ArchivedLogs:When To Fight

When To Fight
Dramatis Personae Sebastian, Micah, Jackson	23 December 2013 Talking out some of 'Bastian's troubles. (Set directly after getting back from taking Gabriel to the Clinic).
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. The living room and kitchen both hold a rather inordinate number of lamps in addition to the ceiling lights; standing lamps, small lamps on each counter, large sunlights in the corner. More often than not, they're largely all turned on, too. 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. It's quiet at home, late at night. Geekhaus has returned home, Tag at work, Spencer's been put to bed, Daiki and Shane are in the bedroom -- okay, it's a /little/ not-quiet but out here in the living room, Bastian is doing his level best to /ignore/ the breathy sounds coming from his room. Probably less easy to do with augmented hearing. He's changed from earlier into bedtime-clothes, or bedtime-lack-of-clothes, soft black pants but no shirt. There's a mug of tea on the coffeetable beside him, half-empty and long-since cold. His cheeks are a little flushed, his gills restlessly shifting, and his eyes very intently fixed down on his work. Working with claws and a set of small chisels and knives and gouges and intermittently his teeth, he carefully scrapes and chisels at bones taken from a large box of them beside him. There are already carvings set on the table, delicately assembled flowers, the blossoms built out of a wealth of very /tiny/ bones. Mouse bones, maybe, though right now as he works on assembling a vessel to /arrange/ this bouquet in, the bones he picks are larger. One sitting on top of the pile, yet to be touched, looks very distinctly like a /human/ arm. The keys jingle slowly in the lock of the Lighthaus door, a little longer than typical, implying there may have been a slight fumble in the process. When the door opens, Micah looks tired. The kind of tired that comes from an adrenaline crash, from relief, and from the nagging of ongoing worry. He is slow to pull off his sneakers, to tug himself free of his olive canvas jacket, to doff his newsboy cap, and to place all of these items in their appropriate storage places. Tugging at the hem of his Dr. Hooves T-shirt to straighten it, he finally looks up at the room. “Hi, B,” he greets with a sleepy smile, moving to collapse himself down on a beanbag instead of the couch to avoid interrupting the intricate work the teen is engaged in. Jackson is just behind Micah; he looks a lot less tired, bright, alert -- though these vestiges of illusion fall away the moment the door is closed again to leave him just pale and tired and worried as well. He sheds his shoes, too; he doesn't have a jacket to shed, just in his rainbow hoodie and Rainbow Brite tee and faded paint-flecked jeans. He stops behind the couch with a small widening of eye at the bone-flowers, shaking his head quickly and following Micah to sink down on the floor just /beside/ the beanbag, half kneeling and half toppling sideways against Micah. "Y'want tea, honey-honey? Not caffeine-kind. Mint maybe?" His head turns slowly to look at the carvings. "... those are gorgeous. Can I touch 'em or will they fall apart?" "You can touch them, if it's gently. The bones just notch together I don't have any glue or anything." Sebastian puts down his small chisel and the bone he is working on, very carefully scooping one of the lacey-delicate flowers -- its shape is reminiscent of an orchid -- into his cupped hands and scooting over on his knees to offer it to Jax. "Is he okay?" Though he may as well be asking if /they're/ okay, enormous black eyes tipping up to search each man's face in turn. When Jax leans against him, Micah's hand immediately reaches down to start petting at his hair. “Ohgosh, honey, that sounds wonderful...with some of the loose lavender in? But y'don't gotta hop right up an' make it.” His hand stays right where it is to reinforce the statement, fingers massaging gently against scalp. “Wouldn't be nothin' t'add some glue just t'make 'em a little less delicate, if y'want. I got all /kinds/ of glues in the van,” he offers, looking over the flowers, as well. “Don't rightly know. He didn't look none too good, but he's in good hands nonetheless. Io wanted t'take 'im off t'isolation an' is like t'keep 'im there while his abilities are actin' up. Kinda...shooed us off after Gabriel was settled.” Jackson takes the flower carefully, mimicking Sebastian in the way he cups his hands around it. He turns, slightly, head pressing up against Micah's fingers as he lifts his hands to show the sculpture off to Micah, too. "Ain't sure, honey-honey, he --" He just nods at Micah for affirmation of this answer. "Just hafta wait an' see. But Io'll do everything he can for him." In his hands, the flower /blossoms/, thin almost translucent petals stretching themselves across the tracework of bones in pale shades of lavender and white and pink. He offers the flower back to Sebastian, and tips his head back to kiss Micah's hand. "I don't /gotta/, sir, but I want to." With Micah's hand on his head he doesn't move, though, just nuzzling into it. "You doin' aright, sweetie, s'late. Shane home?" "I don't know. I like them without glue. Just. Nothing except --" Sebastian shrugs, looking down at his box of bones. His gills flutter faster as the flower grows petals, eyes widening when he takes it back from Jax. For a moment he just holds it, looking at the colors against his blue skin, and then sets it gently back down on the table with the others. His cheeks flush darker. "Uh huh. He's -- in bed." He draws in a long breath through his nose, head tilting just slightly to one side. "Or almost. Are you okay, it sounds stressful." Micah looks without touching when the sculpture is presented, smiling at the sudden bloom of illusory petals. "If y'/want/ to, then you may," he answers, withdrawing his hand and leaning down to place a light kiss at Jax's temple instead. "Thank you." At the question of the other twin's presence, Micah's eyes are drawn in the direction of the hall. "Oh, Shane's here." His reply comes near simultaneous with 'Bastian's, as does his own faint blush. Apparently his hearing is fairly decent, too. "We're okay, honey. Was just...a pretty fretful kinda night." "Thank you." Jackson smiles, at the permission or at the kiss, squeezing Micah's thigh lightly and standing. "Oh, he's -- /oh/." His cheeks flush as his gaze skips towards the bedroom. He scoops up Sebastian's half-finished cold tea, taking it with him to the kitchen. "S'pose I can hold off on tea for them too, then. You, B?" He rinses out the cup of cold tea and puts a fresh pot of water on the stove. "Oh -- yeah, no, we're. Was just worrisome. /Is/ jus' worrisome. But we done what we can, too. Got a shift in the mornin', I'll stop by an' check up on how he's doin', if he wants anything brung from home. Bodies just are sometimes – problematic." "Might be a while," Sebastian agrees, shrugging, "Tea'll just get cold. But yes, please. Thank you. Um -- the same as Ba, is good." His eyes rivet back on his pile of bones at Jax's last statement, a deeper flush in his cheeks and a slow swallow forced down his throat. His gills flutter quickly, and he picks up a slim curved rib to turn it over and over in his hands. He winces, pressing his elbows to his sides to /hold/ his gills in place, a small sheepish smile on his face as he starts breathing again. "... yeah. Kind of. Kind of problematic. I'll be -- really glad. When Ba designs a whole robot body I can just transplant my consciousness into." "I got consults over there in the afternoon if y'wanna let me know what t'pick up when I come home for lunch'n showerin'." Micah watches 'Bastian with growing concern furrowing his brow at the boy's obvious discomfort. He shifts as if he means to get up, then decides against it. "'Bastian, honey...are you doin' okay? Ain't nothin'...troublin' you more'n usual lately? Nobody makin' more problems for you at school, are they?" "Oh -- that'd be good. I'll talk t'him in the morning, see if -- what he needs." Jackson sets about preparing a basket to steep a small pot of tea, mixing a sprinkling of lavender buds in with the mint tea. He moves back to the kitchen doorway as the water heats, teeth scraping against his lip. "You /have/ -- been seeming kinda troubled, sweetie. You know you can always talk to us, right?" "What, you /wouldn't/ want a robot body? What kind of nerd are you?" Sebastian offers a small smile with this jest but it fades away quickly. "School's been fine. I still suck at Spanish. Nobody's been --" He shrugs again, quick and jerky. "Hassling me any more than ever." His eyes lift, shifting away from the others quickly up towards Tag's colorful loft, then returning downward. "I'm fine, you shouldn't. You had a long night I think you're -- stuck in worry mode." “There's a lotta things that would need a /lotta/ work before y'could convince me into a full-on robot body, actually.” Micah tugs the cuff of his jeans up just enough to expose the metal shaft of his leg, reaching down to rub his fingertips over it softly, then just shrugging illustratively at the lack of sensation and letting the cuff drop again. “Honey, please don't...deflect. We been worried more'n just tonight but ain't been wantin' t'press you t'talk before you're ready. It's... I still don't wanna push but I wish you felt okay t'talk about it.” His eyebrows knit as he sits forward more, leaning toward 'Bastian as he speaks. "I worry a whole heck of a lot," Jackson agrees freely, "but that's just cuz all of you are well worth worryin' about. B, it ain't just been now. You been dressing different and seeming -- kinda down, honey-honey." He scrubs his fingers through his hair, watching Bastian before he turns to to start the tea steeping. He brings a trio of cups out to the living room, setting them down on the floor rather than the table so as not to disturb Sebastian's work. He returns for the teapot, a bottle of agave, and a teaspoon, heading to the living room again to put the pot down on a pair of coasters on the floor. He settles himself back at Micah's side to wait for the tea to be ready, not leaning up against the other man this time but just kneeling with his hands rested on his knees. "I mean of course we worry. We love you. You don't /gotta/ talk about nothing you don't want to, but jus' -- if there's anything we can do to help –" Sebastian watches Micah's fingers against the metal, reaching out a hand towards it too but then pulling back with a faint blush. "I'd like that, though. It's better. Not feeling --" He shrugs stiffly. "Is something wrong with my clothes?" His hands brush at the pajama pants he wears, his eyes widening huge. "I just took Shane's, they always look good on him." “How is not feelin' /better/, sugar?” Micah takes out his need to be comforting through touch on Jax, since he's trying not to crowd 'Bastian, his hand tracing wobbly circles on the other man's back. “/Is/ somethin' wrong with your clothes? Why've y'been takin' Shane's? It's just...worrisome. Y'seem /uncomfortable/ most of the time anymore, hon.” "Well, sure, they look good on him. They /look/ good on you, too, but so do /your/ clothes an' you definitely seem more at home in your own things." Jax's hand turns out towards Sebastian, the loose black pajamas briefly shifting into the stretchy purple yoga pants Sebastian usually favours for lounging. The clothing shifts back a moment later. "I /like/ seein' your pretty smile, pup, just wish I knowed how to help you find it again." Sebastian looks down, brushing his hand against his pants once more. "Because his things are just -- more -- he has better --" His brows pull together, and he pulls his legs up towards his chest, wrapping a thin arm around his shins. His eyes fix on his fathers; he's quiet a long while, inner eyelids blinking rapidly open and closed. "You think my smile is pretty?" he finally asks, kind of shyly. "Don't think his are no better'n yours. An' /you/ look better in yours. 'Cause you're more happy an' confident in 'em. In Shane's clothes it's more like...you're wearin' someone else's clothes, really." Micah nods agreement with Jax, his hand still petting at his back while his eyes are fixed on 'Bastian. "Honey, you got one of the /sweetest/ smiles I ever seen. Just ain't seen it much in a while." Jax leans slightly into the touch, scrubbing his fingers through his hair again. "I think /all/ of you is pretty, honey-honey, but I think you --" He nods to Micah. "Look better when you're /happier/. Comfortable." He scoots forward to pour three cups of the tea, sliding one close to Sebastian and bringing the other two back to the beanbag. /His/ he doses with a hefty amount of agave. He rests back on his knees beside the beanbag, lifting the other cup to Micah. "Do /you/ feel pretty in Shane's clothes?" Sebastian plucks at his pants uncomfortably. He lifts his tea, staring into it as his fingers fiddle with the black fabric. "Can you put it back?" he whispers, more towards his tea than towards his fathers. He starts to scoot closer to their beanbag, but stops, sitting instead on the floor by the coffee table. "At the dance Lyric said I was really handsome." Micah takes the cup, brushing his fingertips over Jax's quite deliberately as he does so. "Thanks, hon." He wraps the fingers of his free hand around the cup, his other hand not quitting in the circuits it runs slowly over Jax's skin. "Sweetheart, maybe she just happens t'like Shane's style better? Everybody's gonna have different tastes. Don't nobody ever tell you how pretty y'look in your own clothes? Or when y'wore what y'/wanted/ t'wear t'the last dance, back springtime?" Again, he shifts slightly, very nearly moving, when 'Bastian does. But he settles back when the teen sits on the floor. "Welcome, sir." Jackson stirs his tea slowly, relaxing into Micah's slow back rubs. Sebastian's pants shift again, bright purple and clingier once more. "Didn't ask if you felt handsome. You feel pretty? 'less you /want/ to feel handsome, that's alright too. Do you?" Sebastian's fidgeting stops as his clothing changes back to purple. He inches a little closer again, and stops once more, fingers tightening around his cup. "People tell me," he agrees in uncertain whisper. "Sometimes that I'm pretty. Sometimes that --" His gills flutter quickly. He shakes his head once, stiffly. "I feel pretty in /my/ clothes. My dress for the dance was really pretty." He almost smiles, at the memory, but it fades almost as soon as it's started. "No. I want -- to feel --" His gills fluter faster, the last word soft and breathy, broken up between uneven shifts of breathing. "... normal." “Sometimes that what, hon?” When 'Bastian moves forward again and stops again, Micah's fingers briefly grip into the material of Jax's shirt before resuming their circling. “I liked your dress,” he comments with a fond smile. “But...honey, /normal/ is about the most over-rated thing on the /planet/. An' I honestly don't think it /exists/ nowhere, no-how. How about what makes you feel /good/? What makes you feel confident an' comfortable an' happy an' like /yourself/, B?” "Sweetie, you can come here if you want to." Jax pats at the beanbag beside Micah when Bastian almost approaches again. "An' it was a lovely dress. An' you looked so good in it." His nose wrinkles up, fingers flexing so that he can look down at his glittery nails. He shakes his head. "Your Ba is right, honey-honey, normal ain't nothin' to aim for. Happy is a good place to shoot for." Sebastian looks kind of relieved, almost immediately moving in closer to climb up onto the beanbag and tuck himself against Micah's side, on the side of the beanbag closer to where Jax kneels so that he can nestle himself between the other two. He takes a small sip of tea, but then sets it on the floor beside the seat. "It's not that easy, Ba. Maybe normal doesn't exist but /ab/normal definitely exists and I -- I can't go outside without people reminding me what a freak I am, do you know how many times a week I get /spit/ on or -- or -- some of the things I just put /up/ with because if I think if I did try standing up to some of these people I'd just tear them /open/." His claws slide out, long, then pull back in. "... and that's not normal either but I just. I don't need one more thing. Just -- one more reason for everyone to treat me like --" He stops, swallows. Then blinks, up at Micah, looking just rather /puzzled/ and blank. "-- Makes me like myself?" He has a very 'does not compute' kind of expression. "N-- nothing." His tone starts out questioning and ends very hesitant, head ducking like he's already worried he's failing this test. To his credit, Micah doesn't actually /pounce/ on 'Bastian once he's within reach. He does rather /immediately/ leave off worrying at Jax's shirt to wrap his arm around the teen's shoulders. “Honey, I know...I know people can be awful an' you have t'put up with /so much/ y'should never have t'put up with an' it's all /kinds/ of unfair.” His hand rubs at 'Bastian's arm, soothing, steady. “But is it worse for some people t'treat you bad an' unfair, or for you t'let 'em in your head an' make you not /you/ anymore? Y'can't let people take away your /self/, honey, that's the most important thing y'ever get t'/have/.” He leans in to kiss 'Bastian lightly on his cheek. “I love you, sugar. An' your pa loves you an' Shane loves you an' Spence loves you... An' there's so much about you t'love an' t'like an' I'd hate t'see you miss out on that.” Jackson doesn't actually say anything, at first. He sets his tea aside, too, curling his arms around Bastian in a tight squeeze. Even once he lets go, his hand stays at Bastian's side, pressing down at the gills there. "B, you're amazing. I mean, you really are. I love you a whole awful lot an' I wish I could make the world /better/ so you didn't hafta deal with none of that. I wish I could but -- what I can do is let you know that we love you. /You/, okay? An' we're going to /keep/ loving you an' no matter what the world tells you, /you/ deserve every bit of that love. Just as you are. Not how nobody else /thinks/ you oughta be." Sebastian is quiet, his gills fluttering again quickly. They start to settle down under Jax's touch. His eyes close and he leans against Micah's side, slowly relaxing at the pressing against his gills. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "you guys already had a long night I didn't. Mean to." His voice trembles. He draws in breath slowly, scrunching up his face as he forces it calm again. "I love you. Both. I just feel like life is always a /fight/ and I'm tired." Micah finally abandons his teacup, squeezing 'Bastian tighter and bringing his fingers up to stroke at the gills along his neck. "I know it's a lotta work...it's a lotta fight just t'/be/ an' it shouldn't have t'be that way. But y'got places where y'don't have t'fight. With your close friends...with us. Y'don't have t'/work/ here. I wish y'would let us know what you're thinkin' an' talk /more/. Y'ain't gotta apologise for needin' us, honey-bear, s'what we're /here/ for." His arms give the teen another squeeze, another light kiss pressed to his cheek. "You start off at least /here/, okay? You get t'be yourself /here/, 'cause y'know we love you an' we'll support whatever y'wanna wear or be called or be or do. 'Cause we love /you/. Okay?" Jax keeps petting down Sebastian's sides, slow and firm to press the gills down into place. "Not here, okay, B? It don't gotta be a fight here. This -- this is your home and it's always gonna be safe for you around us. An' I can't make the rest of the world less of a fight. But we'll always be there fighting it /with/ you, whenever you need."' 'Thank you.' Sebastian mouths the words rather than really /say/ them, his voice coming out only as one choked hitch before he gives up on speaking. His head turns, giving more space to Micah's fingers against the gills at his neck. He wriggles slightly over to tuck his head against Jax's sweatshirt, closing his eyes and just settling in. Not crying, not speaking, just relaxing into the contact.