ArchivedLogs:In Your Own Time

In Your Own Time
Dramatis Personae Flicker, Isra, Jax	2015-03-16 "And maybe there was some part of my brain that always thought there's a possibility I'd change my mind and -- this just feels really decisive."
Location <NYC> Mount Sinai Hospital - Harlem
On the cutting edge of many medical technologies, Mount Sinai Hospital is often ranked as one of the nation's best hospitals. The medical school attached is one of the best in the world, meaning that even your med students know what they are doing. Chin up, then -- when you come in here badly mutilated after the latest terrible catastrophe in Times Square, you're in good hands. It's pretty -- hospitally. Chemically. Antiseptic. Full of announcements and beeping and bustle. Too loud and too hushed all at once. Flicker's room isn't empty -- past a curtained partition there's an elderly gentleman in the next bed, but aside from some groaning intermittently he hasn't seemed particularly awake. Neither has Flicker, for that matter. Not for a while, since getting out of surgery. And even /since/ waking up he hasn't seemed particularly awake. Kind of woozy, kind of foggy-brained, drifting in and out of paying the world much attention. It's cycling back to "In" now, though. He fumbles slightly at the rough white blankets on his bed, halfheartedly trying to pull them up over his bandage-swathed chest. "... s'my phone somewhere? I think I'm getting withdrawal. The internet's -- still there, right?" So far, it's the most he's said since getting out. Jax is a bright splash in all the bland institutional taupes and whites and pale greens of the hospital. Vividly bird-of-paradise-flower dyed hair, purple peacock-feather-embroidered skinny jeans, black tank top with a green long-sleeved fishnet beneath, iridescent blue-purple-green nails and makeup. While Flicker has been resting he's been busy with laptop and tablet, working on a new painting -- he looks up from this, though, reaching over to snag Flicker's cell from a nearby table. "{Sorry,}" he offers apologetically (together with offering the phone out.) "They cancelled the internet while you was under. It's bein' replaced. All memes gotta be sent via carrier pigeon from now on." Isra's new colors this week look subdued at first glance, pale lavender with silver stripes and wing membranes. The silver, however, shifts into glittery prismatic shades in the light. She wears a slinky leaf-green wrap dress with a lavender sash at the waist. Since she does not fit into any of the chairs provided for visitors, she has folded herself into the corner of the room, wings folded down over her shoulders and a tablet balanced in one hand. Looking up, ears pricking forward at Flicker's voice. "Welcome back. Not to worry; I feel confident that the Internet can rise, phoenix-like, from its own ashes." She smiles ever so faintly. "How do you feel?" Flicker turns his hand up, reaching to accept the phone from Jax. Doesn't turn it on, though. Just eyes it. Warily. "Phone isn't designed to be compatible with carrier pigeon." Frown. "Swear, you go get sliced up for just a couple hours. They change everything." He sinks a little further under the covers. Scrunches fingers tighter around his phone. "... like puking," he answers Isra. "A lot like puking. You might want to stay out of -- splash range." "Well 'course it ain't, carrier pigeons ain't meant to truck whole /packages/ that big around. Y'can't send one with a whole cellphone, you'd exhaust the poor thing." Jax doesn't stay out of splash range. He sets his computer and laptop aside, standing to disappear into the bathroom and return with a small plastic tub to set on Flicker's chest. "D'you need -- some -- ginger ale?" He looks to Isra for backup on this. "We come prepared. The good real-ginger kind an' everything." "Horus has to it, all by himself." Also not bothering to remove herself from bedside, Isra lifts a bottle of ginger ale out of a canvas bag sitting in her chair and twists it open. "/I/ might help myself if you don't want one." Though she holds the soda out to Flicker all the same. "I imagine they'll send antiemetic medication in if we ask for it." Flicker curls his arm around the tub gratefully. Lifts it again right after, though, to take the ginger ale. Just as gratefully. "Might need that. Anaesthesia and me do not -- get --" The rest of this sentence is lost to retching. A little splashing. The red flush in Flicker's cheeks makes the stark lines of scarring stand out, paler, in comparison. It takes a bit (and a little more heaving) (and a few small sips of ginger ale) before he calms enough to try speaking again. "... Horus'd be a terrible messenger. He'd hoard /all/ his packages." Though the thought puts a smile back on his face. Small smile. One that fades away soon into a more uncertain look. There's a small twitch of the bandaging at his side. His fingers tighten around his ginger ale, and he takes another sip. "I'm sure he'd deliver everyone packages!" Jax makes this protestation with one hand rubbing gently at Flicker's back. He waits until it seems like the retching has stopped -- then waits a little bit longer just in case, before taking the tub off to the bathroom to empty it and rinse it clean. "... they jus'," he continues from there, "ain't likely to be the same packages as was /intended/ for 'em originally. Be like a surprise lottery-style deliveries. S'jus' more excitin' that way is all." He peeks back out of the bathroom with rinsed tub in hand, wiping it down with paper towels. There's a small frown on /his/ face as he studies Flicker's expression. "-- Y'aright, sugar?" Isra's ears press back against her scalp, but she does not otherwise look perturbed at the retching. She stretches out one wing and presses the button on the intercom. "Pardon me, Fli--Mister Allred could use something to help with postoperative nausea." "We'll send someone in shortly," says the nurse on the other end. Turning back, Isra curls a wing across Flicker's shoulders--carefully, mindful of upsetting tubes and wires--taking Jax's place while he goes to handle the cleanup. "I would expect many random shiny gifts with my Horus-delivered Internet. But...possibly less in the way of instant remote astrophotography. We had better work on getting the old series of tubes back." "This actually sounds pretty. Much ideal. Maybe we should ask him. If he wants to start a Horus delivery service. It'd be the happiest --" Flicker trails off, sinking back into Isra's wing. Closing his eyes, taking another small sip of ginger ale. "Doesn't have to replace the internet. Can be on it. Get him his own site. I bet people'd be into it. Random Surprise Trinket Delivery." His head turns, cheek pressing against Isra's wing membrane. He pulls in a slow breath. Lets it back out. Draws in again. Eventually, nods. "No -- yeah. I'm good. I'm alright. I just -- feel. I don't know what I feel. Probably," he admits, with a crooked half-smile, "still a little high. Just feel like this is starting to -- sink in. Which is dumb. Eight months, that's plenty of time to be used to this whole --" Another twitch, where his arm -- isn't. "Thing." "I think he'd be way too into it. Could be kinda delightful -- but you get the wrong people signin' up an' that could jus' get so ugly so fast for him. Mutant messenger service. Jus' /askin'/ for him to run into badness." Jax frowns, deeply. "Which is sad because I think he'd be tickled t'death at the notion. Jus' some sorta, tiny weekly payment or some such, an' he'll stop by with a totally surprise random item for you?" He slips back into the bathroom, washing his own hands and drying them off before returning to the bedside. He stashes the plastic tub on the table, tucking himself back into his chair. "Dumb? Ain't dumb. Ain't like there's some sorta /schedule/ you gotta be followin' for all this." "I imagine he would not enjoy it less if we recommended that he offer Random Surprise Trinket Delivery only to Commons or Xavier's residents." Isra tilts her head, her expression far more serious and intense than the subject seems to warrant. "/I/ would subscribe to such a service." Her wing squeezes Flicker's uninjured shoulder gently, two long digits deftly snagging the blanket to pull it up more snugly around him. "Only you can define 'plenty' in this case--all in your own time." She reaches one hand for another ginger ale and, raising eyebrow ridges in Jax's direction, signs "You want?" with the other. "Yeah -- yeah. In a better world..." Flicker shakes his head. "But in /this/ one, we could just make sure sign-up's only open to -- yeah. And we'll have to find him a perfect delivery hat." His smile is returning. Kind of small, maybe. Tentative. "I know. I guess I know. I just. It's felt." He quiets. Frowns. Taps his bottle against his teeth. "After that raid so many people kept telling me I should get it -- regrown. Ask Kate, ask Joshua. If I hacked it back open they likely /could/, too. And maybe there was some part of my brain that always thought there's a possibility I'd change my mind and -- this just feels really decisive." Jax leans forward, accepting the ginger ale from Isra with a quick flash of smile. His brows furrow thoughtfully as he settles back down to uncap it. "Was a big decision," he acknowledges. "But it weren't up t'/other/ people what you should an' shouldn't do, they can make s'many suggestions as they want. S'/your/ body. S'/your/ decision. S'it one you're feelin' comfortable on?" Isra opens herself a ginger ale, as well. "He said it better than I could have." This with a nod at Jax. "Perhaps the down-time has given you space to find some clarity...or /make/ some clarity." She settles some of her weight onto the edge of the bed. "Possibly, such processing may come easier once the anesthesia has worn off and the Internet has returned." Flicker's head lifts. Kind of sudden, at something in Jax's words. He breathes out -- maybe a laugh? Short, and sharp, and kind of shaky. Curling back against Isra's wing as his eyes squeeze tight. "It is, isn't it?" As though this is a revelation. "I think I -- am. Comfortable with my arm, anyway." He opens his eyes again. Looks back over at Jax -- a little hesitantly. "Maybe it's the deciding itself that's harder. Been a long while since I -- felt like it was allowed to /be/ my body, you know? Decisions like this, you don't. Do what's best for /you/, just." Very faintly, another shiver runs through him. He gives another crooked grin, glances down at his phone. "... maybe just the withdrawal talking again." "... what's best for the team." Briefly, Jax's fingertips touch to his lips. He shakes his head, reaching out to rest his fingers very lightly against Flicker's less-injured shoulder. "Feel like you more'n most got the brunt of --" He breaks off, briefly sinking teeth hard against his lower lip. "But we didn't break outta no cages jus' t'put you in another one. An' I know that's easier t'/say/ when there's /always/ still so much work t'be done but. There's always gonna be, y'know? An' you're --" His hesitation again seems more fumbling, teeth wiggling at his lip ring as he grasps for words. "You jus' don't need nobody's permission t'take care of yourself." Isra tilts her head slightly to one side, ears cocked at Flicker, then at Jax, as each speaks. She sips her soda absently all the while, tail swaying slow and rhythmic beneath the hem of her long dress. At last, she stretches her other wing out--not needing to extend it even half-way--and brushes the index phalanx against Jax's arm. "No one needs permission to do so, but many do need reminders." Flicker closes his eyes once more as a nurse enters the room. More hesitant about it than she might have been if her patient weren't leaned up against a giant gargoyle. She's pretty perfunctory about the drug she injects into his IV line. /Presumably/ his antiemetic. But for Some Reason she's less explanatory than she probably should be. Flicker offers her a small smile before just settling back again, comfortably. "No. Don't need -- but." One eye squints open, to peek up at Isra. "It's good to remember."