ArchivedLogs:Time and Place
| Time and Place | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-09-07 ' |
| Location
<NYC> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village | |
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. Saturday morning, Lucien's house is filled with brunch smells. Sausage frying in a pan, pancakes on the griddle, a host of ingredients (diced onions, avocado, grated cheese, black beans, tomatoes) sitting on the table waiting to be added to omelettes. Lucien is tending, currently, not any food but a pot of tea, mixing together leaves from two different tins to set them to steep. He is dressed casually -- dark jeans, a white button-down with sleeves rolled up above his elbows -- a faintly rumpled look to his attire. Melinda does not profane Lucien's house by bringing coffee to brunch, but she does come smelling like it. Instead. She brings delicate almond pastries in a box from a nice bakery somewhere between here and Soho. The large bag over her shoulder indicates that she must have changed at work. She is busily removing her bangs from the pins that held them back at work, fluffing and flattening them in her cellphone's reflection to attempt to look normalish. She turns and sniffs her shoulder before frowning and rolling her eyes. Then she rings the door bell and waits. Micah is serving primarily as /chauffeur/ this morning, ferrying Jax and Spencer to Lucien's to drop Spence off for a weekend kiddie playdate. He is dressed simply in a blue and green plaid button-down worn open over a plain white T-shirt and jeans. His usually-messy auburn hair looks like he may have spent a few minutes attending to it this morning, and it is still early enough to be in some semblance of order. Of course, Spencer /bolts/ for the front door the moment his feet hit the ground, but at least he's not teleporting? Micah shrugs and heads off at a loping sort of jog in attempt to keep Spencer from arriving /too/ far in advance of his caretakers. "Oh! It's a Mel! Hihi!" Jackson's greeting is cheerful as he hops down out of the van, arriving not so much bringing as brought /by/ Spencer. "What'd you bring? Is it cookies, can I have some?" Spencer is stretching up onto his toes to peek into Mel's bag shamelessly, once he arrives at the door. Jackson bounces along to follow the others, bright-coloured in a black and red-plaid pleated skirt, red t-shirt reading 'All my heroes have FBI files', glittery makeup, chunky silver-and-black sneakers. He has a bag of his own, draped over one shoulder, fingers curled around its handle. "We /brought/ cookies, Spence -- /hi/ sorry, I didn't know you were --" He gestures towards Lucien's door. "We're just um. Invading your social time with SmallThings." It is not Lucien who answers the door but Sera, matching Spencer for energy as she pulls it open to beam up at the people outside. "Woahyou'reglittery /are/ there cookies? You don't," she's tipping her head to the side to look at Micah curiously, "/look/ like a robot." Lucien appears in the entryway shortly thereafter, looking over the others with a quick tick of gaze, a quiet blankness on his face. "Melinda." His voice is, at least, warm; he nudges the door further open to gesture them inside. "There are pancakes. Omelettes, if you like. I could," he offers after a moment, "prepare some of the ingredients with tofu instead of egg." Presumably this invitation is to Jackson, though his gaze only skips over the photokinetic briefly. "Would any of you care for tea?" comes his next question, and after this, green eyes settling on Micah, "-- Are you feeling any better, today?" Melinda is wearing a simple tee shirt dress in a mauve purple, one that hangs down to her knees. There is a decorative belt around her waist and sandals on her feet, both in some metallic shade of gold or platinum, worn enough to appear soft. She blinks a little in surprise at a sudden (though not teleport style) Spencer and laughs a little a moment later. "Those are my clothes, hun. I did bring something to eat. They're called bear claws, hun. Almond paste and phyllo dough. you'll have to ask your dad if you want some." She turns and glances at Jackson. "They're not vegan. If it's okay?" Mel turns and smiles when the door opens, looking at Lucien head height level before glancing down at the actual head of the person come to let them in. "Hello, Sera." She turns to smile at Lucien, but finds his blankness disconcerting. Her lips relax as her brow knits and she nods a greeting. "Lucien." When he addresses Micah, however, she turns and frowns at him. "You weren't well?" There's a hectic sort of energy to move the party into the house that overcomes Mel and she turns back toward Lucien and leans in to press her cheek to his in a kiss of greeting before slipping inside and moving to take off her shoes. Micah pulls himself to a halt, needing a few extra steps to decelerate appropriately. This brings him rather close up to Mel, so he kind of rolls with it, wrapping an arm around her shoulders in a little half-hug. "Good morning, Mel! Didn't know you'd be here. We're being a Spencer delivery system." He nods to indicate the bouncing child in front of them, when suddenly the amount of bouncy-child is doubled in the form of Sera. Her enthusiasm earns a smile and a little chuckle as he crouches down to be at a better kid-level. "That's because I'm a /stealthy/ robot. I think Lucien wants people back inside, but if he doesn't mind, I can show you somethin' really neat." His fingertips tap against his knee to illustrate. "I'm fine," he reassures Lucien and Mel simultaneously as he straightens back to standing. "Oh! Oh --" For a brief moment, Jackson's brow creases, his gaze flicking from the box of pastries to Spencer. He shrugs a shoulder, a little stiffly after a beat of delay, slipping in behind the others to toe his shoes off by the door, too. His socks are mismatched; one is bright orange with a grumpy scowling face on it, the other black and covered in pirate skulls. "He's totally a robot," Spencer is /quick/ to reassure Sera with a touch of defensiveness, "/and/ he makes other people into robots /too/." "I brought -- cookies and -- scones." Jackson holds the bag out towards Lucien, though there's still a faint frown lingering on his expression. He glances over to Micah with his teeth briefly wiggling at his lipring. "Feeling better? What was -- y'aright, honey-honey?" His tone is still light, at least, though his eyes linger on Micah a long moment. "Melinda is here for brunch. And, perhaps, to help me weather the --" Lucien gestures towards the BouncyChild duo, a small smile curling onto his lips. "I do not believe he is a robot, I believe he is a cyborg." He returns Melinda's small cheek-kiss with two of his own, one to each cheek with a small flutter of warmth accompanying the touch. There is the faintest lift of his eyebrows at Micah's reply and Jackson's questioning, though it evens out soon after into his previous neutral expression. "Inside, outside, I do not mind. Though the backyard is more hospitable than the sidewalk. /I/ will be in the kitchen, though." He reaches to relieve Melinda of her pastries and Jax of his bag. "Are you, really?" It's a mild question, absent and almost casual. "I am glad to hear it. As chaotic as things have been for you, a touch of stress is more than understandable." He is already drifting back to the kitchen, newly delivered foods in hand. Sera is /not/ heading back to the kitchen, though; she's circling closer to Micah to /inspect/ his pants when he taps at his knee. "Cyborg-robot," she corrects herself, "Are you in /disguise/?" Melinda hands over the box of pastries and leaves her bag by the shoes in the entryway, not really needing to change again. "Guys, guys, the definition of a cyborg is that there is some percent of person involved, flesh and blood. Robots have zero percent human. One cannot be turned into a robot. One can only be replaced by a robot... and Micah certainly doesn't do that." She draws in a deep breath as she turns to look toward Micah, perhaps a little sheepish. "Well, you don't." There's still concern in her expression, but she allows Jackson to question Micah as she follows Lucien into the kitchen. "The tea smells delightful." "'Cyborg' is technically more accurate," Micah concedes with a nod and an amused, lopsisded grin. "Just doesn't tend to be in /most/ young-child lexicons." He steps inside to remove his shoes, kneeling on his right leg to work the shoe off of the prosthetic foot and then rolling the cuff of his jeans up over the prosthesis to just above the knee. "An' it's not a /disguise/ so much as bein' really well-crafted. Blends in." His gaze travels back and forth between Jackson and Lucien for a moment. "Really, guys, I'm fine. I was just talkin' with Lucien yesterday about gettin' Hive fixed up again, after he over-extended himself /again/. An' he had me'n Flicker really worried. An' Dusk's been...rough. An' I still gotta talk t'you about the twins later," he reminds Jax. "Was just. Bein' a big worry-face for a little bit." "Ain't sure we got /most/ young-childs," Jackson says with a laugh. "See?" Spencer sounds vindicated as he nudges Sera closer to Micah. "/Totally/ a -- cyborg. He could make you a cyborg, too. Like with laser eyes." "I don't -- know if laser eyes is -- I mean Sera's eyes already work totally fine." Jackson lines his shoes up neatly by the door; he starts to trail after Lucien, but stops in the living room doorway to look back at Micah. "Oh -- /oh/, right, Hive's -- we should -- that's happenin' this weekend, right, I could --" He turns to look back towards the kitchen, "-- write you a check, I don't know if Hive --" His teeth wiggle at his lip ring, and he leans a shoulder against the doorframe, a small smile on his face as he watches the children. His teeth dig further against his lip as he looks up to Micah's face, though. "Oh -- okay. I -- you /sure/ you're okay, cuz /Lucien/ -- ain't quite much of a worry-face himself." "No my eyes are okay I want a /rocket pack/," Sera decides, dropping to her own knees in front of Micah. "/Cool/. You're the first cyborg I know! Well -- maybe, I mean." She reaches out to poke at Micah's knee, thoughtfully. "Maybe Matt was. When he was riding in his lightcycle. What about can you make a unicorn horn? Could you make /Jax/ a gun-eye? He has a --" Her finger taps beneath her own eye, now. "Space." "Micah is certainly most-parts human," Lucien acknowledges, after Melinda's clarification. "-- Does that mean, though, that installing cybernetics on me or -- Sera. Would count as 'robot' properly?" He returns to kitchen bustling, flipping over the pancakes, retrieving cups and saucers for the tea. "That was --" He is commenting, still, absent-casual almost to himself, his gaze slanting out of the kitchen towards the entryway, "a lot of explaining how /other/ people have been feeling." "Oh, I meant replacing them 100. Partials are always cyborgish." Melinda purses her lips and leans against a counter, glancing out of the room toward Micah. "He has a point," she offers softly. "How are you holding up, Micah?" "I'm kinda limited to parts /replacement/ as opposed t'just addin' new parts for now, sorry. An' no laser-eyes or gun-eyes or whatever. Strictly non-weaponized cyborgs for me. Though I /could/ make a unicorn horn as a costume piece. Just t'be pretty. Might wanna talk t'Bastian about anythin' with rockets, though," Micah half-teases. He stays in his half-kneel long enough for Sera to start to get bored with the leg inspection, then works his pantsleg back into its appropriate configuration. "Puttin' parts on anybody's pretty much just makin' cyborgs, yeah. But, like I said. Kids /get/ 'robot'. Cyborg just sounds funny." Micah pulls himself back to his feet. A pale pink starts to seep across his cheeks as he is met with /several/ pairs of eyes aimed his direction once he straightens. "Ohgosh. Hi. I'm not, like, sick or anythin', I promise. Just. Fretful. At all that other people stuff. An' what we're doin'. With all the situations that keep happenin'. S'just. The usual stuff." He follows the general flow of traffic toward the kitchen, but only makes it a handful of steps before stopping again. "I think -- Lucien meant that -- there ain't no /human/ in us to begin with. So if part-human's the dividing line --" Jackson is a little quieter, here, a flush of colour creeping into his cheeks. "What about /watergun/-eye?" Spencer presses hopefully, tugging Sera back once Micah is getting to his feet. "I /bet/ Bastian could make you a rocketpack, his new robots /fly/." He is following the smell of food to the kitchen, now, climbing onto a stool by the counter to survey the preparations. "Can I help?" Jackson doesn't follow the kitchen-exodus; he stays in the doorway between entryway and living room, reaching out a hand for one of Micah's. "Micah-honey, I don't think -- there's a whole lot of 'usual' about none of our situations lately, it's --" His nose crinkles up, hand squeezing at Micah's. "-- Well, fretful's more'n understandable. But you don't gotta -- I mean, /we/ get kinda worry-face about /you/ too, y'know. You don't gotta -- apologize. For havin' feelings." "What about a /bubble-shooter/ eye?" Sera doesn't get bored so much as easily distracted, poking at RobotLeg but /just/ as happy to zip off towards the kitchen with Spencer. "Can I have a --" She pokes a finger towards Melinda's box of pastries. Doesn't know what they are. But /wants/ one. "There does seem a common /thread/ through some of you. The more you worry about others, the less you tend to your own needs. Perhaps there is just -- a finite amount of worrying in each person," Lucien suggests softly, "and it has all been used up before it can get to Micah." He takes the basket of tea out of the pot, emptying the leaves into a small trashcan for compost. "With everything happening lately, is it much surprise that he worries?" Melinda pokes Lucien's shoulder lightly so as to not interrupt anything he's working on. "We're all humans here, Lucien, Jax. Granted, some of you are more spectacular than Micah and myself, but you're still human beings." She draws in a breath an purses her lips, then moves to the cabinet to find the place. "Are we saving sweets for dessert, or can I start the kids on the cookies?" She brings out some small place and sets them next to the box she brought. She glances out toward Micah, then turns toward the kids. "You guys hungry? Can I make you anything?" Micah reaches out and toussles Spencer's hair as he passes rather than actually answering the water pistol question. The bubble-shooter addition earns much the same treatment. As expected, the children's attention is soon elsewhere, anyhow. There are sweets to be had, after all! "Just means 'cybernetic organism'. So you can have a cyborg dog or a cyborg giraffe or a... You know I hate that," he finally responds, softly, to the 'human' distinctions, his eyelids pressed closed. "It's so counterproductive an' divisive an'...I know you don't even mean it that way, sorry." The flush deepens, crawling its way to the back of his neck, as well. When Jax takes his hand, Micah's gaze is drawn down to it. "I know. You just /shouldn't/. Be worryin' about me. Everybody's got /so much/ goin' on already. An' it's the only thing I can even do. Is t'take care of... Makin' sure people are eatin' an' sleepin' an' have a place t'stay an' rememberin' not t' overuse their abilities an' /aren't/ havin' t'worry so much. If /I/ just turn into one more worry, then..." His shoulders rise and fall in a floppy shrug. "Then what am I /doin'/ anyway?" "I want a pancake /and/ a cookie." Spencer is leaning forward to sniff at the tea uncertainly. "-- And this?" "Spence can have what he likes, s'kinda a bottomless pit'a food anyway, I don't think he's gonna turn down pancakes, cookies or no cookies. /Um/ stay away from the caffeine, though -- y'got juice maybe?" Jax glances towards the kitchen with a quiet perking; his incessantly ravenous metabolism means it's /rare/ that he turns down food, but /this/ time he just shakes his head and turns back to Micah. "M'sorry, honey-honey, I know you --" His cheeks flush, too. His brows crease, and his voice is quieter, low now for Micah alone rather than the contingent in the kitchen. "-- Micah-honey, you do /so/ /much/ for everyone. You couldn't /never/ be -- just one more worry, you're --" His blush deepens. "-- always /here/. Through so much terrible an' -- and if you just spend all your time lookin' after everyone and I ain't allowed to look after /you/, I don't know what we're --" He swallows, glancing towards the kitchen and then back at Micah. "-- m'sorry this probably ain't the place to. Um. I just. Want you to -- take care'a yourself. To let me --" His hand tightens in Micah's, teeth sinking down into his lower lip. "Sera, omelette first. /Then/ dessert." Lucien's lips press together at Jax's more liberal answer, eyes skipping from the children out to the pair in the living room, and then back. "There is orange juice in the fridge. And pineapple. Melinda, would you like an omelette?" He is cracking eggs into a bowl, now. "-- My apologies, Micah. I was under the impression you two were in a relationship." This, in the same quiet-neutral tone as before. It is followed by a small twitch of a smile on his lips that fades quickly. "/I/ meant it that way." Quiet, but firm. "Sure, Lucien," Melinda replies, voice quiet. She starts fetching plates and moves to the griddle to push the first two onto plates. "Did you want to eat at the same time as Sera, Spencer, or are you starving now?" She glances toward the bowl of batter and then looks to Lucien. "You want me to pour more?" The griddle can wait. Instead she turns away and starts getting glasses of juice. "Which did you want, Jax?" Eee, everyone is apologizing (even if some of them aren't /exactly/ the most sincere)! "No, don't. I know...it's not." Micah somehow seems to shrink in on himself without actually /moving/ anywhere. "I've...made everythin' all awkward now. Maybe. You're right, this isnt'. The best time to..." Already seeming to have developed an allergy to complete sentences, Micah falls quiet entirely at the last series of comments from Lucien, just...silently shifting through an array of redder shades. "Orange juice and pineapple juice, or orange juice /with/ pineapple juice, I'm allergic --" Jackson frowns, shaking his head. "It's alright, actually, I don't need -- thanks, though. We'd really just come to -- I don't mean to interrupt your --" His cheeks are still deep red. "Sorry. -- Sorry." He lets go of Micah's hand, taking a half-step back. "Um -- are y'all good for -- I'm pickin' Spence back up in the afternoon, right?" He seems disinclined to head towards the kitchen, taking a half-step back towards the door instead, his hands dropping to join together in front of himself. "I'm /starving/ now." Spencer is watching the pancakes with wide eyes. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth. "Where's Gaetan is he eating I'm going to eat his pancake too. And his cookies. I helped make them," he informs Melinda proudly. "They have chocolate and orange." "Orange juice, and pineapple juice. Separate. But," Lucien looks upwards with a perfectly /pleasant/ smile, "perhaps the two of you should be going. I had no intention of encroaching upon your day; I am sure you have much to --" He waves a vague gesture in the air with his whisk, before he begins whisking the eggs. "We should be home by three. I have work at five. You can fetch him any time between then. -- Gaetan is upstairs, I am sure he will /appear/ when there is food for him to eat." He glances for just a moment longer towards Jax and Micah, but then turns his attention to Melinda. The smile fades back into quiet composure. "We are going to the theatre. There will be --" His brow furrows, slightly. "Puppets." Melinda fills a glass with orange juice and takes one of the plates of pancake into the next room, setting them both down on the table. "Get a fork and then you can eat, Spencer." She gives them a little smile then walks over to Micah, giving him a hug. "Give me a call some time when you're free. We'll go out, have a nice time, okay?" She then turns toward Jackson for a hug as well. "That goes for you, too. I'd love to hang out some time. Maybe after Food Not Bombs? We'll have a cleaning dish party or something." Micah's eyes hadn't left their lock onto Jax's hand, his gaze sliding its way to the floor when it lets go of his own. His head nods slightly at the plans laid out for the day, and for later Spencer-retrieval. He gives Mel a little one-armed squeeze in return for her hug, nodding again at the instructions to call. "Yeah...sorry. Um. Have a good...thing," he supplies vaguely, moving to collect his shoes and tie them back on his feet. "Oh, you're not --" Jackson begins to protest immediately, but then blushes deeper still, the air around him tinging faintly pink. "Oh, /right/, sorry, um -- let's -- we should --" He quiets, reaching to squeeze Melinda in a tight hug. "I'll see y'tomorrow then prob'ly? You for Hive," to Lucien, "an' you for FnB." He punctuates the hug with a small kiss on the cheek, and is still blushing deeply as he goes to put on his shoes, too, and open the door. "Bye! Thanks for -- um. See you, Spence!" This last is at least back into cheerful, though Jax's head ducks afterwards, hand squeezing tight at the doorknob as he holds it open for Micah. Lucien glances towards the others as they leave. "Tomorrow, yes." He offers a small neat smile, and turns his attention back to whisking eggs. "How are," he asks Melinda only once the men are on their way, "/you/ doing? Better, I hope, than all that? -- Though admittedly, I am hardly the best judge of --" His eyes lower to his food. "Interpersonal relations." Melinda nods to the departing pair and heads back to the kitchen, pouring more batter on the griddle after a fresh, coating of oil. "Come now, after all that, what am I going to say?" She chuckles lightly and rubs at her eyes when she's done ladling, attention locked on the sizzling mixture. "Things have been shitty all over, but I've got support. How about you? Still hanging in there? What's this about Hive and his head and check writing?" "Do you have /enough/ support?" Lucien's brows raise, his tone quiet and his eyes sweeping Mel thoughtfully. "After all /that/, I should hope what you say is -- whatever is the truth. Hiding just nets you --" His eyes flick towards the door. He scrapes the sausages off /their/ pan onto a plate, pouring out two cups of tea afterwards. "Hive's head has been somewhat overtaxed, of late, it seems. I --" He turns one hand up in a shrug. "Provide services that help /many/ people when they are overtaxed." "I have some support," Mel admits. "I have them, in their own way. Have Jim, I guess. I have you, when you're not too busy. I get little bits here and there of what I need from people who can spare it. My roommates - the ones I have left - are dear too." With a hint of strain in her voice, she explains, her free hand waving a bit to the side as she starts flipping the pancakes. "Strangely enough, I look forward to being at work, most of the time, these days. My coworkers have really started to band together and i feel safe there, even when the place has asshole customers and anti-mutant troublemakers. There's this one guy - Corey. Can't figure out the right words to say to anyone half the time, but he's still nice to be around. Kind of like a kid brother, I suppose." She trails off after a while and glances toward Lucien. "Ah. Well, it's good to know. Not necessarily because I think I have people to send to you - but that Hive is getting some help." "The ones you have left?" Lucien's eyebrows tick upwards at this. He is preparing an omelette, now that the eggs have been whisked, sprinkling ingredients into the pan. "I am glad you have a place that feels safe, at the least. With as terrible as everything keeps getting, I just hope it is -- enough." His eyes skip to the children at the kitchen table, and then back to his pan. "I am sorry that I am often scarce. I will make an effort to be more -- present. Are you and Jim -- I am never quite certain what you and Jim are." "Oh. I don't think we're anything. Sometimes we understand each other and there's comfort, but most of the time we fight." Mel flips the pancakes and then plates them, pouring the rest of the batter on to cook afterward. "There... was a thing with one of my roommates. Apparently, his father was extremely overbearing and psionic, so we had to get him - and his sister, in the end, out from his influence. I don't know if he'll be able to live with me again, but I can cover the rent for now and I think things may be over, but no one's sure." She tries to play it down, but she's still somewhat raw. "Don't apologize. When you're around, you're wonderful. We all have a lot to deal with and I want to be as much help to you as you are to me." "-- Goodness." Lucien pauses, momentarily, leaving his omelette sizzling in its pan. "Overbearing /and/ psionic. I never thought I would be /glad/ for the parent I received. Mel, that sounds quite -- stressful. Or dangerous. Are /you/ safe? Is there anything I can do to help?" His lips quirk upwards, faintly. "Even if it is just getting you a few stiff /drinks/ once I am through with childcare." "I don't know. He came by already. A guy I know was there took care of it while I got the sister out. I..." Mel just shakes her head and flips pancakes. "I'm not supposed to worry about it anymore, you know? Had some work done on my head to keep people safe, so I'm not a wealth of information to target. I should be fine." She exhales and looks sheepishly at Lucien. "but I won't say no to some drinks." This explanation doesn't do much to push the concerned frown from Lucien's expression. He slices the large omelette into thirds with his spatula, sliding a segment onto each of three plates. "-- Sera, can you fetch your brother?" He delivers the children's plates to the table, though the last he leaves on the counter for Melinda. "Some work done. Mel --" There's a slow clamp tightening his jaw, but in the end he just sets a fork neatly on the edge of the plate. "Thankfully, I am not short on spirits. Food first, though. And puppets. Later, drunkenness. There are, after all," his tone lightens here with a touch of amusement, his eyes skating over to the well-stocked bar, "so /many/ ways to erase unpleasantness from your mind." "Yes. Puppets," Melinda smiles as she reaches for her tea first, it having cooled far too much. After a sip, she turns off the heat on the griddle and flips the last of the pancakes off. "Please tell me that it's going to be a slightly intellectual experience. They have to keep the adults entertained, too, right?" She exhales and keeps smiling, though looking tired. "Thanks. I think today's going to be a good day." | |
