ArchivedLogs:Really Awesome

Really Awesome
Dramatis Personae Micah, Flicker	5 November 2014 '
Location <NYC> Harbor Commons - Media Room - Lower East Side
Though this sound-proofed room comes equipped with the same complement of bright airy windows as most of the rest of the rooms around here, it /also/ comes with thick heavy blackout curtains for them, easily drawn to reduce the glare on the myriad screens around the place. The place of honor in the room goes to an enormous flatscreen television mounted on one wall; beneath there are a number of video game consoles hooked up to it and shelving to either side of the television holds an assortment of DVDs on the right and an assortment of video games on the left. There's plentiful seating with views of the television, in the form of wide microsuede couches and enormous squishy beanbags (plenty big enough to share) scattered around the floor. A mini-fridge up here stands beside one cabinet, both often kept stocked with snacks and (generally highly caffeinated) drinks. Across to the other side of the room there are comfortable armchairs and smaller tables, with plenty of outlets available for those who want to plug their computers in and work or play. Four common-use desktops sit on desks against the wall, accessible to any resident with a login. It has been a long day. At least for Micah. He has since showered and changed out of his usual work clothes, now dressed in navy socks with constellations scattered about them, faded jeans with patches scattered over them, a black tee bearing a reproduction of a parchment page with sketches of Toothless and various prosthetic designs on it, and an unzipped Batsignal hoodie. His auburn hair looks like he paid no attention to it after washing, haphazardly tousled and a little spiky here and there. He is standing in front of the video game rack, just looking through titles, until he drifts over to the DVDs to do the same. There is a subtle shifting of his weight from one foot to the other, adding to his overall shiftless demeanour. Flicker doesn't enter so much as just appear, blipping quietly into the room where before Micah had it to himself. He looks casual, black corduroys and a green turtleneck, though his own hair is neatly combed. In his hand there's a lidded tupperware, some unidentifiable mush inside it possibly destined to be his dinner. A closed thermos is tucked beneath his arm, pinned against his side. His other, newer hand is empty -- maybe doesn't actually trust it yet even to carry sealed foods. "Farscape," he suggests, once he's touched down and plopped himself onto a beanbag. "S'on Netflix." Micah barely startles at Flicker's sudden appearance. Living with a teleporting child will do that to you. "Hey, hon," he greets with a smile that is warm, but tired. "How are you?" A tilt of his chin toward Flicker's side indicates the prosthetic arm. "How's it treatin' you?" A look of relief settles on his face at the recommendation of Something To Do. "Oh, bless you. I'd been just. Tryin' t'keep distracted bein' productive, but then I couldn't focus. So I came here to...an' then I couldn't even pick a thing." He practically throws himself on the couch and reaches for a remote to start the login process and episode search. "There's cinnamon oatmeal cookies, too." That offer comes with a nod at the table, which does bear a plate with a few cookies on it obtained from the common kitchen. "Kinda looked like maybe warm-and-familiar is the flavor of the night." Flicker leans forward, setting his thermos down and prying the lid off his tupperware. There's stew of some variety inside, heavy on chickpeas and kale and tomato and carrots and smelling sort of gingery. He smiles quick-small at the mention of the cookies. "-- Yeah. Just about like that." Wriggling back to nest himself properly into the beanbag, he tucks his legs in lotus-style and shifts his eyes to the T.V. "It's a harsh mistress. I'm kind of beat." "Sounds about right," Micah agrees with a soft chuckle. "A temporary harsh mistress while we get you whipped into shape. Just sore muscles, no skin irritation or bruises, right?" A whole lot of button pushing later gets the list of Farscape episodes up on the screen. "S'a lotta beat goin' 'round, too. Took Hive to 'is appointment t'day. Pretty much just got in an argument with Doctor Toure an' left. Schedulin' 'im at Sinai for the rest of 'is follow up. Then Eric found Dusk an' Ion's sneakin' 'im in t'see if we can't get 'im fed. It's just. A lotta things. Keeps /bein'/ a lotta things." "I used to think I /was/ in shape." There's soft amusement in Flicker's voice, even as his hand lifts to massage gently at one side of his chest. "Just the sore." Lips press thin while he rummages a spoon from his pocket, starting to dig into his dinner. "I heard..." He lowers the spoon back to the bowl. Untouched. "Hive's. Mostly just slept, since. Couldn't get dinner into him. You – okay?" "Hm. Don't feel bad. Y'should hear the complaints I get outta /soldiers/ goin' through this process who were on active duty right up until." Micah manages another smile, amusement breaking through even to his eyes. "S'been hard t'get Hive t'eat for a long time. Just hafta try again next time he's awake. I just... It's all bad enough. But then Hive, goin' through this an' can't even trust his doctor. An' Matt. S'been one betrayal after another for 'im. Guess I prob'ly get t'tell 'im the exact colour of this one, too." He finally settles the selector over an episode and starts it playing. "M'nervous as hell 'bout how this thing's gonna go down with Dusk. I'd volunteered t'go m'self 'fore Eric agreed to. Don't know if that'd be more or less nerve-wrackin'." "If they haven't been feeding him, probably better it was Eric." There's a somewhat grim tone to this quiet assertion. Flicker takes a bite of stew now. He looks away from the television as the episode starts, focusing on Micah instead. "What is its color?" "Oh, definitely better. If I'd gone, was gonna be with strict instructions t'have Ion pop me back /out/ at the Clinic with the O neg on tap. Didn't have no illusions 'bout how that was gonna go." Micah's head shakes slowly as he reaches for a cookie, which he proceeds to inspect rather than eating. "Not a pretty one. Rumours're true. Doc ain't given the research away yet, but he's plannin' to. Think he has been all along. An' he made it pretty clear he /don't/ care what Matt has t'say 'bout it. He tries t'make out like he b'lieves the cops'll use it t'save lives an' Themis'll use it t'help people who're too scared t'go to Mendel. But I can't think he's honestly that naive. The defence he gave of Themis was just...mechanical recitation of the things they've been sayin' t'avoid gettin' shut down." Flicker quiets, swapping his bowl out for his thermos so he can take a drink from it. "Line from Themis sounded /pretty/ much exactly like the line from Dr. Saavedro after that news broke." This is just quiet, a little pensive. “S'dif'rent when your entire organisation, the leader of your organisation, the face of your organisation, an' all the research behind your organisation are all in on...torture an' worse. This was one contractor chosin' t'use /voluntary/ research for purposes other than the what the organisation or volunteer thought. S'a pretty big dif'rence.” Micah frowns at his cookie. “That might even be the worst of it, though. That this'll take away what trust Mendel was able t'from with the community. That people'll stop comin' for help. On top of whatever this research gets misused for. Sure in the future we'll get better legal documentation limitin' uses on the research. It just...goes against the way most folks in medicine think. Usually wanna shout new discoveries from the tops of tall buildin's t'make sure folks're gettin' the best care. Won't make that mistake again. An'...m'gonna get all the legal papers regardin' Matt's research for 'im. Let Luci find people t'go over it. See if there's anythin' t'be done from that end.” He finally takes a bite from the cookie, chewing it thoughtfully. "I mean to say," Flicker says with a shake of his head, "that /you/ don't /know/ Themis was all in on it. You hear one story from them and assume they're all lying, and /basically/ the same thing from Dr. Saavedro and assume he's not. And I sure don't think /he/ is. But I also think you may be kind of quick to assume the worst about /them/ because --" He flushes, looking down at his food. "Well. We all kind of had /personal/ reasons for being pretty -- hurt by all that." Glancing up again, his shoulder lifts and falls. "But maybe they /didn't/ know what that creepy -- man was doing. I'm not saying I /like/ their mission or -- I just don't think /everything/ is this huge conspiracy of evil. And maybe this isn't, either." "Oh come /on/. Their entire operation was based on that research! An' Leone was leadin' it! That's a completely dif'rent story. An' /I'm/ quick t'assume they're lyin'?" Micah puts his cookie back down. "Hive threw me out of his house for defendin' the /possibility/ that they weren't out for evil. B /left/ 'cause ze thought I was actually insane for thinkin' that Neve didn't know what she was doin', or that she could turn herself around once she got her head on straight. Almost lost my /family/ over tryin' t'give them the benefit of the doubt, but /I'm/ quick to assume." He shakes his head again, slowly, looking up at the ceiling. "I'm not assumin' that Doctor Toure is evil. I just think he's overlookin' a lot t'give somethin' that ain't his t'give t'people who almost certainly plan to abuse it. M'gonna get a /good/ lawyer t'box me an' anyone else into a corner of what things're allowed t'be used for 'fore I start the first lick of /my/ research, better bet." "Neve knew what she was doing. Dr. Leone knew what he was doing. That doesn't mean they all did. If they started with a mission to help -- whatever they want to call it. Integrate mutants into /normal/ society. And this man offers them help doing that --" Flicker shakes his head, slumping back into the chair. "I disagree pretty strongly with the whole /premise/ they're pushing but I don't /know/ who was in on --" Another shake of head. "After /all/ he's done for us -- over and over and /over/ -- I just think his heart's in the right place. It seems a little harsh saying he just -- doesn't care." “I've said b'fore I don't know that it's the whole thing. But enough of 'em had t'be in on it that it's as good as. Prob'ly the lower level workers could be in the dark. But they had faked research reports, grant reports, tax reports, /everything/. Takes too many people on the upper end of an organisation t'be in on that for me t'give that group any kinda trust again.” Micah slumps further into his seat, head supported on the back so he can keep looking up at the ceiling more easily. “Can't say the doc don't /think/ he's doin' somethin' useful. But he's wrong. An' at the very least, he don't care 'bout what it does t'the Clinic an' he don't care 'bout what it does t'Matt. At least not enough t'/matter/.” "You know all that from one --" Flicker stops, pushing out a hard breath. "-- Nevermind. I don't want to argue with you. I just --" His eyes turn back to the television. "Miss knowing who our friends are." "Not just one conversation. /That/ s'been after he never warned Matt 'bout any of this. An' ain't bothered t'talk to 'im /once/ since he didn't need 'im as a test subject anymore." Micah cranks his head back up to a more neutral position slowly, as if the task is arduous. "Apologies, sugar, I don't mean t'be argumentative, I just... Spend so much time tryin' t'make excuses for people in m'own head an' they just keep blastin' through each an' every one of 'em. I don't know if I'm even able t'explain how much more of a disappointment it is when they keep provin' me wrong. An' B...weren't comin' from a completely off place bein' worried 'bout the way I trust folks. S'been becomin' nothin' if not /more/ apparent lately." He starts to chew at his bottom lip, notices this, then picks up the cookie to worry at with his teeth instead in small nibbles. "Miss it, too. Kinda glad this all happened /after/ I talked t'Taylor 'bout bein' part of m'project or I don't think I'd've had the heart t'ask 'im at all." Flicker's forehead rumples down into a frown. He stirs at his stew a little bit mechanically, teeth chewing at the inside of his cheek. Whatever is on his mind he doesn't voice. Just frowns over at Farscape until -- abruptly -- a smile pushes back onto his face. "Project? Taylor? What'd he say?" Micah blushes faintly at the questions, though some of the exhaustion lightens away from his features. "He said he was on board. S'gonna do some motion capture modellin' for how he uses his limbs. Dependin' how far we get on things, might add some functional MRI's to the mix. I'm lookin' t'create some entirely...novel options for upper limb replacements. S'been somethin' I been thinkin' on for awhile, with Horus, but Horus is kinda tough t'use for prototypes on account of just how unique his anatomy is." "Oh -- man. That would be amazing. If Horus could get his arms back -- or /better/ arms back." Flicker's smile comes easier on this thought. "That's -- pretty awesome, though. I'll have to --" He hesitates and then decides: "... get Jax to bake Taylor some thank you cookies." "Better's the end game. Stop relyin' on attempts t'mimic human anatomy when it's so far from what you'd go for t'develop efficient robotics otherwise." Micah nods in agreement. "Plenty of thanks t'be had, but I'm also plannin' t'compensate 'im for 'is time. Just depends who backs me an' how well as to...how much, really." He pulls the cookie away from his face, looking over at Flicker. "I'm glad you're thinkin' it's a good idea. 'Cause I wanted t'ask if you'd be willin' t'work with us, too. Y'know, once you're further along in your recovery." "You kidding, of course I'm in." Flicker reaches for his thermos again. Nestles with it comfortably back into his beanbag. "Had a dream -- was climbing again." He sounds wistful, a little bit. "With a pretty awesome new arm. Hand. Thing. Maybe. Maybe some day." “Excellent!” Well, that does a lot for Micah's mood, at least. “A dream?” His eyebrows draw upward, intrigued. “You'll hafta describe it for me. Might could help us along t'get ideas from any kinda place. An' we tend t'have more...interestin' dreams'n most folks 'round here, too.” "It was a nice dream. Just quiet. Happy. -- Hey, I just described it." The amusement in Flicker's expression now kind of contradicts the earnestness of his tone. "/Awesome/." “Good.” Micah plucks a napkin from the table to ball it up and chuck at Flicker's head, though his smile is clearly also amused. “I meant /details/, smart aleck. Gimme somethin' t'work with here!” Flicker tucks his thermos between his knees, hand lifting reflexively to snag the napkin out of the air. And chuck it right back. There's still a small smile lingering on him as he turns his attention to the show. But, a couple minutes later -- once he's had chance to mull it over -- he provides details. "/Really/ awesome."