pressed thin at the talk about 'Bastian. “He...what? Did B say somethin'? Did somethin' happen t'him? The last time we talked, he was... Excited about work. Felt like a place was finally /acceptin'/ 'im. Makin' plans. That...he didn't sound suicidal.” "His intentions --" Jax exhales heavily. "I love him. I love him crazy a lot, I just -- don't always like him that much." He turns slowly over, onto his back so that now with his head in Micah's lap he can look upward at the other man's face. "I wouldn't necessarily trust --" His brows knit together. "B ain't like Shane. I hate to say it, but s'prob'ly too much like /me/ in some ways. If he was suicidal I don't think that'd be a thing he'd be lettin' on to hardly nobody. An' Shane says -- it's just real hard on him, you know? The /world's/ rough enough but he kinda also hates /himself/. Said he'd -- tear his own skin off if he could. The world /treatin'/ him like a monster is it's own problem but I think he -- sees /himself/ as one, and that hurts more." “I dunno...I just get the impression that he's just gotten into the habit of bein' abrasive on purpose. Kinda...like Shane does sometimes, in a way, just in a different...direction, I guess?” Micah shifts his hand placement to accommodate Jax's change in position, again with one hand in the other man's hair, though the other moves to rub little circles over his abdomen. “Has it been like this for a long time? Or did somethin' else come up that... I'm just not sure whether Shane just found this out or what was makin' him say somethin' /now/. I just don't know how t'help without havin' somethin' t'work from, its'... They have a psychologist they're s'posed t'be seein' regular at school, don't they? Would he just not talk t'them? 'Cause...if there's been actual suicidal ideation, somebody should've been /told/.” Micah's voice has been growing a little tighter with each question, distressed and grasping at anything that could form a plan for /helping/. "Didn't sound like a thing Shane was just findin' out. Sounded like a thing he'd been bottling up -- like that whole thing with Chelsea just kinda overflowed it outta him. Said that -- that he wanted to help make it right for her because he never could with B." He closes his eye again, lapsing back into silence for a moment. The hand rubbing at his belly prompts an immediate relaxation, his breathing calming even if given the current conversation it does not elicit the glowy-purring it almost always does. "S'got a therapist at school. I wouldn't be surprised if he don't talk to her about nothin'. He seems t'feel like --" He smiles, a little crookedly, a little self-consciously. "Like bein' sad or -- showin' you're havin' any problems at all is like. An /imposition/. Like won't nobody want him around if he's a burden." Though this explanation makes him wince, eye scrunching up. "... I don't guess I help that any." The splotches and tear-streaks and scars vanish from his face, smoothed over neatly. "Don't make a great impression tellin' him he can be open with what's on his mind an' then coverin' up what's on mine." The illusion fades away again. "So it's rough. I want to make the world better so he can /have/ a future in it. But it's just gonna make things harder right /now/ when things is already rough for 'em." “I love that he wants t'help. He's such a /good/ kid, I just...wish he'd realise in this case that the best thing he could've done t'help was wait for her t'go t'the Clinic. Which she can, on Monday, if she wants. I checked into it.” Micah's hand continues its circles, encouraged by Jax's calming. “What good is it havin' therapists if they can't...talk to... Would it be helpful for 'im t'get one at the Clinic instead? That way it ain't somebody associated with any other part of his life. Could just talk an' not feel like there's any imposition 'cause that'll be the only place he sees 'em?” He watches Jax's face closely, as if studying it. “You're prob'ly the greatest help on this, since y'understand.../this/ personally. What helps you? When things is the worst, what's the best thing we could do for /you/? Maybe that can guide what we try for 'im? 'Cause I can't...not do anythin'. But I don't feel like I always make the best choices in /how/ t'help.” "I think that might help, yeah. S'jus', therapists who he's gotta live with an' see all the time -- hard to." He shakes his head. "An' there weren't never /been/ before a good way to find therapists /outside/'a school who'd be alright with /him/ an' alright with all the issues that come with that but -- now the Clinic's open again we can see." The question of what helps /him/ makes him blush furiously. "I don't -- think what helps /me/ would, um, we can't --" His fingers lift to touch lightly to his collar. "Because /you/ help me, Sir, I mean, it's /so/ much easier for me t'actually be open about what's on my mind when I'm --" He trails off, teeth wiggling slowly at a lip ring. "... though maybe the same thing would help." His blush deepens. "I mean not the /same/ thing just. I ain't -- really exactly been a good parent. I don't mean like I've been terrible or nothin', just. I ain't hardly even older than them, y'know? An' adoptin' kids who're already teenagers -- I kinda always just been here more for support an' guidance than, like, any kinda /discipline/ or structure. An' they're /good/ kids so that's -- been okay, but -- but maybe it /would/ help. Bein' -- a little bit more of a parent than. Just a -- friend. I don't think I really been good at that and maybe I won't never be I got kinda hippie /anarchist/ ideas on parenting but. Maybe I been doin' 'em a /dis/service that way." "Okay...okay, we'll see how open t'the idea he is an' go from there. Actually, both of 'em, s'prob'ly a good idea for both. Shane's been gettin' even more frustrated than usual 'cause I've been tryin' t'be more firm about what ain't appropriate behaviour with 'im. Think it might be helpful for 'im t'get somebody t'talk to, even if it's just a gripe session on how ridiculous the world is an' how awful 'is dad is for makin' 'im deal with it." Micah chews on his lip pensively for a moment. "Actually, I think as far as goin' in /once/, should do whether they like the idea too much or not. Just so they can see what it's like. After that, there's no /forcin'/ therapy on a body in a way that's helpful. But they should try it." Jax's response combined with that blush brings a fierce and sudden redness to Micah's cheeks, as well. "Oh. Oh, honey, I know /that/ helps you, but that's not what I meant when I asked oh/gosh/. I mean. That can't be the /only/..." He layers on a few shades further into scarlet territory. "I don't know as even regular-type /discipline/ would be that helpful for B, though? He's so hard on 'imself already. He does all the things that parents usually get on their kids' cases for. He does well in school, he's polite'n respectful, he has a job that he excels in, an' he's just generally helpful an' what /anybody/ would call a good kid. I think it's almost...that he's /too/ hard on 'imself. Y'know I heard 'im tell Shane the other day that it's just better not t'talk about feelin's /ever/ because usually it's inappropriate? An' it was kinda my fault, but... I was just tryin' t'use Ion's bein' uncomfortable with Shane talkin' about /you/ in a sexual context as one of those teachable moments, y'know? How t'read social cues that might be tellin' y'when you're venturing into not-okay topics of conversation." Micah spares a hand for a moment to rake through his /own/ hair, a little frustrated. Mostly with himself for not having ready answers. The hand returns quickly to its task of belly rubs. "So, yeah. I see where /Shane/ could honestly use a firmer hand an' a lotta guidance. I been tryin' t'do that for 'im. But B? It's almost like he needs the opposite. Permission t'breathe freely from time t'time. An' I don't know how t'give 'im /that/ any more'n y'already have." "I'll set up appointments for 'em." Jax's eye closes again, his palm rubbing tiredly against it. "I don't know. The pups jus' been through /so/ much pain in their lives I don't -- don't even begin to know how to help them." His palm drags downwards, slowly pulling down at his cheek at the talk of Shane and Ion. "-- I try to talk to him about -- ngh. He don't even try to be bad he just don't always even /know/ where boundaries /are/ an' -- an' how /could/ he, /his/ parents beat them and locked them in a /cage/ and then --" His eye squeezes tighter shut. He curls his arm back around, wrapping behind Micah's back in a loose hug. "... it kinda don't help none that so many social boundaries /are/ kind of dumb. I mean. I pretty much jus' flagrantly ignore lots'a the ones 'bout gender an' relationships an' sex an' it gets even /harder/ to explain to them where to respect social norms an' where t'disregard them when s'like, okay, listen to the ones about not sleepin' with your parents but go ahead an' ignore the ones that say you gotta only date girls an' only wear boy-clothes an' s'cool if you like it when Peter hits you but even though that's totally OK probably don't /talk/ about it cuz folks'll be uncomfortable maybe but even /if/ folks are uncomfortable talkin' about you bein' gay don't hafta hide /that/ and /Lord/ I don't even actually know myself what t'tell him on sleepin' with /B/ --" He opens his eye again, looking back up at Micah. "... An' B, I just don't know. I don't know how to help him. I guess maybe we should actually talk t'him about -- all this stuff Shane said an' about therapy an' -- an' go from there. "Good. Good, that'll be a step, at least. Somethin'." The hand that had been petting at Jax's hair moves to lift him up slightly, sliding under the other man's shoulders to hold him closer. "I know, hon. Mostly Shane's a good kid an' just confused. 'Specially with us. I know he /tries/ t'rile /other/ people sometimes, but I can tell the difference. I ain't been tryin' t'make 'im adapt t'/all/ the social norms, 'cause a lot of 'em are stupid an' arbitrary. It'd be nice for 'im t'/know/ 'em, just so he's not /surprised/ at what upsets people. But what I been tryin' t'enforce stronger's the...things that are /obviously/ trouble. Been tryin' t' teach 'im about the things that make for dubious consent, mostly." Micah stares up at the ceiling for a moment before turning his gaze back down on Jax. "An' just tryin' t'be consistent with that. So, not just not lettin' 'im try t'kiss or nibble at me but lettin' 'im know it's not okay for 'im t'just tell anybody about wantin' t'do it, either. Or t'make comments...s'kinda like teachin' a seminar on sexual harassment in the workplace, in a weird way. 'Cause he needs some consistency an' some firm lines drawn or it's never gonna make even a little sense to 'im an' he's /gonna/ get into trouble eventually with people who won't understand where he's comin' from. Then what?" Micah nods at Jax's conclusion. "Yeah, we should talk to 'im about it. D'you think it'd be better just the two of you? Or both of us an' him? Or both of us an' both of them? I don't want anybody t'feel like we're gangin' up on 'em. But I also don't want B t'hide anythin' 'cause there are more people t'hide from. I just... It /is/ hard. Ain't neither of us been parents b'fore. An' then we skipped right t'the advanced class on it, kinda." Jax just nods, to the questions of Shane and consistency. "Yeah. Yeah. S'good to be clear. -- We should both be there for B." He turns his head when he is lifted, face pressing against Micah's shirt. His arm tightens in a closer hug. "I think it'd prob'ly be better for him with Shane there. Ain't rightly sure he'd talk t'us at all on his own." He tips his head back up, his other hand lifting to trace fingertips lightly along Micah's jaw. "... we're gettin' married." “Good, I'd rather... I /want/ t'be there, just thought maybe it'd be too much for 'im. So, that's good. We'll have t'sit with 'em at some point. Gotta sit all /three/ down at some point an' talk about the whole media thing 'fore that starts, too.” Micah squeezes Jax a little tighter. “B...he'll talk. He's talked t'me a couple of times, just. He /waits/ 'til things are killin' 'im inside an' they just spill out when he doesn't mean 'em to.” The tightness of Micah's jaw softens under Jax's touch. “We are. All official-like. An' /soon/.” The barest hint of a smile manages to break out at this as Micah nuzzles against Jax's hand. Jackson sits up higher. His fingers curl upwards to cup the side of Micah's face, and he presses a kiss to the other man's forehead. "An' soon. Oh, gosh, I should ask the boys what they want to do 'bout their last names. What do /we/ want to do -- oh gosh. Lots of details." His next kiss presses to Micah's lips gently. "But I think I need more tea. You want some, honey-honey? Oh my goodness." For a moment he looks excited. "We could," he suggests this like he is suggesting something /totally debauched/, "spend an evening being lazy. Like curl up in bed an' watch Netflix an' I won't even touch my homework till tomorrow." Micah's smile brightens, his features warming at that little kiss. “Maybe we should start with /that/. S'a much better way t'start a conversation, I think.” He leans into the next kiss eagerly, drinking in the /closeness/. “Could use a refresh, yeah. Think that last little bit in m'cup's gone cold by now. An' oh/gosh/ that sounds /perfect/. Couple's s'posed t'take it easy right before gettin' married, right? Think a lazy night's forgiveable in this case.” Jackson kisses Micah again, after this, soft and longer. "I been watchin' your Doctor Who thing while I work on commissions when I'm on shift with Io," he confides after this brightly. "But you can pick a show. Like. Instruct me in the ways of your /people/." His nose crinkles up, his grin wide and teasing. He slips off the bed, collecting teapot and mugs and plate. Returning the kiss, Micah's arms wrap tight around Jax, pulling him up against him. “Oh, no need t'pick if you've started... What episode're you on? We gotta catch you up eventually. Then y'can be all eager for the new one t'come out 'cause that's part of it, too.” He releases his grip, taking up Jax's hand and placing another light kiss to the inside of his wrist before letting him go to retrieve tea. Then he sets about making a blanket-nest on the bed and fetching a laptop. Since warm drinks and blankets are /required/ for a lazy night in during wintertime.