ArchivedLogs:Worst Case Scenarios

Worst Case Scenarios
Dramatis Personae Jackson, Micah, Vector	25 October 2013 What to do with a problem like potentially world-ending pathogen production...that happens to exist in a person.
Location <NYC> Candyland - Village Lofts - East Village
This bedroom is bright, bright, bright, a cheerful riot of colour in contrast to the more minimalist scheme outside. It, too, has a plethora of lamps to lend it even more light than what comes in from the large windows opposite the entry; many of them bear stained-glass coverings in cheerful mosaic patterns to add still more colour to the room. The walls have been painted in pale blue with darker blue trim, though one is instead a mural of surreal fantastical artwork, odd unearthly plant and animal life spread across it in vivid colours. There is scattering of furniture here -- a bed on the wall adjacent to the window (usually dressed in vividly patterned mismatched sheets), a dresser opposite the bed, standing beside the large closet, both in wood that has been painted black and then covered in a swarm of brightly coloured images, too. The wall near the door bears an enormous handmade shelving unit, similarly painted; it is filled largely with meticulously organized art supplies. By the window, a desk stands in as-yet-unpainted wood; besides laptops and drawing tablet it often bears an eclectic mix of items, too. Comic books, knitting supplies, a hiking pack of climbing gear. It's early in the evening; outside, Lucien has been once again organizing the kitchen crews here and in Greyhaus into the production of dinner. For once, though he is home, Jax /isn't/ helping out with chores. He's instead tracked down Micah and Vector to bring them to the relative privacy of their bedroom for a somewhat overdue talk. The incongruous cheer of his attire -- bright green t-shirt with an image of a girl hugging a cow, black capris embroidered with peacock feathers up the legs, vividly multicoloured mismatched knee-high socks, glittery makeup -- doesn't really jive with the quiet solemnity of his expression. Micah is lead away from his vegetable-chopping without too much argument, turning the task over to a nearby refugee with idle hands before he follows along. He is dressed in after-work clothes consisting of a T-shirt (black, lightly bleach-spotted, and depicting an xkcd stick figure declaring 'Stand Back, I'm Going to Try Science!'), well-patched bluejeans, and a pair of socks covered in little black bats and yellow moons in assorted phases. He looks concerned at Jax's summons, at first, then simply resigned when Vector is added to the roster. Vector has been helping in the kitchen upstairs, but he is easily led down to three for this conversation. To all appearances he is somewhat bland; wide grey eyes, smattering of freckles, a quietly focused expression. Dressed in the same thrift-store foraged clothes as everyone else, his attire doesn't quite fit; pale brown corduroys trailing on the floor and held up with a canvas belt, too long and too wide for him; his rumpled TEAM JACOB t-shirt is similarly too baggy on his slim frame. When he enters the room he doesn't take a seat, just stays by the door once it is closed to watch the others, his hands folding behind his back. "Do I have to leave?" is the question he asks straightaway, his soft voice oddly too bass for his boyish features. Jax doesn't sit either, pacing over towards the window instead and plucking up a tiny glass bumblebee that is perched on the windowsill. He toys with it, turning it over in his hands. "What? No, I --" he starts this answer reflexively, his eye widening as his head shakes. But then his teeth drag against his lip, his brows creasing. "I don't know," he admits more quietly. "Ain't nobody kickin' you out we just -- needed to talk. People /are/ gonna come for you an' we need to have a plan in place for how to handle that." Everybody else can stand. Micah is sitting on the bed, plucking up Wish Bear from her perch to settle in his lap instead. Care Bears make serious conversations better, right? “Need t'figure out what you're doin', hon. An' folks're gonna press the issue sooner'n we'd like, I'm sure. Y'got a right t'be part of that figurin', though. It /is/ your life.” His fingers twist idly in the bear's little curl of hair. “Did you have a plan for how things would go? Since y'been out for a bit now?” Vector glances towards Wish Bear, a very small smile briefly touching his lips and then fading away. "I don't think it's been my life for a while," he admits. "I had a life. Here, actually. I was in school --" He shakes his head quickly. "I don't think they'll let me back. I'm not sure they'll let me anywhere." He looks to the glass bauble in Jax's hands, eyes fixing there. "You didn't want to let me anywhere." He doesn't say this like an accusation, really, just a quiet observance. Jax's fingers close tight around the small glass insect. "I didn't," he allows, watching Vector's face steadily; his voice is steady, too, though his hands are notably less so. "I didn't think we were ready to deal with the repercussions this could bring. But you been livin' with this way longer'n we have. You know better'n we do what you're -- capable of." Micah regards Vector with sad eyes, tightness visible about his mouth. “Don't guess you've had many choices open t'you. But did you? Have a plan? Any idea how this would play out? We want t'consider what you're thinkin', hon.” "I never imagined I would see the outside of that cage again," Vector admits. His hands unclasp behind his back only to refold his arms in front of his chest, squeezing tightly against himself and lifting his eyes to Jax's. To Micah. Dropping them to the floor again. "You were probably right. To want to leave me. This is --" He shrugs, quick and small enough that it seems only like a brief tremor of a motion. "I don't want to go back." He says this quiet, but firm. "The things that they want me to do -- it is dangerous," he acknowledges this unhappily. "Out here. After what they've given me. But out here I have a /chance/ of hurting people. If they keep me there long enough they'll likely have a sure thing." His fingers tighten around the opposite bicep. "If I were you, I'd kill me." He doesn't sound like this is really an idea he /wants/, just an idle note. "I need to hide. But I don't know where I could go they wouldn't find me." Jax crosses his arms over his chest, tightening them there in unconscious mirror of Vector when Vector says he was probably right. Tightening further at the mention of killing the other man. He sets his bumblebee down on the windowsill, moving back over nearer the bed to settle down not on it but on the floor by its side. "Until Doctor Toure gets that chip out your head I imagine they'd find you no matter where y'gone. But after it's gone --" He bites down on his lip. "There ain't no guarantee'a nothin'. I ain't never tried to /disappear/ nobody afore." Micah nods at Vector's elaborations. “S'a valid point. The way these people operate, ain't like they're holdin' onto 'im just for containment out of the kindness of their hearts. Sure they plan t'use 'im. Weaponise 'im. Ain't exactly a guarantee of nobody's safety in any way just t'turn you over,” he replies to Vector. “Any ideas how your powers would /respond/ if someone were t'kill you?” he questions with an apologetic tone at having to put forward such questions to begin with. “An' if it came down to it--” he pauses /actually/ to apologise this time, “I'm sorry t'have t'ask it. But if it comes down t'no other choices. Would y'rather risk them gettin' hold of you again, or dyin'? Which is worse?” "No idea. But it couldn't possibly be worse than the things they wanted from me." Micah's question pulls Vector into silence, a long pause in which he stares silently at Wish Bear in Micah's lap. When he does speak, though, it's firm and unwavering. "I would rather die than be in their labs again." "What kinda things did --" Jax thinks better of this question, apparently. As he quiets, he leans back against the bed, knees pulling up towards his chest. His arms curl around his shins, his head slowly dropping in a nod. "Well. We can all work t'try an' make sure it don't come to that. -- If we do hide you somewheres, it'd most like to be somewhere – far." Again, Micah nods, Vector's words confirming several suspicions for him. “All right, then. Simply handin' you back over t'those people--or lettin' 'em take you--however it went down. S'gotta be the last possible option. Gives us a little start on the what-to-do, at least. Well, the what /not/ t'do. Thank you for your candour, it's helpful.” His hand continues its fussing at the bear's hair, his discomfort showing more there than in his calm, almost business-like tone. “Y'got any connections as might be able t'help with somethin' like that, Jax?” "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. And if you can't think of anything, I'll still -- try to get out of your way before --" Vector's brows crease, very deeply. "They'd kill you if it meant getting me back, I think." Jackson actually laughs at this, soft and quick with a shake of his head. "Oh, honey-honey, they'd kill us all an' not need a reason." His expression relaxes as Vector's creases into a frown. "An' you don't gotta be sorry, you ain't done /nothin'/ wrong 'cept 'exist/." He gets to his feet, looking Vector over a brief moment more. "Y'need to get in with Dr. Toure ASAP, though. That's the only thing that'll stop them comin' after you even if we get you away." He drags his teeth against his lip, slowly exhaling. "Y'should eat dinner. S'almost ready." "Think them plannin' t'kill most of us was a foregone conclusion, 'fore you ever came into the picture, hon." Micah finally looks away from Vector after this, darting a glance at Jax before turning his gaze on the bear in his lap. "We'll go through our resources an' figure what our options are. Prometheus's plannin' t'contact us eventually, too. An'...that'll be interestin' t'hear what /they/ think is gonna happen. You keep on thinkin' on what y'wanna do an' anythin' that could be useful in gettin' there. Ain't nothin' set in stone yet." He nods at Jax's mention of Dr. Toure. "Y'should be next on the list for that surgery. Priority. Jax ain't wrong." Micah stands, moving closer to Vector, going so far as to place a hand on his shoulder if he doesn't flinch away. "Thank you, again. Feel free t'talk with us, okay? S'important t'hear from you, too." Vector doesn't flinch away. His eyes close at the touch, breath exhaled shakily. "Thank you." Just that. He turns to go, disappearing back into the kitchen. Jax waits for Vector to be gone. He's quiet, then, the light flicking briefly in the room but no other sign from him. When the other man has left he closes the door again, wrapping his arms around Micah and holding, tight.