ArchivedLogs:Unring the Bell

Unring the Bell
Dramatis Personae Anole, Jackson, Micah	2013-08-14 '
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. Tap? Taptaptap? … tap? It's not quite a knock, more like two fingertips hesitantly applied to the front door. Anole /has/ been next door with the twins & co; now he is here. He is dressed pretty shabbily, patchy threadbare jeans, sneakers falling apart, an old faded Columbia University t-shirt, but for all the tattiness of his attire it is at least freshly /washed/, today, and even /he/ smells of Shane's sandalwood soap rather than of /sewers/. He watches the door with very wide green eyes, like he's perhaps afraid it will bite him for the impertinence of knocking. Micah is sprawled on the couch, prone propped in front of his laptop and somehow typing from this position in an effective manner. His Totoro face T-shirt and faded jeans make him a spill of blue against the black corduroy, topped in a brighter splash of auburn hair. The quiet of the room proves a boon to noticing the soft taptapping at the door. Any bustle about the apartment would have overpowered the shy sound. Shoving the laptop a bit further forward, Micah pushes himself up to sitting, then standing, then ambling across the room to pull the door open with an inquisitive look. Not many of their typical visitors would be simply knocking, much less so quietly, after all! Jackson probably would have missed the taptapping; he's tucked over by the windows in the same quiet room as Micah, but painting tends to /absorb/ his attention rather a lot. He's in front of his easel, his palette today largely in shades of black and red and grey and silver. The painting his working on is -- somewhat gruesome, a young man with large wings (constructed of metal) strapped down to a stone slate, three of his limbs recently sawed off and the last in the process of being severed by a shadowy silhouette standing over him. Jax looks up, when Micah stands, glancing towards the door with a curious look. His attention reverts to his easel soon afterwards, though. Anole ducks back slightly away from the door when it is opened, ducking his head apologetically even before he catches glimpse of Micah. "Um -- oh, hi, sir, hi I --" He tips his head back up, peeking up at Micah. "Sorry. To bother you. I didn't -- I was over --" He gestures sideways to the twins' door. "And they said I could -- um. Is it okay if I talk to you maybe?" Micah's head keeps trying to nod in response to Anole, but he never quite manages to complete a question! He smiles reassuringly when one finally emerges. "Sure can. Not t'worry, you're perfectly welcome." Backing away from the door to leave an open path for admission of a person-shape, he waves Anole inside. "You want a drink or a cookie or somethin'?" "Oh! 'zat Anole?" Jackson sets his palette down on his stool, glancing back towards the door with a quicker brighter smile. He's dressed down -- faded old jeans fraying at their bottoms, a Rainbow Brite t-shirt, both of them rather liberally flecked with a rainbow of paints. "Hey, honey-honey. We got so much food, c'mon in. What's up?" For a moment Anole hesitates outside the door, but Micah's smile relaxes him -- enough, at least, to dart his way inside. He lingers in the entry hall, fingers fidgeting restlessly with the hem of his t-shirt. "-- Cookie?" His eyes light, a smile flitting briefly across his face. "Are you sure?" He's trying not to sound /too/ eager. But it's there all the same in the hopeful look he directs towards the kitchen. "I was just -- I came to. Um --" This breaks off as he looks towards Jax's painting, smile fading into an uncertain frown. He looks at the canvas, then at Jax, then at Micah. "Oh --" His expression has shifted rapidly into /concern/. "Are you -- okay?" Micah pulls the door closed gently behind Anole as he enters. "Eeyup. S'an Anole," he confirms to Jax, though the kid is clearly visible at this point. "We got so many cookies left over from yesterday still, yeah. An' pretty much every kind of not-milk. An' tea an' lemonade an'. Whatever you want." With the young man's concern visibly apparent, Micah follows his gaze to the other side of the room. "Oh. Yeah. Jax is in morbid-an'-creepifyin' paintin' mode again. It happens." He worries at his lower lip with his teeth for a moment. "Are /you/ okay? What's up?" "Am I huhwhat?" Jackson's eyebrows lift, for a moment. He follows Anole's eyes, too, back to his painting; his cheeks flush red. The canvas blurs, and then goes blank. "/Oh/. Oh, sorry, I -- sorry. Yeah. No. Sometimes I just -- um. Sorry, /I'm/ alright," he assures Anole with a quick smile. "-- Um, d'you mind takin' your shoes off? And uh. I can grab y'cookies no problem." He's already flitting off towards the kitchen, turning on the sink first to wash paint from his hands. "What's up, honey-honey?" "Oh." /Anole/ blushes, too, when Jackson does; he shakes his head abruptly when the painting fades from view. "Oh, sorry! I didn't -- you don't have to do that. It was --" His brow creases; he's already offering a reflexive "sorry" again as he toes his sneakers off. "... it was. Good. I mean it's /really/ good it's just I didn't know if -- sorry. You don't have to hide it." He inches further into the apartment, eying the blank canvas curiously. His eyes shift back to Micah, the tip of his tongue pressing up under his lip. "Oh -- right. I -- yes. I'm fine! I'm good. I just wanted to talk to you about -- well, you guys were -- helping? Us? And I know it all went really -- really horribly bad for you and you got shot and nearly exploded and maybe almost died and --" Suddenly he stops, head ducking again. "-- wow, okay, actually? Now that I put it like that I probably shouldn't. Bother you you /already/ almost died oops sorry." When Jax moves into the kitchen, Micah defers pastry-gathering to him. "Come sit," he tells Anole as he moves toward the living room himself, settling onto the couch. A hand reaches out casually to pat the cushion next to him. "Yeah, we were." Micah's expression turns somewhat sheepish at the reminder that the near-constant aid they had been providing to the Morlocks was cut off rather abruptly. "Sorry about that. We just...hadn't gotten a chance t'figure how t'start back up again? The way we /were/ doin' obviously wasn't the best choice. Since it turned out not so well. But I don't really know what better way we could try. Certainly open to ideas, if you have any. Prob'ly y'know things down there better'n we do by far, anyhow." He pauses again, eyes drawn down to his hands before adding, "How are your folks doin'? Ain't had trouble from the outside again, I hope?" In the kitchen, Jackson collects a small plate to set four cookies on, and a squat glass of almond milk. "Oh -- oh. No, honey-honey, it's -- y'ain't bothering us none. M'sorry that we ain't been in touch, we've wanted to. Figure out how to keep deliveries goin'. It's just been kinda --" He blushes faintly, heading back out of the kitchen to offer milk and cookies to Anole. "We do want to keep helpin', though. Just gotta find a way to do it without --" "Getting killed?" Anole suggests in completion, wincing apologetically and moving to perch gingerly on the edge of the cushion Micah pats at. "I'm sorry. About that. I was coming to ask if you still wanted -- but it's not really fair to ask you to keep --" He shakes his head, offering the men a timid smile as he takes the cookies and milk. "Thanks." He is quiet as he takes a cookie, disappearing it in two quick bites. "... Maybe if I came to you instead? It'd be less dangerous for you?" "No, don't worry about askin'. We /want/ t'help. Just...got busy with recoverin' after the last incident an' haven't really gotten a good brainstorm in on the ways t'go about it /safely/." Micah's nose scrunches as he has the chance to think on that word choice. "Or at least safer-ly. We're tryin' t'be of long-term assistance. Which kind of requires not gettin' trapped and/or attacked." He pauses again in thought. "Would you be able t'make quick, frequent trips? Problem is with movin' larger amounts of things, really. If you're able t'come an' get small loads of stuff t'carry back, that would work. But we don't wanna risk you comin' out all the time if it's gonna put /you/ in a lotta danger. Same thing with tryin' t'keep goin' on the long term." "I certainly wouldn't mind puttin' together batches'a supplies for y'all. But -- yeah." Jackson nods to Micah in affirmation, dropping to sit on the floor facing the couch. "If s'gonna be dangerous for /you/ I don't know if that's ideal neither. But if we set out just a small amount'a things on the regular? Would that be easier?" Anole is already finishing up his second cookie through Jax's talking. He washes it down afterwards with a quick gulp of milk. "If it was something I could carry on my own? I could stop by. There are ways into the tunnels not even far from here. And I come up a lot on my own to --" His cheeks flush darker, and he fidgets on the couch a little uncomfortable. "Well, I mean, even before you guys we -- needed to get supplies on our own, you know? And I'm --" He ventures a small smile, a little timid. His green skin and faded clothes start to shift in colour, darkening to the same faintly textured-looking black as the corduroy couch. "Pretty good at not being noticed much -- at night, at least." "Guess we could always /drop off/ small packages every day, too. Just...lower 'em down tied to a rope or somethin'?" Micah suggests, grinning at the image the thought evokes. "I mean, it would look /real/ suspicious, but Jax could just kinda invisible the package, I guess. Keeps from puttin' him down there again. /And/ keeps from havin' you run around topside extra." His shoulders bob in a little shrug. "I know y'all had been providin' for yourselves. Things've just gotten /harder/ since then is all." He resists the urge to pat Anole's hand, realising that this probably wouldn't be reassuring in the way he wants it to be. "If we had a regular time set up, that could work out fine, s'long as there's someone there t'get them. I don't know if I'd just want to leave food /sitting/ in a sewer tunnel, be a right quick way to go from delicious vegetables to spoiled ones." Jax curls his arms around his knees, watching Anole's blush and then his shift into black, with a faint blush of his own. "Yeah -- yeah. I remember -- mm. I mean I saw --" His blush deepens. "I know y'all take care'a yourself. I think right about now just, /everyone/ can use a little bit'a support." "Oh -- oh. Yeah there are a few places. A couple places that -- if I know when you're coming I could make sure to be there. I -- really appreciate it." Anole's black fades back to green. His smiles are coming more easily now. At least, for a moment, before he looks at the other two and then down at his hands, his expression shifting into a sudden frown. "You guys brought um -- the. Tree-man. Back. Do you know know if -- was Mister Masque also --" He shifts again, and chomps a bite of his third cookie, his frown still in place. Not being entirely clear on why people are blushing is, apparently, not adequate deterrent for Micah's sympathetic blush. His cheeks colour a pale, confused pink. "Um...yeah. I figure people could pick things up the way they were before. Just. With us topside. Drop off a small load of things every day instead of a big one once or twice a week." He slumps back, torso sliding down the couch cushion a bit at that question. "Anole, I'm sorry. They changed the people in the caravan from what we were expectin'. Jim was the only one of your folks they brought. We're...gonna have to find the others again. Go after 'em again." Around Jackson there is a brief pale flicker of light, an unsteady glow that gutters out soon afterwards. "Anole, we --" His brows crease, deeply. "I'm sorry. We didn't know, they changed things at the last minute. We're --" He nods at Micah, again. "We're going back. We're going to find them." Anole pauses, his last cookie in his hand. He frowns at Micah, and then at Jackson. He lifts his glass slowly, taking a small sip of milk. "Others?" His brows pull together, knitting deep. "Wait, did they --" He looks down at the floor, a guilty look crossing his expression again. "Who else did they take, I thought we -- I checked in on folks after I wanted to make sure nobody was -- overlooked, we --" His frown deepens. "Some people left, after the raid. Because it's dangerous now. At least I thought they left, maybe they -- got taken too." A resolute nod seconds Jackson's promise. "I don't exactly know /all/ of the details, since I'm not on the part of the team as actually goes in on the action. Just drivin' an' supplies an' first aid for me. So...I'm not sure if there's more folks that I don't know personally? I'd have t'ask Hive. Might be even he's not precisely sure, dependin' on just what the people he's gettin' information off of know. But," he chews at his lip, eyes darting over to Jax. "Nobody did tell 'im, did they? He's got the right t'know the truth, I think. I don't like makin' decisions on other people's behalf, though." His nose crinkles as he lets out a heavy breath. "Anole, if you were given incorrect information, an' someone else knew what the correct information was, would y'wanna know? If it potentially could be really sad an' disappointin' later? Or would you rather they didn't say?" His head tilts as he watches the young man for reactions. "Sorry t'be cryptic, but y'can't exactly unring the bell on knowin' a thing." "Oh -- oh. Anole, we --" Jax's eye darts from Micah to Anole. His teeth dig in against his lower lip. "Yeah," he agrees, reluctantly. "Yeah, you're -- you're right, Micah, he --" His brows crease deeply, knitting together. "It might just lead to more sad on top of a whole lotta sad," he warns. "Tell me what?" Anole gives a confused look to the older men. "Um --" His teeth click against the rim of his glass, his posture tensing where he sits. "-- I guess lately a little more sad probably won't. Actually even be -- all that noticeable," he admits. "I think I'd -- rather know what the truth is. What -- what are you guys -- talking about?" Micah's fingertips drum against his denim-clad knee as he looks nervously between the other two, waiting for that answer. He draws a deep breath, sighs much of it out, and begins. "What the media was sayin' about Nox? That was all just /convenient/ for them. T'make her /go away/. Last Hive was able t'glean from anyone, she was still alive. Just captured along with Jim an' Masque." One of his hands makes a patting gesture in the air, as if settling something. "We didn't wanna get your hopes up, 'cause everyone who was taken is still in a real /precarious/ situation. It's gonna be /hard/ t'get 'em back still alive." Jackson tenses as Micah gives his answer. He scoots closer to the couch; he looks like he, too, wants to reach out to Anole. But doesn't; he just watches the boy closely, a distinctly concerned look on his face. "The place she is -- we've gotten a /lot/ of folks outta similar places. I've /been/ in similar places. It ain't easy -- ain't gonna be easy. But we /are/ gonna try." Anole goes silent. His fingers clench tight around his glass, and once more he shifts back to the black of the couch. "Nox --" Then silence, again. His eyes fix somewhere down in front of him. "-- the place you guys were in," he says eventually. "The twins and you and Dusk and everyone. She's --" He swallows. "But you're going to." He leans forward, setting the plate with his last cookie and half-finished milk down on the coffee table. His palms brush against his pants as he stands, slowly. "-- Are -- are you guys going to be okay?" Yet again, Micah is nodding at Jax's explanations. "Jax'n everybody's done this kinda thing before an' helped people, yeah. We're gonna do everythin' we can." He actually chuffs a laugh at Anole's asking about /them/ being okay. "As okay as things ever are when these things are goin' down? Likely t'get messy, yeah." "Ain't gonna be easy," Jackson says again, frowning slightly. "I'm sorry, honey-honey. I can't promise nothin' more than that. We've had lots of practice. And we'll keep -- keep tryin'." He glances to Anole's last cookie. "Sweetie, d'you want anything more? Even just -- maybe a hug." Anole flushes darker at this question. He glances to Jax, and to Micah. He darts forward, wrapping his arms around Jax in a quick tight hug; after releasing him he offers the same treatment to Micah. "I have to -- I need to. To go. But if we -- if we just have. If there's /small/ deliveries. I can pick up --" He frowns. "Don't die, okay? Please? There's been a lot of -- that. Already." He gives them both hugs, again, and his skin is fading back to green as he skitters away towards the door. Micah colours again, a slightly deeper pink, at Anole's blushing. He gives the young man a tight squeeze in return, chuckling softly at his darting movements. "We'll definitely get the supply road opened again. Small deliveries." He holds his hands about an inch apart from one another. So tiny! "Not dyin' is pretty much the aim. At least as much as we have control over, anyhow. You be safe out there, too." Jackson returns Anole's hug, tight. "We got your back," he answers lightly. A quick grin flashes across his face. "An' dying ain't never in the /plan/. Take care, honey-honey." He follows Anole to the door, letting him out to lock it after him, his smile fading once the boy is gone.