ArchivedLogs:Tag Delivery

Tag Delivery
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Hive, Tag, Melinda	7 August 2013 Tag gets dropped off at Lighthaus.(Preceded by jailbreak and dinner, followed by Hanna-notification.)
Location <NYC> 303 {Lighthaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is cheerful, in its way -- bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a living room, small, though its sparse furniture and lack of clutter give it a more open feel. The decor is subdued and minimalist; black and white is the dominant theme, with occasional splashes of deep crimson to offset the monochrome, though of late myriad bright-coloured dragonflies swarm across the living room wall. The couch and armchair are upholstered in black corduroy, the low wide coffee table central is black wood and glass-topped, and a few large pillowy beanbags provide additional seating by the large windows that dominate the back wall. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Standing in front of the partition between living and cooking area is a large fish tank: one lone Betta, blood-red, swims regally among several species of black and silver fish. A hallway beyond the kitchen leads further into the apartment. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom, the door usually kept shut to hold in the acrid fumes of turpentine and paints from within. There has been /playground/, and there has been dinner, and there has been retrieving Spencer from his evening's playdate, and there has no doubt been /more/ playtime. And now there is /bed/time; after shepherding Spencer to bathtime and teethbrushing Jackson is tucked up on the edge of Spencer's bed, reading aloud from /A Wrinkle in Time/. Spencer is nestled snug under the covers, Wish Bear nestled in bed beside him but his robot spider clutched to his chest rather than any stuffed animal. While Jax is tending to the youngling, Micah is tending to the clean dishes in the drying rack, returning them to their homes in the cabinets. He has a towel tied to a belt loop of his multipatched jeans for wiping up stray puddles of water clinging to a dish here and there. Once the last cup is away, he unties the towel and lays it flat on a countertop to dry, tugging the hem of his bleach-speckled 'Stand Back I'm Going to Try Science!' xkcd shirt back into place. He has end-of-the-day hair muss, which is to say it is nearly back to the level of tousled it was when he got up that morning. << Knock knock. >> Out of respect for children's bedtime, this comes not as a knock on the door but -- unfortunately for Spencer's /caregivers/ -- as a intrusive mental POKE. It is, at least, far less abrasive than Hive's usual mindvoice; it does not /hammer/ in, it squeezes briefly, his words coming in a soft echoing sussuration of /many/ unified voices overlapping. He doesn't wait for anyone to open the door; he /has/ a key and he is unlocking the door shortly afterwards. << Brought company, >> is his second forewarning. Not /much/ forewarning, admittedly -- they're right here already! COMING IN. Hive looks sort of grungy, leftover still from work; heavy boots, heavy jeans flecked with dust, a loose blue flannel tossed on unbuttoned over a grungy white sleeveless undershirt. He looks -- somewhat vacant, a faintly glassy-eyed tinge to his somewhat unfocused expression. Shadowing Hive like a clingy dog, Tag is barely recognizable at first sight. His huge t-shirt, ancient gi pants, and canvas sneakers are all white, and so is the hair that covers most of his face. His skin has an unhealthy sallow cast that suggests he has not seen much sunlight, nor kept sufficiently hydrated. He has a tie-dye hemp cloth backpack slung over one shoulder, its colors striking against the white, and clutches the shoulder strap in both fists as if were the only thing keeping him upright. His mind is a mess: chains of looping song refrains, half-remembered pain, anatomy mnemonics, simmering rage, impossible geometry, ga te ga te pa ra ga te, and threads of ten thousand colors all tangled around the alien hulk of Hua Yong's implanted instructions. Stopping just inside the door, he searches the room around him through the curtain of white fringes, looking lost. Melinda follows in the rear, lips set in a permanent purse, looking the most put together of the three, in billowy navy trousers and a sleeveless white button down. She keeps glancing into the halls behind them, turning to immediately lock the door behind them. She turns to examine the room before a purely professional smile pulls at her lips, briefly disguising her concern. "Hello. I am dreadfully sorry about all of this, but when we broke him out, we didn't... I couldn't think of another option. We can't really take him home after this. How are you? Is this okay?" There's a brief hitch in Jax's reading when that mental squeeze comes, but after a moment he continues. The story, then, is the most prominent layer of his thoughts, but underlying this a sudden mingling; relief, concern. << You got him? >> comes first, and then, << What where broke him out? -- Hive there's a lot of you again. >> This is concerned, too. << Why are there a lot of you? >> << Hi, Hive. You don't have Royal Canterlot Voice today, >> Micah begins silently, switching to speaking when the door opens. "What's up?" He walks over to meet the new arrivals, his brows knitting into worry-face immediately upon seeing Tag. "Hi, Tag? Mel? What's going on? Are you sick? Do we need to call Io? Can I get you water or something?" He shepherds the group toward seats in the living room, gesturing at the furniture. Sit, sit now. "Broke him out? From where?" His thoughts race through as many questions and more, /faster/. Full fret mode activated! << We brought you a thing. >> Hive gestures in indication to Tag as though perhaps Micah would have missed this? << He needs a place to stay. His might be dangerous. Thought your spare -- everything, maybe. >> This comes with mental images of ALL the extra space Jax and Micah might potentially STASH a Tag. Twins' unused bedroom. Couch. Beanbags. The mattresses up in the Loft. Fire escape. Cabinets. Bathtub. Under the bed. << He's small, >> he points out helpfully. Tag unslings his pack but does not set it down, rather dangling it from scratched and bruised fingers. "I'm not sick," he says, sounding more absent than petulant. "Why do you always want to make me go to doctors? Wait, nevermind, I think I know." He bites his lower lip, slinks over to a beanbag and flops down sideways on it without letting go of his backpack. "I don't need any water, though. Thank you." His eyes start to slide shut, but do not close all the way. "Rehab. They broke me out from rehab." "We broke him out of a thought manipulating, brain programming, pseudo rehab that may not have been rehab at all." Melinda supplies helpfully, or not, her smile fading into a displeased purse of her lips once more. She rubs at one upper arm nervously, then moves to sit on the couch, back stiff. "No, I don't think I'll be suggesting doctors for a while now, Tag." She bites on her lip softly. In the bedroom, Jackson finishes his chapter, tucking the book back onto Spencer's bookshelf. The worry in his mind is, at the moment, directed perhaps as much at /Hive/ as it is at Tag, but for the moment he pushes it down. He pauses to kiss Spencer lightly on the cheek, tracing a small cross on the boy's forehead with his thumb before shutting the light off and leaving. "Rehab? But I thought you were already --" << /wasn't/ he already clean when he left you? I mean, not that that -- necessarily means much for long but. >> His brows pull together into a frown. "We're not putting him in the bathtub," he adds, a little distractedly. "Tag, honey-honey, you're welcome to stay here. But -- /why/ can't you go home? Was this like -- /prison/ rehab? I didn't know rehab, uh, came --" He gives Melinda a puzzled look. "Brain programming?" In his mind, this just summons up Promethean memories. "Hive. You're doin' that thing where you're not usin' your face for talkin' again," Micah points out, worry-creases not leaving his brow. "An' we got a whole empty /room/ an' all kindsa furniture, ain't no need for a body t'live in the bathroom. Or kitchen. Though the kitchen has cookies. D'you want cookies, hon? Or anythin' else?" The offers are directed primarily at Tag, but seem to be open to anyone. "I'm glad you're not sick, Tag, but y'don't /look/ well. D'you just want t'sit? Or lie down? I only suggested doctors that /one/ time 'cause you got /hit by a motor vehicle/. I think it was warranted." He frowns at Melinda's provided descriptions of the place from which Tag was retrieved. "Brain programmin'...that sounds horribly Orwellian. An' prob'ly was not a good rehab. Don't go there." Micah brushes a hand along Jax's shoulder when he arrives, checking in quietly. "Spence get t'sleep alright?" << Evil rehab, >> Hive offers, by way of explanation to all of them. << We're going to need to find Lucien or someone and undo the damage. Can he stay here, in the meanwhile? >> To Jax and Micah alone, this time, he adds, << It might not be /safe/. His dad is a scary-ass motherfucker. We don't know if he'll come find him here. But hoping not. >> "It was less prison and more solitary confinement with a bit of sensory deprivation thrown in?" Tag's voice replies from the white pile of cloth and hair. "I /could/ go home, but...my sister knows where the apartment is, which means my dad knows the apartment is, 'cuz he reads minds, apparently. Or at least he /writes/ minds, I have no idea if he can actually read them." He sits up abruptly. "Although, if he can, that would be pretty bad." << Because then he would know who all of my friends are and where they live. >> "He seemed like he maybe could, but not very /well/?" Falling back down onto his side, Tag curls up into a loose fetal position. "Can I just...lie here for a /little/ while? Then I'll go...somewhere he won't think of. Staten Island or something." A long pause, a strange, wordless ripple of humor. "Maybe Jersey." "I... I don't know if I should be here," Melinda remarks quietly. "I mean, I know where you are now and if he reads minds, then all he has to do is come looking for you at home and this is all kind of pointless." She rubs at her face gently and closes her eyes as her knuckles rub against the sides of her nose. "You know someone who can help me forget? I … I don't want to make this all for nothing." After another moment of worriedly gnawing on her lip, she looks up at Micah. "Cookies might be good. Is there any chocolate?" Hands reach back as her fingers start sectioning her hair and twisting it into a braid. Jax bites down on his lip, glancing between the others. "Y'can lie down, sure. Look like you need some rest, anyway. I -- don't think you should go t'Staten Island, y'may as well /never/ have left prison if you're gonna go live there." His lips twitch slightly at this, though the amusement is short-lived. "S'plenty'a cookies," he agrees with Micah. "Oh! -- Hanna wanted to know. How you was doing, she's been real worried, we only just saw her." His brows crease, his posture shifting slightly to lean into Micah's touch. "-- Yeah, Spence got to sleep fine. Seems like a good idea, really. Maybe tomorrow we can talk 'bout this /Jersey/ thing. I -- think even /if/ he's a telepath he'd be hard-pressed to out-brain Hive. /We'll/ be fine. Want to make sure you will be, /too/." His teeth drag against his lip, wiggling at a lip ring. "-- know a couple people," he says uncertainly to Melinda. "Maybe. I don't know, memory-changing is --" This just ends in a big QUESTIONMARK in his mind, mostly directed at Hive. << Ugh. Who /isn't/ scary an' potentially comin' after folks here? Maybe they'll all just run into each other in the hallway an' keep one another busy while we sneak out the fire escape, >> Micah thinks wryly. "Honey, you're prob'ly safer here. 'Less you actually have other /friends/ in Jersey or wherever. Hidin' out all on your own is definitely a /last/ option." He steps over to Mel, giving her a reassuring back pat as she voices her concerns, then immediately dismisses himself to the kitchen once someone seems interested in cookies. He returns with both containers, chai cookies in one and chocolate-cayenne in the other, and holds them out to Mel first. If no one else shows particular interest, he deposits the containers on the coffee table. "Yes, it'd prob'ly be best for folks to get some rest," he seconds Jax. << Maybe, >> Hive agrees with Micah's thought, << that would be most convenient, for sure. >> He doesn't take cookies; doesn't even seem to notice cookies, at first. << We know someone, >> he answers Jax and Melinda. << Who can help. You and Tag both, maybe. We'll ask. >> The mention of Hanna pulls his brows together; it takes a moment longer before his eyes refocus on Jax. "I'll tell her," he says. And that, apparently, is that; he's turning to head towards the door, already, sans farewell. "I like cookies..." Tag attempts to lever himself up again, but succeeds only in rolling himself prone. Even without access to his mind it is patently obvious that he will not be eating anything. "Thank you..." he mutters into the beanbag. It is hard to tell whom he is thanking, or if the words have wound their way out from the inception of some unquiet dream. "Please don't turn out the lights..." Melinda takes two of the chocolate cayenne cookies and stacks them in one hand, her eyes watching Hive turn to leave. Then she exhales as Tag rolls over to go to sleep. Then she looks up sheepishly at Jax and Micah. "I... I don't honestly know what to do now. I can answer some more questions, but I don't know everything. Hive left me out just in case I had to smack him out of some of the mental conditioning he was going up against." She exhales and purses her lips, gaze resting on her roommate. "Just want to help him, you know?" Jackson's lips twitch slightly, at those last words. "Honey-honey, you're in /my/ house, I don't think it's ever dark in here." He nabs himself a spicy-chocolate cookie (Lord only knows how many he's /already/ had tonight), and then slips away to the closet beside the bathroom, opening it to rummage through for some clean sheets. The ones he emerges with are old, somewhat faded though still rather cheerfully festooned with Care Bears. He drapes a sheet over Tag, stooping to kiss him lightly on the forehead before returning to Micah's side. "... I don't rightly know, either," he admits softly to Melinda. "Give him a safe place to be, I guess. D'you need one, too? What, um -- what kinda --" His brow creases, head turning for a moment to flick his gaze back towards Spencer's closed bedroom door. His arm snakes around Micah's waist as his attention returns to Mel and Micah. "-- What kinda danger /are/ we talkin', exactly?" "Take care of yourself," Micah calls after Hive as he heads for the door, watching him as he makes his exit. He sighs, giving his head a shake as if to clear it once the telepath is gone. "You can /have/ cookies," he offers Tag, though he doesn't press the matter when the smaller fellow ends up face-down in beanbag. "Or sleep. Sleep is also a viable option. We can leave the light on, no problem." Micah's voice is soft, as if addressing a child. "Mel-honey, it might be best if you don't go home tonight, either, if there's scary folks as know where you live. Would you be okay stayin' here? The twins' room is open, an' the loft. It looks like Tag's gonna zonk out right where he is, anyhow." When Jax comes close again, Micah's hand rests lightly on the back of his neck, as if out of habit, rubbing gently at the muscles there. "It would be nice t'have an idea what we're dealin' with, yeah." "Well," Melinda begins, tiredly, holding her cookies for moral support rather than consuming them. "We initially stopped by his sister's work place to try and get an answer, as the three times I called her about Tag, I kept getting the same answer, 'he's in rehab, he went voluntarily, he's fine.' That's an understatement though. I kept getting the same answer, verbatim. It gets unbelievably annoying when the person you are talking to can't change the way they are saying things. It felt a little disrespectful at first, like she had a prepared script and I didn't deserve more of her time or attention. "Then we went to her office, Hive and I. Not only did she give the same exact answer, verbatim, with the same inflection, she would drop into it during conversation in the most eerie fashion. Hive said she was programmed to say that. Programmed to tell everyone that and to believe it herself, and that Tag didn't want to see her, so she couldn't visit either." She shakes her head and eyes the cookies. "Her father did it to her and she was defending him. I... It was sad, but it also made my skin crawl." She swallows hard and looks up. "Hive managed to get the location of the facility and we went over to take a look. It was one thing after another there. They had him blindfolded and locked in a prison room, treating him like shit and scared of him at the same time." She shakes her head. "I don't know what all his father did to him, but he couldn't even take off the blindfold. It was a simple velcro and he couldn't take it off. Maybe couldn't even run away if the guards left the door open..." She trails off, distracted. Jackson stays where he is, quiet, brow creasing slowly deeper as he listens to Melinda. His arm tightens around Micah, head leaning back just slightly into the touch; around him, there's a faint glimmer of unsteady light, flickering pale against his skin. "Oh -- oh. That -- sounds --" He doesn't finish this sentence; instead, he steps forward to wrap his arms around Melinda in a tight hug. "I'm glad you guys found him, honey-honey, but I don't -- that sounds -- I think maybe you /should/ stick around here? At least for -- until we know. If they're gonna -- what they're gonna --" His head shakes. "... sometimes," he says, a little more wry, "I just feel a /real/ strong need to call my folks and /thank/ them for how good I got it with them. How could someone -- /why/ would someone -- ngh." Micah listens quietly to Melinda's narrative, eyes widening now and then at additional details. "Mmn, y'know, I keep thinkin' I've heard my fill of horrible for the week, when all of the sudden...surprise, more horrible!" He fusses his free hand through his hair. "You should definitely stay where there's more friendly-people t'watch out for you, hon. At the very least...someone would /know/ if a body is tryin' t'take over your brains for somethin'." Micah reaches for Jax's arm, plucking it up to place a kiss on the inside of its wrist. "Prob'ly y'should wait t'call 'em 'til the mornin'. It's gettin' on the late side for early-risin' folks." Melinda nods mechanically and sighs. "Yeah." She is starting to sound exhausted, still staring at a point on the ground near the other men's feet. "I should get some milk." Yep, she's totally getting up now. "Tian-shin knows where I live and where I work. It's a very strange and uncomfortable feeling, knowing that the two places I spend the most time are no longer safe - not for me, but because I could betray Tag without being able to stop myself around some boogeyman I haven't seen before. The whole concept is disturbing." Jackson steps back when Melinda gets up, just nodding, a little tired. His fingers curl to brush against Micah's cheek for that kiss. "There's almond an' coconut both in the fridge right now. Maybe a hazelnut in the cabinet if y'want to open it. Um --" His brows crease. "You can have the twins' room for now. I'll put fresh sheets in. An' we'll -- we'll figure this out. Even if things get kinda rocky I think 'tween everyone we can --" This trails off, his eye closing as he drops his arm slowly to loop it back around Micah's waist. "All the horrible's just trying to keep us on our toes, is all." His tone is light, here, but it's a sort of /brittle/ forced levity contrasted by the tired slump of his posture at Micah's side. "We got all kindsa not-milk. An' neighbours t'steal real milk from, if you really need it. I can totally... Everybody's exhausted. Let me get things if y'need 'em." Micah presses his lips into a thin line, watching Mel. "Honey, this is a temporary measure. We're gonna...figure somethin' better. Just need a place for you t'be able t'sleep without worryin' yourself awake all night for now." He pulls Jax closer when he goes brittle-slumpy. The concerns over additional possibilities for danger remind him of something. He nods to himself before explaining to the other man's shoulder, "There's...um. Somethin' I need t'give you later. Tonight. Just...later." "You guys... can go do your thing. Really. I'm just thirsty, you know? Need a little liquid to help the cookies go down. Almond milk is great." Mel sets the cookies down on the counter and heads over to where the glasses are, getting herself one and then pouring herself almond milk. "I'll stick around here for now, I mean the living room, keep an eye on Tag. He might not... actually believe his senses right now. Maybe. I don't know. Hive does. And then we'll both move to the twins' room until we figure this all out." She takes a sip of her milk and then starts in on her first cookie. "Okay. Okay. Help yourself to -- anything in the kitchen if you need. There's plenty'a food. Caffeine. Things." Jackson pulls himself away from Micah after another squeeze. "Mmm? Lemme just -- get --" His brows crease. "Things. Sheet-things. For Mel. Then we can -- maybe we can sleep, too." His nose crinkles. "S'still a worknight. How come crisises can't wait for the weekend?" He heads towards the closet again to retrieve /more/ sheets (these ones are black and dotted with rainbow stars) for Mel, setting them down still folded on the arm of the couch. He heads back to the kitchen, offering Melinda another hug and a peck on the forehead. "Don't feel bad 'bout knockin' if you need anything, honey-honey." "Okay, yeah. Get whatever. Sorry. Got into worry mode an' pulled you into it," Micah says to Mel with a sheepish half smile. "You're welcome t'crash wherever. Plenty of space. Hive said he knew someone who might be able t'help with the brain-breaky, so hopefully that'll...make 'im less. That." Hazel eyes glance over at Tag as teeth meet with lower lip. "Nothin' ever happens when y'got /time/ for it. That would be too easy." Jax gets an actual grin as he heads out for bedding. Micah gets in line for Mel hugs. "Yep. Know y'didn't exactly pack an overnight bag. Think we should have most of the essentials around, though. Try t'get sleep yourself an' not just watch /him/ sleep, okay?" Melinda hugs Jax and Micah in turn, mostly quiet now that all of the information she has to impart is imparted. She gives them both weak little smiles when they pull away, but she mostly looks exhausted. "I'll try to sleep. Just... a lot on my mind." She nods to Micah when he offers stuff. "If you just want to throw out a tee shirt and some shorts for me to sleep in, that'd be wonderful. I'm going to eat and drink and then just... go to sleep myself. Promise. No sitting up and fretting as much as possible." "M'kay. Good. Sleep's -- pretty important." Jackson glances over towards Tag, then away to Spencer's door. "We'll see you in the mornin', then?" The smile he offers Melinda is tired, but warm. "G'night, honey-honey." He turns to disappear off into his bedroom. "Sure thing, hon. I'll...prob'ly let Jax find you clothes. He has nicer clothes." Micah chuckles softly, waving to Mel as he follows Jax down the hall. "G'night."