Live out Loud

Angel, Cole, Jafari, Kaji; Kaji

2008-05-09T07:49:39Z

Mister Worthington's awake and he's going to be okay and I did nothing but fret and worry and more fret and I was so scared and I prayed nonstop but -- but now it's okay, it's going to be okay.

Only then maybe God is laughing at me because I was so busy being ecstatic and relieved that we weren't gonna lose him and then -- then -- then -- Miss Sunset --

I can't think, I can't process, I can't breathe. I had family -- I thought I had family. She wanted me to move in with her. To adopt me? I don't know. She wanted to be my family. And now she's gone, and I can't --

Kaji took me flying, and I needed it so badly. To leave the world behind. To leave all of it behind.

I'm not sure even my illusions can hide how broken everything feels inside. I thought things would get better, I thought I could deal with the world, but this? Now? I -- I.

I need wings.

For now, I'll borrow his.

Log. Thursday 8 May or something -- we made time fuzzy so I'm not sure! Xavier's, Medbay.

<XI> Basement: Medbay
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The Medbay of the institute are several tables and beds for the different patients to lay in and rest. Several machines ready to diagnose and test patients, the linoleum floor stays perfectly clean and the blue accented cabinets bring some color into this normally cold and hard looking room. The cabinets are filled with several medicines and such, though should students come in, the only thing that is unlocked is the over the ounter med dwawer, any of the real medicine is under lock and key.

It's been a bad, hairy couple of days. Warren's been in a coma and /things/ have been going on. The first twelve hours or so had been the worst ... Warren had flatlined for a few moments early on, and then there'd been something that bore a remarkable resemblance to seizures, but hadn't been. Tests proved it was a secondary mutation kicking in ... at a /damn/ good time, as the secondary mutation seemed to be a healing factor. But Warren remained down and out, as the healing had a LOT of damage to fix. Multiple broken bones and internal bruising and cuts and gouges. Now, a little over 48 hours since the attack, the broken bones have knit, and the soft tissue damage is fixing itself, though not entirely fixed yet. The heart monitor and other equipment started picking up increased activity about ten minutes ago. Seems like Warren might wake up soon.

Jackson may have disappeared from the mansion over a month ago, but upon hearing of Angel's injuries he rushed back as fast as he could, planting himself at Warren's beside and Lord help anyone who attempted to pull him away. The teenager has -- likely not really slept since his arrival, though you'd not be able to tell from looking at him; it's amazing what a little touch of illusion can do to cover the shadowed eyes and unhealthy pallor of the past few days. Curled up in baggy jeans and a baggier sweatshirt in a chair by Angel's side, he sits with his sketchpad, quietly at work though his eyes flicker constantly from the page to the man lying in the bed. At the increased activity from the heart monitor, he perks up, too, blue eyes darting from equipment to Warren's face, brightly hopeful; his charcoal is set down, and all his attention is on Angel. One hand lifts to cross himself, lips barely moving with silent prayers. They are far from the first prayers he's said, the past few days.

Someone managed to drag Cole out of the medbay to get some food eariler because she's been worrying herself sick since she'd gotten here and first seen Warren in his condition. Along with Jackson, she's stayed at Angel's bedside nearly all the time, except without his stamina so at least there were times she'd gotten a little sleep. Still, one can't say she looks all that great herself. She strangles back in, going over to plop down in a chair next to Jackson's. She curls her knees to her chest, the stuffed animal, Puffball popple clung to her, as always. Heavily bitten down nails start to get another round of nibbling.

Jafari hadn't been paying much attention to news that anyone was hurt or nothing. He'd, in fact, been away for a while, in Montreal. Little sisters had to be taken care of sometimes, after all. "Where's the Doc?" He says, while looking down at his hand, not paying attention to the rest of the room just yet. "Dang electric burns. I thought I'd stopped getting these." He mutters to himself. When he looks up, though, he notices Jackson sitting beside a bed...and Warren on the bed. He frowns, the electric burn on his hand pushed out of his mind for the moment, despite the fact that the unburned one continues to subconsciously rub it. He approaches the bed slowly. "Hey." He says, standing behind Jackson and Cole.

Ow. Sound and light start to filter into Warren's mind as he gets dragged back to consciousness. Ok, he'd obviously gotten his ass kicked at some point. The fact he was /waking up/ made him wince mentally. Shit. Probably had to have a damn surgery. Shit. What the HELL had happened? And then, even as memory started to filter in ... oh /crap/. Cole. His eyes snap open and he starts to sit up, but doesn't get more than about an inch off the bed before he lays back down. "Ouch." But that had been enough for him to get a gander at the gathering at his bedside. Jackson? Damn. He must've been in pretty sorry shape to drag Jackson back to the mansion. But then ... four metal tentacles. Yeah. That'd about do it.

Jackson looks up as Cole enters, nearly as much worry flickering across his expression for her as he has for Angel. "His monitor's sped up," he informs her, words dragging with exhaustion but tinged with hope, for all that. "That's -- I think that's good." His only response to Jafari when the boy enters is a slight nod, but he sits up ramrod-straight as Angel's eyes open, a relieved sigh rushing out. "OhmygoshMisterWorthington." But he is the /picture/ of self-restraint, honest! -- he does /not/ smother the man with a hug, though from his fidgeting, it is taking a lot of control not to do so. His eyes look dry, but his voice is choked with emotion. "You're -- thank God -- we've been -- I was -- /hi/."

Cole tilts her head upward to look at Jafari, "Hi--" Any explaination is cut off by Warren making a sound. Cole jumps to her feet, half tripped over the seat. "Dad!" Cole is not bound by restraint, like, at all. After picking herself back up she hurries over to Warren's bed, throwing one Puffball-handed arm around him. "You're awake! Thank you, thank you God so much!" She hugs with happy tears rolling down her cheeks.

Jafari looks at Warren. "Hey, man. You don't look so good, man." He says, half-joking, half-serious. He puts a hand on Jackson's shoulder. "Take a deep breath man. Take a couple. In and out. Deep breath in, deep breath out." He nods. He looks between Cole and Warren and Jackson, but quiets up again. Doesn't say anything to the mention of thanking God, though. He only has a slightly thanking of anything like God ever. Sure, he was raised in a church, though. "Well, I guess it's good that you're awake, man."

Warren manages to wrap an arm around Cole, though it's more reflex than him wanting it to happen ... he's still sore enough that his body's not keen on moving too much. "Hey." He says softly, voice rather hoarse. He makes a face, and then glances at Jafari. "Could use a drink." He grumbles, before he half-growls at Jackson. "Get over here and hug me before you vibrate off the chair, Jackson."

"I'm breathing," Jackson assures Jafari, "I just -- been so --" He does not finish his sentence. Instead he launches himself out of his seat at Warren's invitation, claiming the side of him that Cole is not occupying; despite this enthusiasm he remembers to be gentle in his hugging. "Thank God," he whispers again, and despite his eyes /looking/ dry, his cheeks are distinctly damp where they press briefly against Angel's shoulder. Illusion can only go so far towards hiding. "-- I should get you water," he mumbles, though he doesn't quite seem willing to let go just yet.

Cole smiles over to Jackson as he joins in the cuddling. She stretches her hand over to however much of Jax that she can touch with her fingers to include him in the hug. "We stayed here all the time Warren. Are you okay? I was so scared and worried. You've been here for days and I thought I we were going to lose you." She blurts out in one breath.

Jafari nods at Warren. "Yeah, of course, sir. Right away." Instead of bothering to look around to see if there was any water here in the Medbay, he sticks his hand in the closest thing connected to the main power line and he disappears. Within a very short minute or two, he reappears with a glass of water in his hand. Sure, it might be dangerous to carry a glass of water in electricity is bad, but he doesn't care. "Here you are, sir." He says, holding the water and waiting for Warren to be ready to have it.

Warren takes the water and drinks about half of it before he puts it aside. It at least gives him a chance to think ... because something is /seriously/ hinky here. "How long've I been out?" He wants to know, wrapping the now free arm around Jackson and giving him a hug along with Cole. Yeah. Something is going on here.

"Days, now." Jackson shifts his arm to wrap around Cole, too, and flashes her a smile in return. "I just been praying so hard," he says, the worry in his tone backing up what Cole expresses. "I know lately I ain't been -- but it doesn't mean I don't -- I mean. I." He blushes, taking a shaky breath. "Care about you. We've all been -- m'just really glad you're -- you're gonna be okay now, right? I mean you were so close to -- we thought -- but then you -- you're gonna be okay." The second time, it is more statement than question.

Cole nods along with Jackson's stamerings. That's all pretty much her sentiments too and for now, she's content enough to just stay snuggled up while Warren gets his answers.

Jafari smiles slightly. Jackson always seems to have problems expressing himself when he's worried or really relieved about something. "I think what he's trying to say, sir, is that he was really worried about you and that he's glad that you didn't die." He nods.

"A couple of days?" This only seems to increase Warren's bewilderment. "Not that I'm bitching ... but I feel better than I really ought to." He frowns. The only place he /does/ have a cast is his left leg. (broken thigh bone). Wierd shit.

"Well, you -- kind of -- sort of maybe fixed yourself a lot." Jackson explains, somewhat awkwardly. "I mean -- a lot of the -- healing. Your mutation -- I think God was looking out for you."

Cole nods solemly again to the explaination given. "Yeah. You look a so much better already. At first it was..." her voice cracks a little, "really bad."

Jafari just stands back for a moment. Really, this isn't a moment for him. Not really. Those two were really worried. Who is he to impede on their happiness that he's awake?

"Wierd." Warren says, mind not instantly jumping to 'healing factor' for rather understandable reasons. "I should really be up to my neck in casts, but like I said, not complaining." He huffs out a breath. "Sorry I scared the two of you so bad." Then he eyes Jackson. "Though if I'd known this is what it'd take to get you out of hiding, I'dve faked something like this a lot sooner."

"Maybe weird. Maybe but -- but lots of people get -- secondary mutations or -- their mutations grow or change or things, right? I'm just glad. That you're still here." Jackson leans in to kiss Warren lightly on the forehead before finally pulling back and returning to his seat at the bed's side. "I came the second I heard -- but don't scare me like that again!"

Cole gives Warren the evil-eye-of-doom that women can give, even at 12 years old. "Don't joke about that stuff. You will not!" Huff and then she goes back to cuddling.

Jafari smiles slightly at the little group. "Well, it seems like you're getting better, man. So there's no reason for anybody to worry, right?" He furrows his brow at Jackson. "Why were you hiding man? I mean, I know I was gone for a while, but I didn't think I was gone for /that/ long!"

Warren eyed Jackson. "Don't you scare /us/ like that again, and you have a deal." He shot back, blinking a bit at the kiss. He glances over at Cole. "All right, I won't." Then, to Jafari. "That's something I'd like to know myself."

"M'sorry, sir," Jackson says, head bowing sheepishly. "I just --" His head shakes. He does not want to answer Jafari's question! And so he changes the subject -- "I should call Miss Sunset, I'm sure she's been worried too." /Someone/, it seems, is out of the loop.

Jafari frowns at Jackson. "Jackson? Don't you go about avoiding my question none. We want to know. Sunset can find out soon."

Warren flinches at the mention of Sunset and sighs. Damn. He /really/ doesn't want to be the one to break the news, but it looks like he's going to have to. "Ummm ... guys? About Sunset ... " Damnit. "She was killed the other day. Car wreck."

Jackson cringes back into his chair, the motion as abrupt as if he'd just been punched. The illusions that kept him looking bright and healthy drop, with the sudden shock; face pale, eyes shadowed, form dangerously thin, and his eyes narrow on Warren. The light in the room trembles, and his voice trembles just as much along with it. "-- That's -- that's not funny, sir."

Cole sits up, staring down at Warren. She hadn't known about it either. "What? Oh...oh no. But..." She voices catches for a moment before she's able to finish her question every so quitely, ",what about the baby?"

Jafari stops there. This time it's time for him to take deep breaths in. "Okay. Dead...dead. Okay." He shakes his head.

"Wish to god I was kidding, Jackson, but I'm not. 'swhy I was out, that night. I was more'n a bit upset, and went for a flight. Wasn't watching where I was going, and damn near flew /into/ Octavius." Warren flinches at the memory, then glances at Cole before shaking his head sadly.

"No but -- she's -- we made pancakes -- it was -- she can't -- she's not --" Jackson was already pale; he has somehow managed to become even paler. The light flickers again. He is stubbornly disbelieving. He slips his cellphone out of his pocket, scrolls through to find Sunset's number, rocks back and forth in his chair as he dials it. There is, predictably, no answer. Jackson keeps the phone held to his ear. Just in case.

Cole squeaks a sound before anything else can come out and words are tangled up in her throat. Her hands cup over her mouth before they lower again, one just hovering to make the sign of the cross before she lays her head back, gently onto Warren's chest. Her body shakes a little with quiet sobs.

Jafari shakes his head again. He didn't really know Sunset. But he wouldn't've been as effected regardless. He just...wouldn't've. He places one hand on one of Jackson's shoulders and with the other one he puts gently tries to push Jackson's arm down. The one that's holding the phone. "Jackson...Sunset won't answer. Just put it down."

Jafari beats Warren to his comment, so he just pats whatever part of Jackson is closest sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Jackson." He hugs Cole closer. "Been a hell of a shitty week, hasn't it?"

Jackson /jerks/ away from Jafari's touch with a sudden breath that hisses out between clenched teeth; he gets to his feet with motion abrupt enough to send his chair skittering backwards. The light stops flickering, but only because it is coalescing around his form; the teenager himself is shaking now, though, even as he glows bright. The only casualty is the cellphone, fried in his hand by a brief discharge of energy; twisted and melted plastic falls from his fingers to the floor. Jackson doesn't speak, and he doesn't cry. He just stares down at the ground, numb and unblinking.

Cole doesn't look over at Jackson but the sound of his his and the chair raking along the floor as it's pushed backward is enough to get the point. She snuggles closer into Warren.

Jafari jumps back only slightly, going into a slightly defensive posture. He relaxes only slightly, though, as Jackson just stands there, but he stays on alert, though. "Jackson. Stop." He says in a calm voice. "No about of anger will change this. No outbursts of light will let you bring her back."

"Jackson ... " Warren tries to sit up a second time, and is marginally more successful, even cuddling Cole as he is. "C'mere."

Jackson's head lifts, and the look he gives Jafari is utterly bewildered and disbelieving. He does not bother to answer. He takes a step backwards, and then a step towards Warren, but he doesn't come closer, holding up his brightly -- dangerously, the light burning hot -- glowing hands as mute explanation. No touching. His breathing is ragged and gasping. "I -- I need to -- she can't -- I --" His head shakes. He looks very lost.

Cole sits up as Warren does, but remains mousishly quiet and still very close to Warren. With a sniffle she looks toward Jackson and his glowing hands, but otherwise, she just clings to both Angel and Puffball for a sense of security in this mass of insanity.

Jafari sighs. "Jackson..." He says slowly. "Concentrate." He thinks through his brain. What'd he do with his sister when her powers started acting up and she couldn't control them, again? Oh, what a time to have a mind block. He just got back from visiting too! "This is hard. Yes. Very hard. Just...what can we do to help? What do you need from us to help?" He's not sure what else to do.

"Take deep breaths, Jackson." Warren says. "Nice and slow. Picture something nice and calming in your head, like the lake on a summer day or something."

Jackson is taking deep breaths, or trying to; they are shaky and ragged, but eventually they calm. "Help?" He is still bewildered. "You /can't/ help." The light is subsiding, though, and he drops heavily back into his chair, elbows propped on his knees and his fingers splayed through his hair as his forehead drops to rest in his palms. "She wanted me to go live with her. She wanted to be my --" He falls silent, eyes still wide and staring.

The doors of the med bay open up to allow another mutant to enter the room, and this one is a bit worse for wear from the looks of things. Kaji walks into the room looking rather beat up; he has cuts, scraps, bruises, and a few gashes here and there. Though he looks perfectly calm about the entire thing. The group of people in the med bay snaps him out of his little personal dream and he arches a brow for a moment. Though staying silent for now. He lets out a sigh before he starts to go for the guaze and bandages.

Jafari shakes his head. "Look man, we've all lost people, all right?" Nope, that probably won't do it. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can say or do. I know that. But I'm here, man. I know what it's like to lose someone. I can't say how much she meant to you, but believe me, I think I can understand. If you want me to leave, though, I'll understand."

Warren breathes a sigh of relief as the light fades from Jackson's hands. Then Kaji walks in. "The hell?" Warren says. "Kaji?"

Jackson continues to take deep breaths, and he just shakes his head at Jafari's words. His head lifts as Kaji enters, and his brow creases with worry as he looks at his. "-- Kaji? You're hurt?" Concern washes over his expression.

Kaji looks back at everyone with a gauze bandage packet hanging from his mouth and he blinks a bit before bringing a hand up; removing the packet from his mouth. "I needed to relieve some stress, so I went to the DR. Didn't care what settings I put it on as I needed to fight against something. Turns out that-- When did you wake up, Warren?." He bites the packet once more and rips it open before he looks back at Jackson; confusion flickering over the teen's face. "Jax? When did you get back?" He glances over at Jafari and stays silent; he's trying to help and Kaji distracting him won't help much.

Jafari looks over to Kaji and waves slightly. "Hey man." Although he's been away for a while, he still remembers him of course. Why wouldn't he? Looking at Jackson, he says, "The last thing you need, Jax, is someone else to worry about. Just be concerned with yourself right now."

"About ten minutes maybe?" Warren says in answer to Kaji. "And still mildly confused as to why I'm doing so well, but like I said, not going to bitch."

"I got back as soon as I heard about Mister Worthington." Jackson presses his fingertips to the hollows of his eyes, tiredly, his jaw tightening briefly. "Please, Jafari. I'll be fine." He drops his hand to his lap, and curls his knees up to his chest. "I told you, sir," he says to Warren (as if his last explanation was /perfectly/ clear, "your body totally decided to heal itself. First you died an' then they thought maybe you were having --" His hand gestures to his head. "Brain -- things --" He is /so/ scientific in his explanations! "Only but it was just healing."

Kaji ahs for a moment before he grabs the rubbing alcohol and wipes off one of the more prominent gashes on his arm. "Ah. And you should have seen me last night when we brought you in. Didn't think I could feel that angry," He wraps the gauze around the wound. He glances back at Jax and smiles slightly, "It's great to see you once more, Jackson."

Jafari sighs, shaking his head. "If you say so, Jax." He looks at Kaji. "Haven't seen you in a while. How's it going?"

"I ... oh." The explanation hadn't quite sunk in the first time around. "Wierd shit. Thought I was too old for the manifestation thing." Then he snorts. "At least it was something that helped me get better."

There's a smile, that flickers briefly across Jackson's expression as he looks at Kaji. "I wish the circumstances were --" Well, pretty much anything else. At all. He exhales a slow, shaky breath, blue eyes flitting back to Warren. "I think you might'a died otherwise, sir," he says, quietly. "I'm -- well. /Glad/ don't begin to cover it."

Kaji glances over at Jafari and smirks, "Other than what you see before you. I'm doing pretty well actually." He lets out a small laugh before he looks back at Warren and grins. "Looks like you /can/ teach an old bird new tricks." Joking totally. But he wouldn't pass it up. His attention flicks over to Jackson once more. "I still have a promise to fulfill for ya, Jax."

Jafari smiles and nods, a little bit. He stays out of the conversation for the moment.

"Kaji, do not make me get out of bed and kick your ass." Warren mock-growls.

"You do?" Jackson's brow creases in confusion. Between (dissipating) worry over Warren and the news about Sunset and his generally chaotic mindframe of late, his memory is not functioning at its best. "-- An' please, sir, I think you should prooobably be staying in bed," he remembers to chide, with mock-severity to Warren's mock-growl.

Kaji gives a glance back over at Warren and says, "I dare you to try it." He cracks his knuckles and then looks over at Jackson, "Yeah, I still got that flying promise to hold up to. Remember that catching practice we did a while back in the DR?"

Jafari yawns. "You know what, I'm getting tired. I should get back to my room. I'll see you all later, I suppose. Don't strain yourself too much, sir."

Warren snorts. "If I wasn't so tired, I would." He snarks at Kaji. "Someone's gotta keep you lot in line."

Jackson winces. "'course I remember it. It was -- er." He grins. "I was sort of damaged. It was unwise." He leans back in his chair, gaze flickering over Warren. "Not you, right now, sir. /You're/ s'posed to be resting an' letting everyone else take care of you!" His grin brightens, impish. "-- /I'll/ keep Kaji in line."

Kaji looks over at Jafari, "I'll see you around the school, Jafari. Head to bed if you're tired." His gaze moves back to Jackson and then he says, "Oh? And how's a little firefly gonna keep me in line, hm?" He grins slightly before he looks over at Warren and says, "When you're /all/ better. We need to do that altimeter thing."

Jafari heads to a power outlet and whoosh, he's gone.

Warren snorts. "I'm probably going to have to retest /everything/." He admits. "So yeah, we need to do that."

Jackson's head tilts, and his drained look is fading -- genuine perking up, or illusion, it is difficult to say. Eyes glitter in reflection of his grin, and one hand lifts, palm up. "/This/ little firefly has had plenty of alone-time to practice," he says cheerfully, and a shimmering forcefield springs to life around Kaji. Pretty! And pretty indestructable.

Kaji arches a brow at the shield springing up around him and he then looks back at Jackson. "I see that. I'm pretty happy to see this as well." He brings a hand up to touch it as he then looks over at Warren, "Hopefully not a lot has changed. Or else that'd get a bit annoying." He glances over at Jackson and says, "Think you can detach yourself from that bed long enough to help me test out the harness for my dragon form?"

Log. Thursday evening. 8 May. Xavier's, lake. And the sky. Mostly the sky.

<XI> Lake
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The first thing that you notice when you walk onto the path that encircles a good majority of the lake is the clarity of the water itself. You can see easily if anyone is swimming in the water or not, or you can just enjoy the reflections of the surrounding environment or the sun itself. The path that goes around most of the lake is a plain dirt path that looks worn down enough to keep the grass and weeds off of it, and there's an off shoot that goes closer to the lake to gain access to the dock that extends a good ways into the water.

The water of the lake laps calmly against the shores most of the days when there is nothing disturbing the peace of the lake. On days where there are storms, it is not wise to come in here as the waves become more turbulent and dangerous. Though there are time when people are more daring then others.

The dock is made of rather durable material, and has the signs of aging like mostly everything that is in the nature around here. The edges of it have been rounded down by the water hitting it and wings blasting against it when there are high winds. The end of the dock has very faint rings of metal being rusted into it from people sitting at the edge fishing with bait buckets next to them. There also seems to be some scratches from things landing on it or walking on it as well. Must be the bird.

The night tonight is rather thick with cloud cover, the impending threat of rain would be promising if you were looking for that kind of thing. The thumps of something rather heavy walking is heading towards the lake. Hopefully with his friend in tow. "You ready for this, Jax?" asks Kaji as he rolls his shoulders. The harness on the back of his neck is getting rather annoying because he was still getting used to it.

Jackson is in tow; walking, as yet, and not yet mounted. The frail teenager is dwarfed by his friend, but he doesn't mind. His steps are light and nearly soundless against the grass. "Maybe," he says quietly. "I don't know if I'll be ready to come back down."

Kaji lets out a rumbling chuckle as he turns his head in the direction of Jackson. "Don't worry. I won't want to either. But we will have to sooner or later. I'll make sure it's the later part." He stops at the edge of the lake and then lowers down to the ground. "I won't be able to help ya get the harness on. So, make sure you get it nice and snug. Alright?" His head is turned to look back at his friend, his eyes glowing slightly.

"Okay. I'll be careful." Jackson climbs on carefully, trying to be as un-uncomfortable as possible, and cinches the harness on snugly before taking hold of the handles. "Later," he agrees, then, laughter in his tone. "Earth is the last place I want to be just now."

Kaji flares his wings out as he feels Jackson's weight settle into the harness. "I'll make sure of that. Though it might get a bit chilly up there." He lets out a chuckle and then beats his wings; getting his bulk off of the ground a good foot or so before he puts more oomf into the next beat and he starts to fly up into the sky. Going in a loose circle so Jax can get used to the temperature.

"That's okay," Jackson says, brightly, "I'll be too drunk to notice!" On adrenaline, rather than alcohol; even so! On Kaji's back, his smile is hard to see, but it shows in the lightness of his tone. "You knoooow," he tells the dragon, "-- second star t'the right an' straight on till morning, and we'd /never/ hafta go back."

Kaji lets out a small laugh and then calls over the rush of the wind, "I don't think Neverland could handle a dragon!" His wings beat harder as he passes through some low clouds; lingering within them for a few moments before heading above them into a space of clearish sky.

"Neverland can handle anything!" Jackson replies, though his words are mostly stolen by the wind and the breath of laughter that rushes out from him. His head tilts back as they emerge from the clouds, and the air around them blossoms with light; small glowing pinpricks of it that could be fireflies, but upon closer examination contain tiny winged humanoid figures that dance and zoom along by their sides. Perhaps they cannot go to Neverland, but Jackson sure can have fairies /here/.

Kaji beats his wings harder. sending them upwards into the sky as he then hovers for a moment. Before them, around them, surrounding them is a clear sky; the moon hanging above them and causing the clouds beneath them to glow with a slight mythical essence. "Now this," says Kaji between the beats of his wings, "Is why I like coming up here." Sure they aren't high enough to freeze Jackson to the bone; but it is chilly.

Jackson shivers briefly, but the scene around them steals his attention. For a while he is silent, simply drinking it in. "Can we live up here?"

Kaji smiles, though it is unseen by Jackson. "No, we can't. Though however I wish that I could," says Kaji, his voice being whisked away by the wind but it should be able to be heard by Jax slightly. "And if you think that the moonlit clouds are nice. You should see sunrise. That's even more spectacular." He chuckles a bit as he then looks up; past the clouds above them and the cirrus clouds, to the stars. "Just come find me if you ever want to leave the ground, alright? I'll be perfectly happy to help."

"I always want to leave the ground," Jackson replies with a laugh. "I never want to touch the ground -- sometimes I think I'm never there. Somewhere else. Always somewhere else. But -- but I would like the help. Dreams soar higher than dragons, but wings are better than insanity."

Kaji laughs, "You're head is always up in the clouds. Now your body has joined it, Jax." His wings beat once more as he just starts to fly around lazily in the air. "And wings are always better than anything." He turns his head back to look at Jackson and says, "And, you're not insane. A little touched in the head, maybe. Insane? Not by a long shot."

"That's not what they told me," Jackson answers with a wrinkle of his nose. "They said I'm crazy-crazy-crazy and put me on drugs 'till I was a zombie all over again." He sighs, but it is a happy sigh as they fly; the small glowing fairies return to hover around them. "I'm trying to get my head -- back. Back to earth. Not be crazy anymore."

Kaji glances around at the fairies and smiles as he continues to fly around; his wings beating lazily as he then says, "It doesn't matter what they say, Jax. You're back with your friends now. And even if you deny it, we are still your friends." A low chuckle comes from the dragon, as he then asks a question on a different topic. "The harness working out okay?"

"I wouldn't never deny it," Jackson says seriously. "It just ain't always so easy to --" He breaks off with a shake of his head, and his tone lightens. "It's great! -- Well, for me. I don't know how /you/ feel about having someone riding around on your back." At least he weighs next to nothing!

Kaji rolls his shoulders and goes a wee bit higher as he says, "To be honest, I can't feel you back there." Not like he'd feel anyone else, it'd take a nice heavy load for him to notice. "And I don't mind really. I'm doing this for fun." He beats his wings once more and starts to go into a circle once more. In the circle, he looks back at Jax. His eye shining slightly from the moonlight and he says, "Glad to hear that."

"Glad to hear which part?" Jackson asks, head tilting slightly.

Kaji lets out a laugh as he glances back at Jackson once more; after checking to see if there was any planes headed their way. "That you don't deny that you still have friends."

Jackson's grin is bright, and reflected in the brightening of the fairy-illusions dancing around them. "I know I've always got friends. I know I've always got you guys. Even -- even when I got really bad, I still -- knew. Sometimes it's just not easy to deal with the world. But that don't mean I've forgotten about it."

Kaji laughs; one that seems to vibrate his entire body, "Now that is what I wanted to hear from you." He looks up into the sky and then back down to the ground. "Ready to head back down? I kinda skipped dinner and I'm gettin' a bit hungry."

"You've gotta eat," Jackson agrees, and his gaze sweeps the sky around them once more. "I s'pose I can deal with having to come back down to earth!"

Kaji glances back at Jackson; a glint in his eye would make a normal person hold on tight to the handles. "Hold on~" He beats his wings hard and goes vertical for a good few seconds before he arches his back; hanging there, "Press yourself against the strap." He laughs before he folds his wings in and just starts to plummet down through the air.

Jackson is hardly a normal person! But he does hold tighter to the handles at Kaji's warning, and -- then his breath rushes out in an exhilirated laugh as they plummet. He does not speak; he does not bother attempting to. A stream of light trails from their decent, glittering in their wake. Kaji the falling star.

Kaji folds his wings in close to his body; only flaring them out when they burst through the layer of clouds and he starts to slow their descent down by flying in a tight circle and then slowly winding out into a larger one. Soon they are going in a circle that's tracing the edge of the lake.

Jackson's grip loosens as their descent slows, but the trail of light still shines and shimmers in their wake. It lingers to mark their path, tracking where they've been, a sparkling outline around the lake's edge.

Kaji beats his wings in a good succession as he finally touches his back feet to the ground and then lets his front paws rest against the dirt as well. "Well now, that was fun. Wasn't it." A laugh as he turns his head to look back at Jackson; a smile curling the edges of his mouth.

"More than fun," Jackson says, leaning forward to wrap his arms around the dragon's neck. "I -- I really -- /really/ -- needed that. Thank you." His cheek presses against Kaji's scales, and he does not get down juuust quite yet.

Kaji smiles, "It was my pleasure," and he's more than content to start walking towards the school; his wings folding in towards his back as he walks. "To be honest, I needed that as well. Flying above the clouds calms me down quite a bit. I've spent a lot of time up there these past few weeks."

Jackson stays where he is a moment longer, thin arms hugging the dragon's neck before he straightens. "Been sort of a crazy little while, ain't it?" he muses, quietly. "Sometimes I think it's nice to leave the world behind. It can weigh you down. Up there it ain't so heavy."

Kaji laughs slightly as he shakes his head and looks back at Jackson. "Yeah, it has. Hasn't it. But I'm glad you're back here. I've missed ya terribly." His wings shudder slightly; getting the mist that accumulated on them to fly off and around them. And then back on him. "The world is never too heavy when you have wings."

Jackson giggles as droplets of moisture hit him; now, finally, he unbuckles his harness and slides off, dropping to the ground and landing in a crouch at Kaji's side before straightening. "I don't got none," he says with a lopsided grin, "so I guess I'll just hafta borrow yours sometimes. When the world's too heavy."

Kaji stops walking when he hears the harness being unbuckled and he lowers himself down to make the drop not that big of one. "And I'll let you borrow mine whenever you need to." He raises up one of his front paws and extends a claw; flicking it at the clasps on the bottom side of the larger strap. With the three clasps undone; he slips the harness off and rolls his shoulders. "Remind me to put some padding on the underside of that, alright?" He laughs slightly as he then shifts down into his half dragon form; running a hand through his hair before he picks up the harness and glances over at Jax. "Shall we go raid the kitchen?"

Jackson's answering smile is cheerful-bright. "I barely've touched food since I got back," he admits. "Let's go see what we can dig up!"

Sunset

2008-05-07T06:31:31Z

Pancakes yay.

You know, I've always wanted a sibling. Though I guess I'm old enough to be more uncle than brother for Zoe -- even so! Even so.

I guess I have a lot of people I need to talk to, now. I'm slowly getting back to the point where I feel like I can.

Slowly!

Log. Monday morning. 6 May. Sunset's Apartment.

<NYC> Beacon: Sunset's Apartment
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The apartment is large, surprisingly so for a soon to be single mother's. The joys of knowing someone who has a knack for stocks. As soon as you walk in, you hit dark wood flooring, with soft plush carpets in the living room, hall, and both bedrooms. The kitchen has black tile flooring, marble countertops, and shiny new appliances, with a fully stocked fridge and pantry. Finally the living room, is filled with overstuffed comfortable furniture, more dark wood furniture, and a excellent stereo system.
The hallway has three doors. The first leads to the second bathroom, which has white tile floors and countertops, along with a shower, sink, and toilet.
The second leads into a nursery, done in green and whites, with ornate designs of fairy tale illustrations on the walls. While there aren't yet many toys to take up space on the shelves that hang on the walls, there is an elaborate crib and changing table, along with a rocking chair in the corner.
Finally the last door leads to the master bedroom has a king sized dark wood sleigh bed, matching furniture, and a balcony with a sliding glass door. Two doors lead elsewhere. One to a walk in closet, not even half filled with clothes, and the other to the master bathroom. In it, is a large whirlpool tub, two sinks, and a large shower, with a large cabinet for towels. The toilet is hidden behind another door.

As with every morning in the apartment, Sunset is in the kitchen. Breakfast is the important meal of the day, after all, especially for these two. A rather large omelet cooking in a skillet on the stove, music floating in from the living room stereo - Currently, it's a cover of 'Come Together' by Joe Crocker. - the redhead seems to be doing better than she has been the last few days. Though perhaps, the daily batch of hormones are just sleeping in today.

The knock on Sunset's door is rather timid. Tap. Quiet. It takes a few moments before it is followed by more knocks, equally unassertive. Taptaptap. Outside, Jackson is fidgety. His fingers toy with his too-long hair, and he shifts from one foot to the other, blue eyes flickering restlessly around the hallway. His jeans are far too baggy and held up on his bony hips with a rainbow-striped canvas belt. His t-shirt is far too baggy, too, and only serves to emphasize his current rather wasted condition.

Glancing up at the door, Sunset sets the skillet on a cool burner to go answer the door. One peephole peek and a few unlocked locks later, the door is open, Sunset looking a mix of happy to see the boy and worried at his current condition. "I'm finding some vegan food in this apartment to eat if it's the last thing I do, I swear."

"I've been eating," Jackson assures Sunset with a brief but bright flash of a smile. "Honest I have. I just -- won't put all my weight back on overnight, y'know?" He slips into the apartment, fingers still twisting at his hair. "I came -- I just -- I'm sorry I disappeared so sudden-like. I miss you. I had to -- I didn't want you worrying. I shouldn't've left like that."

"You aren't the first person to leave overnight and just leave a note, Jackson. Some people just don't like goodbye." Sunset answers, closing the door behind him. "And it's not like you ran off to Europe, either, I figured you would be back for visits." Personal space be damned, Sunset's arms wrap around him in a hug. "And are you sure about that food thing? Because I did just start breakfast, and I can find /something/ to make."

Jackson's arms wrap back around Sunset, his head resting against her shoulder; he doesn't let go for a good long time. "I'm sure," he assures her. "I've been staying at -- with -- at --" He blushes slightly. "Mrs. Richards -- the, uhm -- Invisible Woman, she sort of -- found me an' -- took me home. I guess I'm trying to work up the nerve to go back to school. It's hard."

"Well, if you don't want to go back, you don't want to go back. It's as simple as that." Sunset murmurs. "Oh, that reminds me. Did I ever tell you what I plan to do once the baby is born and a bit older? I want to start my own school for runaway mutants. Sort of like a halfway point between Xavier's and the Tunnels. Right now, it's just an idea, but I definitely want it to be real, one day."

"Really?" Jackson smiles at this, though, forehead pressed against her shoulder, it can't really be seen. "That'd be -- nice. And I -- I don't know what I want, miss. It's all -- I don't know. I want --" He pulls back, head shaking. "I want to stop being a freak. I want to find somewhere I actually belong. I want a family again. -- I guess I want the impossible."

"Jackson, you know you're always wanted here. You aren't a freak, not to me. And I know I've told you before, you've always got family here, too." Smiling slightly, raising a finger to tap him on the nose, Sunset chuckles. "Considering how much Zoe kicks whenever you're around, I suspect she agrees with me."

Jackson grins, though there's a sadness underlying the expression. "I know, miss. I know. And I appreciate it. A lot. I mean -- you're -- with you it's one of the only times I feel --" He blushes deeper, and shrugs. "Safe? There ain't many people -- I can count 'em on the fingers of one hand. And some of 'em I don't even know how they feel about me, really, so maybe my feelings are misplaced." His eyes fall to Sunset's stomach. "I never had any siblings," he muses. "Always wanted some. My parents had a hard enough time having /me/. They tried an' tried an' tried for years an' the doctors said they couldn't --" His nose wrinkles. "Guess all their work was sorta for naught."

"If they could not accept the wonderful boy you are, it was their own downfall. And I'm sure one day, they'll realize their mistake." Pulling away from him slightly, hands still resting on his shoulders, Sunset peers at him quizically. "Now, about that breakfast. Are you hungry?"

"Little bit," Jackson says, smile sheepish. He glances towards the kitchen. "But I just wanted to see you. Not mooch your food."

"Sweetie, I stock my kitchen so people /can/ mooch my food." Sunset grins. "You taking a few bites here and there isn't going anything compared to when Oz gets hungry. Trust me on that. So... Pancakes? I have soymilk, and I think I remember hearing somewhere that apple sauce can be used to substitute eggs, so. Hopefully it works."

"Works in some things. Bananas work. I make pancakes without eggthings. I can make 'em!" Jackson bounces slighlty on the toes of his sneakers before heading towards the kitchen, alight with cheerful energy at the idea of Being Useful.

"Banana pancakes?" Sunset repeats, following. "Can I have some? You'd probably do better at making them since you actually know how..." Feeling slightly guilty, since Jax /is/ a guest, she frowns slightly. "At least let me help make it. I'd feel guilty otherwise."

"'course you can help. Cooking's more fun together. -- But anyhow if I'm like family or whatever then I ain't /really/ a guest right? So no guilt either way." Jackson is considerably more bouncy now than when he came in, bustling around the kitching retrieving ingredients.

"Hm. Point." Lips twitching upward, Sunset leans against one of the counters, watching Jax for a moment. "So, have you been doing any better? You certainly seem more cheerful, but for all I know it's because you enjoy cooking so much."

"I don't know, miss," Jackson says, with frank honesty. "I'm -- trying. I don't know if I can commit to anything past that, just yet. I'm scared." He shrugs as he lines things up neatly on the counter. "They say take things one day at a time but I think I'm more like down to -- five-minute segments at a time."

"They also say that it's impossible for people to come back from the dead, but I think I've proved Them wrong. So, don't always trust what they They say, trust what you know." Sunset replies, tone becoming a bit more thoughtful. "And work on slowly lengthening those five minute segments. One day they might be ten minute segments instead."

"I hope so, miss." Jackson grins, locating a mixing bowl and putting it onto the counter as well -- he uses measuring cups to start putting dry ingredients together, but is clearly not /actually/ measuring anything. He eyeballs his work with casual appraisal instead. "/This/ five minutes, right now, I think I'm doing okay. I'll tell you six minutes from now what the outlook is for the next."

"Shall I find the kitchen timer to hold you to that?" Sunset asks, chuckling. "Or simply wait until you're done cooking, instead?"

"Timer," Jackson decides with a laugh. "This'll take more'n five minutes and I might've lost myself again by then."

Reaching into a drawer to bring out a kitchen timer in the shape of an egg - which pops open to reveal a baby chicken, and chirps when time is up - Sunset twists the top of it to six minutes, setting it on the counter. "Timer it is, then. So, how is life, living with Invisible Woman?"

"Crazy!" Jackson stops what he is doing a moment, head shaking. "I mean, she's awesome. She's /so/ sweet. And -- but -- the place, it's -- its insane. There's -- there's /robots/. That try to /make my bed/. I ain't never -- I'm not like that!" He blushes and scuffs his hand through his hair. "It's sort of overwhelming. I don't never want to be so rich I forget how to clean my own room."

"I imagine if Warren and I ever live together, the maids will be insanely confused by me." Sunset smiles. "I'm like that as well. I don't see the use of having someone or something else clean up after you. It seems like it would make you lose all sense of responsibility after a while, doesn't it?"

"It sorta does," Jackson says, and then frowns (down into his mixing bowl, as he starts mixing things together -- but that is just incidental). "But she ain't like that at all. I mean, with the -- responsibility. I guess just -- maybe they've got too /much/. So many big things going on -- I guess if you can afford having help with the little ones, that's okay. But I don't know. I /like/ taking care of that sort of thing. I don't actually like chores, but I like the -- stability, maybe. I don't know how to explain it."

"For me, it's knowing that I can take care of myself just fine. I'll accept help, when offered, but I'm not going to look for it unless absolutely needed." Sunset murmurs. "Considering for how long I was dependant on other people, or other things, it's nice to finally beindependent."

"Yeah. I can see how that would be -- good too." Jackson pauses in his mixing, and looks at Sunset thoughtfully. "That's good though. I mean. Accepting help when offered. I ain't so good with that always."

"I believe it is testosterone that causes that. Most men have a harder time accepting help than women. Such things become obvious when you ask a man if he'd just stop and pull over for directions." Sunset grins, obviously teasing. "It's certainly normal."

"If you haven't noticed," Jackson says, laughing and shaking his hair back from his face, "I ain't been blessed with an overabundance of testosterone."

"But you still have some! So the pride is still there."

"Still some," Jackson acknowledges, returning to his mixing. "I think mine's equal parts pride an' fear, though."

"Fear?" Sunset repeats, questioningly. "Fear of what?" However, before Jackson can answer, the egg on the counter pops up, the little yellow chick inside chirping cheerfully. "And how did those six minutes go, as well?

Jackson grins. "I'm still here. That's something, right?" His head tips over his bowl, and he traces a finger along the inside of the bowl, lifting it to his mouth to lick the batter thoughtfully. (Hygeine? What?) Apparently it meets with his approval, because he turns the stove on after, pouring just a bit of oil in the pan before he ladels batter into it. "Fear of -- of. I don't know. Rejection? Asking people for help, it's -- it hurts. When those rugs get yanked out from under you."

"Betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope." Sunset answers, quoting something. "And to lose hope is to lose one of the most important things of all. For what is life without hope." Though, the last part was all her. "Though i think it mostly matters on how much you trust the person that you are asking. Perhaps, it only hurts when it is someone you deeply trust that turns there back on you."

"Maybe," Jackson says, quietly. "Maybe. I -- I'm trying to make -- trying to not just let that -- make me stop trusting people. But it's hard. To risk getting hurt so bad again." He carefully flips his half-cooked pancakes over with a spatula, frowning down into the pan. "There's so few people these days that I -- I mean. You. Rich. Mister Worthington. -- And him, I don't even /know/ if he -- I think I keep alienating everyone that /would/ care."

"Oh, sweetie, he cares. He's just been busy lately, and distracted with Cole... She was in some trouble for a bit, but now that she's safe..." Sunset frowns slightly. "Does he even know you're out of the hospital?"

"Cole," Jackson murmurs, "-- I read -- there was something in the paper -- a dragon an' a angel an' a witch and it was -- was /y'all/ and I was worried --" He leans against the countertop briefly, heedless of the fact he is so close to the hot stovetop, and all his vibrant energy seems to rush out of him in time with a slow, shaky breath. "Cole was writing me letters in the hospital. She's so sweet, she really is. I ain't telled Mister Worthington, yet, I was scared -- scared he wouldn't want -- scared --" His eyes squeeze shut, head bowing. "She's such a nice girl. I feel like a horrible person because every time I think about her I just want to cry. I get so /jealous/ in a way I ain't never felt before."

Moving towards him, taking the skillet from the the hot burner as she does, her arms wrap around him again. "No, sweetie, you aren't a horrible person for wanting a family." Sunset murmurs, a hand comfortingly running up and down his back. "Especially with him as a family. I don't blame you. But Jackson, he will - He /would./ I know he would."

"I don't know. I just want -- it's hard to -- /family/ --" Jackson's words are choppy, faltering, and the teenager is trembling slightly beneath Sunset's hand -- the light in the room trembling as well. "-- I think I'm on the next five minutes, now," he says weakly. "These five ain't going so great." The light shivers again, and his head jerks up, alarmed. "Oh. /Oh/. I need to -- need to -- you should finish cooking the pancakes, I promise they'll be yummy!" He kisses her on the cheek. "LoveyousorryI'llbebacksoon." And with that, he rushes for the door.

Susan

2008-05-02T20:17:06Z

Home. I ain't sure I know anymore what that means. I ain't sure anymore I've got one.

But I've got safe, and quiet, and --

and cookies.

She really is very nice.

Log. Friday afternoon. 2 May. Battery Park.

<NYC> Manhattan: Battery Park
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A green oasis at the edge of Manhattan. Named for the artillery of the past, it has been, and remains, a popular place...with views of the harbor. Twenty-one acres of bike paths, foot paths and outdoor artwork. Within it is the surviving fort, Castle Clinton, which has seen service as a beer garden, a theater and the first processing center for immigrants. It is now a tourist center, and the ticket office for the ferry to Liberty and Ellis Islands. These ferries depart regularly from the waterfront. To the north, skyscrapers encroach, but stop as if cut off at the park's boundary. At the northern edge of the park is Battery Gardens restaurant.

The day is cool, despite being May, and overcast moreover; it has not /stopped/ people from coming to the park this afternoon, but it certainly has left it less crowded than a pleasant spring day would have earned. Tourists and New Yorkers simply relaxing drift to and fro. Jackson does not fit comfortably into either category -- tourist he is not, but his sensibilities are still far more Dixie than Yankee. The displaced Southerner is not looking very much like himself today -- no glitter, no colorfully stylish outfits, no dyed hair, not even any piercings. he sits curled up in the corner of a park bench, knees pulled to his chest and his arms wrapped tight around them. He is rather scruffy, his baggy jeans and grey sweatshirt both several sizes too big for him and his hair too-long and shaggy; his customary bright cheer is as frayed and faded as his outfit -- face drawn and pale and eyes darkly shadowed with sleeplessness. At least he is -- relatively -- ish -- clean. Sort of. At least, he's had a shower -- some time in the past few days. It's something! He has a sketchpad, and a charcoal pencil, but he is not drawing. They sit on the bench beside him, and at the moment he is not doing much of anything. His head is resting against his knees, and his eyes are fighting a losing battle to stay open.

Susan is walking along the foot path, in a blue dress with matching hat. The invisible woman just out for a stroll it seems, enjoying the brisk May weather to get out and about in the city. She almost walks straight past Jackson as she moves past his bench. But she stops and does a double take, looking at him for a moment then her eyes widen in recognition. "Jackson?"

Jackson's head jerks upright, and in a heartbeat his expression changes drastically -- shadows disappear from his eyes, colour returns to his cheeks, a bright smile replaces his heavily tired expression. "Mrs. Richards!" His hand lifts, knuckles rubbing against his eyes. "Hi! I didn't expect to -- see nobody -- here."

Susan sits herself down on the bench, folding her hand bag into her lap and smiling at him. It is a worried smile however. "I can guess Jackson. You do not have to hide behind glamours around me Jackson dear. You look very tired, How have you been?"

Jackson pulls his sketchpad onto his lap to give Susan more room, and turns slightly to face her better. "I've been --" His hands spread, and his nose wrinkles as his grin stretches wider, too. "Tired! I don't know. How have you been, ma'am?"

"I have been well, but worried about you Jackson, I heard that you have been ill." she smiles at him, reaching out a hand to brush back a lock of his hair. "I was looking forwards to starting your lessons as well. Your apartment at the Plaza is there should you need a place to stay in quiet also."

Jackson's head tilts slightly, expression softening as Susan brushes back his hair. "Ill. Sort of. Maybe. I -- m'sorry I worried you." He scrubs the heel of his hand against his cheek, and smiles brighter once more. "I was really looking forward to starting lessons, too. I'm really sorry I -- everything was just --" One bony-thin shoulder hitches upwards in a shrug.

Susan reaches out wordlessly and enfolds him in a hug, just holding him lightly incase he tries to pull back. "Shhh it is ok, We can still start your lessons whenever you are ready. Are you back at home now? Or are you just drifting around? You can come and stay at our place and get something to eat if you want a quiet hidey hole. No one can reach you in the FFP who you do not want."

Jackson does tense, at first, but he doesn't pull back; despite initial hesitation, the contact is welcome, and he relaxes, forehead resting against Susan's shoulder. "I don't have a home," he says, very quietly. "I think I'm a little -- little bit -- lost."

Susan smiles sadly, holding him gently, brushing his hair, "You always have a home in the plaza Jackson. You are to be my student after all. And I am sure you will be welcome back at the mansion. When you feel ready to visit."

"M'scared," Jackson admits, staying resting against Susan, reluctant to break the contact now. "That they'll be mad or -- or -- think I'm even /more/ of a freak or -- Mister Worthington might --" He bites at his lower lip, teeth dragging against the skin. "I don't know. I already lost my family. Rene. -- Everything."

Susan places a finger against his lips, "Shhh Jackson, Warren is just as worried as me. Come stay with us for now. You have been ill they will all come to understand given time." She squeezes him gently in a warm hug. The invisible woman smells of cookie dough and well that general clean scent you get.

Jackson's eyes slip closed, and illusion drops, leaving him looking as tired and worn as he initially had been. He nods, slowly. "I just --" His nose wrinkles. "I'm gonna be an adult this month. Turn 18. I don't -- don't hardly feel it. I don't think I'm even slightly growed up. I just want t'go home to my parents, y'know?"

Susan nods her head, "Can you not go and see them? Will they not have you?" She stands up, trying to guide him up with her if he'll follow. "We can make arrangements for you to see them if they will see you"

"They don't want me," Jackson says with a shake of his head. "They kind of -- disowned me. I don't actually have any -- I mean, they did it legally an' everything. Legally, I'm an adult already. They -- signed me away." He unfolds from his seat, tucking his sketchpad beneath his arm as he stands.

Susan sighs sadly and hugs the young man again. "Well... that is just horrible. I should give them a piece of my mind for you." Scary thought that, the Invisible Woman telling people off. She gently starts to guide Jackson towards the entrance to the park. "Well you come stay with us, Ben and Reed and Johnny won't mind and you'll see Warren and everyone at the mansion will welcome you home. Even Rene eventually."

Jackson's head shakes again, and he leans slightly into the hug. "Naw. Ain't much to be done about it. -- Heck, if /I/ was my parents, /I'd/ disown me. I ain't worth -- uhm. Owning." His nose wrinkles. He does not look particularly convinced that anyone will welcome him anywhere, but he stays quiet as he follows along beside her.

Susan smiles and stops outside the gates where her flying car is parked. Not the fantasti car, a smaller one with a bubble dome roof that she uses for short jaunts. "Well you come on back to the Plaza with me? I welcome you into our home." she smiles, "You look thin enough I shall have to feed you cookies."

Jackson giggles, a trace of his former cheer showing through without aid of illusion this time. "I can't ever say no to cookies, ma'am," he says happily. "I -- thank you."

Susan seems encouraged by that show of cheer as she open the car door and climbs aboard. "Well then I may have to supply ice cream as well."

"Only if it's -- non-dairy," Jackson says apologetically as he climbs into the car as well. "But I hardly ever say no t'that, either!"

Susan smiles, "How about home made, non dairy ice cream, made with soy milk and strawberries?"

Jackson's eyes light, and he bounces in his seat as he straps his seat belt on, hands clapping together once. "That sounds like -- awesome!" He grins. "You're gonna make me fat." (Considering that his present state is -- bordering on the need for hospitalization, this is probably not a bad thing.)

Susan smiles and is no doubt thinking just that, "Of course! It is what we do best." she starts the car and with a soft thrum it rises up into the air smoothly. Anhgling to the north and starting to fly towards the great sky scaper with the giant 4 etched into the side.

Jackson does not answer -- not verbally, anyway. He just smiles, admittedly tired but far more genuine than the illusion-aided cheer he wore before, and rests back in his chair, half-watching the scenery outside and half slipping back into exhausted drowsiness.

Susan touches a button on the dash and the 4 they are flying towards hinges down, revealing a run way and the hangar of the Fantastic Four. Susan guides the car in and lands. Smiling at Jackson as she shuts the car down and slips out of her chair. "Come on Jackson, we are home."

"Home," Jackson echoes, a tired note of laughter threaded through his tone. He unbuckles his seatbelt and slips out of the car, too. "But how do you know? That's a complicated word."

Susan smiles at Jackson, "it is a place I associate with Reed, with my family. A safe place where I can rest in comfort and quiet."

Jackson considers this a moment, teeth gnawing at his lower lip, and then nods. "Home. Yeah. -- family, safe. That's --" His eyes close, briefly, and his brow furrows before he opens them again. "Home."

Susan smiles and squeezes his arm, starting to guide him towards the lift. She takes them down a few floors and into the living quarters. Leading him down a corridor to a door, she touches a panel next to it and it slides open, revealing a comrotable looking living room. HUGE bean bag chairs, TV, book case and PC. There is a door to a bathroom and another to a bedroom. "These will be your rooms whilst you are staying here, if you decide to stay with us for a while."

Jackson's eyes widen slightly at the accomodations, and he hesitates in the doorway before stepping inside. "I -- wow. Thank you. I --" He blushes, and glances towards the bathroom. "I got time for a shower, 'fore I get -- cookied?"

Susan smiles, "Of course dear, You go and wash up and I'll go prepare something to eat!" she smiles and steps out, closing the door and leaving him to settle in.

Zachery; Hollow, Thalin

2008-05-02T12:07:03Z

I hope Mister Zachery likes his room.

I don't belong here, though. I didn't mean to upset Hollow, I really didn't. And it isn't wrong no more'n is wrong for cats to eat fish -- I just -- I made him sad, I could see it. And he gets that all the time up top I'm sure but he shouldn't get it down here, not down here in his home -- I can't stay here, not where I might upset people.

Also, my wolf-angel was real. He saved my life (ruined my death?) and I thought I'd imagined him, but he's real. I should have hugged him maybe but I was sort of busy being -- I don't know. Shocky. That seems to be my default state these days.

Log. Thursday afternoon. 1 April. Morlock Tunnels, Zach's Room.

<NYC> Morlock Tunnels: Zachery's Room
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This small, rectangular room is as poorly decorated at is it lit. There's not much space to move about, and most of it is taken up by an often sheetless one-and-a-half-person bed and a cheap-looking grayish vault that doubles as a nightstand. The whole deal is only vaguely illuminated by a single bulb that hangs haphazardly from the ceiling.

Zachery's roomn has never been much of anything special. No colours, no furniture apart from a bed, and no personal touches to the room. But even though the currently hostless Zachery is lacking the senses to be noticing it right now- there /is/ something special about it today. Today, it smells. It smells of rotting and death. Just a little death, though. A pigeon lies sprawled out on the vault next to the bodysnatcher's bed, pinned down to a raggedy piece of cloth with rusty looking pins. Its chest has been pried open and some half discernable organs have been removed and placed carefully on top of one of the bird's wings. It and the bloodied scalpels next to it look like they haven't been touched in a while, though. And the stench confirms this. Zachery himself has taken to sitting on his bed, slouched over with his elbows on his legs and his eyes on the floor. Eventless days are the worst.

Outside, the tunnels do not smell. Or, rather, they smell rather citrusy; Jackson has been hard at work all day, with rags and bucket and cheerfully purple rubber gloves, scrubbing clean every last inch of the common rooms. His nose wrinkles as he passes by Zachery's doorway, and he pokes his head into the room uncertainly. "What on earth are -- oh." Gaze flickering around the room, it settles on the rotting pigeon. He pales. He swallows. "I -- think -- maybe --" he ventures slowly, and then swallows again. "I could clean in here, too."

"Hnm?" Zachery's skull lifts, and his gaze lands on Jackson's face. Soon enough he's back to staring at the dusty floor. Dismissively waves a hand, he mutters absentmindedly "No need to. I'll take it out tomorrow night when I go topside." I'm PLOTTING now.

"I've cleaned 'most everywhere else," Jackson informs Zachery. His hand curls around the handle of a broom. His eyes flicker again over the room, lips pursing in thought. "There ain't no colour in here."

Zachery's skull gives a small twitch as he peers to the left. Hello grayishness. He peers to the right. Well. "There's /blue/." He deadpans, sticking up an arm at Jackson. "Blue's fine."

"Hm." Jackson looks unconvinced. He leans slightly on his broom. "Blue's good!" he decides slowly. "But you aren't in here all the /time/. When you're gone --" He brightens suddenly, abruptly far too cheerful. "Blue's good," he repeats, much perkier this time.

Zachery's arm lowers back to help him lean in a terribly unhealthy looking posture. His eyes linger on Jackson's face for a moment. "You seem happy. Oh-- don't tell me, you're one of those people who thinks cleaning is therapeutic." Hmph.

"Cleaning /is/ therapeutic!" Jackson insists. "Plus it's bad for your --" His hand waves vaguely. "Living in somewhere all messy an' dirty. That /breeds/ depression."

"It's /my/ room." Zachery notes, skull angling to the side curiously. He hasn't been told what to do with his room since... far too long ago. "And since I am immune to depression, I shall do with it as I please."

"You're not immune to depression," Jackson says, lips pursing priefly. "It's why you're a /crankyface/ all the time."

Zachery straightens up slightly, looking none too pleased with this observation. Though more defensive than anything else. "There is a difference between 'crankyface'," this gets airquotes! "and being... meticulously scheming in silence. I'm perfectly content."

"Okay." Jackson's tone is light, though his expression clearly dubious. Zachery /is/ a crankyface and he will not be convinced otherwise. "Scheming sounds ominous. You know, if you're scheming you ain't s'posed to tell people."

Zachery gives a single shouldered shrug, and pffs. "I'm scheming for your benefit, /technically/. Now that you've decided to join my little gang for however long you're hanging around and..." his jaws stay parted for a second before he finds the right word, and it comes out as though it's something utterly disconcerting, "/cleaning/." Ungh.

"I been cooking, too," Jackson says cheerfully, rocking back on his heels. "Didn't think anyone would complain 'bout more food." He shakes his head, solely for the purpose of getting too-shaggy hair back from his face, and squints at Zach. "What're you scheming 'bout, then?"

"Things." Zachery elightens Jackson. "Connections with people. Things that need to be discussed with people. Things you don't need to be hurting your pretty little head worrying over." If anything, /anything/ is clear, than it's that that last bit was dripping with sarcasm.

Jackson sniffs exaggeratedly, but the sarcasm doesn't make his grin fade. "You're just jealous. You only wish you could be so pretty." Slowly, color begins to ripple across Jackson's body; the pale tone of his skin switches to blue, and then turns rather translucent, and soon he looks rather Zachery-esque, all blue protoplasm even if his features are still easily enough identified as Jackson. "I don't know, though. /I/ can make this look /good/."

Zachery watches on, eyes flitting over Jackson's body as the illusion sets in. There's a brief, silent hiss when he realises what, exactly, Jackson is starting to look like. Though the bodysnatcher himself doesn't appear angry. Instead, he's... momentarily at a loss for words, it seems. Doesn't happen often, that.

Protoplasm-Jackson laughs again, bouncing slightly on his toes. "I think it's sort of neat, really. I should try it more often. But --" Blue ripples, shifts to purple. "There. /Much/ better!"

Zachery's train of thoughts appears to have derailed for a bit. And it's derailed all the way over to nostalgic thoughts, which are less than wanted. Go awaay. "Hmn. No." He finally decides for the both of them. "You stay solid, I'll stay my blue self." Colour and otherwise.

Purple shifts back to blue and then back to Jackson's normal skin tone as he reverts to his actual appearance. "Alright," he accedes easily. "-- I was jus' kidding anyway. You do make it look better'n I do."

Zachery huffs, and gives a curt nod. "You bet your arse I do." Having recovered from whatever it was that was distracting him, he actually comes across rather smug now. "Tell you what. I'll take the stupid bird out tonight. I could use a drink anyway." Getting up, he starts de-pinning the rotting creature, holding it by a wingtip.

"Okay!" Jackson beams at this, and his eyes sweep the room once more, strangely pleased. "You go get yourself a nice long relaxing -- drink." His steps are bouncing as he turns and leaves to continue his cleaning.

Zachery pauses in his actions, but only to peer at Jackson. Then, regardless of whether the bouncy mutant is still within earshot or not, he mutters, "That's just too /odd/ to be healthy." With that, he picks the bird up and leaves as well, still carrying it by its wing. Feathers fall and trail behind him. Throwing this thing out. And then, next up, a host! And /booze/. Perfik'.

Log. Thursday afternoon. 1 May. Morlock Tunnels, Zach's Room.

<NYC> Morlock Tunnels: Zachery's Room
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This small, rectangular room is as poorly decorated at is it lit. There's not much space to move about, and most of it is taken up by an often sheetless one-and-a-half-person bed and a cheap-looking grayish vault that doubles as a nightstand. The whole deal is only vaguely illuminated by a single bulb that hangs haphazardly from the ceiling.

Zachery is not in his bedroom, although he /has/ left behind the rather unpleasant odor of rotting pigeon. This is something Jackson is currently working very hard to counter -- the skinny teenager is very busy at the moment scrubbing down Zach's room with the same fervor that he earlier cleaned allll the rest of the common rooms. It is hard to make rock sparkle, but oh, if it could, it would be sparkling. As it is, it is just -- cleaner. And citrusy. Jackson has rags, and a broom, and a bucket, and rubber gloves, and is currently busy squinting at the room very seriously to see if there is anything he missed. The rubber gloves cover up /half/ of the jagged scars that run deep along the length of his arms, but not entirely.

"Whatcha doin'?" This question is really a way to hopefully break the ice. While Chloe may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, she does have common sense. Cleaning supplies, the smell of cleaning, and the fact that Zach's room is /clean./ It does not take a genius. "Er. I mean - I /know/ what you're doin', but did Zach say it was okay? I tried making his room nicer before and he got mad at me for it."

Jackson blinks, and his eyes widen as he sees a fellow student from the school he -- nominally attends and has been conspicuously absent from for the past month and change. "Oh! Hi! I forgot you -- oh. Hi. Um. Cleaning!" In case it wasn't terribly obvious. "-- He didn't -- /exactly/ say it was -- okay, no. But he's so grumpy all the time and there was a /rotten pigeon/ an' there's no colour and don't you think it'd be way better if his room was happy? I think it'd be pretty in blue /and/ it would match him."

"Ewww." Nose wrinkling at the rotten pigeon part, Hopper edges more into the room, wings fluttering slightly behind her. However, any disgust disappears quickly once the idea of redecorating pops up. "Oh! I have blue fabric stuff! I have some of it hanging in my room and I got lots extra. and um - I /think/ there is some paint around here /somehwere/ but I don't know if it's blue."

"Really?" Jackson brightens at this, beaming. "I grabbed some stuff for the rest of the Tunnels while I was out -- new sheets an' some pillows an' flowers an' -- I don't know, his room could do with a little of it, don't you think?" His hands spread, and colour blossoms in the room; new sheets on the bed, flowers on the nightstand, cheerful draperies hanging on the walls, a rug on the floor.

Giggling, Hopper nods. "Uh-huh! I think the Tunnels would be a lot nicer if all the rooms where cheerful and colorful and had /lamps/ like mine, but. Well, hold on! I'm gonna go get the fabric-y stuff." Dashing from the room, it's only a few seconds before Chloe returns, a bolt of light blue fabric held in her arms. "This good? I got green and purple too, if not."

"/Perfect/," Jackson chirrups eagerly, hands clapping together. "And I totally have been trying to make them cheerful, I cleaned /everything/ and I was redecorating --" He spins slowly in place, examining the room thoughtfully. "Okayokay let's totally do this. We should find that paint, too. I could decorate the door -- frame." If it can be called that. "Or the /ceiling/!"

"Oh! Emmett has a pinatball gun that we can use on the ceiling! He has blue paintballs too!" Chloe cheerfully chirps, carefully lowering the bolt of fabric to the floor. "So if we do decorate the ceiling, it won't be us... throwing paint in the air, or something."

Jackson grins, bouncing slightly on the balls of his toes. "I'll be right back!" He is not as quick as Chloe, but when he does return a few minutes later his arms are full -- a set of bedsheets, a couple pillows, a large bunch of assorted flowers, a scrap of carpeting pillaged from who knows where -- it is blue, and covered with bright pink hearts.

Hands clapping aginst her mouth, Chloe giggles for a few moments. She knows that Zach will not be happy with this, but. How can she say no to a chance to make his room /pretty?/ "I'll do all the fabric on the walls, and you can do the bed and stuff?" She asks, making plans. "And then we can both paint, or something."

"Okay!" Jackson beams, dropping his armload of things on the floor (Thankfully, they are all /squishy/ things) (not like the ferret.) (like fabric and carpet and pillows.) (there is also a Care Bear.) and bouncing over to strip the bed and start remaking it with Brand New Cheerful sheets. They do not have hearts. Nor anything else cutesy, really. They are just stripey, in various shades of blue. The throw pillows he adds on top of the bed, though, definitely have /smiley faces/. The Care Bear is blue, but he has a raincloud on his tummy that is pouring raindrops and little red hearts -- because, honestly, who better for Zachery than Grumpy Bear? Jackson hums to himself as he makes up the bed, straightening the sheets and arranging pillows and Care Bear neatly.

Getting to work herself, Chloe ueses her jumping ability to help her get the fabric all the way to the ceiling, pressing the fabric into cracks in the rock walls with blue bobby pins and tacks. It is not the most perfect technique, but it has kept the fabric up in her room for over a year now. Eventually, the walls are covered in the fabric. In the area above the head of the bed, the fabric gently and barely loops down from the ceiling from wall to wall. Giggling again at the Grumpy Bear as she lands by the bed, Chloe hugs the much smaller bolt of fabric to her chest as she glances around the room. "I need to find my camera so I can get a picture of Zach's face when he sees this."

"He should be happy! It's clean an' pretty an' it /matches/ him! Everyone should live in a room that's colour-coordinated with their --" Jackson's hand waves a vague gesture in the air. "Protoplasm." Jackson toes the rug into place, smoothing it out and squinting down at the hearts. His lips purse. He arranges the flowers on the nightstand. "Paint?" he asks, then, peering around the walls and up at the ceiling. "I like your hangings! You drape 'em pretty."

"That's how I got 'em in my room! Was a lot cheaper to buy all the fabric in bulk then buy individual stuff to hang from the ceiling and stuff." Hopper smiles. "And did you wanna use the paintball gun or the paint? Cause I /know/ where the paintball gun is, but not sure about the paint."

This is a difficult question. Jackson's teeth worry at his lower lip, and he rocks from heel to toe and back, peering up at the ceiling. "Welllll," he says, slowly, "Paint would be a lot more /versatile/ an' better to do everything neat an' pretty. The gun would make it easier to get at the ceiling. Also funner!" Decisions, decisions. One forefinger (still gloved in the bright purple rubber gloves he was using to clean) taps against his cheek.

"...We could fill a super soaker with the paint?"

Jackson's eyes light, and his hands clap as he bounces again on his toes. "/Awesome/," is his eager verdict.

"'Kay!" is the cheerful reply, before Hopper is agian zooming from the room, cloth near the door fluttering slightly in her wake. After a moment a bit longer than it took her to find the fabric, she returns, /two/ super soakers in her arms, and a gallon of paint in hand. "We had blue!"

Jackson beams, and bounces over to relieve Chloe of the can of paint. "Okay! Let's fill these and --" Well. The /and/ is not explicated. It needs no explanation. Super Soakers filled with paint are a recipe for AWESOME. He opens one to caaaaarefully drizzle the paint inside.

Careful notwithstanding, some of it still gets drizzled on the floor. And on his jeans. OH WELL. Most of it gets into the gun!

A recipe for AWESOME and possibly DISASTER. But still FUN. "Who get the ceiling and who gets the kinda sorta doorframe?" She asks, waching Jax fill his super soaker, before caaaarefully filling hers as well. A bit more paint gets on the floor for her than it did for Jax, and splatters on the gun as well. Oops. "I think that wouever has the doorframe should be the person with a steadier hand, since - Well, there is not really a set area to paint, but still. Straight lines."

Jackson waves a hand. "I guess my hand's steady! Artist and -- tattooing and all, it sorta has to be! But we can -- both get wherever!" he says nonchalantly. "So long's it's colorful! An' -- well that's about it. /Blue/. What more do we need?" He pumps his Super Soaker, which is sort of like cocking a gun, except without the intimidation factor. Locked and loaded!

Giggling, Chloe copies the movement, aiming up at the ceiling. One eye squinting closed, the grasshopper takes careful aim at a spot, pulling the trigger to let loose a stream of paint upwards. Splat. Oh, look! Part of the ceiling has changed colors. "Oh, yay! I didn't know if it would actually /reach/ the ceiling or not."

"Pump 'em enough an' they'll reach the /moon/*," Jackson says brightly. He pumps his a few more times for good measure, and then -- caaaarefully -- takes aim at the ceiling in one corner. One eye, another eye, a mouth, and the ceiling has grown a lopsidedly grinning smiley face. (The ceiling is also dripping blue paint down onto Jackson's head, but he cares not.)

*Exaggeration

Grinning, Chloe looks around at the room before the grin fades a tiny bit. "Maybe we shoulda painted first. Since paint might get on everything now." Walking over to the bed, she picks up Grumpy Bear to carefully place under the bed, away from any possible paint drops. "At least the paint will all match, though!" Aiming back up at the ceiling after a few more good pumps, Hopper considers for a minute. "The /moon?/ That's a long ways up." Though, maybe not so much. After a moment, Zach's ceiling has it's on crescent moon. Admittedly, a very crooked and sloppy crescent moon, but a crescent moon none the less!

Jackson considers this, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. After a moment he lowers his gun, and frowns in deep concentration; a moment later, light blossoms around the important parts of the room -- one shield covers the bed, another the nightstand and its flowers, another the rug. Jackson pales slightly, but smiles. "There. Now things'll be mostly okay." Still, the strain makes his hands shakier; the heart that he adds to the ceiling next is decidedly more wobbly than his happy face.

Frowning worriedly, Hopper peers closely at the boy. "Are you okay? I mean... You don't really... I'm sure paint on some things won't bother Zach none!"

"Fine!" Jackson says with a cheerful (if strained) grin. "I totally need the practice anyhow." He takes aim at the space around the door; this gets no pictures, but a rather Jackson-Pollocky splattering. Modern art!

Not looking fully convinced, Hopper nods, going back to painting the ceiling, attempting at filling blank spaces up instead of making shapes. "Ya think it'll be dry by the time he gets back? Or at least, non drippy?" She asks, tongue sticking out the corner of her motuh as she attempts to fill in a small blank spot.

"Hopefully!" Jackson lowers his gun, eying Zach's doorway critically; at length he gives an approving nod and lowers his gun again, crouching down on the floor and laying the Super Soaker across his knees as he watches Chloe paint. "It shouldn't take /that/ long. Anyway even if it ain't he's blue so who'll be able to tell if he's got paint on him?"

"Have you seen him store stuff in his ribcage?" Hopper asks. "It's really neat. The only problem is what whatever he stores gets wet, but. Most stuff dries off just fine with no problems, so." Pausing in painting for a moment, she frowns thoughtfully. "Except sometimes, he'll put leather wallets in him, and they'll shrink and be ruined. Which kinda sucks."

"I ain't seen that." Jackson's eyes widen briefly at the thought. "/Neat/." He lays his gun down and stands, moving over to wipe dripped paint off his shimmering forcefields with the sleeve of his baggy sweatshirt before letting the shields drop. Too early, perhaps; the ceiling is still dripping in places, but OH WELL. He grins broadly at Chloe. "It is /totally/ way prettier in here now."

"I don't think it would be hard to make it prettier! Compared to how it looked /before./" Hopper chirps, flopping down to sit on the rug, blinking as a drop of paint lands on her cheek. So glad to not be wearing something designer, right now. "Think Zach will like it?"

Jackson joins Chloe on the rug, sitting cross-legged opposite her and looking around the room. "It looks awesome!" This is not directly an answer, admittedly.

Grinning, Hopper nods. "It definitiely does!" She replies, edging towards the bed on her rear to retrieve the CareBear, holding him in her lap. "Thanks for letting me help. by the way. Most people don't cause I'm so... spazzy."

"You totally made it look awesome!" Jackson says earnestly. "I'm real glad you were here to help!" He flops backwards on the rug, looking up at the ceiling (which decides to drip onto his forehead.) "He should love it. It was so /dreary/."

"Well, /Zach/ is dreary." Chloe points out, styling the small tuft of hair on Grumpy Bear's head. "It only works that his room would be dreary too, right? Maybe this will cheer him up some!" And conversation continues like this for a while. Though, the two are hopefully not still around once Zach shows back up.

Redecorating. With Super Soakers.

Log. Thursday night. 1 May. Morlock Tunnels, main room.

<NYC> Morlock Tunnels: Main Room
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Having higher ceilings than the connecting tunnels, this room seems alot less suffocating. A manhole in the ceiling can be reached with a black, rusty ladder that rides up one wall, and haphazard furniture is scattered about. A ruddy but comfortable looking grey sofa, a few cheap chairs, and some crates to sit on. A faucet pokes out of one of the uneven walls, dripping every so often on some soft moss that grows below it. Wires make their way out from the walls at either ends of the room, and from them hang occasionally flickering lightbulbs. Most of them have at least one moth friend.
In one corner, a few opened crates are piled up, and offer some loot in the form of canned food and loose vegetables and fruit. The tunnel takes a sharp turn near the end of this room, and it's there that a pair of dented, metal doors are welded to the walls, the ones you'd see leading to a kitchen in a restaurant. That's probably where they're missing some, as well.

Underground, time is largely irrelevant -- at least insofar as it pertains to the general appearance of this place. Thus, despite it being night, the Tunnels do not look much different than they did early this morning, save for the fact that they are rather a good deal /cleaner/ than they used to be. Great pains have been taken to sweep and scrub and scour, and insofar as rock and dirt and the like can be scrubbed. There are also touches of decoration that were not previously there -- a vase of flowers here, new throw pillows there. The perpetrator of these changes can be found, currently, curled up in the corner of the sofa -- Jackson is comfortable in oversized jeans and an even more oversized t-shirt, and if his eyes are shadowed and his face drawn and pale, he is, at least, /smiling/. This is maybe because he has food -- some sort of vegetable curry, of which there is plenty more sitting still-warm in a large pot in one corner of the room that stands warming on an electric hot plate. The Morlock Tunnels, it would seem, have acquired a new housekeeper, home-cooked meals included.

Hollow descends from up high, grocery bags suspended on his bloodclaws, "Hey, everybody, I'm hoooooome," calls the Morlock as he lowers himself slowly towards the ground. As usual, he makes no effort to put the groceries in any kind of proper place, instead just dropping the bags where he lands in a search for more interesting things to do. He sniffs the air a couple of times and then says, "It smells like someone manifested a mutant cooking ability. Who's the guilty party?"

In the dark shadows of the tunnels, there is always something watching the mutants walking around. Even much so that there is Thalin watching the cleaner go about his work; he's a diligent kid. The black furred werewolf moves his ice blue eyes over to look at Hollow for a moment before he falls back into silence. Perfectly content with staying in the shadows and watching.

Jackson blinks and glances up at Hollow as he enters, blue eyes wiiide beneath a fringe of currently neon green hair. "You!" There is more than a touch of surprise in his voice, and not an unpleasant sort. "Hi! -- My cooking's entirely human. No mutant powers involved." The teenager is maaaybe slightly obsessive about neatness; he places his bowl of food on the ground by the sofa and skitters across the room to retrieve Hollow's groceries so that he can store them neatly with the rest of the food supplies.

"Me! I can see why you're so enthused. I love me, too," says Hollow, watching Jackson heading to pick up the groceries. "Well, human cooking, huh? It's probably not super amazing great then. I won't have any either way, though, and I'm sure that most the people here don't have the sense of taste to tell the difference." The hollow man narrows his eyes slightly and says as he looks around, "Looks like someone's been messing up the mess down here."

Thalin glances over at Jackson as he speaks and then the werewolf shifts back into his wolven form and starts to walk out of the shadows. His claws clicking against the ground as he starts to walk towards them. "Nice to see you," is all he says towards Jackson before he looks back at Hollow; giving a small nod towards the bloodman.

There is a clatter and a thud; cans against stone, cans against cans, as Jackson drops his load of groceries, cheer replaced swiftly with alarm as Thalin approaches. He does not speak. His right hand lifts to cross himself, and a globe of shimmering light blossoms around him, faintly prismatic, flickering from more to less visible but impossibly impassably solid, for all its seeming evanescence.

First, Hollow just gives Thalin a polite greeting gesture. Then all of the can's hit the ground. Glancing between Thalin and Jackson, Hollow says, "Oh, look at the tension! If it were on a string, I could play you all a lovely song. I'm taking it that we all know each other, huh?"

Thalin sits down; curling his tail around his feet as he looks over at Jackson with a slightly bemused expression. "Surprised?" He smiles slightly before he looks over at Hollow and says, "Kinda," just like it's a simple term that explains everything.

"Sort of," Jackson replies even as Thalin gives his answer. The shield doesn't fade. He eyes Thalin warily. "You're real."

"He is?" says Hollow. "I always thought that he existed only in my imagination. Well, your reality is affirmed!" says Hollow to Thalin, with a congratulatory tone.

Thalin gives a small nod as he says, "Yes. I am." Then he looks up at Hollow with an arm of his brow before he gives a small barking laugh and he shakes his head a bit.

"I always thought he existed only in mine," Jackson informs Hollow with a lopsided grin. "Maybe we're both sharing a hallucination. -- It happens a lot when people are around me, actually." Suddenly, there are two Thalins. And then three. And then a veritable army of them, stretching back into the shadows and vanishing.

"Ahaha! As if my view of reality isn't skewed enough! You should proably avoid that little trick around Yugo, or he'll think he's tripping out again. Still. Or something," says Hollow, before he shrugs and then gestures towards the cans in a sweeping motion, "Hopefully none dented, or you have to eat them right now."

Thalin looks around at the army of himself and he stands up; shifting into his werewolf form as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Interesting, an army of myself." He glances over at Hollow, "Did you bring back any meat?"

"Yugo?" Jackson's head tilts to one side; the mass of werewolves vanishes, leaving only the real one. "Don't think I've met him! What's tripping out?" He kneels, the forcefield vanishing as he does so, to start collecting the cans back up. His expression twists into a grimace briefly at the mention of meat, but he stays quiet.

To Thalin, Hollow says, "Yeah, I brought animal corpse pieces for you to gnaw on. I'll grab it for you. What an expensive habit you people have, with your /eating/." The Morlock frowns distastefully, extends one of his bloodlines to pick up the meat from the grocery bag and toss it to Thalin. He then spins to face Jackson, "Ah! Yugo is my good friend. His skin produces hallucinogennic drugs, and if he's not careful with his emotions or something like that he gets a heavy dose himself. Which I call 'tripping out'."

Thalin catches it in a hand and looks at it. "This'll tide me over till I can get back to the woods. Need to make sure no one took over my den while I've been here." He glances over at Jackson and then smirks slightly before he looks back over at Hollow. "I eat when I'm hungry. It's something us living creatues do."

"Ain't expensive if you don't pay for the food," Jackson points out lightly. "I go shopping without money." He leans back away from the meat as Hollow picks it up, and collects the rest of the food back into the bag, moving now to put it away /without/ dropping it this time. "That must be annoying. The drug thing. Or fun. I don't know. I've heard some people -- like that kind of thing." Judging by his expression -- somewhat distasteful, nose wrinkled -- Jackson is not one of those people.

"Well, I don't condone shoplifting, either!" says Hollow to Jackson, "Especially if you're a mutant and you get caught. You might find yourself getting some pretty severe charges. I pay for everything I bring down here with cash." The Morlock then looks over to Thalin and says, "Hey, now, I'm just as living as anyone here. I only died /once/."

Thalin chuckles slightly as he says, "Alright, you've proved your point." He looks back at Jackson and then says, "I've seen a good many people enjoy those kind of drugs, then leap off cliffs because they thought they could fly." He shrugs a bit and then starts to unwrap the meat.

There's a brief flicker of a grin from Jackson, and -- "If you're a mutant you should know better'n to get caught." Groceries neatly stocked away, he returns to his abandoned bowl, settling back onto the couch with it. His lips purse thoughtfully. "That's not so bad. Leaping off cliffs. For a few seconds, they could fly. Maybe that few seconds is worth it."

"But then, maybe it's not," notes Hollow, "and it's just a crappy short freefall, and in the last moment they are thinking that they'd really like a nice piece of delicious cake." The Morlock then claps his hands together, "But the thought ends with a splat just like all thoughts, so I guess it doesn't even matter!" And then to Jackson, Hollow says, "Maybe so, maybe so, but I've been caught before, and you've never found one so subtle as me! Sometimes you just get caught."

Thalin just falls into silence as he goes about eating his meat; his tail swaying behind him happily as he shifts into his wolf form. It makes it easier to eat meat in Thalin's eyes.

"/I/ don't get caught," Jackson says with easy confidence. "And like you said, it won't matter. Those seconds could be awesome or could suck but it'll all end so soon that it works out okay." He studiously does not watch Thalin eat, eyes turned firmly down to his own dinner.

"You don't think you get caught, but be careful. I got four years for minor charges, so it really comes down to if it's a risk you're willing to take," says Hollow, momentarily taking a serious tone. He doesn't much like thinking of his time in prison, but thinks it's his duty to warn his fellow mutants from getting themselves sent there. He grins and says, "Well, it won't matter to you if you splat, but I gather that it's kind of selfish to splat yourself. Especially if you know how to make the aforementioned cake."

Jackson's head shakes. "M'good at making cake, but -- you know. If anyone wants to -- splat, it's -- their own body t'do what they want with. So long's they don't take nobody else with them." He shrugs a shoulder and shifts position, tucking his legs up beneath him. "I can't really begrudge anyone the desire to fly, one way or another."

"Flying is so overrated," says Hollow. "Functional kidneys is where it's at. Man, I would slay for a pair of those things, you know what I'm saying?" He says after a few moments of thought, "I agree that people should have the right to off themselves or whatever, but man, if my friends pulled that it would hurt my feelings!"

Thalin lifts his head up at that last part and looks over at Jax, his blue eyes shining slightly with an 'I told ya so' glint. Then he lowers his head back down to finish off what's left of his meat.

Jackson does not notice Thalin's look, largely because he is very much not looking anywhere near Thalin while he eats. Instead he is looking at his curry! It is yummy. There is coconut milk in it. Idly, he pokes one finger at his midsection. "I'd give you mine," he tels Hollow, "only but I don't know that they'd do you much good. /I/ don't particularly want them!" Hollow's last sentence earns a brief tightening of his jaw, but no other response.

"You don't know how much you want kidneys until they're gone, you know. Maybe giving away one is fine. I dunno, I guess it's something people do. But both is a harrowing experience indeed!" says Hollow, "I would not recommend it." He tilts his head and says, "And why wouldn't you want those lovely little organs? They're so darn useful. And cute!"

Thalin swallows the last of his meat and lays there; licking his chops with a content look on his face. Happy wolf is happy.

"Are they cute? Really?" Jackson pokes at his stomach again, which, unsurprisingly, reveals little information as to the status of his kidneys, cute or otherwise. Nevertheless he squints down at his sweatshirt with a curious look. "Anyhow I figure you seem to want 'em more than me! I'm not particularly attached. Or well I /am/ attached but that's only a physical condition! Emotionally I'm indifferent. Take 'em or leave 'em! I'm sure I've got cuter organs. I've always thought the spleen was sorta adorable."

"Adorable, perhaps, but ultimately disposable. And I think spleens are ugly. Ick! And have you never seen a kidney before? Anyways, it's like I said, you don't appreciate them as much until they're gone," says Hollow, shrugging his shoulders in an exaggerated way. "It's like... your sense of smell, maybe. Most people don't actively love that sense, but once it's gone, it's real crappy times. You'd miss it."

Thalin mutters, "Or to be normal again," in a comment towards Hollow as he then lets out a sigh and gets up and starts to pad away from the two of them. Now he's depressed and wants to be alone. He'll come back... eventually.

"I've never seen /my/ kidneys," Jackson says, "though I s'pose if I grab a knife I could find out! I ain't /really/ sure exactly where to start cutting, though, so I think for now I'll leave them where they are." His eyes flick towards Thalin as the wolf starts to leave, and his posture relaxes when he notices that there is no more meat-eating going on.

Hollow notices the relaxation, and the Morlock shoots the question to Jackson, "Are you a vegetarian or something?" He shrugs and then says, "And I could probably draw you a picture of your kidneys. Remember when I looked at your blood? I saw them, sorta, when I did that."

"Vegan," Jackson clarifies. "You did? Were they really cute?" A pair of kidneys -- pig kidneys, though, and not human -- appear on the floor. They are rather cartoonish. Also they have arms and legs and fluffy purple hats. They are waltzing cheerfully around the room.

"Lovely," says Hollow, "they were lovely organs that I think it would be a shame if you gave up. Unless you gave them to me, but then they'd just rot, since I've got nowhere to put them." He then notes, "Well, if you're a vegan, you probably find my dietary habits in poor taste! Ha!"

"I don't plan on using 'em much longer /anyway/," Jackson says cheerfully. He squints over at Hollow, examining the man's rather odd appearance thoughtfully. "What /do/ you eat, sir?"

"You don't plan on using them much longer? Well, what a shame. I had better not get attached to you, then!" says Hollow to Jackson. The Morlock then answers the question directed at him, "I'm pretty much a vampire. I'm pretty sure you know what that means."

"Oh -- oh." Jackson's brow creases, and his lower lip catches between his teeth with a click of metal lip ring against enamel. "-- Who do you get your blood from?"

"Who do I get it from? Well, I can't exactly get it from a corner market, and the blood bank won't return my calls, so I get it from my costumed vigilante work," notes Hollow, shrugging. "But I gotta eat what I gotta eat, you know? -I- have intentions of staying alive."

"Oh." The crease in Jackson's brow deepens. He sets his half-full bowl aside, and pulls his knees up to his chest, arms wrapping around them. His teeth scrape against his lower lip again. Briefly, the light in the room trembles. "How much -- how much do you need?"

Furrowing his brow, Hollow says, "Man, do you even /want/ to know the answers to these questions you're asking? You look like your head's about ready to explode." The Morlock shrugs and then waits for a response.

"My head won't," Jackson answers. "I want to know."

"I need to eat some every day. About three quarter gallons, sometimes more. Depends on the day," says Hollow, eyeing Jackson carefully.

Jackson's head does not explode! Neither, thankfully, does anything else. For a long while he is quiet, though. His arms tighten around his knees. The lights flicker again. "Do you kill them?" he asks, at length.

Raising an eyebrow, Hollow says, "After you eat corn, do you burn down the farm it came from? Of course I don't kill them. That would be pretty dumb. I take as much as a blood donation at a blood bank. Or just enough to make them too tired to do anything, but never anything life-threatening."

"Oh." Jackson relaxes visibly at this, and the lights settle back into stability. A touch of color returns to his face, and he unfolds himself to pick up his food again, though he doesn't actually try eating it yet. "Good, then." He does not really look /comfortable/, just yet, but at least he has ceased looking like something might explode. "Sorry," he adds, quietly, "I just -- it ain't -- I'm not --" But he shakes his head, and doesn't finish. "Sorry."

"Heh, I just make you uncomfortable, is that it? Freaky Hollow freaks you out?" says Hollow. "That's fine. I'm used to that. No need for apologies." He waves his hand dismissively. Despite being used to it, there is a tone of his voice that suggests that he's a little bit hurt.

"A little," Jackson answers honestly, finally looking up from his bowl and back at Hollow. "-- But I get freaked out by people who eat meat an' drink milk, so --" His hand turns up in a shrug. "You ain't really no different than all the rest of /them/. I'd just not ever thought about it before."

"Ah, see, I am different from them. I can't even think about being swayed by your vegan ways. I can't even consider it! Because to do it is to die, and that would suck for me," says Hollow, then gesturing to the direction in which Thalin went, "and that guy, I guess he's probably just a carnivore. Like a wolf. Some of us down here, we can't even afford your morals by a longshot."

Jackson frowns. "In that case you're /better/ than them. I mean. It ain't a case of morals if you don't got a choice. /That's/ just survival."

"You think so? Then my survival freaks you out a little bit. That's fine," says Hollow. He shrugs and says, "But if you're going to stay down here for any amount of time, it's something you have to get used to. Most of us come down here because we don't want to see the gag reflexes we might get topside, and my eating requirements comes with the mutation."

"I'll get used to it," Jackson says with a slight shake of his head, "but I ain't staying down here any length of time, really. I don't think."

"You're here now. And time has passed," says Hollow. "If I get all you imply, you might not be lasting much longer. Okay, whatever. Your meatstack, your choice. Just... while you're living, some of us are more sensitive than I am. You just want to be careful about that."

"Yeah." Jackson's brow creases, slightly. "I'm here now." But, apparently, not for long -- the illusionist promptly vanishes once more, disappearing neatly from sight, though sound still remains. Only footsteps, though, that head for the ladder back up to the city above.

"Seeya later, kid. Or not," says Hollow in the general direction of the footsteps, heading off in a different direction. He frowns slightly and then shrugs. It's best not to get attached.

(And Jax is gone from the Tunnels again! It was a brief stay. He has left them v. scrubbed clean in his wake, though. And slightly redecorated. Cheerfully.)

Rich

2008-05-02T11:58:46Z

I really don't know what to say that isn't horribly sappy and I know he isn't really the biggest fan of horribly sappy but -- but -- but. But.

I'm just glad I have him.

Log. Wednesday night. 30 April. Chelsea/Golem Studios.

<NYC> Manhattan: Chelsea
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Chelsea is a mostly residential district, with an assortment of tenements, apartment buildings, and converted warehouses. It also boasts a variety of eclectic and ethnic restaurants, delis, and clothing stores. Hudson River Park takes up the entire waterfront, and the High Line - an elevated railroad - is currently undergoing a renovation to become another large park. Chelsea is most known for its shopping, especially when it comes to clothes; as a strong presence in the overall New York art scene; and for its notable gay population. The last has even produced a stereotype, of the toned gay "Chelsea Boy."

As things go, New York is a city that never fully goes asleep. A weekday night and Rich is nowhere near the school. Instead he is outside Golem Studios. A lit end of the cigarette lighting his presence as he leans against the railing. Frown set on his face, expression rather tired, it seems if there was no railing he wouldn't even manage to be able to stand up. It's been a LOOOONG recording session.

A weekday night, and Jackson is nowhere near the school, either -- but then, it has been a little while since he has been. His expression is conflicted as he heads down the street -- a little bit hopeful, a little bit apprehensive, a little bit tired. His fingers twist and wring at the strap of the backpack he wears -- way too heavy for his skinny frame and tugging him slightly backwards. He is dressed -- not very much like himself at all. Scruffy, plain. Baggy jeans and an oversized sweatshirt, both several sizes too big. The tip if his tongue darts out to wet his lips, but though he opens his mouth, in the end he cannot find a proper greeting. In lieu of one, he simply joins Rich where he leans, his hair (toooo long, now) falling to curtain his face as he joins his friend at the railing.

Feeling a distrubance in the personals space bubble force, Rich's head lifts to study the newcomer. An eyebrow archs as he rubs out the cigarette against the railing. "Jax?"

"Hey." Jackson's voice is quiet, and he lifts a hand to brush his hair back from his face before turning to face Rich. "I --" His lower lip catches briefly between his teeth, and he attempts a smile that dies quickly. "-- I'm -- out, now." In case that was not apparent by the fact he was standing here! "Was kinda hoping I'd find you here."

"I see that." Rich replies, cracking a slight smartass grin as he tosses the hardly burnt up cigarette into the outdoor ashtray. He looks back over to Jax. "An' ya found me. Good ta see ya got out. Are ya feelin' any better 'n when ya ended up goin' in?"

Jackson's answer doesn't come immediately; his gaze drops to the ground and he props his elbows against the railing, fingers twining through each other. He looks back up with a swift flash of an easy smile, and rocks up onto the toes of his sneakers. "I had chocolate pudding for dessert tonight, an' there might be a magic dumpster full of cake over in Hell's Kitchen," he answers, a note of laughter threaded through his words. "And I found you."

Rich ahs, resting his arms on the railing next to Jackson, glancing over to the younger one. "Well, I can't go lookin' fer tha magic dumpster but there's a magic canteen in this buildin' ya want ta see it?"

Rich ahs, resting his arms on the railing next to Jackson, glancing over to the younger one. "Well, I can't go lookin' fer tha magic dumpster but there's a magic canteen in this buildin' ya want ta see it?"

Jackson's eyebrows lift, and he slants a curious glance back to the building. "A magic canteen? -- Is it full of vegan cake? Because my dumpster is pretty rad. There are also croissants."

Rich shakes his head, "No. But it has cookies, popcorn, sesame seeds, and chips." He replies, "Plus there's tha one next ta it wit' tha sandwiches an' soup stuff fer tha microwave."

"Hm." Jackson pretends to ponder this a moment, lips pressing together in thought, before he grins and pushes himself up straight. "Okay. Magic canteen sounds /almost/ as good as magic dumpster. -- I bet the cops don't even get on your case for getting food from the canteen. They're nitpicky about dumpsters."

"Yeah," Rich replies, moving his arms off of the railing, "lets go then."

Jackson's shoulders roll and he adjusts his backpack straps before moving to pull the door open and hold it for Rich. "Miss Sunset got me out," he volunteers, smile flickering briefly dimmer. "I don't think they was gonna let me out otherwise."

<NYC> Golem Studios
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Welcome to Golem recording studios, New York City's premiere recording studio located smack dab in the middle of Chelsea. Known for it's impressive clientelle past and present such as the likes of David Bowie, Bob Dylan, Ashanti, Mariah Carey, and murdered drummer turned solo star, Mike Hannigan.

"Have ta thank her later." Rich replies, stepping in since Jackson held the door open, "Ain't my favorite place ta visit." He frowns, "I'm sorry I didn't do more for you."

Jackson shakes his head, arm half-reaching for Rich but then just dropping to his side as he enters the studio himself. "You did plenty -- There wasn't nothing -- you have no idea how glad I was when you did visit." His brow furrows, and he scrubs at his cheek with one hand. "Even if I wasn't really -- very -- good with showing it."

"I could bring back Nemo if ya want." Rich replies, "Know just what area o' town tha' kid who has that dream lives in."

Jackson laughs, softly, and his head shakes again. "I'm happy enough when it's just you," he says, quiet. "It wasn't real fun in there."

"Yeah, " Rich agrees, leading Jackson down the hallway, "Sure as fuck wasn't DisneyWorld." He turns his head, grinning, "Remember tha first time we met?"

Another laugh, and Jackson's head tips in a nod as he follows after Rich. "We didn't really get off to the best start, did we?" His eyes lower to the ground, brow creasing slightly. "Feels like a thousand years ago."

"You'd rather sleep under a fuckin' table rather than share a room wit' me fer a bit." Rich replies, "Thou' I never been good wit' bein' all... ya know."

"Phantasm was /scary/," Jackson says in his defense, though his grin and the laughter in his tone suggest that he is not /truly/ being defensive. "An' you called me a queer. Georgia weren't far enough past for the sting to be out of --" His hands spread. "I learned better, though. Glad I did."

"That it ain't tha word but what tha person behind it means?"

Jackson's hands drop to his sides, and he shakes his hair back from his face again. "That I was actually really lucky to get you for a roommate."

Rich pauses, standing outside the doorway to the canteen, the whrring of the vending machines casting it's siren song to those with the coin or card. "Ya were tha only one that stuck wit' me, Jax." the elder male reminds, "I could say tha same thin'."

"You're my best friend," Jackson answers simply. "I -- I may be really screwed up and -- sort of broken and not all together all the time but --" His teeth scrape against his lower lip again, catching his lip ring briefly. "I'm really sorry, Rich. I mean -- for -- trying --" His hands turn over briefly, baring the deep scars running up his arms. "I mean you're my best friend. I mean I'm -- going to. Stick with you."

Lips tighten for a moment as Rich just looks to Jackson, giving a slight nod. "Good. 'sall I need from ya." His head turns , breaking the eye contact as the dreamer looks into the canteen. "Well. Time for some magic, right?" He lifts up a card that he pulled from his pocket.

Jackson's eyes light, and he peers towards the machine hopefully. "They got Sun Chips? Sun Chips are /totally/ magic. Just on their own. Sun Chips from a magic canteen is like -- magic squared."

"Yer in a canteen where ya get lil' pop princesses and other twig like singers watchin' their weight." Rich replies, stepping into the room, "Machine ain't all gonna be fried shit."

"I'm watching my weight," Jackson says, following after Rich, his tone serious though his eyes are laughing. "Very carefully!"

"The card is wielded upon reaching the machine, "Yeah right. Let's go stuff ourselves crazy with magic." With a quick movement he slides the card through the cardreader. "Ya first."

Jackson opts for popcorn and chips, claiming his prizes happily once they fall. "I /am/," he insists again. "-- If it drops any lower I'll be in serious trouble so I gotta watch it real good. I'm on a strict fat-only diet."

Rich grins, "If that's tha case..." He presses a button, causing a twin-pack of deliciousness to drop down, "Don't ferget tha HoHos."

Zachery

2008-04-28T20:56:09Z

At some point in the middle of the night last night, Jackson left Sunset's apartment; an easy enough thing to accomplish quietly, considering his complete lack of any personal belongings to gather and pack. He left a note, simple and brief and uninformative -- Thank you for everything. Love, Jax. -- the words printed in his distinctively slanted and spiky handwriting beneath a pencil drawing of an angel.

Log. Monday. 28 April. Beneath New York.

<NYC> Subway - Dead End
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There was once a connection from here to elsewhere, that much is made clear by the rails in this tunnel. The fact that you can already see the end of the tunnel but a short end away, however, reveals that it's been a while since anything drove through here. In the darkness, you can just see numerous black and white tiles stuck to the wall, but larger amounts lie broken on the floor, littering a curled up piece of rail. At the very dark back end of the tunnel, a crack has formed in a brick wall, big enough for a normal sized man to squeeze through, although it doesn't look very commendable.

Jackson is clean -- that is an improvement over his general state over the past month. That is about as much as can be said for his appearance, which on the whole is infinitely shabbier than he tends towards. His hair is too long, his clothes too big on his wasted frame -- things picked up at a secondhand store earlier. At the moment he is wandering, without much discernible purpose, hands shoved in his pockets and head bowed. His normally bright blue eyes are listless, and scan the tunnel with a good deal of wariness but not much actual interest.

The wary look is not one unfamiliar to this end of the subway tunnels, which makes sense what with all the pitch dark nooks and crannies. With the crackling of tiny bits of rock falling off of the wall and onto the partially tiled floor, Zachery leaves the front entrance of the Morlock home. That is, he works himself through the crack that makes for the front entrance, getting bits of wall stuck in the plasm of his shoulders. He stops to try and pry it out, still largely obscured by the shadow on that side of the tunnel. No host, but he's not planning on going far this time. Patrolling tiiime.

Jackson's eyes narrow at the crackling sound, shoulders hunching further. A rat scurries across the ground, and he relaxes slightly before continuing further into the tunnel. And pausing. He lifts a hand to brush hair back from his eyes, and squints into the shadows, catching movement but not much else. There's a slight ripple in the light, and then he vanishes.

Zachery's ribcage momentarily expands in what may have once been a sigh, as he plucks bits out from his shoulder and flicks them at another wall. They get a glare and a mumble of "And /stay/ there." before the bodysnatcher starts forward at a slow pace, his attention mostly on the floor as he drifts absently in and out of the sparsely available light. No anomalies? Excellent.

As Zachery moves forward, Jackson's breath does come out in a sigh, quietly audible even if he can't be seen. The 'can't be seen' is remedied a moment later, though, as the gaunt teenager flickers back into view. He doesn't say anything. He just watches Zachery, carefully.

Zachery's skull gives a small twitch at the sigh, though it isn't until several seconds later that he stops and looks. And... that's pretty much all that happens, since apparently he's not entirely sure what to DO with a Jackson just appearing so close to home. Straightening up and squaring back his shoulders, he simply stares at the boy. What.

Jackson stares right back, hands shoved back into his pockets. For a long moment he is silent. When he breaks the silence, his greeting is simple, quiet. "Sir."

Zachery remains largely motionless, eyeballs rolling in his skull as he takes note of what Jackson's wearing. Instead of asking what, how or where, however, he opts for something entirely different, "How many times have I told you not to call me that?" His excuse for a voice is completely void of emotion. At least it doesn't sound angry.

"Sorry." Jackson's eyes drop to the floor, lift back to Zachery. "I didn't --" He stops, tongue flicking out to wet his chapped lips, and his gaze flits from Zachery back further into the tunnel, to the crack in the wall. "Sorry," he says again, quieter. "I just -- had -- have -- nowhere else to --" His head shakes. He looks down at the ground again.

Zachery eyes Jackson, then... starts to walk toward him. Only to stop just short of actually bumping into the other mutant. "Speak up. Can't hear you when you /mumble/." Why yes, this is strangely amusing.

Jackson twitches as Zachery walks towards him, and a wall appears between them, see-through enough but shimmering faintly with prismatic colours that distort the view slightly. Jackson himself shrinks back, and his eyes close tiredly. "I've got nowhere else to go."

Zachery peers at the shield, reaching to try and put his hand on it. "Oh, that's..." The amusement is now definitely in his voice, even if it can't be seen on his face, "that's grand, really. Spot of trouble between you and Mr. Aznavour, eh?"

Unlike Jackson's illusions, the shield is quite firm. Regardless of the fact that it is a quite solid barrier between him and the other mutant, he takes another step back. For a moment his expression is confused, and then his head shakes again. "I broke up with Rene a month ago."

Zachery would be looking confused if he could! Instead, his hand drops from the shield and he rubs his neck instead- which coincidentally manages to sink half way into it by accident before he pulls it out again. "Ah, I see. I didn't get the memo." He doesn't sound too surprised. "Well... I'm afraid you've got me stumped; Why are you /here/, of all places?"

The shield drops, and Jackson takes his hands out of his pockets again to scuff his fingers through his hair. Sans forcefield, sans illusion, sans keeping his arms close to his side, it is easy to see the network of scars that cover the too-bony arms; the jagged deep slashes running down the length of both forearms dominate, overshadowing the more intricate and carefully etched designs that spiderweb his skin. "I just got -- just got out of --" He stops, swallows, shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I told you. I don't have -- anywhere else."

The sight of the slashes does not do much for Zachery's lack of affinity for Jackson, as is evident by the hiss that soon slithers out between his jaws. Is continues on through his words. "You would not believe how often I've heard that one before."

Jackson's knuckles rub at his eyes, and for a moment after he just looks at Zachery, tired, resigned. He doesn't say anything more. His hands go back into his pockets, and his head nods once, heavily. Bony shoulders hunch as he turns back out towards the rest of the subway, and the cuffs of his too-large jeans whisper against the floor as he starts away.

Zachery hisses out a single chuckle, sretching his arms upward before folding them behind his skull. He lets Jackson wander for a few seconds before finally calling, "I didn't say it wasn't a valid excuse! Come on in, Sparkles. You need to get some food in you." Yes, that was an invitation. With that, he turns to wander slowly in the direction of the Morlock tunnels.

Jackson pauses, and it takes a few beats before he turns around. He is admittedly less than sparkly today, however much he may have deserved the nickname in times past. Still, there's a smile -- it is brief, and it is tired, and it is stressed, but it is grateful. It fades quickly. He follows Zachery in silence.

Bridget, Sunset

2008-04-28T01:32:08Z

Log. Sunday evening. 27 April. Beacon elevator/Sunset's apartment.

Beacon: Lobby
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The revolving doors of the entrance lead you into this fairly nice area with a tony fountain to your left and a small waiting area to your right with plush couches and overstuffed chairs. Straight ahead is a long, wooden desk with a security gaurd, watching the surviellence cameras with great dilligence. There's a long carpet leading towards the elevator where a man waits to help you with anything you might need.

Jackson is dressed typically for a Sunday morning: slacks and dress shirt and tie and jacket suggest church, and the crucifix hanging around his neck gives evidence as to which denomination. That he is in the lobby, pressing the button for the elevator going up, suggests that he is returning from, rather than going to. That his eyes are shadowed with exhaustion and his posture slumping and his face rather pale are hints as to why he takes elevator and not stairs! These things are all apparent, to those with an eye towards noticing them.

What is not apparent is why there is a sea of crucifixes of all shapes and sizes and styles, currently adorning -- pretty much every surface in his immediate vicinity.

A darkly clad figure approaches from behind the illusionist, she too wearing a crucifix hinting from whence she just came from. In lieu of her typical black bookbag, she carries a black tote. Expression slightly tired, she manages still not to look as worn down as the younger mutant. Blue-green eyes settle on the likely source of the imagery, what with others in the vicinity steering clear. "I shall assume you just went to church."

Jackson twitches at the sound of a new voice, turning wide and startled eyes on the newcomer; the multitutde of crucifixes vanish as his attention shifts and refocuses on Bridget. His tired expression vanishes in a heartbeat, from the shadows beneath his eyes to the pallor of his skin, and his following smile is easy and warm. "Yes'm! I gone. Went. To church. It's Sunday." Blue eyes flicker over her thoughtfully, focusing briefly on the crucifix. "You Catholic, too? I mean -- you gone to church?" These days, the two things are not necessarily synonymous!

"Yes to both counts. Mass ended over at St. Patrick's a little bit ago," Bridget answers with a small smile, noting the sudden change which even Matt Murdoch could pick up on visually. "You don't have to remove those if you do not wish." She adds in, refering to the missing crucifixes, "A little variance in the surroundings is not a bad thing."

"Remove wha-- oh." Jackson's eyes flicker around the hall, and he blushes sheepishly. "I didn't mean to -- sometimes I leak. When I'm distracted. Daydreaming. Sorry, miss." The elevator chimes as it arrives, and Jackson gestures to indicate Bridget can enter first.

Bridget nods, stepping into the elevator at Jackson's indication, "Ah. I think I can understand that a little, being distracted. When things get difficult, it can be quite an issue to keep things together."

Jackson's eyebrows lift, and his laughter is as warm and easy as his smile as he follows Bridget into the elevator. "I guess it can, miss. I don't think /difficult/'s my problem, really. Just too much tendency to daydream." He presses the button for the third floor, canting a questioning glance to Bridget as his hand hovers near the panel of buttons -- which to press for her?

"Same floor." Bridget replies, glancing to the lit up three, "Visiting someone..." Eyes glance down to her tote bag for a moment, "Daydreaming isn't a bad thing. A lot of things were created because of a dream. Others by complete accident or out of the need to survive, but that's not as romantic sounding."

Jackson's hand drops to his side, and he steps back from the button, blue eyes darting up to look at the lit numbers over the door as it starts to close. "My dreams don't never make nothing useful," he says with another laugh. "Da Vinci I ain't. Just some kid with a short attention span."

"Just because something doesnt fit into another's standards does not mean it has no value." Bridget replies, cracking a smile, "To some, I'm worthless. But to others, I'm comfort. Do I base my value on what the first party feels, or the second?"

Jackson shakes his head. "No."

Bridget nods, glancing to the numbers as they reach the '3'. "Exactly."

"But I never said nothing about /other/ people saying my daydreams are useless," Jackson points out with a swift flash of a grin. "I'm prefectly capable of makin' that judgment call all on my own."

"Perhaps." Bridget agrees, watching the door open, "But then again, as we grow older, we tend to realize just how little we knew when we were younger, even of ourselves."

Jackson's head tips down, a faint grimace briefly chasing the friendly cheer from his face. "I s'pose so," he says, with a shrug of one shoulder; and this time he steps out of the elevator first. "But then again, as people grow older they also tend to grow these weird ideas that they know everything better than young people just cuz they're older."

Stepping out of the elevator, Bridget turns her head towards Jackson as she walks alongside him, "We may not know everything better. But we've had more time to make mistakes. And perhaps it's in our natures to want to share what we learned. See if we can benefit others with our own hardships... at least justify them for happening."

Jackson shakes too-long blond hair back from his eyes as he lifts his head again, warm smile in place again. "P'raps. That ain't such a bad nature. Wanting to benefit others." He stops off at apartment 33 with a tilt of his head towards Bridget. "Y'take care, miss."

"Heaven kows I don't want people to end up with my life," Bridget muses as she pauses at the same door, glancing to the younger mutant, "Ah...Actually I was planning on visiting Sunset."

Jackson blinks, and though his smile doesn't waver, his pallor briefly shows through past its masking of illusion. "Oh! What a --" There's a beat of hesitation before he finishes easily, "-- coincidence." His hand lifts to knock at the door. He is, apparently, sans key.

Knock knock? Who's that knocking at my door? Setting aside her book, Sunset takes a moment to wobble and roll and push her way off the couch to waddle for the door. Peeking through the peephole, Sunset grabs a spare key off a near by table, holding it up as she opens the door. "Need something, sweetie?" She grins. "And I know what brings young Mr. Holland to my door, but what does the lovely Ms. Mendel need?"

Bridget looks from Jackson towards Sunset, giving a slight nod in greeting before answering the question posed to her. "I bring cookies. And paperwork."

Jackson's nose wrinkles apologetically as he reaches for the key. "Sorry, miss. I was late for church in the mornin' an' I sorta forgot." Illusion melts away entirely as he slips back into Sunset's apartment, the strain of keeping it up more taxing in his current state than it should be -- neat Sunday-suit flickers and vanishes, leaving pale green hospital-issued scrubs instead, and the multitude of scars on his arms (both stylized artistic designs and ragged knitted wrist-slashes) are clear on his pale skin. Friendly smile vanishes in place of heavy exhaustion, too, and he doesn't offer any more conversation, instead moving to curl bonelessly into the corner of the couch.

Eyebrow raising, Sunset's grin fades into a confused frown. "Paperwork?" She repeats, stepping back to allow both of them into the apartment. Her frown doesn't exactly deepen as she watches Jax, but there is still some kind of tension that enters her face, showing worry. "I'll put on some tea." She murmurs, heading for the kitchen, placing a motherly touch on Jackson's head as she passes him.

Features soften slightly upon Jackson's change in appearance but Bridget's attention switches over to Sunset as she moves into the apartment, reaching into her tote bag to pull out another bulk purchase tin as she remains close to the door, "I made these last night. Chocolate chip and white chocolate macademia nut..."

"Thanks, miss." Jackson's smile is swift and bright, though, strained under the weight of a rapidly-developing headache, it fades quickly. He rests his head against an arm, and his eyes slip closed.

"Special tea, for you, I think." Sunset murmurs, glancing back at Jackson. "And you are still welcome in my apartment, Bridget... There's no need to linger in doorways." Setting a kettle of water on the stove, the redhead looks over at Bridget, a small smile on her lips. "The cookies are appreciated. I'm sure we'll enjoy them. But it's the paperwork that's caught my attention, for now.

Bridget nods. "Sorry. I just, didn't want to keep you..." Eyes glance over to the tired Jackson which leads her to walk into the kitcehn to set the tin down on the counter. "It's not requiring any signatures, "Just information to keep about your finances. Where it's located, the ideal way to maintain them. When to access them and what not."

"Ah..." Starting to take a few boxes of loose tea from the cabinets, Sunset nods. "Well, thank you for that. When it comes to money, I'm an expert at making it stretch, but anything else... I'm a bit over my head. Considering I'll soon have a kid that I will one day be putting through college, it's much appreciated."

"Ah Yeah. This should probably help a bit." she agrees, frown deepening, a hand reaching up to play with a strand of hair that didn't need to be moved, eyes drifting to look to the counter.

"If you're worried about me not wanting to be friends with you because of the whole Oz thing, please realize that there is a limit to what I take his side on." Sunset replies, the subject at hand taking a large u-turn. "There are some things in his life I do not immerse myself in."

"Ah." Bridget nods, frown still in place as she reaches into the tote to pull out an envelope to rest it on top of the tin. "Could you tell him that 'I'm sorry'?"

Out in the living room, Jackson is drifting. Not physically, perhaps, but his thoughts clearly are, judging by the radical redecorating going on. In the first place, there is fire. The flames start small, but are rapidly spreading to lick at the furniture, spread over the walls. In the second, there are vaguely demonic creatures lurking in the fire, shadowy forms that slink between the flames with slitted eyes and toothy, hungry grins. Jackson stays curled sleepily on the couch, eyes closed and oblivious.

"The next time I see him, it will be my top priority." Sunset assures her, lips curling into a slight smile. Glancing into the living room, it fades for a short moment. "Jackson, what kind of tea do you want?" She asks, hoping to distract him from whatever thoughts he's having. "And if you're still tired afterwards, sweetie, feel free to go to the bedroom for a nap. I hate seeing you so tired."

"Thank you." Bridget murmurs as her head turns, glancing over to the unintentional display of power going on in the next room. "I'll be going now. Sorry." The medic heads towards the door.

The flames and creatures both vanish as Jackson looks up. "Miss?" He sounds puzzled. "Tea. I like tea. -- I'm okay. Don't worry."

"I'm a mother. All I do is worry." She answers, watching Bridget as she leaves, brow slightly furrowed. What in the world is she apologizing for? "Thank you again, Bridget..." Heading back for the kitchen, Sunset shakes her head lightly, taking the water off before the kettle can fully whistle. "Is green tea all right, then? If I remember corectly, it should help get all of that medicine out of your system quicker than usual."

"S'good, miss. Thanks." This is, apparently, all the conversation Jackson feels up to; the words are half mumbled, and he falls quiet again as his eyes slip back closed, vague images starting to take shape in Sunset's living room once more.

Sunset

2008-04-26T22:10:24Z

I'm out now. But I can't stay here. Just long enough to get my head together. Then find some place new. Safe? No. Probably there is no safe. Not for me. But at least safe from me.

I'm past looking for home or family or silly hope-ful things like that that I can't have, but at least I can look for a place to hide.

Log. Saturday afternoon. 26 April. Psych ward.

Jackson's room in the hospital ward is bare; no roommate to clutter up the other half of it, and even his side is stripped of any personal items at all. If it were not for the boy himself -- not lying on the neatly made-up bed but sitting in the corner with knees pulled to his chest and his head bowed to rest against them -- there would be no sign the room was inhabited at all. But there he is, thinner and paler even than when he was admitted almost a month ago. The scars on his arms are healing badly, but healing all the same; the flesh is ragged and rough, but knitted back together, no longer raw. His hair is too long, and rather tangled as it spills down to hide his face. He has, also, not showered in a very long time, and it shows. At the moment he is still, very still, but the murky haze of shadow around him is restless with constant, trembling motion.

It has been a while since Sunset visited. Something she feels insanely guilty about, but hopefully Jackson will understand. Somehow. Backpack over one shoulder, filled with the usual supply of drawing utensils and sketchpads, and of course, food. Nervously and hesitantly pausing outside the door, the redhead enters after a moment, nose wrinkling slightly at the smell of the unwashed human body. "Jackson?" She asks, softly, setting the backpack on the floor gently as she takes a few steps closer to the bed.

In the corner, Jackson twitches, and then looks up, eyes too glassy-dead to be wary, though the sudden tension of his posture suggests apprehension. "They already came," he mumbles, arms curling in close to himself, sandwiched between his legs and his chest. "I don't need any more today. They already --" He breaks off with a shake of his head, and drops his forehead back to rest on his knees. "Enough," is a rather hoarse whisper. "Don't need more. Don't want --"

Kneeling next to the bed, Sunset shakes her head. "No, sweetie. I'm not here to give you any medicine." Reaching out to carefully, gently tilt Jackson's face to look at her, she frowns, before sighing. "Oh, /sweetie./ They've got you drugged to the eyeballs, don't they?" She murmurs, sadly. "If I knew how to break you out of here..."

Recognition comes only slowly, but when it does, the tension bleeds out of Jackson's bony frame. "Oh -- oh. Miss Sunset. I didn't -- notice -- didn't think --" His eyes squeeze shut, and open again. "Can't go. I'm -- crazy. They say crazy." His brow furrows, deep, finding the correct words a struggle. "Dangerous."

"/They/ say crazy." She parrots, nodding. "How many times have you fought against what /they/ say, though? What they say, doesn't matter, Jackson. I know you aren't crazy. Or dangerous. And so does everyone else that loves you." Leaning up to kiss his forehead, Sunset attempts at a smile. It doesn't work, but her frown at least disappears. "When they let you out of here - and that will be when, if I have anything to say about it - I'm going to see if they'll let you stay with me for a while. I think, usually, they would send you back to the school, but I don't trust them with you."

"Nobody -- not." Jackson frowns deeper, his face screwing up in frustration. "Love me. Just you." His fingers curl into the fabric of his scrub pants, clenching the light material into his fists. "Can't stay with you. Anyone. Dangerous. Mutie -- freak."

"I'm not exactly the right person to be telling you're supposedly a mutie freak as an argument, Jackson. Look at who my family is." Sunset softly reminds him. "And you aren't dangerous either. All you need is a bit of control over your powers. I can help you with that. I've helped a lot of people with that."

"Can't help with -- crazy. Sad. I don't --" Jackson lets go of his scrubs, lifting a hand instead to rake ringers through his tangled hair. "Not clean," he says then, sadly, his train of thought derailed entirely. "M'gross." This is a very unusual state for the normally fastidious teenager.

"I can help with the sad, too. And you /aren't/ crazy. And even if you were, I'd find a way to help you with it." Sunset answers, before her lips twitch upwards, slightly. "That's what happens when you don't shower, sweetie."

"Can't," Jackson mumbles. "I tried, they don't let -- they come /in/ -- /watch/. I tried to be invisible but then they just -- they come in anyway -- they grab --" He falters, shudders, curls in tighter to himself.

Eyes narrowing, Sunset is quiet for a moment. There is no use for her to sound angry when talking to Jackson when she isn't the one she's angry at. "They'll stop doing that." she eventually replies, voice quiet to conceal her emotions. "I'll make damn sure and well they do."

"They say they -- have to. Watch. Can't be invisible. /Touch/. I don't -- they say they have to -- I might try something --" Jackson frowns, and the shadows around him flicker and swirl, erratic, chaotic. "Just -- just don't shower no more. Then they can't -- can't --" He falters again, and shakes his head. "I don't like it here," he whispers. "This is supposed to make me want to live again? I've never wanted death so much. This place is death."

Jaw clenching, Sunset pushes herself to her feet. "I'll be back in a minute, sweetie, to help you pack everything." turning towards the door, her expression turns to one of determination. "I'm getting you out of here, one way or another."

Jackson falls back into silence; there is maybe a brief glimmer of hope in his expression, but it dies so fast it is hard to tell if it was ever really there. His eyes track Sunset as she moves. He stays in his corner, silent and watchful.

Disappearing from the room, Sunset is only gone a few minutes. Enough time to convince the psyche ward to let Jackson out - something that was sadly easy, considering he's a mutant - and for her to sign all the correct papers. When she does come back, she picks the backpack up again, sipping it open. "There isn't much room for things... But from what it looks like, you don't have much to pack. C'mon, sweetie. You cna take a shower at my place."

Jackson rises stiffly, understanding filtering only slowly through his drugged haze. "I'm going?" He is puzzled. He looks down at his bare feet.

Smiling, her first real one since entering the psyche ward - after all, there is not much to smile about, here - Sunset nods. "You're going."

Canvas; Letter to Cole

2008-04-14T17:54:10Z

Don't knwo who elt her in why people are coming shouldn't be coming here now nt here not now
don't want. people. want my brain i think they took my brain

the light won't listen
but at least the world is going away

I missed church. oh no.

Log. Sunday afternoon. 13 April. Psych ward.

Sarah is easily starting to see why people hate hospitals. She cannot quite understand hating them as a patient, but now she can easily see how people can hate them, just by hearing that someone you love has been in the hospital. For weeks, at that. Sign in is simple, though it takes a few tries to sign her name, hands shaking. The search is quick, the girl not even having brought her wallet, having run from the apartment too quickly to grab anything. she is not even sure she locked the door behind her, but at the moment, the ink charmer cannot bring herself to care.

The ward is fairly quiet, at the moment -- there's a group session going on in the lounge area, and a good number of the kids are there, though their bored and distracted expressions suggest this is not entirely by choice. Some aren't. A pair of girls play checkers at a table, a thin boy with scratch marks all up his arms rocks back and forth in a chair, an older dark-haired girl sits in a corner and stares ahead of herself at nothing at all. Jackson is nowhere to be seen, but a nurse points Sarah towards his room -- a double, still, though now there's no sign of any roommate, the other half of his room bare and empty. Gone, too, are the vivid illusions; left instead there is only a murky vague swirl of colours that hangs around him, trembling ceaselessly. Jackson himself is not trembling. He is lying in bed, curled up on top of his covers, still enough and pale enough to be almost mistaken for dead, if it were not for the quivering light around him. His blue eyes are as glazed and glassy as they had been when he /was/ dead, and they stare unblinking in front of him. His hospital scrubs sit loose on his thin frame, and the room has a stale smell -- a far cry at least from rotting-corpse odor, but he's not showered in quite a while.

Arms wrapping around herself, eyes roaming over each of the other patients, Canvas lightly tugs on her lip ring with her teeth. For an idle moment, she wonders if visitors have been locked up before, having gone insane thanks to this gloomy place. However, those thoughts are quickly pushed away, forgotten, as she's pointed in the right direction. Halting at the doorway to the room, barely inside, Sarah bites her lip to keep from crying out, eyes going wide. "Jax?" The question is hesitant, slightly shaky. How could he have fallen this far without her noticing? What kind of friend was she?

Jackson doesn't respond to his name; at least, his body doesn't move. The murky haze around him does, though, flickering before smoky-dark tendrils reach out towards Sarah, curling around her with fingers that cannot be felt. The deep gashes that are carved up both Jackson's forearms are starting to knit together with the aid of their stitches, but the flesh is crusty, reddish with mild irritation. Many of the stitches have been torn out, the result of repeated picking, the cuts peeling open where they aren't forced together.

Trembling slightly as the haze reaches her, Canvas forces herself to calmly walk into the room. One step, two step, red step, blue step. Shaky knees easily lowering herself once she reaches the bed, forearms resting on the very edge, Sarah repeats herself, a bit louder this time. "Jax?"

This time, Jackson does move -- not much, fingers twitching against the matress once, twice, and stilling again. His lips are dry and cracked, and they part slightly, though he says nothing. His eyes turn vaguely in Sarah's direction and his brow creases as he tries, unsuccessfully, to make them focus.

"Hi." She starts, lamely, taking the small motions as signs he's heard her. Attempting a grin and succeeding for a moment, it quickly fades. "Sorry I didn't come see you any sooner... My phone is kinda of a jackass. It hates giving me any messages... So if you want me to throw it at something when I get home... I just thought you were still in..." Voice cracking slightly, Canvas looks down for a moment, blinking. she is not going to cry. Not in front of him, at least. "Virginia."

Jackson's brows crease deeper. His knees pull up tighter to his chest. "Virginia," he manages, voice slightly scratchy and thick with drugged haze. "Are we in Virginia?" The dark cloud around him starts to change shape, vague and malformed outlines of trees, a large house, gardens, appearing, but the illusions refuse to form properly and melt away back into the murk.

Canvas shakes her head. "No, sweetie. We're in New York." She answers lowly, glancing around at the half formed illusions. "Though from what I can tell, Virginia is a bit of a nicer place."

"Nice," Jackson agrees, and the shadows attempt to resolve themselves into scenery once more, but the attempt fails. And again, the light shivers, shudders, and melts back into abstract murk before it can take real definition. Jackson's face crumples -- he looks frightened for a fleeting moment, when the light that he normally controls as easily as an extension of his own body refuses to respond correctly, and then the fear fades and he looks, simply, like he is about to cry. "Trees," he says, and then, "Sarah?" His tone is puzzled, as if he is only noticing her for the first time.

Scooting closer to the bed, leaning her face against the edge of the mattress, Sarah for a moment looks like she's going to move closer. However, she hesitates, biting her lip, syaing where she is for now. "Jax, can I get on the bed with you?" She asks, quietly, sounding young for a moment.

A confused expression flits across Jax's features, and his head shakes even as he answers, "Yes." His eyes squeeze shut, and he tries to push himself back slightly to make more room, but moving himself cohesively seems as difficult as moving the light. "Bed's cold. When did you come?"

Slowly and carefully crawling up on the bed, Sarah unconsciously mimics Jax as she herself curls up, facing him. "Don't mind a cold bed. Been through worse things." She softly answers, before shrugging a shoulder. "I dunno. Few minutes ago, I guess... Sorry I didn't come sooner. Didn't know."

"Didn't know." Jackson's head shakes again, though this time the jerky motion seems more reflexive than conscious. "I didn't know. It's not been long. I live here, now."

"Not forever though, right?" The question is shaky, choked. "I mean... They're gonna let you out when you get better, right?"

"Can't get better." Jackson states this with more confidence than he's said anything yet. "I'm crazy -- too crazy. Anyway. Nowhere to go. I live here, now."

"You can come stay with me and Aly." Sarah answers, smally. "And you aren't crazy. I'm the crazy one, remember? I'm the one who fights wolves. So if I'm crazier than you, then you'd have to get better eventually, cause otherwise they'd have me in here too."

"I met a wolf. He brought me here. He talked to me. Because I'm crazy." Jackson shivers, and shudders, and his body tenses as he buries his face against his pillow. "You should go. Before they put needles in you too. Lock you up tight."

"What if I don't wanna go?" She asks, edging slightly closer to him, an arm gently wrapping around his shoulders. "You're my best friend in the whole freakin' world, Jax. Don't care if they'd have to lock me up, too, I'd still hang out with you."

"Nonononono," Jackson mumbles, shoulders tense beneath Canvas's arms. "Not a good place. They don't like us. They don't like anyone. Gogogo. I'm -- tired. Just want to sleep. They let me sleep, anyway. They make me sleep."

"Well, then, shouldn't there be someone here who /does/ like you?" Sarah questions, lips trembling slightly before she presses them together to make them stop.

"No. Nonono. /Crazy/," Jackson reminds insistently. "Can't stay. You have to go." One hand moves to the crook of his arm, picking uncomfortably at the tiny red mark of a needle-track in his vein. "Just want to sleep. Just have to sleep."

Shaking her head, eyes squeezing shut, Sarah mumbles something inaudible at first. She tries again, speaking clearly. "Only gonna leave if you say you don't want me here. Not because you think you're crazy, or you don't want them keeping me here. Just if you don't want me here as a friend to visit you at all."

Jackson twitches again, more spasm now than shiver, and the murk around him darkens. "Don't want you here. Don't want anyone here. Just want the world to go. Away. Go away."

Eyes popping open, Sarah very much looks like a puppy that's just been kicked. Taking a moment to stiffly slide off the bed and stand, her arms wrap over her chest again, hands clenching near her shoulders. "Fine." She replies, voice low, blank. "I'll tell Aly to stay away too. If that's what you want." Turning, the ink charmer heads for the door.

Jackson doesn't answer; his eyes are blank as he returns to staring at nothing. Tendrils of shadow follow Canvas towards the exit, but the illusionist himself is still as death again.
Letter to Cole, 14 April; written in rather a messier scrawl than his previous painfully neat handrwiting.

Hi, Cole!

You're right, people don't write letters hardly at all any more. Not like this. With pen. (Coloured pencil in my case!) Paper. I think mostly people use email and stuff, but I've never really gotten the hang of all that internet stuff. I didn't ever even have a computer in my life and now the school has them but I'm still really bad with them so I don't hardly ever touch them -- and letters on paper just feel much more personal, anyway. Computer screens just feel one more step removed from an actual human being.

You know, I totally get what you're saying about wanting to help. The last time we talked I was just sort of frustrated at the world, but wanting to help is something I can understand. I want to a lot, too. Do you know something, though? Even with my abilities it can be just as hard to figure out how to help the people I care about. I do my best -- but most of the most important things I do to help people, I do totally without my powers anyway; and being able to make illusions and forcefields and things never stops me worrying over everyone all the time! I'm sure that you'll be able to figure out lots of ways to help people out. <u>Caring</u> enough to try is the biggest step, and you're totally there already.

Love,

Jax

P.S. I don't have a CD player, but there's one in the lounge that I can use if nobody else is using it first!

Rich

2008-04-08T22:49:43Z

won't get out of here -- can't get out -- i'll just take it with me

Log. Monday afternoon. 7 April. Psych ward.

<NYC> - Mental Place Hospital

Visiting hours at Jackson's ward means the place is slightly more crowded than usual, as those who /have/ people inclined to visit them socialize with friends and relatives, and those who don't (a sadly large percentage) find other diversions and pretend not to be envious. Jackson, as usual, has a rather large space to himself where nurses and other patients are wary to approach the obvious mutant; today, his corner of the ward is a festering swamp, full of toothy clawed creatures and decaying corpses. It's really quite pleasant. He is on a small island in the center of it, playing cards with a Care Bears themed deck.

Also, he doesn't really smell too good. Rather like he hasn't showered in perhaps a week. Which he hasn't. Oops.

In this crowd there emerges a ray of sunshine for the swamp. One free of the smell of week long funk. For there is soap where he staying. Flaunt. Flaunt. The sunlight dims as the reality wheel kicks in. walking across the swamp, Rich plops himself down on the island next to Jax, disturbing the deck. "Hey bro."

Jackson cringes instinctively as Rich approaches, shrinking back away until he looks up and relaxes upon seeing who it is. "Hi!" he chirps brightly, though his brow creases immediately after. "Shouldn't you be in school or something?" He leans forward to start picking up cards up.

(Incidentally, there is soap where he is staying, too! ...he just hasn't been using it.)

"Took a sick day," Rich replies, glancing down to the cards, "Whatcha playin'?"

"I don't know," Jackson answers with a frown. "There are Care Bears." Clearly, that is the only thing that matters.

"Ah." Rich glances to the swamp. "But shouldn't tha care bears be somewhere not so... swampy?"

Jackson's frown deepens, and he glances around at his surroundings with a faintly puzzled expression. "But we're in a swamp," he explains, with the patient tone of someone having to clarify something very obvious. "I can't leave it. So I don't got nowhere else to play."

Rich looks back over to Jackson, "An' why cantcha leave it? I was able ta walk through it."

"It comes with me," Jackson explains simply. "Can't go."

Rich frowns. "Well... if that's tha case..." An idea causes the frown to fade slightly , "Guess all I can do is ta add ta it." With that he starts searching the expansive city for an appropriate dream.

"If the monsters catch you, you might die," Jackson says, unhelpfully. "Nobody will talk to me because I bring death with me."

"Now Jax, yer just talkin' bullshit." Rich replies, nodding to the crowd, "Tha reason why they ain't talkin' is prob'ly 'cause they're thinkin' that ya don't want them ta talk ta ya. An ya have no reason ta feel bad if they're just tryin ta respect yer wish. An' they got problems to ta deal wit'."

Jackson's head shakes. "They're scared of me. I ain't human."

"Well if that's why then fuck 'em. Still don' mean ya bring death." He glances to the corpse. "Well... /real/ death."

"But I do," Jackson says, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. He lifts a hand, forefinger and thumb forming an imaginary gun, which he points at Rich before turning it instead to face an empty folding chair out of the reach of his swamp-illusion. "Bang," he says, very quietly, as he pulls the 'trigger'; but from the imaginary gun comes a very real flash of light, and a neat hole is burned through the back of the chair. The tip of Jackson's finger smokes. "Dead," he proclaims.

Rich blinks. "Ok fine. Yer tha bringer of death, Happy now?"

"No." Jackson's head shakes sadly, and his knees pull up to his chest, arms wrapping around them. He shrinks back further as a nurse hurries over, drawn by the flash, and shoots Jackson a furious look upon seeing the hole in the chair. She will not, though, cross into his swampy segment of the room, so he is apparently off the hook for being herded back into his dorm. "I want it to go away, but it won't -- won't -- won't --" His brow creases deeper, and he loses his train of thought, eyes rather glassy as they turn down to the ground.

Rich frowns, "I was jus' bein' sarcastic... Ya ain' really tha bringer o' death. Yer jus' Jax. An' tha swamp thing... okay we can work with that." He points over to one of the corpses. "Can you get rid of that or shall I add to it?"

"I can't," Jackson whispers, and there's a hint of fear behind the glazed look in his eyes as he glances briefly back up at Rich. "I've tried -- an' tried -- an' tried --" His head tilts back down, spilling hair into his eyes. "Just keeps getting worse. Can't control -- no control. Bad."

Rich nods. "I seem ta remember when this happened 'fore. But ya were tha one listenin' and I was tha one loosin' it."

Jackson's hand lifts to scrub at his cheek. "I listen. Good. -- Used to listen good," he corrects himself absently. "Was a good friend, once." His voice drops to a distracted mumble on this, as if he is talking more to Rich than himself, and then he reaches for his pack of cards, though he simply picks one up and stares at it rather than doing anything. (It is the king of diamonds; its picture is Love-a-lot Bear and Friend Bear hanging out together on a butterfly-and-flower filled cloud, holding a pink heart-shaped ballon between them. The text says "Friends make good times even better!" It is really quite an obnoxiously cheerful card.) "Losing it. -- But it'll stop. They say it'll -- will -- will help."

"It?"

Jackson nods, and sets the card back down. "Won't be crazy. Anymore." He rubs at his cheek again, and then whispers confidentially once more, "I'm really very crazy you know."

"About as crazy as me," Rich replies, "What tha fuck do they have ya on?"

"Hal -- Hal --" Jackson's frown deepens. "Zoloft. Haldol. It's for -- for not being crazy. An' not being sad." His shoulders hunch, arms squeezing back tight around his legs and his eyes slipping closed.

An eyebrow archs at the 'not being crazy' line. "Ah." He glances over to the corpse again, "How long ya have ta take it?"

"Don't want it," Jackson mumbles, eyes squeezing tighter closed. "Don't know. Till I ain't crazy."

Rich nods. "Know that feelin'..." He glances over towards the nurse, checking if she's looking their way before leaning towards Jackson. "Maybe there's like a replacement to those fer when ya get outside o' this place. Like tha tea fer tha sleepin' pills..."

"Maybe." Jackson rubs at his eyes with the heel of one hand. The swamp spreads, muck bubbling unpleasantly and making some of the corpses seem to stir. A dark shape below the surface sinks teeth into one body and drags it back down out of sight. "Except for I ain't leaving."

"...what?"

"Can't," Jackson answers. "Not till -- not till --" He frowns again, and shakes his head, that train of thought pulling away without him on board as well.

"It'll take time," Rich replies, "But ya will be able ta get out o' here."

Jackson doesn't answer this; his frown remains and he lies back against the floor. His section of the little island vanishes, murky water rising to half-cover him.

"Oh for..." Rich sighs, standing up and sliding Jax to his side of the island. He sighs as he brings out the dream he found. Oh look. It's Nemo.

The rest of the island disappears, too, as Jackson is moved, but Jackson props himself up out of the water with one elbow, eyes cracking open to examine his changing surroundings.

The fish swims up, smiles and waves his deformed flipper. "Have you seen Doreen?"

Jackson's eyes widen and he scrambles backwards. "She graduated," he informs the fish uncertainly.

Nemo doesn't reply to Jax's question and instead swims away, "DOREEEN!" He swims out of the swamp towards the other side of the room with a cheerful "HIYA!" as he finds another resident. "It's not your doing," Rich replies, "That was me."

"Oh." Jackson relaxes visibly at this, watching the fish swim away. The patient Nemo approaches scrambles away even faster than Jackson had, shooting an unpleasant look in the illusionist's direction, but a different boy runs over to the fish happily. "Ohmygod I /loved/ that movie!"

"Have YOU seen Doreen?"
Rich glances over to Jackson, "Says tha same two lines in tha dream. However, can't provide Martin while I have Nemo out."

The boy grins. "You won't find her around here," he tells the fish apologetically, "though she's probably about as crazy as most of us."
Jackson's eyes follow Nemo's movements a moment longer before dropping back to the swamp. "Someone might eat him," he says sadly.

"Good luck eatin' a dream," Rich murmurs, "Maybe when ya get better, ya can bring Martin out."

"Won't," Jackson replies with another frown.

"Will too."

"Crazy," Jackson says, fingertips pressing to his temples. "Always -- always been --"

Rich points to his head, "Runs in tha fam'ly."

This does prompt a smile out of Jackson, though it's brief and fades quickly into a confused expression. "Maybe -- can adopt you too --" His words are becoming more and more mumbled and less understandable.

"They can just fuck off." Rich replies, wrapping an arm around Jackson's shoulder while reaching over to muss up the younger mutant's hair once more, "We already got our family."

Jackson's shoulders are tense beneath Rich's arm, and he attempts another smile at the hair-mussing, though this one barely manages to twitch at the corners of his lips before it dies. "Got family," he agrees, still mumbling. "Crazy family."

"Back at the mansion. The good crazy."

Jackson frowns again. "Don't -- live there. Live here."

"No. You're just visiting here."

Jackson's eyes squeeze shut, head shaking, and the swamp begins to dry up; instead, the corner they sit in turns into the concrete and thick metal bars of a jail cell. "Here."

Looking to the bars, Rich doesn't continue with the insistance. "Then one day... I'll break you out."

Jackson's eyes open again, tired and sad as they glance towards Rich. "Ain't the sort of cage you can break," he says, softly, and moves back to lean against a wall, shoulders slumping. "You should -- I should -- you should --" His words end with a frustrated huff of breath, and his head shakes once more.

"Don't mean I gotta quit tryin'." Rich replies, glancing to the waning visiting crowd, "Guess visitin' hours 're up." He looks back to Jackson, "If I dream long 'nough ta come by..."

"This place kills dreams," Jackson informs Rich solemnly. "But I like when you visit. Come again. Please."

Rich nods, getting up to his feet, and glancing to Jackson once more "I will. Take care of yourself, little bro."

"Take care of yourself," Jackson echoes. He pushes himself to his feet, the motion slow and heavy, and looks at Rich a moment longer before turning for his room. The jail cell he has constructed travels with him, cement and bars keeping him locked in as he moves. His pack of cards lie abandoned on the floor.

Happy times at Mental High...

OOC note: Jax isn't seeing visitors anymore. Period! At all. So unless your char can muscle/lie/bribe/sneak/fight/dreamfully project (HI RICH)/etc their way in, they can't get to him. Sorry. My RL is less than ideal at the moment.

Rich

2008-04-07T21:32:15Z

Brothers. Huh.

Log. Saturday afternoon. 5 April. Psych ward.

Quarters borrowed from his temporary new roommate held firmly in one hand and a short list of phone numbers held in his mind alone, Jackson leans against the wall beside the payphone in his ward. Coins rattle into the slot, and Rich's number is dialed from memory. His teeth worry nervously at one lip ring as he listens to the phone begin to ring. The background is filled with the buzz of activity -- the television playing soap operas somewhere in the distact, a pair of other kids in the ward bickering over something, a nurse yelling at a boy who is refusing his medications.

Why does the phone ring at the most inconvnient of times? Stepping out of the bathroom, towel quickly thrown on, a soaking wet Rich moves towards the phone. Wet feet allow for him to slide across the floor slightly, landing in a less than graceful manner on the bed. Headboard slamming against the wall with the sudden addition of momentum. Body stending to stay in motion, Rich's legs fly up, causing the towel to flap towards the waist. Hoo boy. Good thing the door's closed and Jax isn't here. The motion is stopped and the legs come down, allowing for Rich to reach for the phone, lifting it to his ear while his other hand adjusts his *ahem* attire. "Hello?"

"Hey, Rich." Jackson's voice is quiet on the other end. "I -- um -- m'sorry I ain't called or nothin'."

Rich frowns, sitting himself up, it's that /tone/ again... "Jax? Are ya okay?"

"I -- yeah, I mean -- no, I mean --" Jackson pauses, takes a deep breath. "I'm -- in the hospital. But I'll be fine."

"You're what?" Rich's feet contact with the floor as he skids over to the dresser, pulling open a drawer to retrieve some underwear, "Which hospital?!"

"Rich, it's -- I mean, I'm --" Jackson hesitates before giving the name of the hospital, an innocuous sounding place. "But I'm not -- I'm fine, it's -- it's not /that/ type of hospital."

The drawer slams shut and an awkward dance of putting the undies on one handed takes place. "I'm headin' over." Well, once he has someone tell him where the hospital is.

"Okay." Jackson is, at least, helpful in this regard! He gives Rich the cross-streets and even the nearest subway station. "I guess I'll -- see you soon, then?"

"Ya bet'cher ass." Rich replies, "Jus' let me get dressed an' I'll be headin' over."

"Okay," Jackson says again, and then, "thank you." There's a beat of hesitation, and, oddly, in place of good-bye the last thing he says before he hangs the phone back in its cradle is, "I'm sorry."

<NYC> the innocuous sounding place.

Innocuous the name may be, but inside it is far less so; metal detectors and a security desk to sign all visitors in and check them carefully for anything they might try to smuggle to <s>inmates</s> patients. An escort to take them through two separate coded locked doors, and then the ward -- a rather cheerless place filled with rather cheerless patients. Jackson is easy to find, settled well apart from any of the other teenagers there -- they give his room a wide berth, and it's easy to see why; illusion has transformed his hospital dorm into an ugly, barren wasteland, a harsh terrain populated by nightmarish creatures. In the center of it, Jackson sits perched on a jagged rock that should be his bed, head bowed over his sketchpad as he works on a drawing with coloured pencils.

Rich frowns after being somewhat 'processed'. And glances over to the blatant Jackson affected area. Walking over, he moves to another nearby rock to sit down. Coming into contact with nothing.and ending up falling through said rock. "Never gonna get used ta this." He mutters from inside.

Jackson glances up from his sketchpad apologetically, and after a moment, most of the rocks in the room disappear; there's another large one left that matches his, and a couple smaller. "Those ones are real," he says with a slight wince. "M'sorry. The nurses leave me alone when my room's like this." He's dressed in green hospital scrubs, and though he's rather pale, eyes shadowed, there's no apparent sign of injury on him; even the detailed scarwork that covered his arms is, for the moment, gone. He sets his sketchpad aside, hopping down from his perch to offer Rich a hand back up.

Rock removed from him, Rich reaches up to grab the offered hand. "Thanks." He replies, glancing to the as he's pulled up. "So..." He frowns as his mind goes blank.

"So," Jackson echoes, somewhat nervously as he moves to sit back on his rock/bed, legs swinging to thump against the side. His teeth toy with his lip ring, and his fingers brush restlessly against the inside of his wrist.

"Um..." Rich moves over to sit on the same rock, leaning forward such that his lower arms rest on his upper legs. Eyes looking to the floor. "I'm guessin' ya've been asked this already but..." He turns his head looking to Jackson, "What tha' fuck were ya thinkin'?"

Jackson cringes, and illusion dissolves, leaving the room plain and bare (his side is impeccably neat; the opposite, rather a cluttered mess) and letting the scars on his arms reappear -- both the carefully done designs and the deep gashes up both forearms, now stitched together. "I -- I --" His voice falters, and his head bows, and he doesn't answer.

Rich doesn't reply immediately, instead opting to study to younger mutant's features, "Was it 'bout tha' aliens o' what happened in Georgia? O' tha zombie thin'?"

"I don't know. No. Yes. Everything." Jackson pulls his knees up to his chest, forehead dropping to rest against them.

"So tha life coaster was makin' ya sick an' ya wanted off?"

Jackson just shrugs, shoulders hitching up jerkily. "Maybe it moves too fast for me. I ain't never been good with the drops."

"Yeah but tha climbs and gettin' ta tha top are wort' it." Rich replies, "An' it ain' like ya tha only one on tha ride."

Jackson's shoulders hunch, now, and his arms wrap tight around his legs. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, muffled against the fabric of his pants. "I just -- I can't -- I'm /sorry/."

"Would it help fer us ta hold yer hand when yer goin' down?" Rich asks, "ta let ya know we're beside ya?"

"Maybe," Jackson says, but he sounds uncertain. "I jus' don't think I'm really -- built for this."

"Ya won't find out fer sure 'less ya stick wit' it." Rich muses, "Ev'ry body's got their problems. An' how they deal wit' it can make all tha diff'rence on how their life turns out. If I tried it yer way after my mom kicked me out ta tha street an' tha people at tha shelter were doin' their thin'. I'd never o' seen tha inside o' tha school. Tha idea o' tha' drops is ta make ya 'ppreciate tha' high points. Not ta think 'bout tha ditch."

"I can't feel the high points," Jackson says quietly, head lifting again; his normally vivid blue eyes are dull and lifeless. "I haven't been able to ever since --" His brow creases. "I don't know. I think part of me maybe just is still dead. I haven't felt them for months. I just learned to pretend."

"Then quit pretendin'." Rich replies, "Leas' that way we'll be able ta tell when yer smilin' is fer real an' not havin' ta debate 'bout it. Ya don't have ta be Mr. Cheerful. Ain't yer job. Jus' be you. Jus'... don't hurt yerself 'gain. 'kay?"

"I can't, in here," Jackson says wryly, glancing around the small room. "They'll make sure'a that."

"I meant when ya get out o' here," Rich corrects, "I ain't got much in family left. Yer life is short 'nough. Don't go shortenin' it more."

Jackson's head tilts to the side, a flicker of life stirring briefly in his eyes. "Family?"

"Well yeah." Rich replies, head looking to the floor. "I mean..." A hand reaches back, scratching the back of his head, as his eyes angle slightly to look to Jackson, "it ain't like we share blood or it's on paper 'r anythin' but blood an' paper don't mean shit when it comes ta what makes a family."

A tiny, choked sob sounds quietly in Jackson's throat. He uncurls himself and slides off his bed, crossing to Rich and wrapping his arms tight and fierce around the older boy.

If Rich had been looking to the ground when he said his bit, he may not have seen Jackson coming. But he had, allowing him time to react. There really wasn't much choice in Rich's mind though. Rich is hugged and his arms return in kind. Wrapping around Jax's shoulders. As far as what else to say, Rich doesn't know if he could provide anything else to this other than just being here.

Jackson's shoulders tremble slightly beneath Rich's arms, and his arms squeeze briefly tighter around Rich before he lets go. "Sorry," he whispers, and then, more clearly, "thank you."

Rich looks to Jackson, giving a weak smile as he reaches his hand over to mess up Jackson's hair. "No prob. Brothers. Remember? Jus' please. Don't hurt yerself 'gain."

"I'll -- I'll try," Jackson says, nose crinkling with a slight smile of his own at the hair-mussing. "I -- might need a lot of help, though."

"An' help you'll get," Rich assures, "Even if I have ta follow ya 'round 24-7."

Jackson blushes, nose wrinkling further. "Hopefully it won't come t'/that/. Might get awkward when I gotta shower or somethin'."

Angel, Sunset

2008-04-04T08:54:01Z

Parents. Mister Worthington and Miss Sunset say even if I can't get mine back, there's other people --

but there's not. There's not. Mister Worthington has Cole and Miss Sunset has her little girl who'll be born soon and I'm not their kid and I never will be -- anyone's -- not anymore. They have their families and I -- I don't really fit into them. I don't. And no matter how veryveryveryveryvery much I wish I could be their family, I can't just shove myself in where I don't belong. And Mister Worthington says lots of people would want me but -- it's not true. ~~He wouldn't~~ ~~If I asked him~~ ~~He'd never want~~ I don't know if the law would let him and Sunset both have me, anyway ~~and it's not like they'd really want me in the end~~

Everything is too confusing. I just want the world to go away again. Maybe the medication they're snarling at me to take will make the world go away. Antipsychotics antianxiety antidepression -- take a pill, fix everythingeverythingeverything --

I'm so tired. I can't think. I used to believe in magic -- magic like Miss Sunset's, maybe, or magic like fairies or magic like love and now I don't know what I believe except that everything hurts too much to think and they say to talk to them, to ask for help, to ask them for what I need, but I can't even begin to explain how very much I want ~~him~~ ~~her~~ ~~them~~ ~~a family~~

sleep. I want sleep.

Log. Tuesday afternoon. 1 April. Psych Ward.

The same routine is gone through as before. Checking in. Checking for things that can't be brought in, something Sunset's backpack is filled with. Pencils to go with the sketchbook. Food in tuppaware containers, with a plastic knife and fork. However, this things are not given up easily. In the end, after a bit of an argument, and with a bit of help from Warren, it's all allowed through, along the two visitors. Well, that was easy.

The adolescent ward is busy, today, in the way that these things are. At one table, a young woman leads arts and crafts time with a group of teenagers whose sullen angry expressions suggests that a) they are far too old for the type of activity and b) they very much resent being forced into it anyway. By the television, two girls are fighting over the remote control while another stares at the screen, uncaring what is on. The games shelf has been ransacked and left bare save for a chessboard with no pieces, but where the games are is anyone's guess, because nobody is playing. The dining table is the busiest area, loud and messy as lunch is served.

In all the chaos, Jackson is nowhere to be seen, but a nurse (rather less glowery and rather more polite, in the presence of Warren, than she had been when Sunset visited on her own) points his visitors towards his bedroom. Such as it is. Whatever the room may actually look like, at the moment, the space past his doorway has become a vast stretch of desert-like land, though the terrain is cruel and harsh and lacking in any sort of beauty. The sun overhead is dull and red and casts an unnatural light over the barren wasteland. Jackson himself is curled up on a jagged black rock, and despite the illusion that surrounds him, in this place far away (or so he imagines) from the eyes of anyone at the school, there is none of the normal illusions that clothe the boy himself. Pale hospital-issued scrubs hang loose on a painfully bony frame, arms etched with a number of designs carved into his skin. The deep slashes cut into each forearm stand out even more than the rest of the cuts, stitches holding the skin back together where the wounds run from wrists halfway to each elbow. Jackson is still enough that he might be sleeping, but his eyes are open, if rather blank and fixed straight ahead of him.

Warren sucks in a breath when he sees Jackson, mentally cursing a blue streak and looking, for a moment, very, very upset before he manages to blank his face out. But behind the mask, he's cussing a blue streak. He'd /known/ something was wrong, but he'd had no idea it was this bad. Ghods. He doesn't speak up, just yet, instead nudging Sunset to go in first. He doesn't want to freak Jackson out by just showing up with no warning whatever.

Warren doesn't really have to nudge her forward. While the sight is horrible, Sunset acts like it is the same as always. Walking forward, ignoring the desert and the rest of the illusion, sitting on the edge of the bed, lowering the backpack carefully to the floor. "Told you I'd come back. Even managed to bring food. I think that earns me a hug."

"Miss Sunset." Jackson's eyes lift slowly, a slight smile flickering on his expression as he looks up at her. It takes him a moment to sit up, and when he does, his movements are slow and heavy, but he wraps his arms around her and squeezes briefly. "Thank you," he says first, and then, "-- I made Hell. Or I'm workin' on it. It's still in progress. I think people're wrong about the flames, though, Fire's dangerous and painful, but way too beautiful." His hand gestures to the world around them. "Got a lot of tweaking t'do, though." He settles back down on his bed with a slight sigh, moving close to Sunset to rest against her.

Returning the hug, Sunset keeps one arm wrapped around his shoulder, brow furrowed slightly at his slow movements. For now, however, she doesn't question it. For now. "All vegan food. Utensils to eat it with. Books. Sketchpads. Pencils of all colors, crayons. They said you just have to keep all the 'sharps' in your room, which I guess means pencils." She tells him, before pausing. "Brought Warren too."

"Oh -- oh!" Jackson's eyes widen slightly, and his smile returns, briefly. "You brought -- thank you -- /wait/." His brow creases deeply, and his eyes sweep the landscape he's created, though the effect of cloaking his room in illusion means it is difficult to see what is beyond the door. "You brought -- you brought -- /here/ -- he --" Jackson's eyes squeeze shut, and he pushes himself into a sitting position again, sliding back on his bed; the world he's made flickers, and vanishes, and his eyes are wide and rather frightened now as he looks towards the door. "Oh, no," is rather devoid of his normal courtesy, by way of greeting, but it is all he manages when he notices Angel outside.

Warren blinks a little when the illusion vanishes. Damn. Sunset wasn't kidding about Jackson being freaked. He steps into the room. "Hey, Jackson." He says, then gets right to the point. "I don't hate you, you know."

"I didn't tell him. He guessed." Sunset whispers, scooting closer, apology in her tone. "But I didn't tell him anything 'bout why you were - I didn't tell him anything. Except you were scared he'd hate you, and I /told/ you he wouldn't, and he doesn't."

Jackson rubs at his eyes, and the room around them shifts rapidly between its real state and the world Jackson had been creating; the erratically strobing back-and-forth imagery is, likely, somewhat disorienting. "But he can't -- I ain't supposed to be -- now I won't never -- he won't never -- I didn't mean to --" he mumbles, sounding, perhaps, somewhat disoriented himself. His hand drops; his fingers brush jerkily against the stitches in the opposite wrist, and then they disappear, wound and all. "Sorry," he says, looking down at his rock-bed-rock-bed-rock and not making eye contact with either of the adults in the room, simply repeating again, "Sorry."

"Jackson, stop it." Warren's voice is gentle. "There's no need to hide, all right? No one's pissed off at you. No one hates you or thinks badly of you, ok?"

Reaching out to gently grab his chin, Sunset tilts Jackson's head up to face her. "Jackson, sweetheart. Look at me. /Listen/ to me, alright?" She starts, softly. "Warren does /not/ hate you. He is not upset with you. He is not in the least bit angry, disgusted, or sick of you. He is not upset with you at all. He /does not/ hate you. You hear me?"

It takes a moment for Jackson's eyes to focus on Sunset's, and then he nods, sitting up straighter on the bed. The room calms, reverting to normal -- it is clearly a shared room, though Jackson's roommate is nowhere in sight (unsurprising, considering Jackson's recent redecorations); the other side of the room is a fairly typical teenage mess, clothes and magazines scattered around the bed and the floor. Jackson's side is painfully neat, but this is helped by the fact that he really has no belongings there to clutter the place. The wound on his other wrist fades, too, and bony features flesh out a moment later. Jackson flashes a bright smile at Warren. "M'glad, sir. That you don't hate me. Or any of those other things."

Warren walks over and holds out an arm, silently offering a hug, if Jackson wants to claim one. "I'm almost hurt you could think that I would." He says. "And please? Don't hide."

Jackson doesn't respond to the offer of a hug with his usual exuberant affection; there is distinct hesitation before he accepts it, and his own hug is ginger and brief before he settles back onto the bed. "I jus' -- this ain't what I'm s'posed to be like," he says with an awkward shrug of one shoulder. "Didn't know if anyone would want -- I mean. The Jackson everyone likes, he's way different." His eyes are calm, his tone is calm, but his fingers sketch restless patterns against the bedsheet. "Sorry," he says again, and then smiles brighter still. "M'-- thank you for coming to see me. It means a lot, y'know."

Leaning down, Sunset pulls her bag up to the bed, unzipping it. First out comes sketchpads. Boxes of colored pencils. Boxes of crayons. Then books. Books ranging from fantasy to historical fiction to historical non fiction to just plain anything. She was apparently, not joking when she said she'd being him whatever he wanted or needed. There is also a change she stole the secret to Mary Poppins' purse. "Might have got a bit carried away, but..." She shrugs, before taking out the real gold. Food. A whole four course meal, it seems like. Salad, with dressing in a small, sealed bottle. Vegetable roll ups. Vegan taco casserole. Slices of carrot cake for dessert, with somehow, vegan cream cheese icing. Four other tinier containers, all containing snacks of some sort that are to be left hear. Granola bars. Trail mix. Pita chips. A mix of various cookies, oatmeal, peanut butter, and others. "Okay, maybe I /did/ get carried away."

Warren gives Jackson a firm hug in the brief moment before he slides away. Then he sits on the edge of the bed, eyes going wide at the Mary Poppins bag. "Sheeze, Sunset." He says with a laugh, then gets back to business. "So give us a chance to get to know the 'real' Jackson." Warren says. "Unless you're Hitler in disguise, I can pretty much guarantee we'll all still love you."

Jackson's eyes widen at the bag, too, and for a moment a /real/ smile flashes through the forced ones. "Thanks, miss," he says warmly, but then sobers as Warren speaks; his eyes focus on the man thoughtfully, a faint blush creeping into his cheeks. His head bows, and whatever he mumbles to himself is barely audible. "I ain't sure I know what the real me is," he says clearer. "I'm scared this is him."

"Jackson, if this is you now, then it should be possible for you to become the person you were before." Sunset speaks up, looking inside the bag to make sure she didn't forget anything. "That is, if you want to. It might take some time, and luck, and patience, but I don't see why you couldn't." Closing the bag and letting it fall back to the ground, the redhead gives Jackson a warm smile. "But we'd love you no matter which 'you' you are, sweetie."

"So find out." Warren says gently. "Experiment. Figure out what it is you like. And just remember. If you don't /like/ what seems to be 'you' you can always change it ... without resorting to illusions."

Jackson's fingers snap, and the room around them changes again, becoming not his hospital room but his more familiar dorm at Xavier's. Another snap, and his appearance changes -- blond hair becoming his preferred bright purple, scarred designs vanishing and reverting to the tattoos he once had, hospital scrubs shifting to jeans and his favourite 'herbivore' sweatshirt. "Illusions, though -- they're /part/ of who I am," Jackson says softly. "-- I think. I don't know. Sometimes I forget where they end and I begin. Where they end and /any/ of the world begins." He shrugs, and the entire scene reverts to normal. His fingers trace again over the fresh stitches in his wrist. "Sometimes," he says, even quieter, "I'm scared I just don't -- /care/. Where the world is. I want it to stop."

Looking down at her clasped hands, Sunset gives Warren a side long glance. Jackson already knows her views on this, and in her mind, there is no use repeating them. And perhaps, subconsciously, she would hate to see Warren's reaction to how she feels that if dying is what Jackson truly and honestly wants to do, with his heart, mind, and soul, that they have no right to stop him.

Warren lets out a chuckle. "Yes, the illusions are a part of you, but you don't have to /hide/ behind them." He says, then his voice gentles. "You're hurting and scared and god alone knows what else, Jackson, and I /know/ it looks overwhelming as hell from where you're sitting now, but it's not as bad as it seems, and you've got a shitload of people who'll be more than willing to do everything in their power to help you." He pulls Cole's note out of his pocket and hands it over. "Even people who barely know you."

Jackson takes Cole's note with a puzzled expression, unfolding it to read it. He is, unfortunately, in tears by the time he finishes the introduction. Oops. Still, he smiles at a few points through it, tears and all, and his fingers trace over the angel drawing slowly. "She's -- she's real sweet, ain't she?"

"Proof that parents don't always control how their children turn out." Sunset replies, in agreement, reaching out to gently wipe away as many tears as she can. "And Warren is right. If more people knew, they would want to..." Pausing for a moment as she tries to think of the right word. She does like like the word help. Help makes it seem like there is something wrong with him, something that needs to be fixed, that whatever this is simple, when it's not. "Want to find ways to make you happy again. Because they /care/ about you, Jackson."

Warren has no such hang-ups about the word help. "Yeah she is. None of us know what it is you're going through right now, but we've all been through rough shit of one kind or another. And we all know how much having someone that gives a damn can help. You don't have to do this alone, Jackson. Whether it's just having someone sit and listen while you ramble or whatever, we'll do all we can, if you let us."

"Can't give me parents back," Jackson mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his knuckles. "Can't --" He stops, and frowns, and shakes his head abruptly. "I really 'ppreciate it," he says then, smiling up at them. "Having -- people who care. I do."

"Parents..." Sunset repeats, thinking on that. "Parents are only of the few things in this world that can be given, Jackson. People are adopted all the time. People are given families, all the time."

Warren's jaw jumped as, for the umpity billionth time, he cursed asshole insensitive abusive parents everywhere. "Oh, Jackson." He reached over and gently tugged Jack into a hug. "You listen to me, ok? 'cause I'm kinda an expert on shitty parental situations. I know your parents turned their backs on you, and that /sucks/, to the nth degree. No three ways about it. But that doesn't mean you don't have adults around you who wouldn't take their place in a heartbeat. I know it's not the same, but believe me, having someone who /wants/ to be a parent-figure goes a long, long way towards easing the hurts." Then he grins at Sunset. "The woman talks sense. And there's people who'd become your parents in a New York second. Hell, half the staff'd end up arguing over who got you because we'd all want to do it."

Jackson doesn't pull away from the hug this time, shoulders trembling with his crying as he lets himself be pulled closer to Warren. For a moment as he looks up at Angel, the hope in his expression is clear, but it is washed away soon by the falling tears. He hesitates, and in the end says nothing at all, simply squeezing his eyes shut and resting his head against Warren's shoulder. Sunset yesterday, Warren today -- shirts in Jackson's vicinity, lately, are not safe from tearstains.

Watching the other two for a moment, her own eyes becoming a bit more watery, Sunset waits for Jackson to finish to speak again. "I was already thinking about seeing if they would let you stay with me for a while when you were let out of here. If I remember right, a patient who is a minor needs someone to take him in before he can be completely released... I certainly would not mind adopting you, either, if you would have me as a mother."

Warren doesn't say anything either, for the moment. He just gathers Jackson close and hugs tight, rocking ever so slightly. Then he grins over Jackson's head at Sunset. "And since she and I are dating, you'd get me as a sorta defacto father." He is ... not unaware of the fact that Jackson adores him. Talk about sweetening the pot. Never let it be said Warren ain't a sneaky sonofabitch.

Jackson's tears calm somewhat with the rocking, and after a few moments he takes a deep breath, finally attempting to speak, his voice small and shaky. "I don't think they're letting me out of here no time soon, though, miss," he says quietly. His head turns enough to look over at Sunset, but his eyes soon drop. "I don't think they /should/."

Leaning back against the wall, Sunset's arms cross loosely under her chest. "Why?" It's a simple question, no anger or sadness behind it. Just simply why. If she does not know why he thinks this, she has nothing to disprove, after all.

Warren glances down at Jackson. "Well, that will just give us the time we need to set the necessary wheels in motion then. Governments work at a snail's pace. And don't be too sure about how long it'll take them to release you." Shit, if they get sticky and Jackson wants out, Warren will step on toes. Not like he couldn't hire someone to monitor Jackson from the privacy of Sunset's house.

"Because I'll do it again," Jackson says, simply and honestly. "Until it sticks." He pulls back from Warren with extreme reluctance, and tucks his knees in close to his chest, arms wrapping around them carefully so as not to irritate the slashes on his forearms. His eyes slide wistfully between Sunset and Warren, and for a moment the room changes, not a bedroom anymore but a living room, small and cozy, the couches old and worn and a fire crackling in the fireplace; the room is clearly familiar to him, though it vanishes again shortly and his head drops to rest on his knees. "Again an' again," he mumbles, "until I do it /right/."

Warren is ... not letting Jackson pull away that easily. He slings an arm around the boy in lieu of a hug. "Jackson ... " He says, uncharacteristically fumbling for something to say. "Will you talk to me? Tell me /why/ you feel the need to do it?" If Warren knows all the whys ... even if the whys are illogical as hell ... he just might be able to figure out a way to fight it and make Jackson want to live again.

"I --" Jackson begins, and then presses his lips together tight as he leans in against Warren's side. The hesitation is clear in his expression, and in the faltering, stumbling of his words. "I -- it's just -- everything was -- too much. Dying and -- I never felt right after all that -- and the school had felt like home but then it stopped -- and then -- then --" He pauses, the next words sticking in his throat, and when they do come it is quieter, hoarser. "That man I -- killed. I /killed/ -- I can't never --" He lets out a slow breath, shuddering slightly. "And I could almost cope with it all, but then my folks --" Thin shoulders hitch up in a shrug. They know about his parents.

"Jackson, I have said before that I cannot help you with dying." She murmurs, softly. "But the school... Your parents... There are schools you can go to in the City. I can help you with your powers. If you would have me, I would become your mother. As for the incident at Mutant Town..." Sunset pauses here, swallowing past a lump in her throat, thinking carefully of her next words. "I know how it feels. That feeling like you're unclean, dirty. But it can fade. It can go away, with time, and patience, and a bit of work. And I can... help you." God, she hates that word, but she can't think of anything else. "We can help you. If you let us. But Jackson, we can't help you unless you help yourself as well."

"The lady's talking sense." Warren says. "And killing someone, even in self-defense ... it's never easy, and it never gets /easier/. Or, well, if it does, there's something seriously wrong somewhere." Warren says. "You've had an uncontestably shitty couple of months, Jack, and quite frankly, I'm surprised you held up this long. Just ... talk to us. To me, to Sunset. Doesn't matter if it makes no damn sense to you or to us. Get it out of your system. Keeping it bottled in like this'll just make things worse."

"Jax," Jackson says softly, glancing up towards Warren. "Or Jackson. Not Jack. Please. Sir." When there is way too much emotional overload to process, focus on the small, manageable details first! "I -- I --" He looks between Sunset and Warren, and his lip catches between his teeth. "I don't even know how. To -- let anyone help. I don't -- it's hard. To let people in, I guess."

"It's always hard. But remember what I told you before, about talking? How it starts off hard, but gets easier, the more you talk about things?" The redhead asks. "Letting people in... It's like that too. It gets easier, once you start."

"Whoops, sorry." Warren says. He's a bit tetchy about nicknames, so he really should have known better. "And again with Sunset talking sense." He glances over at her and gives her a grin. "You need to hang up a shingle, lady." Then, back to Jackson. "Like I said, it doesn't have to make any damn sense, or even come out in any kind of order. Just /talk/. You'll get the hang of it sooner or later."

Jackson's head shakes slightly. "It's -- it's not /really/ the letting in that's --" He pauses, teeth chewing at his lip again. "It's just how much it hurts when the people I've let in leave." Taking another deep breath, he scrubs once more at his eyes, wiping the last traces of tears from them. Illusion returns swiftly, drying what his hands didn't reach, covering his scars, brightening his expression. "Sorry. M'being dumb again. I -- I've got therapists here for -- for talking to. Opening up to. About everything. They'll help, right?"

Jaw clenching slightly, Sunset shakes her head. "Jackson, do you really think that therapists-" The word is said like it's something foul. "are going to be able to listen to you like someone who loves you does? Yes, they have fancy pieces of paper that say they can help people, but they can't. They don't care about their patients enough, they're too focused on trying to pin something on people to say that 'This is wrong with this person, prescribe them this medicine to fix them.' Jackson, we /care/ about you. We love you. We aren't going to just nod and say 'How does that make you feel?' because we'd already know how you felt if you just told us what was going on with you. As for leaving... It takes a lot for me to leave /anyone./ I have never willingly left a person, and when I was forced to, I was drug off kicking and screaming. You are not going to lose me, and I'm sure the same goes for Warren."

"Not going anywhere." Warren confirms. "And hell's bells, with the track record the X-Men have, I can say that conclusively." The X-Men Do. Not. Stay. Dead. "And you are not either being dumb." He contests. "You're being honest about how you feel about things." He glances over at Sunset's diatribe, but the scary part is, he mostly agrees with her. Jackson /might/ need medication to help him stabilize his emotions in the short term so he can cope, but slapping him with a label and drugging him to the eyebrows won't help in the long term.

"That's what their job is, right?" Jackson persists. "I'm sure they wouldn't lock me up in here if they weren't gonna fix me. So y'all don't have to worry!" His arms wrap tight around his legs, and he smiles brightly. "I've got people to take care of things. Y'all should go home an' -- not fret."

"Jackson, you do not need to be fixed!" Sunset answers, somewhat shortly. "Saying that means you're broken, and easy to repair. It makes you sound like a broken down truck! You aren't broken, you don't need to be fixed. Do you really think being drugged up to the gills, to where you became barely able to think for yourself, a mindless robot, is really the road to becoming the boy you were before? That's not going to help you. It's going to make everything /worse./"

"Whoah, Sunset, whoah." Warren says. "First off, the whole fixed thing. Jackson has as much as admitted that something /is/ wrong, that needs to be corrected. Fixed. No one said anything about it being easy, or fast. Secondly ... anyone tries drugging him up that bad will have me on their ass so fast they won't be able to see straight, BUT. Medicines /can/ help. Just like aspirin makes for less of a headache, the psychiatric medications, properly dosed and all that jazz, will help him not be so overwhelmed by everything."

"See, miss?" Jackson says, just as bright as his smile. "They can help here. M'sure the doctors know what they're doing. I can talk to them about things an' -- an' they can give me stuff to help. Not feel so overwhelmed. While I work things out." He sounds remarkably sanguine about all this, for someone who won't even touch aspirin no matter how bad his headaches get.

Rubbing a hand over her face, Sunset shakes her head. "I just do not trust modern medicine, Warren. I can make a tea that will be as effective as aspirin, or antibiotics or antidepressants, or whatever else they're prescribing to people in packs nowadays." She answers, head leaning back against the wall. Eyes sliding over to stare at Jackson for a moment, the redhead gives a sigh, voice quieting. "Jackson, I can tell when you lie. Why lie to the people who love you?"

"Maybe you can." Warren says. "I'm just saying don't be so fast and hard about dismissing the /entire/ psychiatric care field." Then he eyes Jackson. "And now I've dealt with that ... you, young man, are worth being fretted over, and you'll realize that, sooner or later."

"Antipsychotics," Jackson supplies helpfully. "Don't forget those, miss. They've given me one of those, too. I'm really quite nuts, y'know, in addition to being sad." His hand lifts to brush hair back from his eyes, and his nose wrinkles slightly as his smile twitches wider. "I know, sir. I'm just saying that there's people here who's doing loads of fretting an' they're all trained to help people like me an' y'all shouldn't worry cuz -- cuz well I'm /here/ an' they're here to help an' they ain't gonna let me out anyway till I'm -- helped, so -- so it'll be okay an' y'don't gotta be bothered."

Hands clenching in her lap, the redhead can't stop herself from snapping, this time. "Jackson, /stop/ it!" There's a hardness in her voice that wasn't there before, along with a slight crack as well. "Do you even /hear/ yourself? You're putting up all these illusions, trying to act like what you think the Jackson that cheers people up and acts bouncy and happy would act, but this isn't him! This isn't you! Jackson would not be happy about being drugged, he wouldn't be happy about having to tell his problems to strangers, he wouldn't..." Voice slowly losing it's edge as she talks, cracking more and more, the redhead finally lets loose the tears she's been holding back since arriving, head buried in her hands, shoulders shaking.

Warren opens his mouth to say something, but Sunset beats him to it. He gives her a mildly irritated look. "Us telling him what he is and isn't like isn't going to help, Sunset. He needs to figure that out for himself." He says, then looks at Jackson. "That said ... she's right about one thing. You /really/ need to stop hiding behind the illusions. All of them. And get it through your head that despite what you seem to think, people care about you and are /going/ to worry about you. Hell, half the mansion's next to frantic because they've no idea where you are."

"Oh -- oh." Jackson's eyes widen at Sunset's tears, and he uncurls himself to slide closer, arms wrapping around her shoulders. He presses a kiss to the top of her head. "I'm sorry, miss. Please don't cry! I didn't mean to upset you. I didn't mean to --" He breaks off, head lowering to rest his cheek briefly against her hair before he looks over at Warren. His lower lip catches between his teeth, brow creasing. "I -- I guess maybe -- maybe everyone should know. So's they don't worry. I don't want them to worry."

"I just /hate/ seeing you pretend like this, Jackson." Her reply is muffled, the redhead calming a small bit, sniffling. "It just... It just makes it seem like you don't trust us enough, or something, if you can't stop pretending around us." One hand raising to rest on the back of Jackson's neck, Sunset rubs her eyes, and as much of the traces of tears away as she can. "And, we can come up with a cover story for you... If you aren't ready to tell anyone, sweetie. We can say that you needed a break away from everything and went back to Warren's country house or something."

"Sunset's right. They don't need to know you're here ... they just need to know you're /somewhere/. Your disappearance has them freaked. Hell, it had /me/ freaked until Sunset came over to talk to me and I figured out she was talking about you." He'd also had another disappearance on his mind at the time, so he'd been ... well, as close to frantic as Warren ever got. Christ. He did NOT need another day like that. EVER.

"M'sorry," Jackson says, quieter, his head bowing. "I didn't mean to --" But his words cut off abruptly. Didn't mean to disappear? To worry people? If /his/ plan had gone as he'd wanted, he'd have disappeared a lot longer. His eyes drop downwards, and he squeezes Sunset's shoulders briefly before pulling away. "Sorry," he says again, head shaking abruptly, and when his eyes lift it is with another smile lighting them. "Y'all should maybe go home. S'the middle of a weekday anyhow I'm sure you've got crazy lots of stuff to do. I'll be fine. They're all -- looking after me, here."

"Sorry, kid, but. I'm not leaving until I see you eat something." Sunset murmurs, again motioning to the boat load of food. "I know I overdid it, but you /do/ need to start eating regularly again... That's why I'm leaving the snack stuff here."

Warren lets out a chortle. "Jackson. You're not gonna win this particular fight, so give over already and just /deal/ with the fact we're here. And eat. You're nothing but skin and bones."

"No way, I've totally got blood in here too," Jackson replies with a giggle, reaching for a container of food. He pulls it towards himself to peek inside. Carrot cake. His smile brightens. "-- Does dessert count as eating?"

Lips twitching into a small smile, Sunset gives a nod. "Dessert counts as eating. As long as I get a bite, too."

Warren grins. "Desert totally counts." He says. Then mock-smacks at Sunset. "You can wait until we get home. The boy's been /starved/. He needs every scrap he can get."

"You brought me a /feast/ an' I've been here for, like, two days," Jackson says, laughing. "T'ain't hardly enough time to get /starved/." He will conveniently ignore the fact that his diet for months hasn't been much more plentiful even before being here. He picks up a small slice of cake with his fingers and offers the container out towards Sunset and Warren.

Shaking her head, and sending Warren a playful glare at the mock swat, Sunset chuckles. "No, sweetie, it's fine. I've got the rest of the cake at home I can devour."

"All yours." Warren echoes, motioning for Jackson to take it. "And by the way, there'll be more coming on a regular basis. We find out you haven't been eating it, we'll sit on you and MAKE you eat, got it?"

"Sit on me?" Jackson's eyes widen in mock alarm. "You're like /seventeen thousand/ times as big as I am I'd /die/." He sticks his tongue out at Warren. "'Sides, I can't eat when I'm being squished."

"Who said he'd be doing the sitting?" Sunset teases. "I'm carrying a whole different person inside me. Obviously, I should be the one doing the sitting."

Warren is entirely too smart to agree with Sunset. Instead, he goes for "I am not either seventeen thousand times as big as you are. I actually probably weigh right about as much as you do."

Jackson's eyebrows raise, and he grins sheepishly as he nibbles at his cake. "How much I do normally, or how much I do /now/?" The two are, sadly, drastically different things. "Maybe only sixteen thousand times as much. -- you're a zillion times taller."

"I'm sure the hollow bones help even out the weight that muscle usually adds on." Sunset grins. "Either way, he most likely doesn't way close to what you're thinking he does."

Warren just laughs. "I m not that much taller than you, Jackson. Sheesh." He makes as if to push the slice of cake into Jackson's mouth in order to get him to shut up. "Yeah, and the muscle's not quite the same as normal human muscle, either. More oomph to the ounce."

"Oh!" Jackson blushes, head dipping sheepishly. "M'dumb. I didn't even think about that." He leans back slightly with a lopsided grin -- just in case Warren gets any ideas about /actually/ pushing the cake into his mouth -- and then eyes Warren curiously. "...is it really rude of me if I ask how much you /do/ weigh, sir?"

Warren is perhaps saved from a somewhat crude comment by Jackson, Sunset instead focusing on the illusionist's last question. She instead, for now, looks over at Warren with a smirk and raised eyebrow. /Well?/

"You're not dumb." Warren grouches, then laughs. "And no, it's not rude. I weight about a hundred and fifty pounds." Given that he /looks/ like he weighs closer to 200 thanks to all the muscle, it's quite a gap.

Jackson's eyebrows raise, and he swallows, the tip of his tongue slipping out to lick icing from his lips before he grins. "Wow! That's -- definitely not what I'd have guessed. And yeah -- hardly more'n me at all. Normally, anyway. Right now --" One shoulder shrugs, and he takes a bigger bite of his cake."

"...Yeah, I'm officially the heaviest person in this room." Sunset deadpans, arms crossing, barely concealing a grin. "Peachy." Hidden grin fading just a bit at Jax, she wags a finger at him. "You better start eating faster then, mister. I'm gonna be bringing you food and snacks at /least/ two times a day, and I expect a happy plate every time... Maybe not today, since I could feed a few people with this, but still."

"Hey, you have an excuse. You're growing a person over there." Warren says, then laughs at Sunset's mother-henning. "And I'm sure there will be treats incoming from the mansion, too. So you'd better eat up."

"Am I, like, practice?" Jackson asks with a laugh, eyes dropping to Sunset's belly. "Jus' getting yourself warmed up for all the mothering you're gonna be doing soon?"

Sunset laughs. "Warmed up? Sweetie, with two kids before and all the friends today I seem to mother, I'm past warmed up. I'm gold medal in the Olympics for mothering." Pausing, she thinks on that for a second. "Maybe silver."

Warren just grins at the pair of them and makes like a stereotypical Italian Jewish grandma (if there is such a terrifying monstrosity) "Eat, Eat!"

"Do I want to meet the gold medalist?" Jackson's eyes widen again. "I bet they'd make me /explode/ from food." Obligingly, though, he practically inhales the rest of his cake, further speech rendered impossible (or at least impolite! For Jax these things are mostly the same.) by a mouth full of dessert. He licks icing off his fingertips, now, a happy expression on his face.

"Well, if it would involve you exploding, I think I'll take the silver." Sunset grins, chin resting in her palm. "So I'll ask if you think you can eat anymore before I nudge some other food towards you."

Letter. Thursday, 3 April.

Hi, Cole!

Thank you sososo much for your letter. Reading it made me smile a whole lot; I don't ever get many letters at all, and especially not in the hospital! I definitely remember you, and I don't think you acted like a jerk at all -- I kind of did, though! I was pretty tired and stressed, and that's really no excuse to be cranky at people. Hopefully, next time we see each other, we can start over again and I'll be nicer! I swear I'm usually not like that -- just ask Mister Worthington or Miss Sunset, I totally normally annoy everyone to death with too many hugs and too much smiling.

Your angel made me smile most of all. I love angels -- I used to think Mister Worthington was one (he certainly looks the part!) but he says he's not (I'm not entirely sure I believe him, though! He acts enough like one, too!) only now with your drawing, I actually have a real one. I posted her and your letter over my bed, because angels can help bring good dreams. It is really helpful always having angels around, but I think especially helpful where I am.

I drew you an angel, too. He doesn't have a name yet, or at least if he does he hasn't told it to me -- maybe he'll tell it to you!

Lots of love,

Jax

Jackson's reply to Cole, both letter and a coloured-pencil drawing of an angel (albeit rather a punk one, with purple hair and an eyebrow ring though his wings are like Warren's) given today to Sunset to give to her at her earliest convenience.

Sunset

2008-04-01T21:02:11Z

It's weird. She says it, and when she says it, it sounds true.

Log. Monday evening. 31 March. Psych Ward.

Ring, ring! That would be Sunset's phone. It is ringing! Isn't that exciting? On the other end is a Jackson. That is not very exciting. He is very pale and very tired, and the pale blue hospital scrubs he is wearing do nothing for his figure, srsly. His fingers twine the phone cord restlessly, and his eyes flicker intermittently towards the stern gaze of the nurse who is keeping a strict, watchful eye on him.

Letting out a small groan from the couch, Sunset opens one eye, sending a small glare at the phone one the table next to her. However, the glare soon wavers and fades, noting the name on the caller ID. A hospital. Sitting up with speed she didn't think she could manage anymore and grabbing the phone, the answer button is pressed as soon as possible. "Hello?"

"Miss Sunset?" The voice on the other end of the phone sounds much younger than a seventeen-year-old, but the heavy Georgia drawl is very much noticeable. "It -- it's Jackson."

"Jackson?" She parrots, before moving on to other questions. "Estás bien? Are you okay?"

"No," Jackson answers, and then, "yes. I'm in -- I tried -- I --" He takes a deep breath, and then swallows. "I'm sort of pathetic," he says quietly. "I can't even /die/ right."

Straightening, Sunset is quiet for a long and heavy moment. "Oh, sweetheart. Believe it or not, dying isn't as easy as some people make it." She softly answers. "How did you get to a hospital? Did somebody find you?"

"I -- yes. I think --" Jackson exhales a shaky laugh. "I think I'm crazy. There was a wolf -- only he turned into a man -- wolf-man -- I was talking to him while I --" Another brief laugh. "I'm prob'ly insane. Wolf-people. I must'a been hallucinating. I do that a lot. I don't know. I woke up here."

"Jackson, you know a man with angel wings, a man that is made out of basically jello, and a woman who's body is basically made out of dirt. If a wolf man really that hard to believe?" She asks. "He must have brought you there. How bad was it? Considering you're on the phone then - " Cutting herself off, Sunset murmurs something under her breath in Spanish, though the horror and worry are still there, recognizable. "They aren't going to just patch you up and let you come home, are they?"

"No, miss," Jackson says, quieter, sadder. "I gotta stay here 'till they think I ain't crazy no more. But I'm -- I'm /always/ crazy."

Sinking back against the couch, Sunset covers her eyes with her free hand, fingers squeezing around the phone. "Don't say that, Jackson. If you were crazy, you'd think you were the sanest of us all." She murmurs, voice shaking slightly. "Are you allowed visitors?"

"Yes'm. I just -- I don't know if I -- you're the first person I've called," Jackson says. "I don't know if I'm ready. For visitors. For anyone to know. They're all gonna think I'm crazy, too."

"Jackson, if they love you, they would never think you were crazy." Sunset softly reprimands. "I won't tell anyone else, if you think it best. However, when you think you're ready, I wouldn't mind visiting."

"I wouldn't mind seeing /you/," Jackson replies. "Jus' only -- I don't know. I'm scared. Of other people. This isn't /me/, you know? I'm s'posed to be the one cheering everyone up. /That's/ the Jax people like."

"Oh, sweetie." Sunset sighs, rubbing the hand still over her eyes across them. "They don't like you because you cheer them up. They like you because you're /you./ And if they don't, then... Well, I wouldn't call them friends."

"But I'm /not/ me," Jackson protests, voice slightly choked. "At least, not the me they know. This me is different and I don't -- don't want people to --" His voice cracks, falters. There's a pause before he asks quietly -- "You wouldn't -- mind comin' to see me?"

"Of course not! Sweetheart, if they were keeping you in Timbuktu, I'd be on a plane in fifteen minutes to come see you." Sunset answers, giving a small, unseen smile.

"Thank you." Jackson gives her the address of his hospital. "I can't spend too long on the phone. They glower. It's sorta intimidating."

"Want me to glower back when I get there? I'm sure I could make them stop."

"I think they're specially trained in it," Jackson answers seriously. "Nurse Ratchett school of psychiatric care."

"Pfft. Sweetheart, /nothing/ and I mean /nothing/ beats the glower a mother uses to control her children." Sunset teases. "I'll set 'em straight if they even try it while I'm there. I'll be there as soon as New York traffic allows me, alright?"

"Thank you," Jackson repeats gratefully. "I'll see you. Soon." The phone clicks as he sets it back into its cradle.

Just as promised, Sunset arrived at the hospital as soon as she possibly could, hair and clothes damp from the rain outside. The weather, as always, seems to be reading people's minds. After asking about him at the front desk, she goes through the usual things. Showing ID, checking her pockets, being escorted in. Sunset all the while trying to find one of these glowering nurses to make them stop.

Glowering nurses are not hard to find once Sunset reaches the adolescent ward. The teenagers inside are a motley group, their general appearances of health and sanity varying -- an emaciated young man plays Scrabble with a cheerful girl in a flowery sundress; a pale redheaded boy looks half-dead already as he stares at the television with sullen, sunken eyes -- and so forth, with perhaps a dozen youths visible in the common spaces in the ward. Jackson himself is curled into a chair rather set apart from the rest of the kids, who, along with the nurses, shoot him looks that range from wary to hostile to simply curious, and it isn't hard to see why. The small corner of the ward he occupies has lost its sterile hospital look; instead the young illusionist is seated in the middle of a desolate swamp, all muck and angry stinging insects and malicious surreal creatures lurking beneath the surface of the scummy water. There is maybe a corpse or two lurking beneath it, too. Jackson seems oblivious to his altered surroundings; he just sits and stares blankly at the pages of a book in his lap. He is clad in hospital-issued scrubs, and the short sleeves of the shirt reveal, now, not only his carefully detailed scars but also the others -- long deep gashes up his forearms, now stitched together neatly.

Looking over every patiaent she passes with a blank expression, it's her eyes that show her true feeling about this place. Worry, anger, disbelief, shock. She has no way of knowing what these kids were like before they arrived, but surely, for most of them, this can't be them while they're getting better? However, all of her atention is stolen once Jackson comes into view. Walking straight to and into the swamp, paying no attention to the illusion, no matter how realistic it looks. "Jackson?"

Jackson's head lifts, and for a moment his eyes are just as blank as they'd been when looking at the book -- some tawdry romance novel, judging by the cover -- before a bright smile lights them. "Miss Sunset." The swamp vanishes, replaced instead with a sunny meadow. "You came." A cover of clouds flickers over the sun above, and Jackson's smile dims slightly as he leans forward to confide, "They ain't real keen on mutants, 'round here." Big surprise, eh? Most of the world isn't.

Giving a smile in return, Sunset reaches out to tap him on the nose lightly. "Of course I came, silly. I said I would, wouldn't it?" Lowering herself to sit in the field at his feet, glancing at the book, she chuckles. "Next time I come, I'll have to bring you some worthy reading material, obviously." However, her teasing mood fades after a moment. "Don't let them get to you, sweetie. If anyone bothers you, you tell me next time I come by, alright? I'll set them straight."

"They don't have a real good selection," Jackson says with a sheepish wrinkle of his nose, glancing down to the book in his lap. "They seem t'think 'crazy' an' 'stupid' are the same, judgin' by the junk they got for us t'read." Jackson slides out of his chair to sit beside Sunset, curling up into a ball on the ground and resting his head against her leg. "I'm glad you're here," he whispers. "I'm scared maybe I'll /go/ crazy, if I ain't already."

Fingers running through his hair, Sunset shakes her head. "I'll be coming here at least twice a day, if possible. More if they'll let me." She tells him, promising it. "I'll bring you any book you want, sketchpads, anything." Sending a glance towards a glaring nurse, she scowls for a moment, before raising her voice just enough for the staff to hear. "And if I have to, I'll even pull the 'I'm dating and carrying Warren Worthington the Third's child.' if staff doesn't learn any manners."

Jackson giggles at this and lifts a hand to twine his fingers through hers. "That would prob'ly help with the glaring. Maybe they'd even bring me food I can eat!"

"They aren't-!?" Lips thinning as her eyes narrow as well, Sunset gives a sigh that is just this side of pissed off. "And will they let visitors bring food to patients?"

"No, miss." Jackson's head shakes, and he smiles wryly. "You might put drugs in it or somethin'. -- An' they'll bring me vegetarian food, but not vegan. S'too hard or somethin'."

"Mhmm... Well. As much as I hate to do it, I just might be using that card. I don't want you starving, but I know that going back to certain foods after not eating them for so long can have ill effects." Sunset grumbles. "Usually, I would ask Warren to do the power playing, but I did promise you I wouldn't tell anyone else. I suppose I'll have to try my hand at it with the head of this ward when I leave."

"I'd starve before I touched 'em anyway," Jackson says with a shrug. He fidgets slightly, lower lip catching between his teeth. "I guess I should let Mister Worthington know anyway," he says very quietly. "I just -- I just --" His head shakes, and his eyes squeeze shut.

"/No/, sweetheart. If you don't want him to know, I'm not telling him." The redhead protests. "One way or another, I'm going to find a way to bring food to you. Even if somebody has to find a way to invent it in invisible pill form."

"He'll probably hate me," Jackson says, voice trembling. "He's the closest thing I have to a --" He breaks off, taking a deep breath, and then grins, a smile with entirely no mirth in it. "Then again, if he got pissed an' hated me, he really /would/ be like m'parents."

"Jackson, look at me." Sunset softly tells him.

Jackson's head tilts back, eyes noticeably watery as he looks up at her.

Hands going to his cheeks, cupping his face, Sunset gently wipes away any tears with her thumbs. "Warren will /not/ hate you. He will not be mad at you. If he were the type of man to be angry over things like that, I would not be dating him right now, considering I told him about myself. Told him /everything./ So don't you dare think he'll even be /annoyed/ with you, you hear me?"

Jackson nods, and then shakes his head, eyes closing again as more tears fall. "But you're /dating/ him an' you're awesome an' beautiful an' carrying his fake baby an' I'm just some annoying crazy brat who does nothing but cause trouble an' I ain't even /nothing/ to him except clingy and dumb because I wish that --" He breaks off with a choked sob, and his fingers curl the fabric of Sunset's skirt tightly into his fist. "Sorry," he whispers.

Shaking her head, Sunset turns him face to hers, leaning down to press her forehead against his, trying to make him look at her. "Jackson. Listen to me. You are /not/ an annoying, clingy brat. You are /not/ dumb. You do /not/ cause nothing but trouble. You are gentle and caring and one of the smartest boys I know. You are awesome. You are beautiful. And you are /not/ nothing, you hear? You are not nothing. If you were nothing, I wouldn't love you. if you were nothing, I wouldn't be here. If you were nothing, I wouldn't be thinking of taking you into my house if you would let me. You. Are. Not. Nothing."

Jackson doesn't say anything in response to this, his eyes meeting Sunset's while she speaks; they get progressively more watery as he listens to her words. When she is done, he attempts to smile, a shaky watery smile that fades as his tears pour out faster. He half sits up, arms wrapping around her and his face pressing against her shoulder. His own body shakes with the force of his sobs, breath coming in ragged gasps.

Arms wrapping around him, tightening, pulling him close, Sunset gives a shaky breath of her own. Tears snaking from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks, she slowly rocks him back and forth, repeating herself. "You are not nothing. You are not nothing. You are not nothing."

Jackson continues to say nothing, just letting himself be rocked, his tears soaking into her blouse, his fingers curling tightly into her shirt.

Continuing to reat herself, almost like a mantra, the sentence never loses any feeling, Sunset meaning every syllable. Her own tears falling slightly faster, she clings to Jackson, occasionally slipping into Spanish, but always repeating the same thing. "You. Are. Not. Nothing."

Eventually, Jackson's tears slow and his breaths begin to calm. "Thank you," is whispered, slightly muffled against Sunset's shirt. He doesn't yet pull back, holding close to her.

Turning her head to kiss his temple, his cheek, Sunset's brow furrows lightly. "For telling you the truth?" She chuckles.

"I think I needed t'hear it," Jackson replies quietly. "I've been so --" His head shakes, and his arms squeeze briefly tighter around her. "Thank you."

Arms mimicking his own, tightening around him, Sunset nods. "You do not have to thank me, Jackson." She murmurs. "Lying is something I very rarely do, and lying to you is... I cannot see myself doing it. Not when it comes to truths like these."

Jackson's sobs have been reduced to quiet sniffles, and after a while he finally pulls back, though only to curl back up with his head rested on her leg. "You'll come back?" he says, hopefully.

"Every day." She automatically, truthfully answers. "More than once. You'll be begging me to stay home eventually."

"Thank you," once more. Jackson rests against her a moment longer before sitting up. "In here? I doubt that. I'll be lookin' forward to it." He hesitates, eyes dropping to the ground, before asking quietly -- "have you seen Rene?"

Licking her lips, Sunset nods. "Yes. Today. He's... confused. Sad. He doesn't know why you left him." she quietly answers. "By the time I got back, he was asleep on the couch... He had been drinking, but I took it all away from him, poured as much of it as I could find out..."

"Oh," Jackson says, very small. "I --" He swallows. "I thought it'd be better if -- it was so hard -- I love him --" He breaks off with a shake of his head. "Should get back t'my novel," he says with a weak smile. "It was gripping."

Eyes showing quite a few sad emotions, Sunset shakes her head. "Even if you were reading a book that was worth the paper it was printed on, I wouldn't believe that." She softly replies. "You wanted to distance yourself before trying it, didn't you? Hoping it wouldn't hurt as much for him?"

Jackson just nods, silently.

Sighing and again resting her forehead against his, Sunset asks her next question softly, very softly, hoping like hell that they will be the only ones to hear it. "Are you going to try again when you get out of here?"

"I -- I don't know," Jackson whispers miserably. "I feel like now that would -- hurt everyone else all over again."

Giving a very small smile, the corners of her lips barely quirking upwards, Sunset gives a wavering chuckle. "Even now, you worry about other people. How could you ever think you were anything other than good?"

"Because I'm -- there's so much wrong with me, I --" Jackson shrugs awkwardly, and leans back against the wall. "If I wasn't wrong I'd still have parents," he says softly.

"Jackson. If someone else was gay, and their parents disowned them for that, would you say it was their fault?"

"I --" Jackson's mouth shuts tight at this logic, and his forehead drops to rest against his knees. "M'crazy, too," he says. "And flighty and stupid and a freak."

"Alright." Sunset replies. "Now take the question I just asked, and replace the word gay with flightly. Stupid. A freak. Crazy. You're none of these things. But if someone else were, would you still blame them if their parents disowned them?"

"I don't know," Jackson says sadly. "I just don't want to feel so worthless no more."

"Jackson, you are /not/ worthless. You're an excellent artist, an excellent person and friend, and one of the coolest people I've met. You've managed to plan a benefit concert with some of the biggest artists and rising artists in music today playing there, all to help raise money for a mutant cause. You did that at only /seventeen./ That is not worthless. You are not worthless."

Jackson's breath hitches in his throat. "I just -- it's one thing to know that in my head and another to --"

"Another to believe it in your heart?" She finishes for him, quietly. "What exactly is it that makes you feel like that?"

"Everything. I don't know. My folks and being dead and the school and -- just -- all the things I should be and I ain't." Jackson's head shakes, eyes slipping closed. "I don't know. I don't know. I'm so tired."

"I can't help with the dead part. But if the school is bothering you... If you feel they aren't helping you enough, them why stay?" Sunset asks. "There are excellent schools in the City you could go to. And other people to help you with your powers, if that's why you're staying."

"Because --" Jackson begins, and then blushes, and falls quiet, head shaking. "I don't know," he mumbles. "I think I'm tired. I think I should sleep."

Head tilting slightly at the blush, Sunset nods. "Alright, sweetie." she answers, not wanting to push him. Reaching out to lightly ruffle his hair, run a thumb over his cheek, she offers him a comforting smile. "Remember what I said, alright? If anyone gives you trouble, tell me. And I /will/ find a way to bring you food."

Jackson smiles slightly at the touch, and leans in to kiss Sunset lightly on the cheek. "Yes'm. And thank you. For -- everything."

"Don't thank me, honey. It's not like it's a favor I'm doing for you by being here." Sunset responds, smiling. "I'll be back tomorrow, as early as they'll let me in. With books, sketchpads, food, and whatever else you need."

Thalin

2008-03-30T09:12:32Z

Log. Saturday, late night. 29 March. Somewhere in New York.

The mild temperature of daytime has dropped abruptly after sunset, though four walls and a roof keep at least the wind away. Still, it's fairly chilly in here, and dark, the building having no light source save what spills in through dirt-encrusted windows from yellow streetlamps outside. Abandoned though this building is, tonight, it is not deserted. There is one person here, tucked away into one corner and shivering slightly the cold.

Jackson isn't paying much attention to much of anything in the world. He is still dressed in the same outfit he's been all day -- bright red 'I'm one of the bravest girls alive' t-shirt, knee-length black bondage skirt, chunky combat boots; with his sweatshirt tossed to one side, it doesn't offer the greatest of protection from the temperature. His arms and legs, where they're uncovered, are covered with an intricate pattern of designs that have been carefully etched straight into his skin; the myriad cuts are still in the process of healing. Much, much fresher than the artistically designed scarwork, though, is the gaping slash that runs along the length of his right forearm, wrist halfway down to elbow. His left arm is not bleeding, yet, though his right hand holds a scalpel; between cold and torn tendon, though, his grip on it is shaky. His hand is trembling worse than the rest of him.

Clad in his wolf form, Thalin is just one to wander around the city now that it's free to actually be back into it. Though far from safe to wander the streets; so the wolf tends to go around the abandoned parts of the city. Like this warehouse, it might have interesting things in it. Like something to take down to the tunnels or back to his hole in the mountain. But, finding a teen cutting himself isnt' one of those things. And the smell of the blood in the air is very heavy indeed. The clicks of his claws echo in the warehouse as he stays in his wolf form. Frighten him and you might force him. Do it calmly, and you'll have a better chance.

The boy freezes at the clicking sounds, head tilting to listen to the noise intently, eyes wide and nervous. His breath catches in his throat, and there is a brief shimmer in the air before he vanishes, the corner he sits in appearing empty, though his scent -- and the thick tang of blood -- is still just as present as ever.

Thalin moves along the expanse of the warehouse to where Jackson is sitting, and he lowers his nose to the ground; sniffing at it slightly before he looks in front of him. With that, he shifts into his hybrid form and takes to sitting crosslegged in front of the corner. "By chance, is there a reason why you're cutting yourself?" His voice calm, and a bit warm by habit.

There's a shaky sigh exhaled as the wolf approaches -- so much for invisibility! Hard to fool a canine nose -- and Jackson reappears, eying the shifter warily. "I didn't expect nobody t'come in here, sir," is the quiet reply, admittedly rather short of being an actual answer. Jackson's voice is strangely calm as well. His fingers tighten around his scalpel blade.

Aye, that it is. Very hard to fool a wolf's nose when it comes to things as pungent as this. Thalin's ice blue eyes flick down towards the scalpel and he says, "Would you please give me that blade. I'm sure that your life isn't worth shedding." He reaches out to take the blade from the boy if he does relinquish it.

Jackson flinches back as Thalin reaches towards him, his eyes widening again and a shimmering wall blossoming around him. He huddles back against the cold cement of the building, legs pulled up tight against his chest, unable to uncurl anyway, now, for fear of destroying the forcefield that keeps him from Thalin. "What makes you so sure of that, sir?" Jackson's eyes flick between his knife and Thalin's face. "Please," he says, softly. "I don't want no trouble. Jus' -- jus' wanted to be alone."

Thalin brings his hand back slowly and rests it on his knee, tilting his head slightly as he shakes his head and laughs. "No one's life is their's to take. I've seen many people take their own life, and I've seen people take other's as well. No one deserves a fate like that." His tail flicks behind him and then wraps around to lay on his leg slightly. "And even if you wanted to be alone. You would have been found. There're other people... things that wander these warehouses."

"I'd've been found once it was over," Jackson says with a slight shrug of one shoulder. There is a slight flicker of movement by his hands, but only brief and then they seem to go back to being still, the knife still held where it was; still, a few moments later the scent of blood thickens. Jackson leans back against the cement wall, eyes closing. "Do you have a name, sir?"

Thalin hehs. "The name is Thalin, and I have no right to be called sir." He reaches forward putting a hand against the shield for a moment, studying it as if a curious puppy would a ball and then he says, "But then you would have caused the ones who love you grief. And no one wants to know that pain. I have no one that loves me, and yet I'm still here."

"No one?" A twinge of sadness flickers in Jackson's eyes. The shield is firm, and warm to the touch, unyielding beneath Thalin's hand. "God loves everyone."

Thalin hehs. "If God loved everyone, I'd be able to walk in public and not get shot at." He runs his hand across the shield and then looks down at Jackson, a small curl to the side of his muzzle. "And I'm sure you have people who love you."

"That ain't God," Jackson says with a shake of his head. "That's people. They got free will." His shivering is getting worse, and there's a clatter as his knife falls from his hand to hit the cement floor. "I got people," he acknowledges then, in a small voice.

Thalin lets out a slow exhale as he says, "You have people. And I'm willing to bet that they'd do anything for you." He leans forward; bringing back his arm and he rests his arms against his knees, "Now tell me, what's your name." His voice is still calm, not angry at all though a bit sympathetic.

"Jax." The boy's teeth are starting to chatter, breaking up his word with stacatto clicks. The shield around him briefly vanishes, and then reappears. Around the room, vague images begin to take shape, hazy and indistinct; trees. Faces. A house. The illusions melt in and out of the shadows. Jackson's eyes squeeze shut tight, and then reopen. "Cold," he says, brow creasing slightly, and then, "How come you're wand'ring this old place in the middle of the night?"

Thalin smiles a bit, nodding at the name. "Because Jax, it's what I do. I've lived alone for years recently. It's all I know how to do." He looks down at the knife for a moment, and he looks back up at Jax. "Well, it /is/ night. And I can safely say that you're not fit to be out in this weather." Meanwhile, Thalin's covered in fur. Nice warm fur. Hah. Ahem. He glances around at the walls and then back at Jackson. "Come on, let me get you to a hospital alright? You deserve to live life to the fullest. This isn't how it should end."

"Don't want a hospital," Jackson mumbles, head shaking. He slumps back against the wall. The illusions flickering around them vanish. His arms drop to his sides, blood flowing dark and thick from the wide gashes that are, now, carved into both of them. "I'd give you a hug," he says then, softly, "only but I'd get you all gross. Only I think maybe you -- could --" He falters, seeming to lose his train of thought for a moment. "Could use one," he finishes.

Thalin shakes his head and brings a foot up to press forward, and he just picks Jax up. Wrapping his furred arms around the boy lightly as he says, "A hug would be great, but let's keep you alive alright," softly and he starts to walk out of the warehouse. "If I have no one to care for me and I'm still alive. You need to stay alive to be with the ones who care for you. Their hearts broken by your loss wouldn't be the right thing to do, Jax."

Jackson mumbles something again which sounds vaguely like protest, but his words are indistinct. His body is trembling badly, and instinctively, despite his objections, he clings slightly, thankful for the warmth. It doesn't last, once he remembers the situation, and he speaks again, (slightly) more coherent -- "No 'os'ital. No -- cold -- hug --" His brow furrows, head shaking slightly. "I'd -- care --" But the words falter again as he goes limp in Thalin's arms, unconscious, motionless save for the pulsing flow of blood from the gouges in his arms that signals the continued beat of his heart.

Thalin stops as Jax goes limp and he crouches down to the ground, setting the boy down on the ground before he slips the mutant's shirt off. "Sorry, but I gotta." He bites the end with his teeth and rips off a good good long strips before tying them around Jackson's wrists. To keep the blood from flowing at least. With that, he picks the boy back up and starts to head towards a hospital... fast. Once he gets there however, it's all about acting the part of a canine being loyal to its master. Never know what tricks a dog might know.

Rene

2008-03-29T23:27:22Z

I did it. It's over. I couldn't exactly tell him the real reason why. God help me. Please, help me. I don't know who else can.

Log. Saturday night. 29 March. Jax & Rene's apartment.

<NYC> Beacon: Jackson and Rene's Apartment
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Upon entering this apartment, one often feels at ease. The place is quite large, and plants and flowers seem to be perched everywhere, hanging down and blooming about peacefully. The apartment is painted in a light, near-white blue, the large glass balcony window on one wall seeming to help generate the soft color of the paint and bulbs with nature's own light. The carpet is a soft, fluffy beige, pieces of comfortable furniture over it. There is a door leading to a closet near the entrance. A large, fairly new plush sofa-bed of dark blue and a matching loveseat sit around a wooden coffee table, and a matching chair is propped nearby. A medium-sized wooden entertainment center adorns the far wall. The den walls that do not have anything else are home to some bookshelves and such. A set of cupboards and a bar reside across from the oven and sink in the long kitchen, which is astride the living room. The table at the end of the kitchen has two chairs and a restaurant-like bench, and appliances are abundant over the counter. On the other side of the den near the window, a door opens into the main bedroom. The bed is abnormally large and covered in soft objects such as pillows and a comforter, though sometimes a plush animal pops out. There is a wide window in the bedroom, a large place despite its outwardly small look; the closet is inordinately big. There is a desk area in the corner, and also a door to the bathroom. The pretty bathroom itself has wide mirrors and a large jacuzzi-bath-shower. The other bathroom door leads back to the den. Overall, this is a cozy, oft floral apartment, quaint and comfortable, though sometimes strange things have been known to occur mostly on behalf of the plant life and the professions of the owner. Four cats live here, all calicos: Rene(m), Napoleon(f), Florence(f) and Damian(f). There is a large, sentient potted vine by the name of Charmi on the bookshelf, and here and there other plant-creatures happen to appear.

Saturday night, and it is not an unusual time for Jackson to be returning to the apartment. He is wearing a knee-length black bondage skirt and his bright red 'I'm one of the bravest girls alive' t-shirt, in hopeful expectation of spring weather, though now that the sun has set he's added a black 'herbivore' sweatshirt to his outfit. His heavy combat boots thud against the floor as he tromps down the hallway, the sound stopping as his keys turn in the lock. He doesn't take them off upon entering, though, as he usually would. Just hesitates, leaning back against the door after he's closed it, eyes flickering around the apartment from beneath a fringe of bright purple hair.

Rene only hears the door when Jackson closes it behind him, and the boy trundles curiously out of his bedroom still with a pair of gloves on his hands. By the look of the dirt on an apron he also wears, he was doing something with his plants. "Hey..." Rene grins and chuckles, but it wavers a bit. "I hardly heard you come in."

"Hey." Instinctively, there is a bright smile for Rene -- but it falters, and fades, instantly. "M'heading back to the school in a bit -- I ain't staying here in the city, this weekend," Jackson says, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "I -- I ain't --" he tries to start again, but it falters just as his smile had. "Not staying," he repeats, but this is clearly not what he is /trying/ to say. His eyes squeeze shut tight for a moment.

Rene tilts his head and raises a brow at the same time. "No? Do you have something to do over there?" This question is hardly a concrete one, as now he seems to realize that Jackson might be trying to say something else. "You alright? They didn't take away your permission, did they?" Rene is fishing for explanations a bit.

"No, I -- not -- not any other weekend, either," Jackson says in a very small voice, his eyes opening again. He swallows hard and takes a deep breath; his tone is somewhat (but not much) steadier as he continues. "I just -- I don't think that --" Okay, lies. /Another/ deep breath, and maybe -- maybe! -- now he is ready for speaking. Maybe. "I don't think that I can -- I shouldn't -- we shouldn't -- I can't be with you anymore, Rene." He manages to get through it this time without his voice cracking, but the strain shows elsewhere as the lights tremble around them.

Rene knows somewhat better than to take everything Jackson says or does at face value--not because he lies, but because he has come to know the other boy as unsure about a good deal of things. By the time Jackson does finish his words, Rene can feel some strange and nervous heat rising in his chest and face--but he hasn't moved otherwise. With the lights and the uncertainty of with how it was done, the blonde allows his lips to flinch a moment in a pause before responding. He can tell when there is something amiss, and though he has felt something strange for a couple weeks now, Rene is at a loss for words. "...what?"

"I can't marry you," Jackson says, and this time it is clearer and without hesitation. For a moment there is a glimmer of tears in his eyes, but it vanishes before long. "I can't be with you. It's just -- it's not going to work. It's not working."

Rene blinks a few times, his eyebrows creasing. His own eyes have watered up, but nothing comes from it. "I don't...get it." Well...he doesn't. At least not right now. "I don't understand. Why?" Rene's voice shakes slightly, and it is clear by the paling of his features that he has been caught entirely off-guard.

Jackson's gaze drops to the ground, his head bowing. "I can't," is the unhelpful answer, quiet. "I think we -- I think we rushed into this, maybe. It's all --" But all the dishonest yet plausible-sounding answers he could deliver won't come; even here, Jackson is chronically incapable of lying. And so he simply says softly, "I just can't do it anymore." His hands wring together, and then he slips the engagement ring off his finger, curling his hand tightly closed around it briefly before he holds his hand out towards Rene, the ring offered back on his upturned palm.

Rene has been caught off guard, but he hasn't lost his common sense. /This/ makes no sense. But...he really has nothing left to go on. The older boy is silent, mouth suddenly dry even as he visibly swallows. It takes him a while to just make a noise, and even then it is mostly a strangled one. Rene's chest expands shakily, and his breath comes out in a rushed sigh, which threatens to run into a sob. "I can't take that back. It's not mine. It's yours." His eyes are now both red, and trying to suddenly find something to look at besides the ring. With his voice bordering its breaking point, he suddenly appears bewildered and lost. "I can't...take it back. Do what you want with it." Rene settles his gaze on Jackson's face, and this is when two streams of silent drops cover his cheeks and dribble over his lips, which now have adopted a scared shiver.

Jackson's expression is impossibly calm, but the lights in the room are shivering now as well; even more so when Rene's tears fall. For a moment Jackson doesn't move -- can't move -- the ring still held outstretched. When he finally manages to force himself into movement, it is only to move further into the apartment and place the ring down on a table. After a moment's hesitation, he sets his keys down beside it. His head bows again as he turns, exiting the apartment without another word.

Cody; Rich

2008-03-29T21:36:05Z

Log. Saturday afternoon. 29 March. Hell's Kitchen.

<NYC> Manhattan: Hell's Kitchen
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Hell's Kitchen, officially called Clinton, has a reputation for being the most dangerous place in America. This was true up until the past couple of decades, but it's still a neighborhood that's best avoided if possible. It still has its share of gangs and organized crime, and then some; however, Hell's Kitchen is also home to a number of actors, attracted by its relatively cheap housing and proximity to Broadway. Ninth Avenue in particular is lined by a vast variety of ethnic restaurants, and is where the International Food Festivalis held every May.

It's a lovely afternoon, and Cody's out for a stroll. Glasses pushed back from his head, the mutant eyes the world with his amber gaze, a light smirk playing upon his lips, as if the world were a joke, and he knew the punchline everyone else was trying to figure out. The man's easy in the Kitchen, confident and dauntless; but than again, it's his turf, in part at least.

Jackson is not strolling, not at the moment; he's crouched down near the mouth of an alley, squinting with bright blue eyes into the shadows behind a dumpster. The teenager's attire is, perhaps, somewhat odd; his bright red t-shirt reads 'I'm one of the bravest girls alive', and the weather has warmed enough for the young man to be in a skirt, today, black and knee-length and hung liberally with bondage straps; in short sleeves and skirt, the multitude of scars he wears are visible, clearly intentional, the intricate designs still in the process of healing, where they were carefully etched into his skin. Bright purple hair falls shaggy into his eyes as he peers, quite intent on whatever he is looking at. The stem of a lollipop pokes out of one side of his mouth.

Cody continues to walk along with an easy, sidling motion. He pauses slightly when his keen eyes notice the figure in the mouth of the alley. "Lost?" he calls out, voice accented by a hint of southwest twang.

Jackson rocks slightly backwards at the sound of the voice, bracing himself with one palm against the ground. His head half-turns to look at the speaker, shaking purple hair back from his eyes to reveal a dusting of glittery purple eyeshadow as well. "Not hardly, sir," he answers lightly, and there's no hinting about his own accent, Southern drawl markedly thick in his words. "I ain't never lost. Sometimes I just take detours on the way t'where I'm ending up."

Cody hrmphs. "Fuckin' dangerous detour, I'd say," the mobster replies. "And ain't halloween over?"

"Ten years ago, maybe, sir," Jackson replies with a quiet laugh. "This place kept a reputation it don't hardly deserve, no more. Ain't half so scary here as parts of Atlanta, even. N'Orleans. Baltimore. /That/ place is dangerous." He ignores the Halloween comment. Looking like he does, he gets it on practically a daily basis. He goes back to peering intently behind the dumpster.

Cody grins mildly. "N'awlins ain't so bad. Used to have a house there. Hell of a place for a game of chance."

"Only parts of it are bad, but those parts, they're /real/ bad," Jackson says with a shrug of one shoulder. "Mos'ly it's real fun. Don't gamble, though, myself." He swivels around again, staying crouched down but pivoting on the heels of his clunky combat boots to face Cody, a bright grin lighting his face. "Life's chancy enough for me! -- 'sides which I weren't never old enough to be allowed."

Cody hrms. "I never let a silly thing like an age requirement stop me. Was quite a trouble-maker as a child."

Jackson's head tilts to one side, thoughtful. "I make my share'a trouble, but." One thin shoulder lifts and falls. "Jus' seems like there's better uses to put it to than gambling."

Cody shrugs, and gets out a cigarette. "Everyone has their vices. Mine found me early 'nough." He follows the cigarette with a lighter -a nicer zippo, flicks the lighter open and ignites his cancer stick. "Time I was about your age I was halfway 'cross the country, thought I had the world at my feet"

"I don't, sir," Jackson says with a giggle, and backs away slightly as the man lights the cigarette. "Have vices, I mean. Not t'speak of. It was a pain tryin' to think of what to give up for Lent. I've thought about trying t'acquire some, but then I remembered vices ain't somethin' most people /want/."

Cody chuckles lightly. "Everyone has vices. If you don't find them, they find you. 's human nature. No rush, no rush attall."

"I got time," Jackson agrees easily. "But I ain't lookin'. An' I'm pretty good at not bein' found, too."

Cody glances sideways to Jackson. "My boys have a trick of not being found, about anytimes I 'expect them to get off their asses and do something. Amazing ability. Runs in the family."

Jackson's grin flashes bright again. "I hide from vices, sir. I ain't never hid from hard work."

Cody smiles. "Good." he replies. "Nothing to fear from hard work."

Jackson hums a vaguely affirmative sound, and turns around again to turn his attention back to peering behind the dumpster.

Cody turns his attention towards the dumpster. "Something there?" he asks, before taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Kittens," Jackson replies without looking back, "but they're too far to reach an' s'too heavy for me to move." There are kittens, there, a litter of them, perhaps a week old at most; they are clustered around the body of a scraggly emaciated cat who was most likely the mother. She is rather dead, though. Alas.

Cody's nose twitches slightly, and he drops to one knee, to peer towards them. His laziness is replaced with an easy, animal alertness. "You got something to put 'em in? Basket or whatnot?"

Jackson points to the opposite wall of the alley; there's an empty cardboard box, there, that he's lined with shredded newspapers. "Ain't much but it'll get 'em as far as the pet store I work at."

"Kittens," Cody says with a hint of irascability. "Pity they ain't old enough to move on their own. This might get a touch tricky."

"Mmm, yeah. Tricky," Jackson replies vaguely. "I was waiting for inspiration to strike. Sometimes it hits at weird times! I think I was on the verge of a breakthrough, though."

Cody hrms. He smokes his cigarette a bit more. "I could get to'em. It'd just be a bit tricky."

"I was gonna use magic, sir," Jackson says seriously, "but if you've got another way, that'd be cool too."

"Magic, huh?" He smiles briefly. "guess I'm not the only one with a few aces up my sleeve in this shitty town." His attention flicks back to the kittens, and he snubs his cigarette out on the ground. "You ain't skittish around dogs are you?"

"Nosir." Jackson's head shakes. "I growed up on a farm. I ain't skittish 'round much, by way of creatures."

"Good." Cody replies, and takes off his jacket, setting it aside on the ground, and eyes the kittens again; before he shapeshifts to his coyote form, sleek and easy as anything.

Jackson seems interested but surprisingly unsurprised, at this; he watches the transformation with curiosity before moving aside, out of the way of the dumpster. "Please don't hurt them, sir," is his only comment, "they're very very tiny, they break easy."

Cody turns his head to give Jackson a look. He doesn't speak, but the expression on the animal is clearly: Shut it, kid. Before with a wriggling motion the animal squeezes his way along the back of the dumpster. Even for the rangey creature (obviously a western coyote, and not the larger, eastern breed), it's a tight fit. The kittens mew as he noses them; and their cries get a bit louder as he grabs a pair in his lean jaws and squirms his way out again; not without some minor loss of fur.

Jackson tenses at the louder mewling. He crouches by the dumpster, pulling the cardboard box close, and reaches towards the coyote expectantly.

Cody without ceremony, drops the kittens in the box. They're kittens. They can survive a minor drop. And then he moves back to get the other kittens.

Jackson's hands fall to his side, and he watches Cody sidelong as he peers into the box to inspect the kittens, who seem -- tiny and mewly and scrawny, but unhurt. Good.

Cody returns with a few more kittens. They're small, and mewling, and have coyote spit on them, but Cody's resisted the urge to turn them into an afternoon snack. These, too, are plunked into the box, before he goes back, and starts to retrieve the deceased mother.

The tenseness of Jackson's posture eases once the last kitten is dropped safely into the box. He resists the urge to breathe an audible sigh of relief, but it's clear enough that the combination of coyote+defenseless kittens was a nerve-wracking one. He still watches out of the corners of his eyes as Cody goes back for the mother, but mostly he focuses on the kittens.

Cody sets the mother down, and spits, before shifting back, and wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand, then reaches for his jacket. "bleh. There's a taste that'll linger."

Jackson winces slightly. "Thank you very much, sir. Your magic is neat. -- Do you want a lollipop?" he adds with a slight tilt of his head.

Cody quirks an eyebrow at Jackson. "Er. Nothanks, son. Don't have much of a sweettooth." He shrugs on his jacket, then picks up the dead cat gingerly, placing it inside the dumpster.

"'kay." Jackson picks up the box carefully, cradling it protectively in his arms. The kittens continue to mewl pitifully inside. "Jus' thought it'd help get rid of the dead-cat taste."

Cody glances to the young man. "Mouthwash. Massive amounts of mouthwash'll do the trick." He gets to his feet with a mild grunt, and slips his sunglasses back on. "So what's your name?" he asks.

"Jax, sir," the boy says brightly. "Nice t'meetya. I think. So far, anyway!"

Cody mhmms. "Well, I'm Mr.Weyland, pleased to make your aquaintance."

"You too, sir!" Jackson chirrups. "I'd best get these little kids a home, now." He lifts one hand to wave before returning it protectively to the box and turning to trot out of the alley.

Cody streches. "I try my best to be a likeable fellow."

"Well, you're doin' a good job of it, sir," Jackson says over his shoulder, with a smile and a laugh before he heads for the subway.

Cody chuckles. "Thanks, kid." And with that, he continues his own stroll.

Log. Saturday evening. 29 March. Xavier's, Rich & Jax's dorm.

<XI> 2F - Rich and Jackson's Room
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Minimalist is the word of the day and the way within Rich and Jackson's room. In lieu of paint, the walls have been covered by a deep violet fabric. - Two beds, two nightstands, two desks, two shelves, two chairs, (one of each for each side) make up the furniture for the place. The furniture, although of an institutional, school bought in bulk look, are made to match with black fabric covers put over the cushions of the chairs, and black contact paper on the top surface of the worn desks. Deep Violet is the color of choice for the pair of throw pillows residing on one of the beds' black comforters. Resting on the nightstands are black lamps. Separating the two sides of the room is a large window with a slight box seat for those who wish to just relax in the entering sunlight. Across from the windows are two closet doors plus the door to leave the dorm.
For one half of the room, the nightstand also hosts, a squirrel beanie baby, a small sized plush Sweet Dreams Bear, a key, a bottle of water and a bottle of pills. - Leaning in the corner of the room are two rather well used looking wooden bats. The shelf is rather barren of textbooks unless you count the ones issued for class but are loaded down with notebooks which when looked at contains notes of very horrible spelling and lots of mixed up letters.
For the other half, Um, it has a carebear. And underneath the cloth overlay is an array of bright colored shapes that seem to be etched into the wall.

Jackson seems chipper by the time he returns to the school, humming quietly to himself as he slips back into his dorm. He is dressed for springtime -- an outfit more hopeful than practical; it's nice out, but not /that/ nice -- bright red 'I'm one of the bravest girls alive' t-shirt, black knee-length bondage skirt, clunky combat boots, and in the short sleeves, short skirt, the intricate designs etched into his skin are clearly visible on arms and legs. He is still humming as he picks his sketchbook of his desk and flops back onto his bed. (It is a showtune; 'Do You hear the People Sing'. Just for the record.)

Rich was in the room upon Jackson's entry and sitting, unfortunately at his desk, taking cryptic notes while trying to decipher a text book. Upon his roomie's chipper entrance, Rich's lips curl upwards. "When the beating of your heart," He sings softly as he sets his pencil down, "Echoes the beating of the drums..."

"There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes," Jackson continues, legs swinging against the side of the bed. He sits up with a bright smile. "S'been stuck in my head all /day/. 'least it's a good song, though, yesterday it was that really terrible Jonas Brothers song and I wanted to shoot myself in the /brain/."

"So long as we don't have ta barricade tha room," Rich muses aloud, turning to look to Jackson, grinning, "Welcome back ta mutie high. How was Virginia?"

"Oh, /could/ we?" Jackson's eyes gleam as he looks towards the door. "We totally need a revolution /just/ so's I can feel all heroic when I sing that song." A collection of furniture appears in front of their bedroom door, though the illusionary makeshift barricade wouldn't /actually/ do anything to stop anyone entering. "I know /you'd/ be strong an' stand with me," he informs Rich with a grin. "Virginia was -- quiet. I liked it. How was things up here? Didja miss me?"

Rich glances to the barricade, "So, that'd make me Marcus? Who's Eponine and Cosette? An' yeah we missed ya. Not tha spotlight when I'm tryin' ta hide but we missed ya."

Jackson cringes and slants a sheepishly apologetic glance towards Rich before flopping back down on the bed. "Missed you, too. -- Y'know I didn't even get grounded or anything for coming back an' going inside the alienthing." His gaze flicks nervously towards the door, as if a teacher might barge in at any moment and change this. "-- Yet, anyhow."

"Yeah well when ya figure out how ta get rid o' alien invaders that 're screwin' wit' our world more 'n us... people tend ta forgive 'bout anythin'." He grins, "So Enjolras, who's playin' Cosette?"

Jackson squints over at Rich thoughtfully, and then grins again. "'ccordin' to the media, Aurora!"

Rich frowns, "Second thought... ya be Marcus. I'll be Enjolras."

Jackson giggles, and folds his arms behind his head. "I don't got no girls int'rested in /me/ never."

"Who said they had ta be girls?" Rich replies, leaning back in his chair. "Cosette could be Rene and Eponine could be... Um..." Rich frowns.

"I don't hardly got anyone int'rested in me ever," Jackson amends with another laugh. "Rene don't really got no competition."

Rich opens his mouth to say something in response but pauses, "Yeeeeeeaaaaah..."

Jackson flips over onto his stomach and tilts his head to look at Rich. "What?"

"Nothin'."

"Whaaat?" Jackson repeats with a slight pout, more curious now. "C'mon you can't say yeah like -- like /that/ an' then just leave it."

"I can't say," Rich replies.

Jackson sticks his tongue out at Rich, and then tosses a pillow across the room at his roommate.

"Let's jus' say ya have an Eponine."

"Me? What? Nobody likes /me/!" Jackson's nose wrinkles. "I mean well lots of people /like/ me but not -- not like -- you know."

"Take it from tha one who sees dreams. Ya have an Eponine. I jus' ain' sayin' who."

"Huh." Jackson's brow creases at this news. "Cool! -- Maybe not for /them/." Jackson pulls his Care Bear over to him, hugging it against his chest. "Well, that's just it, then. Now I'm gonna hafta break up with Rene an' start dating this new person instead."

"Nah. It's high school. They'll get over it."

Jackson laughs. "Good, cuz I didn't /really/ want to break off my engagement. Well. Not over that, anyhow."

Rich snerks, "If everyone had ta break off an engagement when someone they ain't seein' gets a crush, no one'd be gettin' married."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" Jackson wonders musingly.

Rich pauses, "Fer my fam'ly... no."

Jackson looks at Rich thoughtfully a moment, and his leg swings again, thumping idly against the side of his bed. "They say that half marriages end in divorce these days. An' I'm sure half the ones that don't prob'ly /should/. An' --" He pauses, and shrugs. "I dunno. The whole institution kinda sucks /anyway/."

"Yeah." Rich replies, "But it ain' all bad. Fer some it works. I think ya'd beat tha odds."

"Maybe," Jackson says, though he sounds entirely uncertain about it. He has more confidence, though, cheerfully, when he adds, "-- I s'pose I'm good at beating /those/. I mean I'm still alive! That right there's already beaten 'em pretty good."

"Yeah, no one defies tha odds like ya." Rich replies, giving a nod.

"Gotta run out eventually, though," Jackson says quieter, hugging his stuffed bear against his chest. "But not today."

"But even if it does, why worry 'bout it now an' spoil tha good times?"

Jackson grins brightly. "Cuz all I ever do is worry," he says cheerfully. "But I don't hardly let that spoil nothin'. I balance out the worrying with cookies, see. It all evens out in the end!"

Rich nods, "Speakin' o cookies... how 'bout we break tha barricade an' go grab some from tha kitchen? I'm gettin' hungry."

"I could totally go for cookies!" Jackson chirrups, bouncing to his feet. The barricade stays where it is, but that doesn't stop Jackson from moving right through it, the door passing through the illusionary obstacles easily as he opens it. Nothing can stand in the way of cookies.

Rich studies the illusion for a moment before following, "Ya gonna keep that up while we're out o' tha room?"

"Nah. Can't. It'll vanish on its own when I'm too far away." Jackson frowns at the barricade, and then down at the floor beneath his feet. "Though maybe the kitchen's close enough. Just in a different direction than I normally think of distan-- /hey/." His eyes widen in mock alarm. "I'm totally distracting myself from the primary objective here ohmygosh we have /cookies to get/ what are we /waiting/ for?" He is, apparently, waiting for nothing. He takes off zoooooming down the hall, heavy boots thudding against the floor.

Rich grins at the departing Jackson. One could just imagine the cartoon cloud of dust trail being left behind. Not wishing to miss out on the cookies, he also runs down the hallway.

Susan

2008-03-28T02:04:24Z

Log. Thursday evening. 27 March. Four Freedoms.

Four Freedoms: Third Floor
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Welcome to the living quarters and living room of the Fantastic Four. A thin, light blue carpet sprawls along the floor and larger windows look out at the city beyond. Most of the furnisings are a bit on the modern side, but very comfortable. A very large flat screen tv dominates one wall, while a door opens into a hall leading to the bedrooms. In the opposite direction a door leads down a hall to Reed's personal lab, a place of great wonder were incredible inventions are whipped up by one of the greatest mind on the planet.

Jackson is very, very bright today -- baggy neon orange pants fall to half-cover hot pink canvas sneakers; his hair is lime green and his t-shirt (the short sleeves leaving his arms bare -- visible, then, are the designs that have been carefully etched into his skin, both arms sleeved in a myriad of intricate cuts that are still healing) vivid purple. His makeup, dusted over eyes and on lips and nails, continues the neon theme in electric blue -- an unnatural shade that his eyes currently match. They are rather wide and staring eyes, as he is escorted up to the third floor of the building, and he seems slightly nervous about being here in the living quarters of some of the world's most famous superheroes.

The invisible woman is waiting for Jackson as the elevator arrives, dressed in her unstable molecule outfit. She moves over to him. "Jackson! What are you doing here! When I heard you where at reception I almost had a heart attack. You should not be in the city! You should have evacuated with the population!"

"I /did/ evacuate, ma'am," Jackson says somewhat sheepishly, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. "We went down to Virginia to stay at Mister Worthington's old home. But then we came back. Me an' my fiance, I mean. I think he wanted to help save the world."

Susan groans, muttering something about children. She moves forwards to escort Jackson to a chair. "Well it is ok, you are safe here now. I'll fly you back to Warren's home as soon as I am able." she smiles, "Now what was so urgent you had to risk the toaster aliens to come see me."

"It's okay, ma'am, Mister Worthington knows we're here now. I'll be at the school. It's safe enough there." Jackson sinks down into the chair, hands folding in his lap. "We went inside one. Of the -- toaster aliens. The Xenoformers. Yesterday."

Susan blinks, "You did what!" She stares, then sits down in a chair with a thump. "Oh dear me... I think you better explain everything Jackson. Anything you learnt might be useful to Reed."

"We learned a lot, ma'am. We figured out how to -- shut them down. I thought you might like to know." Jackson's teeth catch at his lower lip, and he glances around the room thoughtfully. "I can show you everything we saw, ma'am. It might be easier than explaining."

Susan nods, standing up she moves to the bank of windows looking out over the city. Touching a panel the glass darkens hiding away the view. "Ok Jackson, let me just." she touches another panel and a globe on the ceiling rotates open, "There I'll record what you show me if you do not mind? I can give it to Reed then."

"Yes'm. Y'might want to sit down again. Jus' so's you don't crash into nothin' when I change the room." Jackson takes a deep breath, settling comfortably back in the chair. His eyes slip closed, and it takes a few moments for the room to change, but when it does the transformation is sudden, and in the course of seconds they are sitting not in Susan's home but outside, beneath one of the giant machines. "I'm gonna take you through exactly the path we went through," Jackson says, keeping his eyes closed, and he proceeds to do just that -- the illusion carries them up through the entrance, into the hangar, down a corridor -- the rooms that branch off are full of pods containing what seems to be the long-dead remains of many, many aliens, the dusty remains humanoid in appearance, but featureless after long decay -- moving slowly enough to be able to get a good look at everything they pass, until they get to a room where a large cable connects to some sort of machine. "This is the place where you can shut them down. It was as easy as unplugging them."

Susan leans forwards, watching Jackson's illusion with interest, fingers moving over a small joystick on her chair's arm. Moving the camera, recording everything. "Oh ... well that is good news. Does Warren know? We have to get this information to people."

"Yes'm. I was with Mister Worthington, inside. I'm sure he'll be telling the people who can help, too." The illusion continues as Jackson points out exactly where they detached the cable to make the machine shut down. "We don't know if the others will be more difficult -- maybe this one was just sleeping, 'cuz we wandered through it without nothin' trying to hurt us, an' it let us unplug the cable without nothin' trying to stop us. Maybe the others won't be so quiet about it. But that's how it's done. People hafta be careful, though, cuz the thing starts collapsing nearabout the instant you unplug it. Ain't much time to jump free 'fore the whole thing crumples an' gets all melty inside, an' you don't want to be nowhere near when that happens." He points out, too, the hole where the cable ran -- the quickest escape route once the self-destruction begins, though one that's safe to go through only for people who can fly their way away without splatting on the ground below.

Susan nods her head, leaning back, "Well that was good working Jackson, Dangerous work." she frowns at him then nods standing up. "It was very brave of you all. But i am going to chew Warren an new one for letting you all get into danger like that. For now... you should rest up some, you can stay in one of the guest bedrooms up stairs."

"I don't think he /wanted/ me to get into danger like that," Jackson admits with a blush. "I just did. -- I was okay, though. I mean, I can help. I mean -- that was the other thing I wanted to talk to you about, but I wanted to wait till after the aliens are taken care of cuz I'm sure you're real busy. But I started making forcefields. I was hoping, maybe," he says, timidly, "maybe you could help. Help me learn. How to control them good." The illusion around them fades, and he stands up from his chair. "Thank y'kindly, ma'am. I should get back to the school, though, just in case. I jus' wanted to let you know." A black cowboy hat appears on the teen's head, and he tips it cheerfully to her. "Take care."

Susan blinks, "Forcefields?" she smiles and stands up, moving to take him by the shoulders, "You are not walking out there alone and of course I want to help my young friend. Now upstairs, if you insist on going back to the school we'll take the pogo plane. We can talk more about your forcefields on the way."

Jackson shares information.

Cooper

2008-03-28T01:18:41Z

Log. Thursday afternoon. 27 March. Xavier's, roof.

Rooftop
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When one exits nto the roof, the scenery of the season can be seen all around. The trees give off their lovely green, or whatever color they are sporting. The Spots below the mansion can be sen as well, the veranda and the pool area for one. In the distance, the lake can be seen as well. Depending on when you visit the roof, the opportunity for marvelous photos can and should be taken advantage of.

Most people come up to the roof for solitary reflection, or for a quiet spot free from other students or faculty, to pursue hobbies or study. Some come up to draw or take photographs. Most don't go there to climb around. But that is apparently what Cooper is doing. He is currently outside of the railing, attempting to attach something to the roof. The object appears to be some sort of small antenna atached to a small electronic box. It appears that it connects to the roof via some adhesive substance, so at least he's not trying to nail something down. He seems engrossed in his work, and doesn not notice anyone else approaching.

The door out onto the roof opens, but it closes again without anybody seen to be exiting. Still, after it shuts, there is -- something. It's subtle, at first, small glints of metal taking the place of the roof's surface, but it begins to spread. And spread, and spread. Gradually, the roof is transforming itself into the inside of one of the Xenoformers; cool metal and long hallways leading who-knows-where. Still, despite the changing appearance, things on the roof still /feel/ the same.

Cooper does not notice the changes at first. He's trying to get the temporary adhesive to set properly. He has permission to place the wireless antenna up here, but not necessarily to climb all over the roof. When the visual transformation begins in earnest He stops and looks up. He appears to be on a level metal floor, but he knows better. He can feel the tilt of the roof, and shingles under his hands. The effect, however, is disorenting. He says, in a polite voice that shows a trace of fear, "Whoever is doing that, please stop. I can't fly."

The scene continues to develop, for a moment, before snapping abruptly back to reality. "Sorry," comes a small and apologetic voice from near the door, and though there's no person visibly attached to the sound, Jackson's thick Southern accent is distinct identifier anyway. "I get lost, sometimes. I forget --" He breaks off abruptly, and his tone is curious, now -- "What're you doing?"

"No problem. I know the feeling. He pulls a tab off of the adhesive and fixes the apparatus to the roof. He flips a switch on the box and a small LED blinks red. Cooper carefully makes his way back to the railing and jumps over, landing with a thump inside the safe area. "Just trying out a new antenna design. I'm into ham radio." He looks in the general direction of the door, not knowing exactly where Jackson is. "What was that scene you were creating? Something from a movie?"

"Really?" There's a brief shimmer as distorted light returns to normal, and Jackson reappears by the doorway, briiightly coloured today in baggy neon orange pants and a bright purple long-sleeved t-shirt, his hair a similarly vivid green and his canvas sneakers hot pink. He paces over to the railing, peering at the antenna. "What d'you do with it? -- and no. No movie. Was the aliens' -- thing. Ship. Thing."

Cooper shrugs, "If I designed it right, it should help me pick up other radios from the other side of the world, if atmospheric....What a minute? You were inside one of those alien things?"

"Yesterday," Jackson affirms with a nod of his head. "Me an' Mister Worthington an' Doctor Black an' my fiance an' another girl." There's a note of sadness in his voice. "-- You could get radio from across the /world/ with that? I didn't know radio waves carried so far."

Cooper has several dozen questions to pose to the other mutant, but the note of sadness in his voice makes tact override curiosity. "They can if conditions are right, and if you're using the right radio to send. AM stations can carry a long ways if they are able to bounce between the upper atmosphere and the ground."

"Huh." Jackson squints at the antenna a moment longer and then turns back to face Cooper with a lopsided grin. "An' here /I/ have trouble out here some days jus' trying to pick up the classical station I like from the city. I need a better radio, I think." He hoists himself up to sit on the railing, perch somewhat precarious but balancing himself with both hands holding onto the rail. "What do you try an' hear, with it?"

Cooper shakes his head. "You probably just need a better antenna, or find a place for the one you have to get better reception. But it might be easiest to see if the station broadcasts on the internet. As to what I listen for, I mostly listen for other hams. I've DXed, sorry, talked to other hams in Europe and South America. I even talked to a guy in New Zealand once." He steps over to lean against the railing several feet from Jackson. "Mind if I ask a question of my own?"

"I'm scared of the internet," Jackson admits with a sheepish smile. His head tilts to look over at Cooper. "What's that?"

Cooper looks taken aback, but doesn't criticize. His father has a similar aversion for the internet, but for different reasons. "If you wantI can take a look at your radio sometime, maybe I can help get your station." He pauses for several seconds, "If I'm allowed to ask, what was it like in there, the alien ship I mean."

"I just -- m'kinda dumb with computers," Jackson says, looking more sheepish still at Cooper's expression. His lower lip catches between his teeth, metal rings clicking against enamel, and his eyes drop downwards. "Quiet," he answers at length. "I could show you, if you want?"

Cooper waves his head to dismiss Jackson's first comment. "I highly doubt that you're dumb with computers. Maybe you just haven't had much practice, but anyone can learn. Me, I'm great with computers but would starve as an artist." He stops, returning to his question. "Yeah, if you're willing. I mean, I'm curious as to what the inside of the thing looks like."

"Artists are s'posed to starve anyway," Jackson says with a bright flash of a grin, "it's totally the trendy bohemian thing to do. We're only allowed to sell big /after/ we die. Preferably young." He hops down from the railing to stand on firmer footing, and though he casts another glance in Cooper's direction, there's already a somewhat distant look in the illusionist's eyes that suggests he's already somewhere other than the here-and-now. "I don't mind," he assures the other boy, "jus' don't fall off the roof or nothin', 'kay?"

Cooper pats the railing. "I don't think that'll happen." He sets is AI to record everything he is going to see. Any clue he can get to how an xenoformer works could be useful, especially if he can get the information to the right person.

Jackson nods, and leans back against the railing, his eyes slipping closed as the world around them reshapes itself. This time he is /trying/ rather than simply daydreaming, so the change doesn't happen gradually, but resolves into lifelike clarity rapidly -- initially, they start out outside the giant Xenoformer. "I'll walk you through the way we went," he says, eyes still closed as their view approaches the machine from the underside, passing up the cable and into the hangar. "There's an entrance that it's real easy to climb up into, right here -- and then we went down this hall, and --" He falls quiet, as they pass by the rooms full of pods, each holding the remains of alien forms, before arriving at the cable room. "-- and this is the room where we killed it. You jus' go up here an' unplug the cable. Who'd've thought, all the problems they was causing an' all we had to do was go cut the power?"

Cooper watches as the scene unfolds. As they pass the pods, he gets excited. "Whoa, back up. What was in those pods?"

It is something like hitting rewind on a videotape, if the image onscreen were three-dimensional and all around you. Their path backtracks, and then pauses in the center of one of the pod rooms, dusty remains of the humanoid aliens visible in each capsule. "It's like they were -- colonizing," Jackson says, and now the touch of sadness has returned to his voice. "I mean there was -- little ones, big ones. Maybe they were families. Who knows. But all of them -- all dead. Dead for /ages/, looks like. They ain't never gonna find their new homes."

Cooper'walks over' to one of the pods and examines the consoles. He reaches out as if he can touch it. "So it's all automatic. The towers, the drones, all automatic." He looks at Jackson, "You said all you had to do was unplug the power?"

"Yeah. I guess nobody clued the ship in that its wards are all dead," Jackson says. "Nobody's flying the thing, but it's all on autopilot. And -- yeah." The room shifts and changes again, turning back into the cable room. "Just unhooked that big wire and the whole thing imploded."

Cooper says, "How did you do that?" He shakes his head, as if to clear it. "Sorry, its my curiosity kicking in. I've been wanting to look inside of these things ever since they landed. We can stop if you want to."

"It's okay," Jackson says quietly. "And there's those levers --" He points, where the cable is attached. "You gotta pull 'em both at once I think so you need two people. And the whole thing collapsed right after, so there ain't much time to get clear, if y'dont want to die."

Cooper nods, taking in all of the controls. He bites his lip in thought.
After several moments he turns back to Jackson. "May I ask one more favor? Can you turn all of this, he motions to the illusion, into a map? If you can show me it, I can put it onto a computer. Maybe if we give it to the X-men they can use it to turn off more of these things?" And maybe I can use to get inside one of those things myself, he doesn't say. But if he's going to do it, he's gonna need backup.

The scene lingers a few moments more, and then fades, leaving just the plan roof once more. "Feels weird," Jackson says with a shrug, "wandering around there. Like desecrating a graveyard. I don't know. Everyone just seems so focused on destruction. I want to know who they are. -- /Were/." His head shakes abruptly. "I'm sure they're already on it. Mister Worthington was there. He recreated the place in the Danger Room. I'm sure they're getting the word out to people who can -- help."

Cooper nods excitedly at Jackson's comment. "Exactly, we need to find out as much about them as we can. Think of what it could teach us? Star travel? Terraforming technology? Maybe they had a disaster on their own planet that we can avoid." He already has his AI working on constructing a map for him. "Can't do it alone, though..."

There's another shimmer in the air as illusion reforms, Jackson bringing the Xenoformer to life again -- but on a miniature scale, this time. Strangely, though the lifesized simulation was created effortlessly, this seems to take some work; Jackson's brow creases deeply, his eyes intent on his model as he shapes it. It's something of an arial view, now, the way the inside of the craft would look from above with its roof taken off, though the only defined parts are the ones that Jackson has walked through. "There," he says slowly, "that's as near as I can figure, for a map."

Cooper looks at the map, walking around it to see it at all angles. "That's a neat trick." He looks at Jackson. "Whether this works or not, I owe you big time. I'll fix your radio for you. No scratch that. I'll make you one so you won't ever have to worry about picking up a station again. Or would you prefer free music downloads?" He is beginning to jabber. He checks himself. "Let's just say I owe you one, big time. Look, sorry, but I gotta go." He makes is way to the door, "Thanks again."

Angel, Chloe, Kaji, Rene, Rich; Angel, Kaji

2008-03-27T17:12:45Z

If you fall, I will catch you; I will be waiting. Time after time...

(after time after time after time after time after time after time after time...)

Log. Wednesday evening. 26 March. Xavier's, rec room.

<XI> Recreation Room
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Considering this is called a recreation room, one would expect to have fun here. Two pool tables take up space on the far wall, complete with pool cues and everything else. A large, fancy TV is against the opposite wall, complete with all the latest game systems, and the most comfy furniture. And, of course, let's not forget the arcade style version of DDR over in the corner. Quarters are not needed. So, enjoy. Relax. And try not to break anything?

Threading his long pole between his knuckles, eyes look intently on the balls before him. Cracking an amused smile to the sight. "Just tha way I like it." He murmurs. His other hand draws back, causing the wooden rod to move with him as well before thrusting forward. Click. Clack. The smile deepens as his eyes follow the balls... the ebony one dropping down into the dark hole. He cocks his head towards the random NPC student. "Corner pocket. I win."

Warren appears in the door to the rec room, carrying a bottle of sports drink, and looking triumphant, if sober. He's still in his uniform, and hasn't been back for long, still looking very windblown. He opens the drink and takes a long gulp before waving at the kids in the room. "Hey everyone. Got some good news." Well, from the long faces, Jackson and Rene didn't think it was all good, but Warren sure did. Ah well. Can't win 'em all.

Ignorance is bliss... especially when you want to block everything out except for what you are doing. There're the sound of gunshots emenating from the TV's speakers as the clicking of a plastic trigger could be heaed as well. Kaji's playing a game, more to the point Time Crisis 4, and he's standing a good seven feet from the TV when Warren walks into the room and the voice of the other flier makes him pause the game and glance back at him. "Oh really? What's this good news you speak of?" A slight sarcastic tone in his voice as he was really getting into the game, but it's overridden by the curious tone that's also in his voice.

Jackson is quiet, and rather drawn and pale as he trails into the room after Warren. If there's good news, it doesn't show in the heavy sadness of his expression, the tired trudge of his step. His expression lightens when he glances towards Rich and then Kaji, but the sight of his friends only keeps it light for a moment. He doesn't offer any explanation, simply slinks into the room and drops to sit in a windowseat.

Ghostflower's presence here might be suddenly out of place, but he has since made himself comfortable after coming back with Warren and Jackson. He enters the room just as his fingers have undone the metal clasp of his black cloak, and the sheet of medium-weight liquid fabric slides down over the crook of his arm as he walks after Jackson, saying nothing at first. The suit underneath is back to its summer look, with no sleeves and the back of the halter top scooped to below his white-tattooed shoulders. "Good news /and/ bad news." Rene's eyes inside the butterfly mask zip to Warren as the blonde corrects him. Ahem.

Noticing the group of people that seem to be entering the Rec. Room on her way to the kitchen, and a familiar cloak, Hopper pauses in her quest for Sun Chips. Quietly hurrying to the room's doorway, and peeking into make sure that it's actually Rene and not some random cloaked person, the grasshopper smiles widely before rushing into the room, nearly bowling Rene over with a glomp. "RENE! Hi, oh my gosh, I missed you, how have you been, oh I can fly now, wanna see?"

As the one without a speaking role departs, Rich looks over to Warren, setting the long stick of victory onto its green pasture, "Yeah? what's that?" He glances over the other entrants. giving a smile, "Hey Jax. How was Virginia?"

He doesn't agree with Rene that there's bad news. "No bad news, really. One of the fifty meter mechs has been taken down." Warren says. "Rene, Jackson, a gal named Trisha, Asher and I brought it down."

Kaji blinks a bit and then he promptly says, "I missed it?!" He lets out a growl and almost throws the gun to the ground, but he controls himself and then says, "Looks like you guys aren't that worse for wear. I take it that it wasn't too hard?" He glances over at Jax and Rene, giving a wave before just staring when Chole flies in and heads for Rene for a glomp. "Oookay." He looks back at Warren. The other sane person in the room.

"Not too hard," Jackson affirms quietly, from where he is curled up in his seat. "They seem like they're some sort of colony ship or something. It was -- was full of people. I mean, aliens. I mean. But they're all dead. Been dead for /ages/, looked like, but -- all dead." His head drops to rest against the window, eyes slipping closed. The room around them begins to shift -- very slowly, at first, a hint of metal here and there -- but gradually the rec room is transforming itself into the inside of the Xenoformer -- one of the pod rooms, the walls lined with the cases holding dusty, ancient, featureless remains of the humanoid aliens. Big ones, small ones. Child-aliens? Pet-aliens? Whatever they were, it is hard to make out, as long dead as they have been.

Rene lets out a surprised noise as he is bowled into from behind. Ook. He tries to turn around as Chloe starts talking, only managing to lift a finger to her lips as she finishes. "Not right now, dear." She does get a smile, though. "Maybe soon." Not saying no--just not right this second, please. His gaze travels back to Kaji, then to Jackson just as the room transforms. "The Xenoformers might be on some kind of automation. Those beings were certainly not controlling it directly." Rene's voice is touched with an audible sadness as he watches the illusion of the pods. He doesn't remember seeing the tiny ones. "All we really had to do was unplug it."

Blinking up at Rene curiously, Chloe's confusion only last for a moment as she starts to realize why everyone is so somber, glee slowly but surely fading from her expression as everyone talks and the room changes. "Oh..." Sitting down on the edge of one of the couch cushions, Hopper quiets and lsitens, hands wringing in her lap.

The smile fades away into a deep frown. "What?," Rich asks, "All dead?... Ya mean all tha trouble we're gettin' is 'cause tha thin's are on fuckin' autopilot?" He shakes his head, giving a sigh, "Ya guys find tha off switch?"

"You didn't miss anything, Kaji. There's still seventeen of the fifty meters out there, and six of the really big mamas, not to mention the two that went into the ocean that we're gonna have to deal with somehow or other." Warren points out. "And that's essentially correct, Rich. The creatures that were on it have been dust ... literally ... for hundreds if not thousands of years." He points to the room that Jackson's made into a copy of the Xeno room. "There were rooms of pods like this."

Kaji ahs, and then sets the gun down for a moment as the room shifts and changes into the room of the Xenomorpher. "Well... that's interesting," mutters Kaji for a moment before he looks back at Rich and shakes his head for a moment before he looks back at Angel. "Do you know where the other fifty meters are? Or are you going to go out on another recon flight to map out the areas." He glances over at Jax and says, "I thought you and Rene were going to be staying in Virginia until this was over... what brought ya guys back?"

"The things deciding to eat nature and not just the city," is Jackson's answer, eyes still closed and his tone thoughtful, distant. "I can't help but wonder, though. About them all. All those people. Maybe a whole civilization. I bet they set out with a lot of hope. Dreams. They landed with dust."

Rene nods. "I wouldn't mind if the things had just eaten half of civilization, but when they started to mess with the rest I guess that it didn't really float with us." Rene pauses as Jackson continues, his brow creasing and chest sighing. "With all the ships, I wouldn't be surprised if they had been running from something. Or their own planet was dead. Crusaders aren't supposed to take their families. I don't think it was meant to happen like this. I hope that someone can find an answer before long."

"Not offhand, I don't. But we're going to find out. And spread the word of how to take the things down to all the 'super' groups, pronto. I just hope taking the rest of them down is as easy as this first one." Warren says. He glances over at Jackson and Rene. "We may never know. It would take years to figure out their technology, much less comprehend their language. That's time we don't have. Best we can do is take the ships down and study what's left of the hulks afterward."

Kaji ahs once more. "And nature doesn't like to be messed with." He glances over at Angel and says, "Then I'm guessing more recon flights? Or should we just use the jet to go look for them." He glances towards Rene and says, "With what the rooms look like," he gestures to the illusion if it's still up, "and all those pods. I'm thinking that their planet did die. Or something along those lines. And they just chose the wrong one to come to." The residents of Earth like their planet not destroyed.

"Yeah." The illusion is still there, though it dissipates as Jackson's eyes open. "Maybe we won't ever know. In my head there's a million different stories, y'know? Don't think I'll ever stop wondering."

Rene shrugs lightly and finds a piece of wall to lean on near Jackson. "When they picked Earth, there's also a good chance that we hadn't even been around. The nearest place is light years away, and even then, it might not have been where they were from. Maybe we were nothing but primordial gook when they planned on landing here." Another sigh comes before Rene looks to Warren. "How are we going to handle explaining all this? I bet SHIELD agents are peeing themselves by now." Oops.

"No jet. Tech stuff is still in danger around those things. Us fliers will have to do it. We'll be needed to get the job done anyway." Warren says. "We tell them the truth. We went in, looked around, pushed two levers and the cable unhooked. Then the damn thing crashed like the ships in Independence Day."

Kaji blinks. "That part must've slipped my mind." He looks over at Jackson and Rene and he says, "You have a good point there. Kinda sad that they didn't make it. But... the truth is. They're trying to take out planet... and we aren't gonna turn the other cheek." He gives a small laugh and then looks back at Angel, "Do you trust me enough to let me fly recon with you again?"

"What if they aren't all the same?" Jackson says with a slight crease of his brow. "I mean, clearly the machines are still active, since they're harvesting -- what if we just got a quiet one? Maybe they'll be angrier now that we melted it an' the others won't be so complacent."

Rene nods at Jackson's words/ "I was thinking that myself. They're all the same--and before it went down it started wailing out that recording. I wouldn't be surprised if the other ones find out about it. I mean....If i got my finger cut off, I think I might notice." Angel gets a look again. "But who needs to go where? I'm not exactly familiar with group protocol, but I'm willing to learn."

"That's something we'll have to take into consideration, Jackson, but I think the cable hookup will be the same." Warren says. "That recording could as easily have been the alien version of 'warning, self destruct sequence activated. you now have five seconds to reach the minimum safe distance' as it could have been a communication between the mechs." Then he looks at Kaji for a long moment before giving a nod. They /need/ fliers for this. "But so help me, Kaji, if you don't follow my orders this time, I'll make sure you /never/ become an X-Man. Are we clear?"

Kaji winces at that last part, and then a somber, "Yeah. We're clear on that." He brings a hand up and rubs the back of his head once more before he looks back up at the trio. "Sounds like I need to practice flying in tight quaters, hm?"

Jackson winces slightly at Warren's words, too. Empathy cringing, perhaps, as his eyes flick towards Kaji. "The thing started collapsing the instant they disconnected its -- power or whatever that cable was," Jackson explains. "T'ain't really any time to get back out the front door so the only way out without getting smushed in its meltdown is to take a leap straight out of it."

Rene has nothing to say about X-Men or flight. He asked a question and didn't get an answer. "I asked a question. If I have to do something now, I would prefer to know what." The boy does spare a smirk, though. "I'm not sure if you people have walkie-talkies or what, so if you need me to play messenger--."

"Right now, Rene, I honestly don't know what's going to happen next." Warren says. He'd wanted to get things clear with Kaji first. "We have to find the other mechs, see what if any response the one mech going down gets in the Big Mama ships or the other mechs, and tell the other 'supers' how to take them down." Then he shakes his head at Kaji. "No, not really. There's a corridor you walk down, that has a white stripe on the floor. Leads you right to the room where the cable comes in at. There's a ladder to go up. Two people needed there ... one to do each of the levers. The cable falls out and the whole thing starts to drop towards the ground instantly. But there's a big tunnel the cable comes into the mech through that everyone can slide down. The fliers just have to grab the others once they've slid clear of the mech and fly like mad things to get clear of the danger zone. Or have someone with a forcefield handy."

Kaji blinks a bit at that, and he says, "Oh, that sounds like a ton of fun right there." He glances over towards Rene and says, "Heh, I wouldn't know either. Sorry." He looks back over at Warren and says, "Somehow, I think they aren't going to like that you took down one of their things. And that might spur their attack." He's watched movies that have things like this. He knows... kinda. "Think we could have Emma do a mass telepathy message?"

"I know I ain't -- no sorta -- X-person or nothing, but -- but I can help," Jackson offers, quietly. "Help people not get hurt. M'stronger'n I look." Well, no. He really isn't. But the light he wields certainly is! Jackson is still looking at Kaji, thoughtfully, as he speaks. "-- Plus I worry about all y'all," he adds, even softer. He slides off his windowseat, slipping over to the Kaji's side and wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. Just because.

"If you want to back out, Kaji, it will /not/ be held against you." Warren says. "But yeah, getting Emma to do a mass telepathy call would be a good idea." He nods to Jackson. "Actually, the offer is much appreciated. We'll need four-man teams to go inside ... two to do the levers, and two fliers to get them out." Plus, it gave a certain margin of error if someone got hurt. "And we're going to have to work, seriously, on your snatch-and-fly technique if you do want to still do this, Kaji. There's NO room for error."

Kaji nods slightly, and then shakes his head. "I don't want to back out of this. If you need fliers that badly, than I'm going with this. All the way through." He brings an arm down to Jax to hug him back and he says, "You worry about us and we still worry about you, ya know that right?" He gives a small laugh and then looks back at Angel. "Then tell me this. When's practice start?" A smirk plays across Kaji's face. One that tells he's ready to learn something new, or get better at something.

Jackson grins up at Kaji, hugging him tighter for a second, before stepping back. "S'sorta hard when half of everyone I love is all -- saving the world all the time," he says, slanting a glance back towards Rene. "I mean, t'ain't like that's a /bad/ -- I mean, it's part of what makes y'all so awesome, but --" He shrugs a shoulder, and goes to lean against the wall by Rene, his hand slipping into his fiance's. "But no matter how much faith I have in God, there's only so much sitting at home and praying everyone gets home safe that I can do," he finishes with a quiet smile. "I ain't never gonna stop praying, but I think there's some situations maybe a good strong shield would help more'n a Hail Mary."

Rene allows the hand finding his own to help him relax a little bit. "Some situations. Yes." The teenager nods quietly and looks to Kaji and Warren in turn. "I can fly better at night, and I can do shields too. If you don't need me as a messenger boy, I'd be happy to help otherwise if you need it."

"Give me an hour or two to program the Danger Room and we'll be ready to go, Kaji." Warren says in response. "And your help is more than welcome, both of you." He tells Jackson and Rene. "Actually, Rene, I'm going to need you anyway, to help with recreating the room up the ladder. I never went up there." He says.

Kaji arches a brow at the words of Angel, and he's gives a silent oh from what he thinks is going to happen. "An hour or two it is," says Kaji with a smile before he mumbles, "Gives me enough time to eat something." He looks over at Rene and Jax saying, "Ditto his words from me."

"Gives me enough time to take a nap," Jackson says with a sheepish smile. "See you guys there?" He squeezes Rene's hand before slipping out of the room.

Spreading the word.

Log. Wednesday evening. 26 March. Xavier's, Danger Room.

<XI> Basement: Danger Room
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Danger danger danger! Watch out! This room's got a really nasty simulated bite! Don't worry though, unless you're on Logan's settings, those injuries should be fake.

The Danger Room has been transformed into an exact replica of the area where the Xeno Warren and co took down was at. The Xeno takes center stage, hovering in all its not-killed glory. Warren is standing near the door to the Danger Room, waiting for Kaji and Jackson to arrive.

The doors to the Danger Room swoosh open to let another enter, and running in currently in his half dragon form is Kaji. Of course, he's wearing his black shorts that have been ripped ten times over and he's just let them stay like that now. He calls them casual shifting pants. He skids to a stop and then looks up at the giant Xenomorph with is jaw hanging down a bit, "Wow... that's big." He looks down and he spots Warren quickly; how hard is it not to, and he starts to head over there with a jogging pace.

Jackson is still rubbing sleepily at his eyes as he arrives, straight from a nap, though he manages to get there relatively on time. His sneakers scuff against the floor, steps dragging as he heads towards Warren and Kaji. "Big," he agrees on the edge of a yawn. "Okayokay I'm awake now."

Warren grins at them both. "All right. I've got the whole thing rigged to react the same way it did when we dealt with it ... BUT. We won't be dealing with the whole falling thing yet. First, we're going to walk through, so Kaji can get a gander at everything, and then work on sliding in the tunnel and catching someone when we come out /without/ the damn thing falling out from under us. Once Kaji's got that handled, we'll work on doing it when the thing's moving."

Kaji looks back at the Xenomorph and hehs kinda. "At least I'll be able to see what I'm dealing with." He folds his wings close to his back and then looks back at Jackson with a small smirk. "I think you should have set your alarm a little bit earlier than the time to come here, Jax." He turns his attention back at Angel and says, "Well... now or never," and then he gives a small exhale; blowing his bangs up out of his eyes.

"Then I'd have missed precious extra minutes of sleep," Jackson says with a giggle. "Entrance is there, Kaji, 'f we're gonna be walking through the place." Jackson points to the opening that leads up into the hangar and then turns wiiide blue eyes on the older boy. "If I promise t'bake you cupcakes tonight could you fly me up with you? I totally don't want to hafta climb it again." Puppyeyes.

Warren laughs. "If Kaji won't take you, I will, Jackson." That said, he lifted off and led the way to the opening. He led the way to the cable room. "All right. This is where everything happens. And up there." He points to the ladder and the room above. "I wasn't up there, so I'm going to go look with you, then we'll come back down here and deal with the whole 'getting the hell out of here' thing."

Kaji walks over to Jackson, and hoists him up into his arms. "Just... hang on tight," says the half dragon before he lifts up off of the ground; taking a bit to get used to Jackson's weight before he flies over towards where Warren lands. When he lands in the hanger, he sets Jax down and follows Angel; looking at stuff along the way. Keeping notes where everything looks to be, and the lay out of the place. He looks up the ladder and then back over at Angel, "You lead the way." He gives one last glance around the cable room and lets out another exhale.

"Thanks!" Jackson chirrups happily, and hangs on tight. The inside of the craft is familiar to him, but he looks around just as much as Kaji on their way up. He has, at least, woken up more completely by their arrival in the cable room. "I looked into it," he says with a glance up towards the ladder and the hatch above. "I think I'll stay here an' wait to be your grabbing-an'-flying-away-test-dummy." He slips his hands into his pockets, rocking back on his heels and lingering a short distance from the ladder.

"You looked, Jackson, but you didn't see what needed to be done. We all need to know, just in case, so up you get." Warren says, heading up to the room. Once everyone was up there, he said. "Now, from what Rene said, they moved the levers at the same time, in this direction." He moved one of the levers, but because it was just the one, and the 'action' had been shut off, nothing happened. "Once that's done, you've got about five seconds to get your ass back down the ladder." He moves the lever to the starting position. "Everyone good so far?"

Kaji looks at the levers and then back down at the ladder; shifting his wings out of the way for the run to come and he nods. "Yeah, I'm good. This is going to be very... complicated." Especially since Kaji hasn't had much experience in running the hell out of places. He looks around the room and hms for a moment before he looks back at the ladder. "Alright, so if we are having a four man team. The fliers would be down there, and the two non-fliers would be up here pulling the levers. Right?"

"I think that's the plan," Jackson says with a slight nod, after following Warren up the ladder. "I don't /think/ it's that complicated. 'least not -- in theory. I mean. Basically just flee. Really fast. That's basic instinct!" Jackson's tone is light, though his expression gives away his underlying seriousness. His gaze sweeps the room carefully, taking in all the details. "-- Oh, well, flee really fast an' remember to take us with you," he adds with a lopsided smile. "That last part is pretty key, too."

"The simulation is off, Kaji, so don't worry about dashing down. And yes, the fliers would, ideally, be down in the other room, but if one of the team gets hurt, you might have to be up here to do this, hence making sure you know what to do." Warren says. "Back downstairs." Once they're down down. "All right. Next part. Computer, cable removal sequence." Warren calls out. Without any of the fanfare of the actual event, the cable slides down out of sight. The Xeno doesn't move, either. "The instant it's down and the people who dealt with the levers are in here, out you go. Nonflier, then flier. If someone's injured and can't slide themselves, chuck 'em down and follow them. I strongly recommend, Kaji, that you go down face-first." Then he grins at Jackson. "Ready for your bit, Jackson? And don't /worry/ the safties are on. If we miss, you'll just bounce like you're in one of those inflatable castles kids love."

Kaji looks over at Warren and then nods for a moment. He climbs back down the ladder and then walks over towards the cable and watches it lift up. "Face first hm?" mutters Kaji as he leans over the hole and mumbles, "I see why." He looks back at Jackson and says, "Don't worry, no claws. I promise." To show, he brings his hands up and the claws slip back into his fingers.

"M'ready, sir," Jackson says with a nod, slipping over towards the edge of the hole. He pauses only briefly, blue eyes ticking between Kaji and Angel, a slight smile on his face. "-- I ain't worried. Y'all will catch me." And then he jumps, dropping out of sight down the tube.

Warren grinned and, the moment Jackson was clear of the edge, he dove down the hole, head-first. With the years of experience he had (and the fact that all real pressure was off) the catch was very easy, Warren snagging Jackson in something close to the 'wedding hold' before he arched up away from the ground. Then he called out another instruction, and part of the wall of the Xeno blinked away, allowing him to fly them right into the cable room without having to walk all the way back from the starting point.

Kaji leans over the edge of the hole as he watches from the cable room and he gives a nod to himself. The half dragon looks around the room for a moment before he looks at the wall... that just goes away and he watches Angel and Jackson fly back up. "So... any tips on how to catch them? I've... never really caught someone falling before." A slight blush forms on his face from the acknowledgment of that, and he gives a small laugh.

"Gently," Jackson says with a laugh, once he's back on his own two feet in the cable room. "If at all possible. But I won't be picky when we're jus' trying to not die. Y'ready to try?" He returns to the edge of the hole, but waits for Kaji's response before going, this time.

Warren chuckles. "Your best bet is to go for this hold if you can. It's a lot easier to manage than the under-the-arms grab. When you go down the tube, do your best to do it streamlined, so you build up a bit of speed before you have to do the swoop and grab." Warren advises.

Kaji glances over at Warren and nods for a moment as he then looks over at Jackson. "As ready as I'll ever be." He shifts his wings back out into the open and folds them close to his body as he then looks down the hole once more. "Why do I think I'm going to hate this..." grumbles the teen before he looks over at Jax. "Whenever you're ready."

Jackson laughs again, his fingers briefly, absently, skimming over his upper arm. "Not as much as I will," he says, though his grin is cheerful. "Alright. I'm going." And he does!

Kaji backs up slightly to let Jackson leap into the hole and then the half dragon leaps down the hole after him; his arms pressed to his sides before he flares his wings a little too late; grabbing onto Jack's shirt before slipping. The second time he leaps into the hole too late and completely missed the younger mutant. The third time he flares his wings too early; hitting the sides of the tube and causing him to falter in the air. The fourth time has him leaping into the rube too soon and passing him; but he got confused slightly and Jax fell right behind him. THe fifth time however he actually catches Jackson at the right time and flies back up to the cable room with the illusionist in his arms for a moment before he sets him down.

Warren watched quietly as Kaji worked out how to do the catch. This was one of those things that Warren couldn't really help much with ... it had to be learned firsthand, because every flier was a bit different. He grinned when Kaji returned. "Good job. You got him. Now the hard part ... repeating that success consistently."

Jackson's expression is a strange blend of mingled exhiliration (the repeated freefall something of an adrenaline rush), bemusement (bounce. bounce. bounce. bounce. -- as if his brain needs /any/ more addling!), and pain (bouncing or being catched, both, not really /ideal/ conditions for his still-healing fresh body art), but when Kaji sets him down after the successful catch he wraps his arms around the older teen and squeezes, brief but tight. "Yay!" he chirps happily, and then giggles. "Now we jus' gotta do that about seventeen trillion more times!"

Kaji looks down at Jackson. "For every attempt that I actually catch you, I'll take you flying for that many minutes, alright?" He walks back over towards the hole and then looks over at Warren with a look of 'I hate you, but I respect you immensely' and then he says, "If the world wasn't in danger, I'd suggest hitting a buffet in celebration. But... nevermind." He waves a hand over at Jax. "Alright, let's get goin'."

"Yes," Jackson says, brightly, "let's. We'll have time to buffet when the world ain't being eaten. We can have a whole proper /party/, then." He scurries over to the hole and peers down inside -- not as if it has changed at all. "Okay. Five down, six trillion nine hundred ninety nine billion -- Oh, gosh, I can't actually count that high --to go!"

Practice practice practice.

Angel, Asher, Rene, Trisha, Xenoformer

2008-03-27T04:05:56Z

That was -- people. They're people. I mean, they were coming -- so many of them. To make a new home? A new life? I wish we could know what happened to them. Where they were from, what they were hoping for.

I'm pretty sure they weren't hoping for this.

Log. Wednesday. 26 March. Westchester.

Northwestern Westchester: The alien Xenoformer and its drones have stripped much of this area. The land is flat and devoid of structures aside from the few holes in the ground where foundations and basements once were and the occasional remaining bit of wall. Some trenches have been dug and the pipes removed; one could use these on approach to remain out of line of sight. This place was recently evacuated by SHIELD and emergency forces. They have fallen back to a safe perimiter deeper in the city, but even their vigilant line is not without gaps. They stand ready to hold the line against the drones and keep the populace safe. Right here, there are no SHIELD soldiers present.

The Xenoformer itself is an impressive sight. It is some fifty metres of slate grey metal, jagged and haphazardly plated. Countless crevices and openings mar the alien machine's surface. A metre-thick cable hangs from the underside of the machine. The cable rests against the ground and extends off into the distance. The irregular and segmented shapes of the cable look quite climbable, if one had a mind to. Strangely, there are no drones in the area. The Xenoformer hovers idly at twenty metres above the ground. A few piles of materials have been stacked up nearby.

Warren had lost patience with the stuttering, slow pace of ... well, nothing had been accomplished, that he knew of ... when he heard the Spires were affecting the atmosphere. They had to do something and they had to do it /now/. The Spires were too big to tackle with just one or two people, so he'd opted for the smaller Xeno. And he'd come armed. Citizens had taken down the toasters with simple weapons ... bats, pipes and the like. Time to see if such things had any effect on the bigger Xeno. So Warren was wearing his harness, and carrying a bag of items. A wood bat, an aluminum one, bricks, and a couple of cement blocks. He also had a container of sulfuric acid, but he was carrying THAT seperately from the rest of the stuff. Asher had opted to come along with and was 'flying' along with Warren.

Yeah, attacking the atmosphere made Asher not happy camper. He kind of needs that, well, in more than just the obvious ways. So when Angel was getting ready to set out on this little experiment Ash decided to come along. He rode on his motorcycle most of the way out, to conserve his own energy but took flight a little way out from the craft, using the air to hover and push himself along in a less agile manner of flight than his companion uses. "Smashing the hell out of things with bricks and bats...this distinctly reminds me of my youth. Ah memories..." He muses in an amused, lazy manner as they approach to get a first hand look at the ship.

Trisha approaches along the trench - she has borrowed Stan's hoverboard for the occasion and her wooden sword, though personally she doesn't think a wooden sword's going to do much against the big floating object. Better to stay out of sight for now, for the most part.

Arrivals through those gaps are few, if any--Rene has come as Ghostflower with one Jackson in tow, and both boys have made it past the line of SHIELD agents. This may either be due to Jackson's lightbending, or simply lack of attentiveness on the part of a section of the barrier. Rene has with him his own sort of weaponry underneath the black cloak, and it is not quite bricks and bats. He and Jackson arrive from the opposite direction as both Angel and Asher; Rene's attention is on the air and the plated facade of the Xenoformer still from afar; though the teenagers are still on the move, it is a pace that grows in carefulness the closer that they get.

Jackson's eyes are alert as they scan the area, sweeping over the Xenoformer, sweeping over the sky. His only reaction as they get closer is a quiet groan, a hand lifting to scrub at his cheek. "Oh, man," he says with a wrinkle of his nose. "/Teachers/."

The low rumbling of the Xenoformer's engines is all that can be heard. It pays no apparent attention to the incoming flyers, nor to those on the ground. It just hovers there. In the far distance, one may spot the odd group of drones moving about performing some menial task. At this site, there are none but this massive machine itself. Getting closer, it may be visible that the openings at the underside of the Xenoformer are large enough to fit a vehicle in, or a group of drones at once. With all the sections of thick plating and angled inexplicable rails, it would be a trivial task to clamber up there from the cable. Other openings on the Xenoformer look less promising as points of entry, appearing more as simple overlaps and intersections in a largely random array of armour plating.

Warren glanced over at Asher. "Sadly, back then, you were doing it for shits and giggles. This ... " He shakes his head. "I'm going higher. I doubt dropping this stuff from a short distance will do much damage to those plates." So saying, he started to climb, getting a good five hundred feet or so above the Xeno. Not enough for the stuff he dropped to reach terminal velocity, but certainly enough to do (or so he hoped) some serious damage. As he climbed, he spotted the two figures sneaking in from the other side. "Bloody ... what are those two doing back in town?" He grouses to himself.

Asher smiles to himself, "Like I'm not going to get any S&G out of /this/." As Angel goes up, Asher goes down, lowering himself to the ground near one of the larger openings. He also is, apparently content with talking to himself, "What a hunk of junk. You'd think anything smart enough to build a ship that can travel light-years would have just a little design sense. And speaking of lack of design sense..." His attention has been caught by the approach of Ghostflower and Jackson to which he simply shakes his head before looking back at the ship to examine while he waits for the boys to get closer.

"Bird-man!" Trisha shouts, zooming at high-speed towards him, "Quit that, we need to go inside," she waves with her free hand, one hand holding her sword, which is slung over her shoulder. "The rest of you too! That cable," she jerks her head towards it. Jeez, haven't they seen alien invasion movies before?

Rene catches sight of Angel first--it is hard to miss the big white wings, after all. "Mmm. Both?" His eyes settle on Asher as the man drops, and then his ears catch the voice of Trisha coming out of seemingly nowhere. Rene turns his head from Asher to the direction of Trisha, then Jackson beside him. "Someone had better get Angel down here too." While he says this without hushing himself and with a certain degree of curiosity about what it is that Warren is -doing-, Rene doesn't expect anyone more than those on the lower plane to hear him.

"Yeah. I'm totally gonna have extra homework or something. This is clearly just incentive to make sure the aliens kill me first." Jackson's head tilts in Trisha's direction, his eyebrows raising. "-- I didn't realize we had a commander. I didn't realize we had a /team/."

Looking closely at the strangely arranged panels along the front and sides of the craft, it can be seen that several of these plates are hinged and those that aren't completely closed reveal numerous heavy turrets, each the size of a moving van and just as square. These are the same types of weapons that the Xenoformer in Los Angeles used to devastate the army. The turrets sit inactive. There is a warmth radiating from them if one flies near them, but aside from that nothing special is going on with this Xenoformer. It makes no move against the gathered persons, even with the shouting that's going on.

Warren had reached into the bag to grab something and drop it when Trisha zoomed by. He gave an exasperated noise. "Trisha. I am not going inside to cower and wait for this thing and it's mama to turn the planet into god knows what. It's been proven the damn things don't react to getting hit by stuff that /isn't/ high explosives or major weaponry. Now if you don't want to help, that's fine, but don't try to stop me, either." So saying, he gets the wood bat out and /throws/ it down at the Xeno, aiming for a gap between the plates, though whether or not the bat will hit the target that accurately with five hundred feet to fall is anyone's guess.

Asher lifts his brows as Trisha starts shouting. He smirks. "Listen here Nancy Drew, as much as I'm sure that you, and by that I mean all of /you/," he notes, including now Rene and Jax, "want to solve this mystery so that you can rip the alien mask off and have some half-witted villain say 'And I would have gotten away with it too, if it hadn't been for you meddling kids', you're one Great Dane short of the team, so Shaggy, Velma, and -you, I haven't decided if you're Fred or Daphne yet (he side-notes to Rene)- pack up the mystery machine and head on home." That rant should buy Angel plenty of time to do his thing.

"NOT INSIDE, INSIDE THE STUPID XENOFORMER YOU FREAKING DOOF!" Trisha yells at the top of her lungs, pointing down at it, "We go inside and SHUT IT DOWN, or destroy it!" She sounds quite exasperated by this point. "C'mon, it's not hard. It's got big gaping doors. It's like 'come on in, hello. Nice to meet you.'" She angles her hoverboard down and zooms back underneath it.

Rene's eyebrows come together in a less than pleased expression at Asher. His voice comes in a whisper now, and it is directed at Jackson. "Surprise. Also, I'm not sure I like that other one. He's not being very cooperative, is he?" Now his eyes travel back up to Asher, arms crossing in front of his chest. When Trisha zooms her way back around it, he can't help but listen. "Don't go inside yet!" Keyword being -yet-. Ghostflower can only hope that she hears, though.

Jackson flicks a glance towards Asher, his expression devoid of the apology or chagrin that might otherwise be there, at defying orders from a teacher. "Sorry, sir," he offers mildly, but without any further explanation. "-- Rene, I think I'm gonna try and check it out. The robots don't seem to /care/ much." The light of a forcefield blossoms around Jackson, briefly, but then shield and boy both vanish from view as he starts towards the Xenoformer, to try and climb the cable.

Bonk. The wooden bat bounces off the plating, failing to even make a mark. The bat probably isn't too well-off, though. Fortunately, the Xenoformer's energy shield doesn't engage to repel the blow and the machine doesn't notice it at all. If it had, there would be one less Angel in the sky, given what is known about what the counterpart in LA did to the army. The opening beneath the Xenoformer gives way to a large hangar bay of some kind. It's easy to see inside without actually entering. There are no active drones present inside. However, it does look like there are several devices that would hold drones ready for deployment. Various corridors and tunnels branch out in various directions. Two of them are marked with white lines along the walls. One looks to be horizontal, while the other slopes upward. There are no defensive turrets visible, though with the irregular plating on the inside as well, it could be anyone's guess as to what is behind those walls. For Jackson, the cable is quite easily climbable. With all the irregularity and protrusions, it's not much harder than a schoolyard climbing frame.

Warren made another exasperated noise. "Have you ever heard of security measures, Trisha?" He yells. "For all we know, this thing will fry anyone that steps inside. I don't happen to have a healing factor or force-field to hold attacks at bay, and unless you do, STAY OUT. Send something inside that you won't be upset about it getting trashed." He sighed as the bat doesn't do anything. Ah well, it had been worth the try. He skips the aluminum bat and goes for the bricks, five of them, one after the other, thrown down at the Xeno.

Asher laughs, "Oh yeah...It's got big gaping doors. The thing just screams 'Howdy folks, come on in!' Nevermind the guns and weapons that we all /know/ it has. No, I'm sure you're right...the creators of this thing must have just overlooked the fact that anyone could just walk inside and take it down in minutes. You're so damn smart, you must be a teenager." They aren't listening...this does not surprise him and only encourages him. "If you all are going to insist on being morons and charge inside, lets at least do it some sort of organized fashion, /Jackson/." He scolds to the now invisible boy with a grumble.

Trisha shakes her head - of course she's not listening. "I'm not one of your students," the girl pushes her glasses up on her nose, tugs her hat down on her head a little, and approaches the doors at a high rate of speed. "So don't expect me to obey you at all. You can stay out here throwing bricks at it if you like. It's not like they're going to 'surprise' me or anything."

Rene offers out a "Be careful and don't do anything silly..." moments before Jackson disappears. He looks toward Asher again, looking somewhat displeased. "I am not /charging/ anywhere, /sir/. If you would be so kind as to show your concern and wisdom in another way, please do so." His feet lift in a hover from the ground, cloak following as he ascends around a man's height into the air to keep an eye on Trisha as she moves--he keeps his own distance for now. She had some sort of precognition, didn't she? Rene had met her last summer, but he hasn't been able to recall her entire memory until now. "Watch your tail, Trisha."

Jackson is not quite charging, either, although it isn't as if anyone can see this. The boy scales the cable easily, but stops short of actually entering, hanging on outside the doors so that he can peer inside, taking careful note of what he can see. "Not surprise you?" his voice comes from near the entrance, as Trisha approaches. "D'you know something about them we don't?"

The bricks crack and crumble against the armoured surface. It's like trying to take out a destroyer with, well, bricks. Again, the shield does not engage and the mass drivers don't activate. This thing appears to be very poor at noticing anything that can't do enough damage to cause it to raise the shield. As Trisha enters the hangar, nothing happens. It's vacant. Then there is motion. A small drone pops out of a slot in the wall and slides into a deployment rack. It makes no movement after that. The drone seems to be inactive.

Damn. Warren cusses under his breath and reluctantly abandons the drop idea, circling down to land. "She has a death wish." He grouched at Asher as he let the bag drop to the ground. The container of sulfuric acid, he kept. That might do some good inside. "But she's in. Shall we?"

Asher doesn't know these kids, except for Jackson and Rene's displeasure is met with an amused smirk. "Gladly." He retorts and then nods to Angel when he comes down again. "Or not enough brain cells. But yeah, I suppose we must." Then he too raises from the ground, although looking far less spectaular than Rene being cloak-less and with his arms crossed. He'll move to the opening in his turn.

Trisha tentatively steps off the hoverboard, planting a food on the ground as if to test. Everything seems okay. "This is like something outta Star Wars, only where're all the Storm Troopers? Place looks deserted," she murmurs to herself - the obligatory sci-fi reference.

Rene manages to float to the point of being a few feet from Jackson as he hangs near the doors, and he keeps back while Trisha ventures inside by herself. His eyes follow her to peek into the innards of the Xenoformer, one hand steadying the floating by settling tentatively on the nearest sturdy part of metal. "I'm guessing it is empty because all of the little ones have gone by now." The boy calls inside carefully, trying to pay attention to a million things all at once. He's /this/ close. He's /touching/ it. /Aliens/. It is all very befuddling.

Trisha doesn't venture inside by herself -- Jackson, quietly, slips inside as well. "You know you're not supposed to say that," he says in a low voice, a wry tone to the disembodied sound. "You'll jinx it or something." His footsteps sound quietly against the floor as he heads further into the hangar. "Any one of these hallways more to your liking?" His voice comes, now, from nearer the white-lined corridor that slopes upward.

The air inside is warm and stuffy. It's perfectly breathable, like a poorly ventilated room in summer. Strips along the tops of the walls provide sufficient lighting to see.

Seeing that Trisha doesn't get fried (or worse), Warren does head inside himself. "Damnfool kid. Next time, be a bit more cautious of your life." Then "Jackson? Stick with her. Asher, Rene, c'mon in. We can hit all the corridors a lot faster if we split into teams."

Asher sets foot down and grumbles a little at the stuffy air. Arms remain crossed as he looks around. "Swell." He replies obligingly to Angel. "Let's keep it moving then."

Trisha glances about, "It does look like this place was built for/by some kind of intelligent life," she comments, pulling a sketchbook out of her backpack. She flips to an open page - a rough diagram of the Xenoformer from the outside. "Just as we suspected," she muses, running down the corridor with the white strip as if regardless for her own safety. "C'mon, this way. This should lead us straight to the spot where the cable connects to the bottom of this thing. I imagine we'll find some kind of control circuit maybe even the aliens themselves there." She dashes forward again, disappearing from sight. Maybe to examine the rest of the ship while they take care of things.

Rene slips inside after the two older men, steps considerably careful and his eyes wide open. He is reluctant to let Trisha suddenly scamper off, but there is little that he can do otherwise. So, he follows in the direction that the girl suggested out loud--the direction of the cable corridor. Before he gets too far, the blonde turns his head to Warren with a thoughtful bend in his brow. "I'm thinking we should forego the splitting up and go where we probably need to go. Your friend here has already pointed out Scooby Doo--and we all know what happens when they split up." Hahah/yeah/.

Jackson says nothing. He simply follows in the direction Trisha disappeared, the sound of his steps rapid as he heads down the hall.

The hum of the Xenoformer's engines can be heard and felt through the floor and walls. The white-lined corridor continues in roughly a straight line, turning on slight angles every ten metres or so. To either side are several unmarked corridors. There's no sign of Trisha and no knowing which way she went. One of the side openings reveals a room filled with transparent pods. A few unlit consoles sit near these pods. Through the casings can be seen the dusty remnants of what may have once been vaguely humanoid beings. They have been dead for countless eons. While these stasis pods slowed aging to a near-halt, a few million years is enough for extreme age and decay to take their toll.

Warren nodded agreement and headed down the corridor Trisha went down, peering into the corridors as they passed, then he spots the pod-things. "Eww. Well, she was right about there being aliens. Not much left, sad to say." He glances around again, then backs out. "We really are going to have to split up. Jackson, you're with me. Rene, with Asher. Start looking for the connection to that cable."

Rene's scooby comment actually elicits a grin from Asher. "Cheesy 70's music will start playing while we all run between various doors? Yeah, I guess we should all stick together." He follows along down. He stops behind Warren, side-stepping into the room with the chambers in it. Blame the sociologist in him, but the remnants of life spark a greater interest than all the tech of the actual ship. He would have liked to stay longer there, but Warren's suggestion reminds him of the task at hand. So reluctantly he turns back. "Cable, cable..who's got the cable..." He murmurs, waving Rene along.

Rene seems to have stuck with the pod-room as he sees it, entering the doorway with a rather morose look on his face. He doesn't answer Warren right now, either, and fails to follow Asher. "It only takes one set of eyes to find a gigantic cable. ...Give me a moment." Ghostflower slips silently further into the room with the pods now, intent on seeing these passed extraterrestrials a bit closer and possibly examining the unlit panels; a glassy field springs up around him in a quiet attempt to be ready for something or turn heel and run.

"Yessir," Jackson says, his voice very quiet. The teenager reappears inside the pod-room, standing in front of one of the cases, still encased in his glimmering shield, though that drops, too, a moment later. For a little while he doesn't move, blue eyes wide and sad as he looks at what is left of the aliens. His lips move silently. After a moment, his right hand lifts to make the sign of the cross; only then does he turn, head bowed, to follow after Angel.

The panels are long dead. There are obvious display screens, but no light comes from them. The shapes in dust are all very far gone. It is only that the pods are sealed that they don't waft away as dust in the air. Any features are impossible to make out, and it's only vaguely visible that they might have had two arms, two legs and a head. There are about twenty in this small room, all in rows.
Where Angel and Jackson explore their corridor, it slopes up for a while until reaching a larger chamber. There are many more of these pods lining the walls, each one containing a shape made of dust. In many places are smaller pods, half the size of the others. These also contain dust, perhaps of children or pets. Dead consoles are spread out beneath them. Another corridor leads off from this room.
Along the white-lined corridor, which takes several sharp turns after the first few side openings, there is finally a room of importance. The cable is there, extending up through the floor and into the ceiling. There's an open hatch and an oddly angled ladder leading up to a room above.

Warren moved quietly among the many pods, shaking his head. "Some kind of colonization effort, maybe?" He conjectures. "And the machines, being machines, just kept doing what they were programmed to do, death of their creators be damned." He pointed to the next corridor. "Let's take a look there, and if we don't find anything, head back to rejoin the others." He heads for the other corridor.

Asher doesn't wait for Rene, assuming he'll follow, or not. He moves down the corrider until reaching the room with the cable. He looks up toward the ceiling and, putting his fingers to his mouth, lets out a sharp whistle in order to try and signal to the others before making any attempt at actually doing anything with the cable.

Rene turns to leave a few moments after inspecting the panels and after Jackson does his own duty and departs. Luckily, this only puts him a corner behind Asher when the man lets out his whistle; Rene is beside him inside of the cable room in no time, eyes inspecting the open hatch in the ceiling. The strange angle of the ladder is noted just before blue eyes begin to inspect the cable going into the ceiling as well.

"Looks like something like that," Jackson says, eyes sweeping sadly over the rows of pods that they pass. He starts into the corridor after Warren, pausing briefly at the sound of Asher's whistle. "Sir? Should we --" His gaze flicks in the direction of the sound. Shields shimmer to life, around him and Warren both. Just in case.

Down the next corridor after the larger pod room, it rejoins the white-lined corridor toward the cable room. The cable itself is not joined to the floor or ceiling. It is simply held in place by something in the room above. There are no visible controls or consoles in this room.

"Save the shields for later, Jackson, if they're needed." Warren says. Fortunately, they don't have to turn back, and have soon rejoined Asher and Rene. Warren glances around. "Ok. Now to see if we can figure out how to get this thing off. Or barring that, get a little inventive." He does still have the acid, after all.

Asher looks over as he is joined by the others. "How about starting with finding out where and to what it's connected too?" Warren's wings might be too big to manage the hatch and Ash doesn't want to bother with the oddly angled ladder. "I'll check out the room above. If it's nothing special..hack away." He glances to Rene, "Coming?" He asks as he begins to float upard toward the open hatch himself.

Rene follows behind Asher in his own hover; as the older man rises into the air and towards the open hatch, one of Rene's hands reaches over to settle on the bottommost part of the ladder. "Right behind you."

"Yessir," Jackson says, quietly, and the shields drop. "But then if they /are/ needed suddenly I don't know if I'll be able to get them up quick enough for it to help." He heads towards the ladder, too, lingering at its base, his eyes on Rene. He does not fly. He will need the ladder.

The room above is much larger and is dominated by a vast metallic globe. Heat radiates from the machine. The cable is clearly attached at the bottom of the device, with a pair of heavy levers attached where it meets the connection. One lever sits on each side, and it would be impossible for one person to reach both at once. There are dead consoles on every wall surface here. This must be some kind of power control room.

Warren chuckled. "I know, Jackson, but if we need to do something other than run for it, we can't, with your shield up. Though I do appreciate the gesture."

Asher steps into the room to give Rene space to come up and then looks around a bit before he calls down, "Well, I'd say this looks like a power, control room type of deal to me. There's two levers here, so give us a chance to try and hit them; maybe it'll disconnect the cable without any damage to it. If anything goes wrong, come up with a way to severe it from there. You'll know by the screaming."

The combination of the radiating warmth and sight of the metallic globe sends an honest tingle over Rene's skin. As he comes into the room completely, he steps around to get a better look at the construct itself. "Two levers, a giant metal ball, and a bunch of panels. What I don't understand is why the computers seem to be powered down, but the rest of the place is apparently still working." He makes no move towards the levers nor the consoles, nor mentions his displeasure with the last of Ash's words.

Jackson climbs the ladder, too, head emerging through the hatch into the room before. "I don't know if anyone's ever told you, sir," he says, his voice still quiet, even, "but you really aren't funny."

"Jackson, please get down off the ladder. The fewer of us that get fried, if that's going to happen, the better." Warren calls. "And you're right about Asher's so-called sense of humor."

Asher moves over to one of the levers. "Dunno, I tend to tune out people's opinions when I just don't give a damn. Anyway, Jackson, down. You, Rene, move...On three, hit the lever. Let's do this so I can go get drunk and you all can stop having to listen to me, cause there's plenty more where that came from."

Rene passes the head popping through the hatch a look of 'get back down there', but he does nothing verbal until he looks back to Asher with a raised brow. "There is a fine line between tasteless and careless." Yeah. He's not sure he likes Asher much at all, but he concedes on the matter of the levers and steps tentatively closer to the orb and the top of the cable. "I take it that nobody paid attention to what I said, either. If this burns us all because we failed to turn the computers back on or something to that effect, I am going to kick your ass inside of the nether. It might just be continuing its job because it hasn't noticed the beings have died, even. That would be quite saddening..." Why yes, he is stalling. Just a touch.

Jackson climbs obediently back down and waits at the foot of the ladder, thumbs hooked into his back pockets and his head tilted back to look up at the hatch. He says nothing, but the worry is etched clearly on his face -- his fiance is up there! -- and his lips are moving once more in silent prayer.

"Rene, we could spend YEARS trying to make sense of the controls and get nowhere. Meanwhile the planet would be turning into a methane wasteland. Let's just do this and hope it works." Warren calls.

Asher positions himself by one lever and waits for Rene to get into position. "One..." He starts in a voice that denotes this is the time to stop all the whining and stalling and get prepared. "Two...three." On three he switches down the lever near him while tensing slightly in order to be able to bring up his shield in a moment's notice if neccessary.

Rene adopts a similar stance as Asher begins to count, readying himself and his shields as three comes. His body puts a full effort into switching the lever at the same time, and silently he is hoping that this does not go from an adventure to a tragedy in a matter of seconds.

Jackson is silently hoping -- praying -- the same thing. His posture is tense and his eyes alert as he listens to Asher's counting. Listens, and waits.

The levers groan as they are pulled, then there's a click and the room shakes. There is a sudden rush of air as the cable drops out of the bottom of the sphere, leaving a tunnel that leads all the way back out to the open air. The white lights in the room turn a sickly orange and a sound echoes through the rooms and corridors. It sounds like some kind of warbling, a pre-recorded warning in an alien tongue. Everything starts to feel lighter, and the ceiling seems nearer. The Xenoformer is falling.

"Shit!" Warren bellowed when the lights changed and the recording starts. He can /feel/ the Xeno starting to go, and does the only thing he can think of ... grabs at Jackson and pushes him towards the hole the cable left. "Go. Now! Rene! Asher, get your asses down here! The damn thing's going down!" And then he's scrambling for the hole himself.

Asher feels the ship begin to shift and has the same general idea as Warren. He clamors toward the opening that the cable left and preches himself near the edge of it. He is going to allow Rene to exit first. "Everybody out of the pool. Come on, you heard the man, move it." Once Rene is out, he jumps down as well, using his powers to allow for smooth landing.

Rene is right behind everyone else on the way out, his ears absorbing that warble of a recording. Despite the imminent danger, he can't help but think back to the pods and their contents again. The air seems to catch him as he slips down out of the gaping hole behind Angel and Jackson and into the air, tossing a look over his shoulder to make sure Asher is behind them as well.

Jackson hesitates at the edge of the hole, only jumping through once he's made sure Rene is following. As the only member of the party who /can't/ keep himself in the air, it's a bit of a leap of faith for him as he jumps through the hole. His eyes squeeze shut. He doesn't particularly want to look at the ground.

As the four exit through the cable's tunnel, there is a rush of heat behind them. A thunderous boom heralds the meeting between the Xenoformer and the Earth. The lower parts of it plow into the ground, throwing up dirt and stone in all directions. Furious white light glows from the cracks in the plating and smoke rises from the top. It was already known that the drones burned out their insides upon being disabled. Apparently the big ones do, too. Out in the sky above the craft, Trisha may be sighted zooming off on her hoverboard. She made it just in time. Angel, Asher, Rene and Jackson are all free from the craft moments before impact. Fortunately, the greatest of their worries right now may be mere clods of dirt thrown up from the crash.

Warren's wings shot open the second he was clear of the tunnel, and he dove to catch Jackson before climbing again, wings working overtime to get them clear of the danger zone. "If you can bring that shield of yours up, now's the time, Jackson!" He yells over the din of the Xeno crashing to earth.

Asher can't help but to look back and watch the thing crash to the ground. It was an impressive sight. Luckily, he can float backwards just as easy as forwards. He hovers, stablizing himself against the blast of both air and the force of the dust so he's not pushed back further by it and with his shield up he simply waits for everything to settle again.

Rene follows in a swoop after Angel and Jackson, coasting in a small roll onto his back so that he can watch the Xenoformer plow into the Earth. Dirt everywhere, and heat in the air. It is indeed impressive as it falls, but somewhat saddening to Rene all the same. But perhaps now that they know what to do, whoever goes into the other ones can investigate the pods, panels, and likewise a touch more. Hopefully.

Jackson can and does bring the forcefield back, the shimmering light construction protecting Angel and himself from the debris of the crash. Their view of the toppling Xenoformer is filtered through a sheen of pale rainbow glow. Jackson's eyes are full of sadness as he watches it.

The massive alien craft grinds to a halt. About a fifth of it is buried in the ground. It's going to take a lot to get that out of there. The bright glow fades into darkness against the clear sky. Trails of dust and ash flow out on the hot air wafting out of the Xenoformer. This one is finished.

"One down, seventeen more to go." Warren says, sounding triumphant and grim at the same time. "And then we have the big mamas to deal with." But at least there was a glimmer of hope, now. "We need to get back and tell everyone."

Asher glides over to follow Angel and the others. Sad nothing, that was damn cool and Ash grins. "Well, I'm not flying all the way back, so I'll meet you back at the school then." He says before lowering himself to a landing near where he'd left his bike.

"Mhm." Rene's expression has morphed into a thoughtful one, and a bit sober. "Let us just hope that this one wasn't a fluke. Or had some luck to it. I'm wary of it being so easy." He speaks as he stays beside the winged man in the air. "Am I coming with you?"

Jackson doesn't speak. He just holds on to Warren, and watches the downed Xenoformer in silence.

Sunset

2008-03-26T05:32:43Z

Log. Tuesday night. 25 March. Worthington house, Virginia.

Out here, way away from the light-pollution of the city, the night sky glitters. It glitters even more than Jackson (who, himself, is quite glittery -- a dusting of sparkly blue eyeshadow highlights his eyelids, with a similar shade colouring nails and lips; there are even tiny stars dotted beside his eyes), who lies in the grass behind the house, arms folded behind his head and his eyes focused up at the multitude of stars.

Bare feet walking along the grass, the edges of her skirt occasionally brushing against the plant life, Sunset's nearing is not as quiet as it once was. Pregnancy has taken most of her grace away, for the moment. "Beautiful, isn't it?" She asks, slowly lowering herself to lay beside Jackson, without a thought of whether to ask or not. "This is one of the things I don't like about the city. No stars. Barely a moon."

"Beautiful," Jackson murmurs in affirmation, and just as Sunset broke into his sphere of privacy without asking, so he invades hers without a request for permission -- sliding over and curling in close by her side, his head nestling against her shoulder. Personal space? What? "S'easy to lose yourself in a sky like that. Like maybe if you lie here long enough you can just dive in and drown in all the stars."

Arms moving to wrap around Jackson, head leaning for her cheek to rest against the top of his head, Sunset nods. "That would be nice. Probably really peaceful up there. Maybe a little cold and oxygen deprived, but still peaceful. And beautiful." Fingers idly and very softly drumming on his upper arm, feeling the body there that's hidden by illusion, the redhead gives a small, short sigh. "One day, if possible, I will have to take you to my old house in California. Or, where it was. I don't imagine it's there anymore, but the thing I loved most about it was that it has roof access. I would always go up there and just lay down and look at the stars and listen to the ocean for hours, sometimes falling asleep."

"I've never lived by the ocean. I like listening to water, though. But ocean-sounds is way different than river-sounds." For a moment Jackson is quiet, simply looking up at the sky, before he adds, very softly, "-- One day. Maybe."

"Maybe." She repeats, nodding again. "You'd like it. It sat near a cliff, and everytime a wave would hit it, you could just barely feel the house shake with it. And there was one room, that was pretty much nothing but windows, that I think was supposed to be an office of some kind, but I turned it into a garden room. And then the hallway... It was wood, and even when I didn't polish it or anything, you could still run down it in socks and slide. I used to love doing that, and sliding down the stair railings."

"I probably would like it," Jackson acknowledges quietly. "I don't think I'll be getting to California, though. Not before --" He trails off with a slight shake of his head.

"You never know, Jax. You might get to see it, somehow. We don't have to go to California, either. The memories might be in my head, but they're accesible, if you know how to go there." Sunset answers after a moment of contemplation. "At, least, if you want to. Laying here and looking at stars is pretty fun too."

Jackson shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know how, miss. I ain't no telepath. I'm pretty much stuck in my own head."

"One day you'll be part of everything." Sunset softly replies after a moment. "The earth, the trees, the sky... Even the stars." Letting out a heavy breath, arms tightening ever slightly around him, the redhead turns her head to place a light kiss on the top of his head. "If you can, come tell me what everything looks like from up there, all right?"

Jackson doesn't reply to this. He just curls in closer against her, lapsing into silence as he watches the stars.

Stargazing.

Rich

2008-03-26T02:25:17Z

I guess I should have told him that I'm pretty sure I know exactly what these dreams mean. But I don't want to worry people. I just wanted to make sure he's okay. I really can't wait for all this to be over so I can get back to my friends.

Log. Tuesday afternoon. 25 March. Phone.

Afternoon finds Jackson outside, in the mild Virginia weather, nestled comfortably amidst tree branches. He is currently less focused on nature than he is on technology, though -- cell phone in hand, he dials a familiar New York number. Riiing. Ring.

Afternoon finds Rich inside, in the climate controlled dorm room, nestled comfortably under piles of blankets. He is currently focused on... nothing as he is just coming off the effects of his deep sleep hippie tea. Hee. Hippie tea. Groovy. It is sheer coincidence that his hand is even extended out in the direction of his own phone. Sheer coincidence too that his hand lands on the phone to lift it towards his ear. "Haaaaaay."

"Rich!" If the caller ID and thick Southern accent weren't enough to give away the caller, the obnoxiously cheerful lilt in Jackson's tone should do the trick. "I'm sorry did I wake you I jus' wanted t'make sure you ain't been aliened yet how're you doing?"

Rich doesn't sit up, instead letting the side of his head and chin hold the phone in place. "Doin' 'k. Ain't alien, -ed? Jus' had ta do tha tea thin' 'gain. How ya doin' sparkles?"

"It's warm down here," Jackson says brightly. "The people are real nice. We got to see pictures of Mister Worthington when he was young. S'quiet. Jus' me an' Rene an' Miss Sunset an' the people what lives here. How's things at the school?"

"Perfect time ta have Spring Break," Rich replies, "All tha stores are closed, good luck tryin' ta catch a movie. An I can't even go ta work 'cause tha studio got evacuated. Other'n that, 's good. Got ta take out three o' those drone thin's while back. An' I gave Iron Man a Heineken."

Jackson giggles at this. "You did? You ain't even old enough to buy beers!"

"I had some fucked up dreams on Easter." Rich admits, "Worthin'ton had ta drag my ass out o' Chelsea after I dreamed I was a giant Bunny Peep."

Jackson's giggling increases. "There was really a giant marshmallow bunny running around the city? Ohgosh. That's kinda awesome. Did anyone try to eat it? -- Eat /you/."

"well not runnin' around. More, fallin'. No legs." Rich replies, cracking a smile about it, "Fell down, had a mailbox through my nose, got stuck on a pole... an' some kids came all lickin' their chops. Must o' been disapointed when Worthn'ton found me."

"That sounds really unpleasant," says Jackson, though his tone is laced with amusement. "Poor peep-you. Poor disappointed kids. That's like an Easter /dream/. -- Uh. Well. I mean, I guess it really -- er, /was/."

"Yeah. One 'fore that was where I gave Iron Man the beer."

"My dreams ain't been half so amusing," Jackson says, and although there's still some levity in his voice, his tone does somber somewhat at this admission. "Lord help my housemates if /they/ came to life."

"Yeah." Rich agrees, smile fading, "Ya know they can't hurtcha anymore right? 'Cause if they tried we'd come down an' kick their asses again."

"Yeah, I know," Jackson answers quietly. "Only -- only in my dreams these days it ain't /them/ that's hurting me."

Rich rolls onto his back, holding the phone against his ear, "Who is it now?"

"Me." Jackson is quiet a moment, and his tone lightens once more when he speaks again. "But s'just dreams. I mean, /mine/ don't come to life!"

There's a pause. "So...in yer dreams yer hurtin' yerself..."

"Yeah. I mean, there's lots of -- lots of bad things in my dreams. But that, too."

"Ya know...Jax," Rich pauses, shifting so he's sitting up now, "Sometimes, dreams are jus' that. Dreams. But sometimes they mean somethin'."

Rather unhelpfully, Jackson shrugs. "I always have nightmares, though. I mean. T'ain't so unusual, y'know? The nightmares are just -- changing."

"I know ya have nightmares, Jax." Rich replies, "I'm jus' sayin'... sometimes a nightmare is yer brain screamin' out ta ya sayin' pay attention ta this. Kind o' how tha news like ta scare tha viewers inta watchin tha news."

"I guess," Jackson says reluctantly, and then laughs quietly. "Ain't like there's not much I can -- I mean, what would I do? Hire a bodyguard to protect me from myself? T'ain't really a threat I can /hide/ from. I'm sorta stuck with myself."

"Nah, but ya can work ta figure out what yer doin' ta hurt yerself an' how ta stop it. Jus' cause in tha dream yer doin' tha hurtin' don't mean it's tha physical hurtin' Ya get what I'm sayin'?"

"Yeah. I think I get you." Jackson laughs again. "-- I always hurt myself, though. I mean, physically, even. You've seen how many piercings an' tattoos I had! I got new art last week, too. Still healing. Hurts like nobody's business. Maybe my dreams is yellin' at me for body modification."

There's a slight smile on Rich's lips, "Maybe. I ain't gonna be tha one that can tell ya what it means. Yer tha best judge ta what everythin' stands fer since it's yer head."

"Yeah." There's another pause, longer this time. "I should get to lunch," he says reluctantly, "an' leave you to your -- well, whatever it is you're doing! Jus' -- jus' wanted to check in. It's -- kinda worrying, y'know? I'm trying not to worry but it's what I do best. Take care of yourself, 'kay?"

"Ya know I will," Rich replies, "An ya take care o' yerself too." There's another pause as Rich's head tilts towards the window, "An' if ya need help, ya can always call me."

"Thanks, Rich. That goes both ways," Jackson says, his quiet smile reflected in the softening of his tone, "-- even if I seem to need it way more often than you. I'll see you." A quiet click as the phone disconnects.

As the phone dies, Rich lowers it as he continues looking out the window.
Fin.

Rene

2008-03-23T05:25:37Z

He wants me to burn him. I'll have to help him think of a good design.

It's Easter, now, so -- we could --

Forty days I've waited to be with him again and I only felt so distant, still. If I can't feel close to him during that, when can I? I don't know what's wrong with me. I wanted the pain more than any of the rest of it. It was like that was the only part of it that felt like -- like anything. Anything at all. But I wanted to feel something, and that was certainly feeling.

Log. Saturday evening. 22 March. Worthington house, Virginia.

Once more, Jackson has wandered away from the house in search of the quiet tranquility of the outdoors. He's returned, today, to the water, in mostly the same spot he was yesterday, though today he is perched on a low, sturdy tree-branch that overhangs his patch of grass by the water's edge. He leans back against the tree's trunk, one knee pulled up to his chest and his other leg dangling down over the side of the bough, bare foot swinging slowly. He has a novel in his lap, but it is closed, one hand resting against its cover. The other holds his scalpel, again, a fresh blade on it today, long fingers deftly twirling the slender-handled knife between them, as he would a pen. Silver flashes and glints as it spins rapidly, back and forth, forth and back.

Schlorp-schlup-schlorp. It seems that Rene has taken the wrong way to the river, and his shoes are being sucked downward every step he takes. He is a ways down the riverbank, moving with his face aimed toward the ground. He came out to find Jackson again after giving the other boy a considerable amount of space this morning, and though he has more on his mind than yesterday--he is not sure that he wants to press yet. Whenever he does look up, Rene gets a momentary glimpse of the glinting, but it just makes him notice Jackson's dangling leg. And hopefully the rest of him. Schlorp. Mud finds Rene's sneakers to be delicious.

"Y'should wear galoshes." Jackson's voice comes from up in the tree, his eyes flickering downwards only briefly. The knife in his hand continues its constant rapid motion, a blur of silver between nimble artist's fingers. "You're gonna mess up your sneakers so bad."

Rene grunts a bit and manages to get within proper speaking range within a minute or so. "They're just sneakers." His eyes center on the deftness of the knife as he looks up from his mud-feet. "You should do parlor tricks with those." Blade-throwing! Or not.

The blade stops, and Jackson laughs, quietly. It twirls again, and then vanishes entirely. Jackson swings himself down, teeth clenching slightly as he drops from his branch to one below it, and then to the ground, bare feet squishing into the mud. The knife reappears in his right hand, now, and he starts spinning it again, slower, lazy. "I'm a walking parlor trick," he says with a giggle. "I could use a fake knife and nobody'd be the wiser."

Rene is reminded he needs to tape a 'Jackson is an illusionist' paper to his face. "Mhm." He smiles a little bit and now considers taking his own shoes off. He has clodhoppers made of earth, it seems like. "You're right." Rene rubs a finger along his own jaw now. "I was kinda curious about something you might be able to do, actually." Give him a moment to formulate the best way to ask 'will you burn me?'.

"If you want me to start doing street theatre I /totally/ ain't doing nothing with knives," Jackson replies with a grin, closing his fingers around the scalpel's handle. "I mean these things are wicked sharp and as a parlor trickster safety /is/ my first priority."

Rene chuckles and grins back. "Well, no, not really. It's sort of a question about how you make heat." Rene adopts a very student-like expression of curiosity. Teach me things! "Can you do it in really small, really hot doses? Or is it still kind of wacky and everywhere?" Big-blue eyes! He has them.

"I'm getting better with it," Jackson answers with a shrug of one shoulder. "I mean, I can control it better when I'm trying. It still does things I don't want when I get emotional, though. I don't know. I guess I can do small and really hot. Why? It's totally way easier to cook things on a stove."

Rene giggles for a moment. "Oh, oh. No. Not that." Oops. "Well, I remember you were disappointed when you couldn't do my raven--I was wondering if you would be comfortable marking me with something else. With your heat, I mean." He'd even settle for a little tattoo-tattoo later! But would prefer a burn, almost.

Jackson's brow furrows in thought. He slips the scalpel into his pocket, and his hand begins to glow; he lifts it to look at it pensively. "You mean -- like -- burning you? Like -- a scar?" His other hand toys absently with the hem of his shirt.

Rene nods once, still a bit curious as to what Jackson is thinking about this. "Yes. Like a scar. Burning just enough to leave one." He nods again and smiles calmly. "But not burning enough to leave too much of a mark. I'm not sure how body art like that works, to be honest."

"Huh." Jackson's fingers, glowing dangerously hot, trace an absent pattern along the back of his other hand, though the burned mark they leave is mere illusion; his body is immune to the energy that it channels. "I ain't sure exactly how it works either," he says uncertainly. "I mean, I ain't never tried -- branding. Like that. It's a type of scarification I'm not -- familiar with."

"Ohh. Do you think if you practiced it, you could? I don't want to pressure you--" Rene lifts his hands in a bit of a wave. No pressure. "--but I'm just curious. I think I would like something done by you, anyway. Regardless of /how/ it was done." Nod.

The light vanishes from Jackson's hand, and he drops it to his side, rocking back on his heels. Slowly, a smile spreads across his face. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I -- could. Do that. I'd hafta -- figure out the best way to do it. The safest way. The human body is so fickle, you know? Unpredictable. Everyone heals different. Trying to make a tattoo look good is way different than a -- cut. Or a burn. But I could -- I could do it. What do you think you'd like? I mean, the design?"

Rene nods and grins, but it is a chuckling grin. "I wasn't sure. I was hoping you could help me with that too." He squishes a heel into the ground below and brings the back of his hand up to rub his chin. Fidget. Draw something on me! Surprise arting! Somethingsomething.

Jackson grins brightly, too, and nods. "Okay! I can help with that, too." His fingers play at the hem of his shirt, and he shifts from one foot to the other. "If I show you something, will you -- not freak out at me?"

Rene raises one eyebrow a bit higher than the other. "That's almost a loaded question, but...okay. I promise I won't freak out." The fact he was asked--that makes him more curious than worried, really.

"I just -- ever since -- my ink was all gone, and it just didn't feel --" Jackson fumbles for words as he pulls off first his sweatshirt, and then, more gingerly, the t-shirt beneath it. His torso is covered, now, with an intricate pattern of cuts, skin even more clothed in the designs than it had been in its previous brightly-inked incarnation. They stretch over his chest, his back, his arms. The imagery is predominantly religious, a wealth of Christian symbolism carved into his body. "S'still healing. Pretty fresh. It'll look -- less gross when it's done an' the cuts ain't all -- open," he mumbles.

Rene winds his fingers together as the shirt comes off, and though his eyes first appear concerned, he does little more than examine the designs on Jackson's skin. There was a reason that it came up now--and it is easy to see that this is an intentional type of cutting. Rene doesn't seem ready to say anything yet, instead shifting a little closer to lift a hand in a hover over Jackson's skin. Not going to touch--he just wants to be visually stimulated while he's so close. His eyes are still roaming carefully over the marks and details. "Did you do all of this yourself?"

"No. I designed it all, but I only did my legs. One arm. The rest I got done at the beginning of the week. Friend of my boss. Does a lot of scar work." Jackson's gaze falls to where Rene's hand hovers, and his own hand lifts to rest over the older boy's. He guides Rene's hand forward -- just slightly, stopping just shy of actually pressing the other boy's palm to the etched skin. He watches Rene's expression with a touch of apprehension. "M' -- sorry. Most people probably -- would think -- this seems kind of -- repulsive. Horrifying. I don't know."

Rene feels a bit different than he would have, had he not been asking about similar things. Now he even looks at this with an artistic eye and a thoughtful expression while he tries to even pick out the symbolism that he already knows. It's like Where's Waldo only less Waldo. "If I said it was like that, I would be being a bit of a hypocrite." Rene chuckles, looking up towards the boy's face with a gentle smile. "But, from what I can see...I think when it's not as fresh, it'll look even better. I don't think it is repulsive." A bit shocked at the volume of it, but not so much repulsed.

Jackson does move his hand foreward, now, breath drawn in in a quiet gasp as he presses Rene's hand flat against his stomach, guides it up over his chest, once-smooth skin now rough with the injuries. With the cuts as raw as they are, the contact hurts, and the sting shows in his eyes, but he only presses the other boy's hand to his skin more firmly.

Rene doesn't pull away, but his palm is hesitant to touch to the skin. His eyes stay on Jackson's face, and he seems unsure. It is not a bad insecurity--just confused--a question, almost. Rene's fingers still try to remain as gentle as is possible when they are pressed firmly down over the marks on Jackson's chest, the boy himself growing increasingly curious while he feels the roughened texture he is being guided over; he's really not sure why he is being made to do this, but he is not vocal yet either.

Jackson's eyes lift, past Rene to the sky, warm and reddish with the glow of the setting sun. His mouth curves in a faint smile, and he leans in to press his lips softly to Rene's. His hand briefly presses Rene's harder against his skin, but then he lets go, leaving Rene's hand against his chest as his own hand moves to rest on the older boy's hip.

Rene still doesn't bring himself to any words, still a touch puzzled even when the boy's lips touch to his. His eyes flutter only half shut, and he tilts his chin to kiss softly back. Rene has left his hand lightly resting on Jackson's chest, his fingertips suddenly more aware of the texture underneath. Still confused, yes, but still not asking why.

Jackson's kiss deepens, other hand lifting to curve around the back of Rene's head. His fingers press at Rene's hip, curling into the fabric of his clothing, slight pressure pulling the boy closer to himself.

Rene lets out a small noise into Jackson's lips--a tiny 'unf?', unassuming and just a noise probably made out of being pulled closer. His other hand still hangs at his side, but the one on Jackson has slipped up to perch on the boy's shoulder.

Jackson's arm curves around Rene's waist, urging the other boy along with him as he takes a step back, and then another, leaning up against the trunk of the tree he'd formerly been sitting in. A quiet whimper sounds in his throat as his torn skin presses against the rough bark, but it seems to prompt greater intensity in his kiss, lips pressing harder to Rene's and his hand slipping beneath the older boy's shirt, fingers tracing slowly over Rene's skin.

Rene tries to soften his presence, but he seems to succeed more in turning into a big piece of Rene putty; confusion has progressed into a feeling of 'if you think so--'. The boy's free hand moves to find the one under his shirt, slipping overtop of it. His lips part a little as if he wants to start speaking, but only after returning a deep kiss and before falling back into stride with another. Rene is not sure of at least a few things, but he hasn't found the willpower to figure out a sentence yet. Still.

Jackson's eyes are glowing again, just slightly, and his kisses deep, needy. One hand curls into Rene's shirt, pulls it upwards, his other hand skimming over Rene's stomach even as he does so. He pulls back enough to try and tug the shirt up over Rene's head.

Rene's shoulders have moved so that when the shirt is tugged, it is still half-heartedly trapped on his limbs. He seems to be stuck between wanting to be putty and 'it's only sundown, isn't it?' now. The hand on Jackson's gives a tiny squeeze and his breath puts a tiny flutter into the kiss. The former poses a silent question of some kind--probably a general 'what?'.

The silent question gets a single word in answer, breathlessly whispered: "Please." He elaborates upon this plea in actions rather than words -- hand continuing to slide over Rene's skin, the other working still to get the older boy's shirt off, lips pressing kisses that are increasingly heated, now, to the side of Rene's neck.

Rene opens his eyes to blink at the air a little bit, his neck tilting under the kisses and his arms folding back to himself so that his skin gets bared to the air. "It's Easter -somewhere-..." He reasons this out loud, but it is a tiny whisper. If he goes by Vatican time, nobody is breaking any rules. Rene tilts his lips into Jackson's head while it is close, his hands careful--both go back to where they were before, though the one on Jackson's shoulder has curled into his hair. The p-word does quite a bit.

"Sundown," Jackson murmurs back, between kisses. "Easter vigil -- Lent is done." More kisses, falling liberally wherever Jackson reaches. His hand curls around Rene's back, pulling the other boy's body close against his with a tiny whimper as skin presses to damaged skin.

Shows what Rene knows about Catholic holidays, doesn't it? He's even a bit surprised, himself. Really? His chest sighs, and he tries to be as gentle a touch as he can. There is even a hint of energy coming from Rene, but he is careful to only make it a soothing and calming touch rather than any sort of healing one. Smiling, Rene rubs his face lightly into Jackson's hair, cheeks flushing just a bit and a tiny laugh in his throat. If Rene beamed happiness or contentment visibly, he would be doing so right now. It is a fuzzy feeling, at least to him.

"No." The soothing feeling has a somewhat unsoothing effect; there's a faint hint of urgency, desperation, in Jackson's tone, and he tries to pull back slightly, though he has nowhere to go except to press his back more firmly against the rough tree trunk. His hand slips over one of Rene's, pressing down harder, turning the gentle touch into something more forceful. "Please --" His lips press to Rene's neck again.

Rene stops the soothing touch when he is asked, much to his own surprise. His eyes graze over Jackson's for a moment before the boy kisses his neck again; his hand not being held slips softly over the scarification art now, tender and hesitant to feel them with more than a graze. "...okay." But that doesn't mean he can't be gentle. Rene would rather not put the boy in pain, but--if it's what he wants, then he can have it.

"Please," he repeats, a pleading whimper. His hand presses firmer, rougher, before dropping Rene's hand and leaving it on his own. Pain is what he wants, and it shows in the fierceness with which he presses his lips back to Rene as the soothing feeling vanishes, in the way his body presses to Rene's, in the way the glow in his eyes increases even in time with the slight gasps of pain that escape him at intervals.

Rene manages to forget his own carefulness enough to go with this, but he will not be rough on purpose. For now, he will treat it as just another quirk of sorts; both of his hands are now touching Jackson, palms settling into a regular touch. "Okay. Just..." After a particularly deep part of the new kiss, Rene whispers lightly into it when a breath comes. "...show me what you want." Show Rene, and he will listen. He is a good boy.

"Want you," is the murmured answer. "I -- I want --" His breaths are heavy and his heart pounding faster, and he takes a short break to nuzzle against Rene's neck. "Don't be gentle. Please. I need --" He breaks off, and presses his lips to Rene's again, harder, hungrier.

Something in the words has stirred Rene, who breathes deep again and inwardly tries to remember how he felt when those 40 days began. He was wanting, and he felt restless. He has felt almost the same lately, but it has since been shadowed by the world itself. Slowly but surely, he can feel his feelings really coming back. Don't be gentle? On the way. Rene's next touches are more sure, and his kisses deeper and fiercer.

The whimpers that sound in Jackson's throat are happy, now, even in -- or perhaps because of -- the midst of the pain. His hands drop to open the fastening of Rene's pants, one hand slipping inside, his kisses matching Rene's for fierceness.

Rene holds himself close, chest pressing to the other one. Lips wetting and fingers searching for Jackson's fastenings, Rene becomes increasingly certain in his actions and lipwork, shoulders squaring in determination and muscles tense. So they might get muddy out here--this is apparently not a big deal. Maybe it will just make them closer to the dirt itself. It seems to be a recurring theme, really.

Oh, they will almost certainly get muddy. Somehow, it is unlikely either one will mind much.

Warning: Makeouts.

Rene

2008-03-22T05:27:02Z

I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this I can't do this

Log. Friday afternoon. 21 March. Worthington house, Virginia.

Out here away from the city, Jackson has stolen every opportunity he can get to find some solitude, and for more reasons than simply enjoying nature (even if that /does/ play a big role in the farm-boy's patterns.) Being able to turn invisible helps quite a lot when attempting to slip out unnoticed, and with this assistance, Jackson makes his way down to the waterside, taking shelter in a patch of tall grass right beneath a large tree. It is there that he is sitting, now, heedless of damp and mud, his jeans rolled up on one leg and a very sharp scalpel blade currently being wielded to trace over a series of intricate designs that lace the pale skin.

First Jackson was there, and then he wasn't! Such a thing is not productive when Rene has decided that the other boy is his only source of familiarity--and source of calm, for that matter. The last night and most of today, the older boy seemed to be trying to attach himself by the hip for no apparent reason other than to get closer. It's just his luck that Jax wants to be alone when he wants to be together. After searching the house, Rene has taken himself outside to look now. He has gone through the gardens and the closeby trees, and he is now heading in a winding trail through the woods and towards the river. Rene is keeping his blue eyes open for the other boy--up, down, all around. Quiet steps are being taken, but the boy does nothing to shield any noise that does rise above such a small volume.

Jackson isn't paying much attention to the noises around him -- but, then, he isn't paying much attention to the noises he is making himself, either. His breath is coming in hissing gasps, and occasionally there is a barely-stifled whimper. The grass around him is tall enough to obscure any direct view of him, but it rustles conspicuously with occasional movements.

Rene pauses in his walk, examining some directions and listening to the woods. He is close enough to near intermittent noises from Jackson, but it takes him another moment to figure out which direction it is coming from; there is a somewhat ill feeling about the noises, so Rene pipes up before he gets too close at all. "Jackson?" His voice is soft and curious, a tinge of initial concern there too.

Another abruptly sharp gasp, and then silence. The grass stops rustling, Jackson's scalpel vanishing into a pocket before he rolls the leg of his jeans down. "M'here!" he pipes up brightly. "By the water."

Rene ahah! Found him. The older boy pops out of the brush soon enough, wading through yesterday's growths towards the water and Jackson with a curious look on his face. "Heeey. I've been looking for you. You disappear too easily." Rene smiles softly and lets his words turn into a gentle chuckle.

"I'm good at that," Jackson answers with an easy laugh, pushing himself to his feet long enough to peck Rene on the cheek before sinking back down into the grass. He vanishes from sight, but only for a brief few moments before reappearing. "Sorta comes with the territory."

"I'm well aware. Somehow I never learn." Rene sighs in defeat, setting himself down beside Jackson. Mud-schmud. "Maybe I should tape a paper to myself. With hints for everyday life." He actually seems to consider it. "Are you just out here to sit? I didn't bother you, did I? I'm sorry." Maybe he actually wanted to be alone for a reason; apparently Rene has just realized this, and he sounds a little bit guilty. Oops. "I was...I guess I was lonely." Fidget.

Jackson's eyes turn down to the ground, a soft smile curving his lips and another quiet laugh escaping him; he shifts closer to Rene and presses another gentle kiss to the side of the older boy's neck. "I don't want you to be lonely. But -- shh." Jackson falls quiet, leaning back with palms braced against the ground behind him to support his wait. Out here, there are none of the usual city-noises, but the air is alive with sound regardless. Water burbles and rushes in front of them, a gentle breeze rustles leaves overhead. Small birds twitter in bushes close by, and a larger one, farther overhead, makes a longer, keening sound. "Y'hear that?" Jackson says, very quietly. "That's why I'm out here."

Rene understands even before Jackson says something new after the silence. His lips are in a little smile. "I took a nap out here yesterday." He says this quietly back. "It was nice. I guess I miss it." The blonde boy wraps his arms around his knees now, leaning into his legs and perching his head on a knee. Rene lets his eyes blink slowly while he relaxes next to Jackson, still listening. Woodpecker! Ratta-tatta-tatta.

Slowly, Jackson lowers himself to the ground, disregarding the dampness as he lies back, breath hissing out softly between slightly clenched teeth as he does so. His eyes close, and he says nothing, simply lying in the cool grass and absorbing the soundsmellfeel of the world around them.

Rene's attention turns wordlessly to Jackson as he lies down, and he is drawn to the boy's breath. He remains wordless as he lies down too; one of his hands has gone to rest on the edge of Jackson's torso, fingers shifting at the cloth of his shirt. Rene isn't so certain what might be hurting, if something new did make Jackson's breathing change--but regardless of this, the gesture is still a friendly and comforting one, just because.

For a long while, Jackson's eyes stay closed, and his breathing evens out, deep and regular. It seems almost like he could have fallen asleep, in the quiet stillness of the afternoon -- but after a while, tears gleam at the outside corners of his eyes, streaking sideways down his face and disappearing into his hair. His eyes still don't open, and he doesn't move, still and calm under Rene's hand.

Rene doesn't have the willpower to vocally ask why the tears are there, but that doesn't stop him from adopting a confused and concerned expression; he can only try to comfort whatever it is, for what it is worth. Rene's hand moves so that it can rest lightly over Jackson's diaphragm as he breathes, and the rest of the blonde tries to move closer alongside, and his nose should come to a rest on Jackson's temple, lips below touching softly to where the tear disappeared into his hair.

Jackson's eyes open at the touch of Rene's lips to his skin; they are shining, bright not only with tears but with a quiet inner glow, and despite the crying, a gentle smile curves his mouth. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he whispers. "Out here you can hear the earth sing. /Feel/ the earth sing." His palms press flat aginst the ground, fingers curling slightly into the dampened dirt.

Rene rests his head where it is, snuggled closely to Jackson's and the hand not on his chest snaking under his neck--Rene's hand is now on the other side of the boy, near his shoulder. His own palm presses flat in a similar manner, but instead of curling fingers, there comes tiny curling sprouts. Little, delicate green leaves of newborn clover that tickle upward at exposed arms and necks, soon surrounding the both of them. Yes, he can hear it. He can feel it too. Perhaps a bit too literally, even.

There's another quite gasp from Jackson, not pain this time but something closer to awe. The glow in his eyes brightens -- spreads slowly throughout the rest of him, seeming to right straight through his skin as his head tilts back, blue eyes focusing straight at the sun. His hands lift, one curling into Rene's shirt and the other sliding beneath it, fingers tracing over the older boy's back without regard for the dirt that streaks his fingers and is crusted beneath his nails from digging into the ground. He pulls Rene over top of him, eyes still focused up beyond the other boy even as his arms slide to hold Rene close against him.

The clover becomes almost literally a pillow as Jackson focuses on the sky above. Rene has since shut his own eyes and clearly does not protest to being pulled about; when it becomes easier, his cheek even rubs down into Jackson's chest, mouth threatening a squeaky yawn and the hand that was on his torso now curled into his shirt. The one in the clover is resting by Jackson's neck, where the smaller fingers are now cradling longer sprouts. About now is the time that the flowers begin to bud, dainty purple and white puffs in the pillow of green.

Jackson's hands are warm, and getting warmer as the glow brightens, perhaps uncomfortably so; his lips are, too, as he presses fingers beneath Rene's chin, turning the older boy's face upwards so that he can kiss him, fierce and deep, his other hand sliding along Rene's back, pressing the boy's body to his.

While the warmth of everything is getting warmer still, Rene does not move yet; perhaps he somehow does not notice, perhaps he has not reached his heating point, or perhaps he simply does not care. The kiss that Jackson gets back is just as deep as what he gives first, and Rene's brows have creased upward in the middle while he returns the gesture.

Jackson's kisses are hungry, needy, and his hand pushes Rene's shirt up over his back as it moves. Soft whimpers escape him; pleasure or pain, it's hard to tell, perhaps moreso because of how much the two are entwined for him just now. His fingers tug at Rene's shirt, though it's hard to pull it /off/ with lips pressed together, and Jackson seems unwilling to sacrifice even a moment of closeness. The temperature of his skin continues to creep upwards.

Rene knows when to say at least something when things like this begin to happen. He is tangibly hesitant to allow the shirt to be pulled over his arms, and he tries to slow his kiss so that he can gradually pull away, even as the temperature keeps rising. "Sssssshhh." Is his first attempt at soothing words--if Jackson hasn't driven his temperature up in his own sort of dominance, then there also comes a soft sigh of "You're getting warmer than usual.". Just so he knows. But then again--maybe a burn in the shape of Jackson's hand wouldn't be a terrible thing--well, besides the fact it would be a scald.

There is considerable reluctance as Jackson pulls back. His chest is heaving and his eyes squeeze tightly shut, but he wriggles his way backwards, out from under Rene to sit up, pressing the back of a hand to his lips. "Sorry," he says, somewhat breathless. "I -- think I got -- sorry." He laughs, rubbing at his cheek with his hand. "Good Friday." His lips twist in a wry smile. Easter is two days away. He flops back in the grass again, and now the moisture in the earth sizzles and steams where his hands touch the damp ground. His eyes lift back to the sun, fixing there steadily.

Rene lets himself be slid onto the ground as Jackson sits up and away, lying his head onto his upper arm and watching from his still steadily growing clover patch. It does stop, though not until it seems like Rene was about to sink into them. Mmm. "It's okay." Rene smiles happily over at him, pausing and examining the other boy's gaze. "...Can you hear him as well?"

"Hear who?" Jackson's gaze stays focused on the sun, his voice carrying a faraway tone.

"Helios." Rene nuzzles his nose to a clover bud, sounding almost as preoccupied--his idle attention is closer to the ground, though. "I expect he must get bored up there..." Maybe he sings too.

Something in Jackson's expression shuts down at this, and the radiance glowing within him slowly dims. He sits up again, gaze pulling away from the sky to stare out at the water, instead. "No," is simple, and succinct. His fingers trace gently over the edges of clover leaves.

"He might just be harder to hear, so far away." Rene flattens himself into the clover, which is now curling around the parts of him and parts of Jackson that touch it. "I bet you'll hear him eventually."

Jackson stands abruptly, though his face pales slightly with the motion, and his head shakes once. "I won't." His hands slip into his pockets, and he wends his way out of the patch of grass he'd been resting in, bare toes digging into the mud by the water's edge as he moves away from the growing clover.

Rene gets up silently, but his proverbial tail is suddenly between his legs. It is clear on his face, and he tiptoes after Jackson through the mud, fingers twining in front of him and brows creasing upward. Rene is wordless, but his very presence and face are basically 'did I do something wrong?'.

Jackson doesn't say anything, doesn't, even, look at Rene as he approaches. Within his pockets, his fingers curl into fists, denim bulging around his clenched knuckles. His eyes shine, still, but not with any light of his own, now -- they reflect the sun dancing off the water's surface as he stares down into it.

Rene shifts himself to stand beside Jackson instead, blinking softly up at the other boy in a touch of confusion mixed with guilt. "...Did I do something?" He says only after a short pause, his voice just as soft and puzzled.

"No," Jackson answers quietly, his expression softening although his posture remains tense. He seems somewhat shaky, even just standing in one place, and shakier still when he takes an unconscious step away from Rene. One hand uncurls and lifts from his pocket to brush at some dirt crusted onto his shirt from lying so long in the mud. "I should go. Shower. Change. I got myself filthy." His voice is a low mutter, and he brushes more dirt from his clothing with jerkily abrupt gestures.

"There's a river right here." The words seem to be out of Rene's mouth before he realizes it, though. He shrugs a little and rubs at his face a bit. "I mean...um. Uh. I'll walk back with you...?"

For a moment longer Jackson picks at the mud on his clothing, and then he shoots a bright smile at Rene. "Okay." The shakiness gets worse as he starts back towards the house, steps wobbly and unsteady. His hand returns to his pocket, curling back into a fist.

Rene is there to try and support Jackson's shakiness, with a steady hand and a ready shoulder as they walk, the former going to the boy's arm in a gentle supportive gesture. He's here, but only as long as he is allowed to be.

Jackson doesn't make any attempt to pull away, but he doesn't seem to be paying much attention, either. He looks down at the ground as he trudges to the house in tense silence. Once inside, he does finally pull back, shrugging Rene's hand away. "Gonna go wash up."

Rene is reluctant to disengage himself from Jackson's arm and side, but he remains hanging there in a stand even while his hand is shrugged away. "Okay."

Jackson hesitates a second, on the verge of saying something, but his lips press together and he stays silent. The expression he wears in the brief moment he looks at Rene before turning away is odd and not particularly pleasant; there's a strange coldness in his eyes that is quite unfamiliar to his expression. His shoulders hunch as he slouches away towards the room that is temporarily his.

Rene does not like that look, and his shoulders even sink a little as this happens and Jackson turns. He was going to say something, and Rene seems to know it. "If you ever need to talk, you know I'll listen." His hands link and his fingers wring, and he poses what might seem a silly question. "Would you like me to help you out? I'm pretty deft with a soapy washcloth." Still attached mentally right now, yes. "Or I could...just..." Do something else.

"I think I can handle taking a shower on my own." Jackson's tone has a sharp edge to it, but it is softer and somewhat apologetic for the terseness when he adds, "-- two days. Prob'ly shouldn't be tempting nothing." His fingers grip the bannister far too tightly as he starts up the stairs, cautiously.

Rene sighs a little. Maybe another day. "I guess I will go make some phone calls. Maybe help Annabel a bit." He sounds disappointed, but understanding all the same. "I'll be down here, either way." His foot wiggles once behind him.

Jackson's steps continue up the stairs and then vanishing somewhere on the next floor. They stop only with the sound of his door closing. Despite the reason for the return to the house, it is quite some time before the shower can be heard running.

Sunset; Annabel (NPC), Rene, Sunset; Angel, Rene

2008-03-21T06:46:10Z

I told her. I mean, everything. About how I've been feeling and all. It's weird, after getting so used to hiding all the time -- but that's what I do, that's what I am. It's what I'm best at. Putting a nice shiny veneer of cheerful over everything, always.

It's like a breath of fresh air to let my guard down, to not pretend around someone -- at all. I mean, I just -- I love Rene, I do. But I don't know how I could talk to him about something like this. What would I say? What could I possibly say? I'd rather die than marry you? Which isn't it, but -- if I go through with this, it clearly is, right? But it's not. It's just hard. Everything's so heavy and I'm so disconnected -- and that's what I'd have to tell him. I can't do this alone. I can't do this alone. To which he'd say I'm not alone -- but I am. That would be the hardest thing to tell him, I think, because -- he's my fiance and I know he loves me so much and shouldn't that count for something in the whole not being alone department? Other people who care about me (I think?) -- shouldn't they count for something? I want them to. I do. But the truth is, they -- don't. They don't make it any less alone. No matter how much I love them, there's still this -- wall I can't break through, I don't know how to break through.

So I just pretend. Pretend to feel connections. Pretend to smile. Pretend a lot of things.

It was nice not to.

Even if -- me, who I am when I take that mask off, it isn't very pretty. It isn't very happy. But she didn't freak out and run away. She didn't cry or beg or plead. She didn't try to talk me out of it. She didn't try to shove me in a psych ward and tell me it's for my own good. She didn't tell me I'm dumb and don't know what's best for me because I'm only a teenager. She didn't lie to me and tell me it'll be okay, everything will work out in the end, time heals all wounds.

All the things she could have done, and didn't. It was a relief. To just be -- heard. I wanted to hug her forever. I guess -- after all she's been through herself, I guess she understands. I mean -- she was dead, too. She was -- a lot of things.

It's weird that -- well. That a story like hers is -- a year or two ago I'd never have believed it. But I trust her, and, heck, we're in the middle of an alien invasion, so --

Also, I really like the people here. Hearing about Mister Worthington's dad makes me want to cry. And hug Angel, a lot. I never had no surgeons come try to 'fix' me -- for me it was therapy and then getting shunted off to New York and then disowned -- but. But.

That look on his face when he was younger --

I'm glad he had good people, to help get rid of it for him.

Log. Thursday morning. 20 March. Worthington house, Virginia.

While Sunset knows full good and well there are people who could cook her whatever she wanted for breakfast - and probably do much better at it than she ever could - that doesn't mean that she /wants/ people to wait on her. So, here she is, despite a few protests from the usual cook, making her own scrambled eggs. Hair tied back into a braid, the redhead dressed in the same clothes she had worn yesterday, though barefoot.

The trudge of bare feet against the floor signals Jax's arrival into the kitchen, dressed, still, in the same clothes he'd pulled on before leaving Xavier's to find Rene: faded and scuffed bluejeans, a long-sleeved black shirt with belled-out sleeves, a pale green t-shirt layered over it and printed with Dr. Seuss characters and the words 'I am the Lorax. I speak for the trees.' His clothes are looking rather disheveled, and so is he, hair rumpled, eyes heavily shadowed. He pauses as he notices the woman at the stove, a wide smile stretching across his face. "Miss Sunset! You ain't been eaten by aliens!"

Looking over at the trudge of bare feet, Sunset is already smiling before Jackson noticed her, completely and utterly amused by his shirt. "I speak for the trees, for the trees have no tongues." She replies, before chuckling. "Good morning! Do you want some breakfast? I can't make much other than pancakes, eggs, and French toast, however."

Jackson's smile widens as she finishes the quote, though it twists sheepish as he shakes his head. "I can't eat none of that," he says apologetically. "Vegan." He neglects to add that he has all but stopped eating, though (even though illusion covers it up neatly, to the eyes) it is likely apparent enough as he moves over to wrap his arms around her from behind and give her a hug -- his arms, his entire frame, all gaunt bony angles in place of the wiry-strong muscles he once had. "I'm glad you didn't get eaten," he says brightly. "Do you think they'll eat the whole city?" There is, maybe, a touch too much /hopefulness/ in this question.

Her smile falters as Jackson hugs her, though her arms rest instinctly on his. However, this does not help to comfort her as much as it should. "I don't know... Maybe." Sunset answers, turning around to look him over. While his body may /look/ perfectly fine, it's not really his physical being that she's looking at. The small worry on her face growing immensely, she sighs quietly. "What's got you so sad, Jackson? I don't think just an alien invasion would cause this."

Jackson draws back slightly as Sunset turns, thumbs hooking into his pockets as he rocks back on his heels, shaking jet-black hair from his eyes and squinting over at her. "I don't mind the aliens," he replies with a lopsided grin. "I mean, I hope they don't kill nobody, but the world could do with a bit less clutter." Clearly, this is not an answer.

Brow furrowing, Sunset shakes her head as she turns back to the stove, moving the frying pan to another burner before the eggs can burn. "What's got you so sad, Jackson?" She repeats, not thrown off her main question by his answer.

Jackson's hand lifts to brush at his hair again, pushing it back off his forehead. "I don't look sad, do I?" His shoulders hitch upwards in a jerky shrug. "I jus' got a whole lot of artwork done all at once so maybe I'm hurting. You should /see/ what I look like /under/ my shirt. T'ain't pretty. Yet! But it will be when it heals."

Lips thinning as she presses them together, Sunset nods. "Yes. The design is certainly interesting." She answers, looking over at him again, eyes dilated a bit more than they normally would be, voice a tad bit deeper. "It's painful as well, isn't it? Your aura at the moment... Quite the kalediscope, though not with the pretty, bright colors it used to be." Leaning against the counter, her head tilts curiously. "You're using your powers to look normal, aren't you?"

"You can see it through my clothes?" Jackson's eyes widen, impressed, and then he giggles. "I'm /always/ using my powers. I don't hardly never look /normal/." Dyed-black hair shifts bright green, and the piercings on his face rearrange themselves.

Not returning his amusement, Sunset pushes herself from the counter, walking closer to the boy. "Jackson, do you know what an aura is?" She asks, conversationally. While she is worried, very worried, about Jackson, he's not the only one who can hide how they feel.

"Sorta! I see fake ones. I have one that /anyone/ can see, when I don't hold it back. Mine just hafta do with light, though, an' not like -- people's souls." Jackson closes his eyes briefly, and seems to relax a touch; the air around him springs to life with a swirling storm of colours, all chaotic dark greys and midnight blues, before his jaw tightens slightly and it vanishes again. "I'd look like that all the /time/ if I didn't make an effort to keep it turned off. You look like that. Everyone looks like that."

"Curiouser and curiouser." Sunset murmurs, in reply. "And do you know what a person's aura, the one that reflects their sould, can show?"

Jackson shrugs a shoulder. "Oh, everything, I guess."

"Everything, yes. That's a good guess. Emotions, injuries, when someone is lying, if someone is a mutant or not, if they're using their powers... Jackson, please." Reaching out to touch his cheek, Sunset lets her mask fall, showing exactly how worried she is. "What's got you so sad?"

Jackson's eyes slip closed again, cheek turning slightly into Sunset's touch, and a smile flickers on his lips again, though this one is pained, sad. "Oh," he repeats, with a quiet breath of laughter, "everything, I guess."

"That's quite a lot of things." Hand moving to where her palm rests against Jackson's cheek, Sunset steps closer, lightly leaning her forehead against his. "I've heard this newfangled idea that's going around. Talking about things. I've heard it helps... If you ever want somebody to talk to, I've got a knack for keeping conversations between only the conferees."

Jackson breathes out a shaky sigh, and stays where he is, head resting against Sunset's. "I ain't much good at it, miss," he admits. "Talking about things. Not /these/ things, anyhow."

"I've found that things get easier to talk about, the more you talk about them." She answers, quietly. "Starting off can be hard, but after that... For instance, do you want to know a secret of mine?"

"Mmm?" Jackson's head pulls back to tilt slightly, curious.

Giving a small smile, it takes Sunset a moment to admit it. "I was dead once, too." She whispers. "For about six years."

Jackson blinks at this, confused. "You were a zombie?"

Smile widening, Sunset gives a small giggle, shaking her head. "No. I was just... dead. No body. No life, no... andything, I don't remember what it was like. It's like trying to describe what sleeping without dreams is like."

"But you're here, now," Jackson says, still confused.

"Mhmm." She nods. "I am. It's amzing what a bit of waiting and willpower can get you... Of course, it was only until about seven months ago that I was /me/ again." Pausing as she realizes that none of this is making much sense, Sunset bites her lip lightly for a moment. "Come on, sweetie, let's go find a place to sit down. This story might take a while, and the kitchen isn't the best place to tell it. I don't mind telling /you/ this, but for all I know, this place has microphones."

Jackson's brow is creased in puzzlement, but he nods. "Outside!" he suggests, ingrained anarchist security culture training kicking in. "We can -- take a walk."

"Considering this place, I'm sure it's possible to take a /very/ long walk." She grins, before looping Jackson's arm through hers. "I /think/ I remember where the front door is... Shouldn't be too hard to find the outside from there." Eventually, they do find the door, along with the outside world, and even with Sunset doing her best to tell the shortened version, it does still take a while. After all, even a summarized version of almost sixty years can take a good bit of time. "...And I think this is the part where most people would say 'And she lived happily ever after.' but I think that's still in the works."

Jackson is very quiet, pensive, throughout Sunset's story; he watches her expression carefully, lip caught between his teeth. He exhales a slow breath when she is done, looking down to the ground before glancing back up at her with just one question: "Why are you telling /me/ all this?"

Smile quirking at her lips, she eventually gives a shrug. "Like I said before... Once you start talking about things, it gets easier to talk about. If I had even tried to tell you that a few months ago, I would have stopped halfway through the first sentence. But now..." Spreading her fingers wide, Sunset shrugs again. "That, and I trust you. If I didn't think you would be able to keep this to yourself when you needed to, I would have found another way to make my point." Looking over at him, she gives him a comforting grin. "I'm not going to make you tell me anything in return. If you don't want to, that's your decision, after all. But, if you ever need someone to talk to... I always have an ear open."

"I want to be dead," Jackson says in reply, without hesitation but without much tone, either. His blue eyes fix on Sunset carefully, gauging.

While Sunset is sure most people's reaction at this moment would be to freak out, something along the lines with tears and begging, the redhead is not most people. Only blinking, she looks over curiously at Jax. "Why?" She simply asks.

"Too -- too many things. It's -- too much. I should have been dead before. I /was/ dead before. I ain't felt right at all since they brought me back." Jackson's shoulders slump, and colour blossoms around him against as he relaxes his control, an aura of darkly swirling shadows around his unhealthily thin form. "I mean, it's like they brought my body back to life but the rest of me is still -- sick. Dead. I don't know. An' it just keeps getting worse. Everything just keeps getting worse. I try to pretend things are okay but I can't feel like -- part of this world no more. It's like this wall I just can't break down, and inside it there's just me and a lot of pain, and outside it is the rest of the world and I can't -- can't touch --" His eyes squeeze shut, head shaking abruptly. "Sorry. I'm rambling."

"You can ramble all you want around me, sweetie. It still finds a way to make sense." She speaks, after a moment of silent contemplation. "This is going to sound like an odd question, but... When you were a zombie, you were given a new body, right? How did they do that?"

"I don't know. It wasn't new, it was -- they just -- healed the one I had, I guess. Made it alive again. I -- I want to think something went wrong with it, but --" Jackson shrugs. "I think it's just me something's wrong with. It's just -- between dying and -- and I /killed/ someone and -- my parents kicking me out and --" He breaks off again with a slight shudder. "I don't know. It's all too heavy. There ain't nowhere that feels right, no more. Nothing that feels like -- like home. Like family. I could almost deal with all the bad things, so long as I had that. And I know that there's people that /should/ be -- that I /should/ feel --" Another slight shake of his head. "I don't even know how to say any of this to Rene. It'd hurt him."

Arm wrapping around Jackson's shoulder, Sunset shakes her head. "No, there's nothing wrong with you. I don't know if this is normal, considering I don't think anyone else has gone through all of this in such a short amount of time, but... It sounds, to me, like you've just had too much bad stuff happen far too quickly, and you don't know how to deal with it all."

Jackson rests against Sunset, thankful for the touch. "I just want it to stop," he says, quiet. "I just want to stop it. I just -- m'/going/ to stop it. I can't keep -- pretending. To feel all these things I don't feel." His fingers twist absently at the engagement ring shining on his finger. "Can't keep pretending I'm still that -- bouncy happy kid who wants to give everyone hugs and get married and raise a family and -- and I don't. Don't want much of anything except to make it all /end/."

Arm squeezing around his shoulders for a slight moment, Sunset remains quiet for the next few moments, expression thoughtful. "I think that..." She starts, before stopping with a small shake of her head, voice lowering to try and hide the sound of her choking up. "Jackson, I'm one of those people who trusts a person's decision. If I can tell they've made their mind up, in their minds /and/ hearts, then I don't try and argue them out of it. If... If you /do/ go through with this then..." She pauses, trying to think of how to word the rest of this. "THen I'm not going to try and stop you. If you do it, then... All I'm asking of you, if you do, then do it in a peaceful way. Don't use a gun, don't use a knife. Find a way for it to be peaceful, so that whoever finds you... So it isn't even worse for them, alright? And, if you do this, leave letters. For the people you love, because... Just to explain. Leaving them to imagine things and wonder if they caused it, it's not... Just, try and make this easier for the survivors, if you do this, alright? If you do it."

Jackson nods, eyes closing, his own arm wrapping back around Sunset (gingerly, carefully, so as not to aggravate the healing wounds lacing his body.) "I don't -- want to -- make it no harder for anyone. I just --" His head shakes again. "I'm sorry," he says, very quietly.

"Sweetie, what do you think would be harder for others? You being gone, and them eventually accepting you're at peace, or you sticking around for them and being worse than miserable?" She asks, softly. "I can honestly say I would rather you be at peace then doing nothing but /pretend/ for the rest of your life."

Jackson laughs, quiet and shaky, head turning to rest against Sunset's shoulder. "I'm good at pretending," he whispers, and the world around them shifts and changes, trees springing to life with improbably-coloured flowers, cheerfully bright birds and butterflies flitting betwen the suddenly lush canopy overhead. "-- Sometimes I think it's all I do. Sometimes I think I even have myself fooled. But it's exhausting. It's exhausting, pretending all the time."

"You don't have to pretend around me, Jax." Sunset whispers back, pulling Jackson into a hug, or as much as she can with her swollen stomach. "Around me, you can take breaks."

The flowers wither, around them, and the leaves follow soon after; before long, the trees are dead and decaying, and the general air around them oppressively gloomy. Jackson trembles slightly in Sunset's arms, returning the hug carefully. "I don't think most people would appreciate it if I went around making the world look like this all the time," he says, softly, "but if I just let it happen the way it /wants/ to happen --" He shrugs a shoulder. The subconscious manifestations of his mind, these days, are far from cheerful.

Looking around at the dead plants and trees, Sunset slowly looks back to Jax, eyes perhaps a small bit more watery than they were before. "I know it's a pointless thing to ask, but human nature won't leave me alone about it. Are you /sure/ you want it to all end?"

"I --" Jackson hesitates, and then shakes his head, slightly. "I want it to stop hurting. I want it to stop feeling like I ain't really part of the world no more. I don't know how else to make it stop, and I can't keep carrying it around no more."

Nodding, she gives a shaky sigh. "Alright... When are you going to do it?"

"I don't know," Jackson says, his voice very small. "Whenever I can't -- /not/ do it anymore."

Nodding again, Sunset looks down for a moment. "Alright." She repeats, before trying to swallow around the lump in her throat. "Just remember that... If you need anyone to talk to about this..."

"Thank you." Jackson pulls back suddenly, eyes wide and pleading as he looks at her. "You -- you said you won't tell anyone, miss, right? You -- won't tell Rene?"

"No, Jackson, I won't tell anybody." She swears. "I keep my word when I give it, and even if I didn't, Rene isn't going to be as calm about this as I am... I don't think he'd make it much easier for you, if he knew. I mean, he would think what he was doing was best, because I believe he would try and get you help, but... Help sometimes just makes things worse.

"Thank you," Jackson says again, voice a near whisper. Slowly the world around them returns to normal; the dark colours around him vanish; his gaunt appearance turns to a healthy one. He flashes a smile at Sunset, bright and cheerful. "We should get back inside. Finish your breakfast."

Blinking at the difference and how well he can pull it off, Sunset attempts a small, watery smile. "I'm not sure I'm so hungry anymore. I'm sure the eggs are cold by now anyway." She answers, looping her arm through his again. "But, we should get back inside. For all we know, they've started looking for us."

Confession.

Log. Thursday morning. 20 March. Worthington house, Virginia.

Sleep, glorious sleep--Rene had been up for a Very Long Time, plus he had driven the entire way down here. So, sleeping is all he wanted to do after he got settled in. The boy is still asleep, and still in his dayclothes; he has found a bed, but he remains on top of the bedding itself. Rene's hair is snaking all over the pillow, and he lies on his side with his back towards the door and both arms tucked in front of him. While he does not snore, his breath still makes a whisper of a noise.

Sleep, glorious or not, is about to be disturbed by a disturbingly perky Jackson, who has not, himself, slept. What he /has/ done is cooked breakfast -- closer to brunch, by now, really -- and he pushes the door to the room open with his hip, balancing a tray carefully in his arms. It is heavily laden -- tofu scramble, improvised (eggless!) French Toast, grits, tempeh sausages, orange juice, a steaming hot mug of tea. "Rene!" he carols brightly, "Made you /food/ y'can sleep again after you eat cuz it'll totally get cold but sleep won't!"

Rene stirs just a bit, his shoulders rolling to face the bed. and his head moving so that his face is buried in the pillow. What? Eventually, he sort-of peeks out from his hiding spot. What's going on? Foodsmells? Rene is not technically awake yet.

"Breakfast!" Jackson perches on the edge of Rene's bed, tray balanced now across his legs. "C'mon, hon, me an' Miss Sunset made it! She's here, now. She didn't get tooked by aliens or nothin'! Anyway I totally interrupted her breakfast this mornin' but hopefully helped make up for it by making a /new/ breakfast."

Rene hears the words 'Sunset' and 'breakfast', really. Both of them together seem to wake him up, and he turns over onto his back. Hmn? "Sunset's here?" He sounds sleepy and relieved at the same time, while he tries to make sense of his vision. Bedhead, too. Whoops. "'S smells yummy..."

"That's cuz it /is/ yummy. And yes. Sunset's here!" Jackson scoots up slightly on the mattress, carefully leaning over to kiss Rene lightly on the forehead. "Now, sit up! Upupup. Y'can eat and /then/ go back an' sleep more."

Rene responds to the little touch, eyes blinking harder and his chest expanding in a waking hiss of breath. The blonde pushes himself completely up, bedhead following and his face looking quite bleary. "I dunno if I should go back t'sleep. Been sleepin'...should probably not spend my time in bed."

"Why not? S'comfy here. An' you got your /very own/ boyfriend t'bring you breakfast in it! You should sit back an' enjoy being spoiled," Jackson says with a grin.

A sleepy smile grows on Rene's face, and he examines both Jackson and the food. "I was spoiled for a long time." He laughs and lifts a hand to rub at the corners of his eyes. "But if you think so..." He can handle another breakfast of it. Sure.

"Considering where we are, we might have to get used to temporarily being spoiled." Sunset speaks up from the doorway, arms lightly crossed over her chest. Giving a lopsided grin, she eyes Rene's hair with amusement. "Morning, sunshine."

"/I/ wouldn't mind," Jackson says with a laugh. He sets his tray down on the mattress, carefully sliding it in front of Rene. "I ain't never been in my life. I'mm'a milk it up. To heck with aliens, I've got seventy bajillion threadcount sheets."

Rene smiles more now. People! Morning people. "I kind of forgot to get under the blankets." Sheets can come later. Right now, there is food, and Rene puts down his hand to find a utensil. His eyes have gone from a mirthful look on Jackson to a questioning expression for Sunset. "How're you holding up? I was going to call people, but...I kinda fell asleep."

"Well, I'm not a sobbing little ball in the corner, so." She replies, with a smirk. "Come on, Rene, compared to me, aliens aren't all /that/ odd, are they?"

"I listened to the news this morning an' New York ain't exploded, yet," Jackson informs Rene. There is a hint of disappointment in his tone at this. His eyes dance with laughter, though, as he flicks a look back towards Sunset. "Compared to /you/, miss, aliens is totally ugly. They didn't even stand a chance."

Rene has a mouth full of food and a pair of wide-awake eyes by the time the two finish speaking. "I certainly was not expecting aliens, so yes, I find it all odd. Very odd." Rene may not make too much sense, but he's trying! "I'm glad it isn't exploded. I have friends still there..." His food-eating is paused for a moment, where he simply picks at some of it before taking smaller bites.

Smirk widening, Sunset chuckles. "I don't think Jackson wants anyone to /die/ in the explosion, but if the city was gone it... what were your words, Jax? It would take care of some clutter?"

"Totally," Jackson affirms with a bright smile. "New York City is terrifying, when you think about it. Most cities are. Just this gigantic cancerous /growths/ strangling nature. The aliens could be like -- chemotherapy! Help the earth /breathe/ again."

Rene is quiet for a bit. Hm. "Point noted." Rene likes people and civilization and material and all--but there was a reason he works with plants. "I hope Seymour is okay. I don't think he will like it if they try and invade his space."

"Considering the last I heard, they were after metal, Seymour should be fine as long as they don't go near him." Sunset answers, walking a bit farther into the room. "Besides, unless he bothers them first, they probably won't even touch him."

"Yeah, they seem to leave most things alone 'less they get interrupted in their work." Jackson shrugs a shoulder, and lies back -- carefully, gingerly -- against the mattress. "I hope they don't hurt him. I hope they don't hurt anyone! But I got a feeling people are gonna try -- interrupting!"

Rene nods. "They already trashed a few of the tiny things. I wish someone more knowledgeable was doing that part, though. Where the hell is Anachronism when people actually /need/ him?" The boy lets out a grunt as he slips into a moment of private ranting while he munches.

Eyebrow raising, Sunset shoots Jackson a confused look. Who? "I'd prefer Magneto for once, actually. They're made of metal, aren't they? It should be a piece of cake for him to finish off."

Jackson's sunny expression briefly vanishes in place of a scowl and a badly repressed shudder at the mention of Anachronism; unthinkingly, his hand lifts to rub at the back of his head, fingers tracing against the base of his skull. "I think everyone should jus' leave them alone," he says with a slight sigh. "Let 'em take what they need an' don't hurt them 'less /they/ instigate it. Everyone's so quick to violence but we ain't even figured out how to communicate with 'em."

"Anachronism is a technopath before he is a salvaging creature...that's all." Rene wasn't thinking in terms of him being violent, and takes care in finishing his words about the borg-man. "Technopaths could talk to the machines. They've not actually...seen an alien yet, I don't think." The boy shrugs once and relinquishes the conversation topic. "Is there anyone else being sent here, or is it just us and the household...?"

"Warren said he's send Cole down if theings got too bad up there, but as for now, he's looking after her." Sunset answers. "I'm sure Oz had a place to stay as well, but he decided against it. Went back to the City to get some things, and the last I heard he was going to stay in Pennsylvania."

Jackson shrugs, and then winces slightly at the motion. "I ain't seen nobody. I like it here. It's -- peaceful."

"I haven't had the chance to look around much. I came up here and passed out." A small chuckle comes out of Rene now. "Since I've slept so well, it must be peaceful. Who's Cole?"

"Warren's unofficial daughter, as of now. Cute little thing. Somewhat meek, though." Sitting down on the edge of the bed finally, legs crossing under her, Sunset chews her lip thoughtfully for a moment. "Then again, if my father had treated me like that until a totally rich dude got custody of me, I'd be meek, too."

Jackson's expression tightens somewhat. "Mister Worthington's new --" he begins, but Sunset answers the question. "Yeah." For a second the air around him shimmers, too quick to resolve into anything definite, and then his eyes lift to the ceiling, lips quirking into a smile. "If my folks were horrible to me an' then someone adopted me who really cared about me, I'd be ecstatic," he says lightly.

Rene isn't going to ask into this part much. "Ohh. I see." Food-munching is all the noise he seems to make. "Did you guys already eat?" Am I being rude? Oops. Well, he did sort of get woken up by it? It's natural to start eating when that happens.

"No, I made breakfast earlier. I didn't really get around to eating it, since I got distracted with talking to Jackson, but apparently my appetite can be soothed with conversation as well." Sunset grins. "I'll have to remember that if I ever want to diet later on, for some reason."

"Don't worry," Jackson says with a laugh and a wave of his hand. "/That's/ for you. I'm all set. -- An' I'm jus' /that/ filling," he adds, slight smile stretching into a wider grin. "Twenty minutes of Jax a day an' you'll get all the nutrients you need!"

Good enough answers for Rene to keep up his nibblings. "If that's the case, why do you still feed me? I hope I don't get spoiled /and/ fat."

"Well, it's obvious, isn't?" Sunset dryly remarks. "We're fattening you up to put you in the oven. Shephard's pie with Frenchman on top."

"Miss Sunset!" Jackson says with mock reproach, shooting the woman a Very Severe look. "You wasn't s'posed to /tell/ him!"

Rene makes a pouting face, but he doesn't stop his chewing. "Awwww. I hope I give you both indigestion." He says this seriously, but is still eating. Apparently he wouldn't mind them putting him on a pie!

"Well, it's not like we couldn't catch him anyway!" She replies, smiling. "All I have to do is sit on him. He's not moving after that. Trust me." Landwhale that she's becoming. "Of course, we'd hve to catch him first, and that's where /you/ come in, Mr. Holland."

"Me? I couldn't catch --" Jackson pauses, and sits upright, a bright smile stretching across his face. His brow creases in concentration, lip catching between his teeth. A few seconds later, a shimmering sphere appears around Rene (and his breakfast.) "There!" Jackson says triumphantly. "All caught!"

"..........." Rene is now...in a bubble. "/What/." At first he looks disturbed. But suddenly he takes his tofu-bearing fork to stab at the sphere.

Eyes widening at the bubble, Rene isn't the only one that reaches out to poke at the sheild. Her hand, though is forkless, so Sunset settles with a finger. "You're just full of surprises today, aren't you, sweetie?"

The sphere offers no leeway to the attacking tofuforkweapon, remaining quite resolutely solid. Likewise, with Sunset's finger, though the finger would be able to feel the warmth of the forcefield's surface. Jackson's arms cross behind his head, and he looks up at the ceiling, smug. "-- Some less alarming than others, p'raps," he says with a quiet laugh.

At that point, Annabel walked in, white hair neatly done up, apron on, ready to start a day of cooking. Only to find /her/ kitchen a mess and breakfast already cooked. "And just what is the meaning of /this/?" She scolds, sounding angry and amused at the same time. "What I'm going to do with the three of you, I just don't know!"

Rene sticks the tofu end of his fork into his mouth and onto the plate, reaching out to touch at the forcefield with his palms. He looks determined to touch it all over, apparently. This is /new/ and vaguely familiar. When Annabel bustles into the room, he is probably still stuck in the bubble. "I didn't do it! They are fattening me up."

"We're putting him in a pie!" Sunset pipes up, with a large grin. "And since you cooking the food that would fatten him up would make you an accessory to murder, we just made it ourselves."

The forcefield is no less sturdy when Rene's hands touch it than when the fork did. It remains, a cheerfully colourful prison for the teenager. And for his breakfast.
Jackson, meanwhile, cants a sheepishly apologetic look towards Annabel, blue eyes wide and innocent. "M'sorry, ma'am! But if you like, you can have some Rene-pie for lunch. It's gonna be real tasty."

Annabel shook her finger at the three of them, laughter breaking through the attempt at anger. "There will be no cooking people in this house. Or anywhere on the property. And it seems to me it's not this young lad that needs feeding up." She indicates bubble-Rene. "But this one." She points to Jackson, giving him the kind of piercing, no bullshit allowed look only a mother of several children can truly manage. "And Warren wanted the three of you taken care of, so I'm going to make /sure/ you leave here with more weight on you and more color in your face than when you arrived! Lord-a-mercy, you're skinnier than Warren was when he arrived here, and that's saying something!"

Rene scoots his food so that he does not bump it when he leans forward to press his forehead onto it. Bonk. Bonk. "Feed him for me. Please." His eyes are bright and interested now. "Sooo...um. When did /this/ happen? Reminds me of the missus Fantastic..."

"Oh, look, Jackson, he;s hitting his head /for/ us. He must really want to go into that pie." Sunset grins, resting her chin in the palm of one hand. "And to my defense, I /offered/ to cook him breakfast, but everything I know how to make involves milk and eggs. Thus, it's a moot point."

"It's usually much simpler for everyone when I cook my own," Jackson adds, more genuinely apologetic this time. "M'sorta a pain!" He giggles at Rene's head-hitting, but then shoots an interested look of his own towards Annabel. "Mister Worthington? Really?" His eyes light. "You don't happen t'have any /pictures/ do you? Cuz I'm gonna need photographic evidence to believe he was ever anything less'n gorgeous."

Annabel gave Jackson a piercing look, then snorted. "Honey, you just tell Annabel what it is you need and leave the worrying about the meals to me. I've cooked for fussier appetites than you." Like Worthington Jr. and his cronies. Then she laughs. "We've plenty of pictures." She says. "Sent a copy of some of the more embarassing ones with Warren when he left, to keep him from getting too big for his britches. Not that it helped." There's fond exasperation in her tone when she says that. "But I'll be more'n glad to show you."

Rene is more interested in his bubble than the food or pictures. Bonk. For measure, he even opens his mouth to lick it.

Letting out a snort of laughter, the redhead brings a hand up to cover her mouth, though it does nothing to stifle the giggling, along with the few words here and there. Most of them are unintelligible, but the words 'half plucked' and 'chicken wings' are easily understandable.

Jackson watches Rene with decided amusement in his expression before bouncing slightly where he sits. "I want t'see pictures! I make absolutely no guarantees I won't reproduce them for the student body when I get back, though. -- an' I ain't /picky/, exactly, I just -- I don't eat nothin' that came from animals, so. It limits things sometimes."

Annabel gives Sunset a confused look before her expression clears and becomes a grin. "You've seen them, then." She says, then snorts at Jackson again. "Ahh, I see. You're a vegetarian. Well, never you mind about that. I can handle that." Then the grin widens. "And I'll just go get the photo album, and be right back." Then she shakes a finger at Jackson. "Now you let him out of that bubble, you hear?"

Rene likes it in here! He has even leaned back against it and continued to eat his brunch. Hm? "I like my new hamsterball."

"Vegan." Sunset corrects, once she can speak again. "He doesn't eat dairy or anythng either... And yes, I've seen them, though I'd love to see them again." Blinking and casting Rene an amused look, the redhead grins, tugging lightly on the end of her braid. "Well, you /are/ hamsterlike..."

Jackson giggles, and lets the shield drop abruptly, support vanishing without warning from Rene's back. "Yes'm!" he chirrups, innocent and obedient.

Annabel huffs. "You, young man, are asking to be put over my knee." She scolds, before disappearing from the kitchen for a few moments. Then she returns, with a family photo album considerably thicker than the small one at Warren's house. "Here we go. This is the one that we started when Warren arrived." She settled in the middle of the group and set the album down, opening it to the first page. Sunset's seen this picture. Warren, aged fourteen and a half, looking sullen and angry and yes, skinny and virtually /nothing/ like the Warren Jackson and Rene know. Just visible behind Warren are short, stubby wings about two feet long apiece, no feathers in sight.

Rene lets out a small 'ack' as he falls onto the bed. "Heeeeey." He's laughing, though. After he sits up and rights things again, Annabel is back. He shifts his things again, keeping the brunch within reach as the old woman opens the album. He gets to peek between some shoulders at the first page. "...oh, /Warren/. I will never look at him the same." His voice is full of amusement, with a touch of pity. They /are/ chicken wings.

Sunset's reaction is about the same as it was before the photo album was brought out. Laughter. And lots of it.

Jackson's eyes open wiiide, and he bursts into laughter as well. Little pinpoints of multicoloured lights dance around him, erupting in time with the sound. "That's Mister Worthington?"

Annabel joins in the hilarity. "Yes, it is. Doesn't look much like him, does it? Poor boy. He hated the /world/ then. He was so angry and bitter at his father. At being exiled out here because his father couldn't stand the sight of him anymore." Annabel sounds outright furious at Worthington Jr. "We had a time with him for a few months." And there follow a series of pictures of a Warren as unlike the affable, easygoing man they know as is possible ... all angry, and sullen, though the sullen look gradually fades. "Joshua took him, if you'll forgive the expression, under his wing. Did the boy a world of good." And then there's the picture of Warren's 15th birthday. The wings are about double the length they were in the first photo ... and feathers are starting to grow in, giving them a 'half-plucked chicken' look. It doesn't help that Warren looks to be starting a growth spurt, all knees and elbows. He and Joshua are kneeling in front of a flowerbed, Warren caught mid-argument, for once looking animated and something like happy, while Joshua is openly laughing at Warren, waving a trowel at him. "This was taken about two weeks after Mr. Worthington visited for the first time, bringing that ... that ... that /monster/ with him." Annabel spat the last bit, looking even madder than before.

Rene examines the next pictures carefully, his smile only waning at the latter one, where it is replaced by a tilt of his head. That's a familiar scene--Warren and Rene have more in common than he had thought. "I have someone like Joshua." His smile now is more content. "I'm kind of glad he filled out. If I had met him when he was that age I don't know if I would have taken him as seriously." Giggle.

Calming laughter only starting up again as she reaches her favorite picture of the bunch, Sunset soon calms completely at Annabel's last words. "When he brought the surgeon, right?" She asks, looking back down at the picture. "I'm glad he couldn't. I like his wings."

"I think it's understandable," Jackson says, suddenly very quiet. "Feeling bitter an' angry if your folks can't even -- stand the sight of you." His brow creases, and the dancing lights around him fade. "...Monster? /Surgeon/?" He sounds mildly alarmed.

"That's good to hear, lad." Annabel says. "Everyone needs a Joshua in their lives. It helps immensely." Then she nods to Sunset. "Yes. The surgeon. If you want to call him that. I call him a monster. First do no harm? Bah!" She snorted. "Mr. Worthington brought that man here and they talked about Warren like he was a piece of furniture, then dragged him off who knows where. Boy came back that night shaking like a leaf and scared out of his mind. Locked himself in his room, and it took us two days to get him to come back out, which is when he told us the surgeon'd been hired to amputate the wings." There's a mother's protective fury in Annabel's expression and voice. "Only damn good that mess did was get it through Warren's head that /we/ weren't the enemy."

Rene looks a bit shocked, and sounds alarmed as well. "...surgeon? He wanted to tear them out?" Now he looks disgusted. "I changed my mind. I am more glad that I have not met Warren's old man. If I ever do now, I am going to kick him square in the 'nads." Vulgar and crude, but--who's going to argue?

"Oh, I very nearly /did/ and that was before I heard this story. Of course, with my stomach the way it is, I can't quite kick as high as I used to be able to." Sunset grumbles. "I had to settle for basically verbally ripping off his manhood. Not quite as satisfying."

Jackson doesn't say anything. He just looks at the pictures of young-Warren now with suddenly very large and too-bright eyes.

"We wanted to do much the same thing." Annabel admits. "And good for you that you did, Sunset dear. He deserves everything he gets and then some. It was after that we closed ranks around Warren, protected him from his father as much as we could. Became his family, more or less." And the pictures thereafter show it, even if most of them feature Warren and Joshua. The bitterness so evident in the early pictures fades into a look of contentment, even in the more embarrassing pictures, like the one of Warren's first attempt at fly fishing, with him and his wings tangled in about fifteen feet of fishing line.

Rene settles into watching the pictures from beside Jackson now. While he likes the others, "Oops." is all Rene has to say about that fly fishing one. "Do you have any baby pictures? Or is this it?" He wants to see a baby!Warren. For no other reason than to say 'I saw your baby pictures!'.

"No, I asked Joshua... There's no baby pictures because he was never here as a baby, or something. I think. Unofortunately." Sunset answers, sounding desolate about that. "I bet he was one of those cute, chubby babies."

"I bet it's really because he sprang fully formed from the head of Zeus," Jackson says, and then casts another glance towards the photo album and giggles. "-- Well. /Half/ formed."

"Sadly, no. Mr. Worthington left Warren in the care of nannies and nurses and tutors until the wings manifested. The staff caring for him didn't see a /need/ for pictures. There were some from before Mrs. Worthington died, but I have no idea where they might be, or if they survived Mr. Worthington's purge of her from his life. He destroyed all but a handful of pictures the house staff managed to hide from him." Annabel sighed. "Though I do know that no, he was never a chubby baby, or child. He was always on the lean side." More pictures pass, until they come to one that finally looks like it might actually be Warren, celebrating his sixteenth birthday. The wings are full size and fully feathered, though they look HUGE in relation to Warren's still-not-full-grown body. But the hints of the adult Warren are there to be seen. "He started trying to learn to fly after this. Which is why I have white hair and Joshua's halfway there. Boy scared us to /death/ more times than I want to admit."

Rene grins slightly, despite the talk of purging. "When I call him back later I am going to mention this." For sure. "I love looking at old pictures." He even wiggles happily beside Jackson, sitting into the bed a touch more. "I'm happy they're not all gone."

"I'm happy y'all was here for him," Jackson says, a touch wistfully. Impulsively, he leans forwards and pecks Annabel on the cheek before bouncing up from where he sits. "Not that you need /my/ approval, but y'all must'a done something right with him. He's a sweetheart. -- Now, I'm gonna go clean up your kitchen so's you can have it all tidy an' spotless 'fore lunch!" Jackson flashes a bright smile at the older woman before scurrying out of the room.

Chuckling and grinning after him, Sunset sits back, arms crossing lightly over her chest. "Bouncy little thing, isn't he?" she murmurs. Jackson, apparently, isn't the only one who can act when he needs to, the redhead acting as if the morning's conversation didn't happen at all.

Annabel isn't quite as easy a sell. But then, she's seen troubled teen before. "Hmm, yes he is. Feel free to look through this. There are pictures up until his father finally deemed him sufficiently trained to rejoin society." There's more than a little scorn in Annabel's voice.

Rene is content enough to regard most everything as everyday things. Breakfast, forcefields, pictures of chicken-angels. "I think I will look though it." They have a few things in common--maybe there is more. "Would it be fine if I explored the house a bit? And the grounds?" This is just because he is pokey.

Annabel chuckles. "Go right ahead. There's nothing you can't see here. Joshua can show you the best spots to fish, if you like doing that, and he'd be more than happy of another pair of hands in the gardens." Yeah, she'd seen Rene eyeing the picture of Warren and Joshua in the garden. "You'll not have to worry about anyone other than Warren showing up here, either."

"I think I'll go help Jackson clean the kitchen, considering I helped him make the mess." Sunset muses. "It's only fair, really. If you see Joshua, Rene, tell him I said hello. I didn't get to tell him goodbye the last time I saw him, or hear near enough stories."
Breakfast, and Warren looking like a plucked chicken.*

*not part of breakfast.

Log. Thursday evening. 20 March. Worthington house, Virginia.

Jackson has located books, and he has also located trees -- these things were found independently of each other, but he has decided that they need combining. And so, currently he can be found nestled in the branches of a tree in the front of the house, in clothes that are decidedly not his and hang a bit too loose in strange places on his slight frame, paperback novel in hand. His attention, though, has wandered from the book; his bright blue eyes skim idly around the grounds, drinking in the lack-of-city approvingly. Though he is high enough up not to be /immediately/ noticeable, the tree he is perched in is glaringly so: it has blossomed, courtesy of the young illusionist, with a brilliant host of glittering, gem-like flowers; they sparkle and dance in a myriad of colours, faceted petals catching and reflecting the red-orange glow of the setting sun.

The grounds are in the throes of early spring, but the sudden green that seems to appear out of the wooded areas is quite different. It's no time at all before the tall grass, flowers, and whatever else start to spill out of the trees. At the helm and behind a sheet of tall grass--is Rene. He's at the far end of the grounds, but he is visibly running closer. Why? No reason. He has decided to be arbitrary and simply take off in his spur of plant-growth, the hoodie he is wearing looking almost as if it will envelop him. Perhaps it was Warren's too. either way, he is looking quite childish as he scampers in loops and zig zags and hops through his own tall grass. Hop-sprout. Hop-sprout. Flowersflowersflowers. Grass goes FWOOSH and so does he. Weeeeeee!

And this is the scene that Warren sees from the air as he flies in. He starts laughing even before he circles in to land. "What in the /world/?" He calls out as he descends, landing lightly.

From the privacy of his gemstone-flower-covered tree, Jackson flicks a curious glance towards the new growth, eyebrows rising as he observes Rene's antics. He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes, and for a little while he does nothing but watch, thoughtfully. Warren's arrival spurs him into motion, though; he is careful as he climbs down out of the tree, but less ginger as he races towards the man. "/Mister Worthington/!" is, at least, cheerful warning for the fierce hug that follows it, Jackson's arms wrapping tight around Warren.

Rene has disappeared into the grass for the moment, but he reappears and very nearly flaps his way through the rest of the yard towards Angel and Jackson. The grass follows, but it grows shorter and shorter the closer he gets. "I am the queen of France." He announces importantly, both arms of his sweatshirt still half-flapping as he stops beside the two.

Warren, well versed in Jackson-habits, had himself braced for the hug onslaught. Still, it nearly knocks them both over, and Warren lets out a laugh, even as he tries to ease the ferocity of Jackson's grip. "Did you two get into Joshua's hidden booze stash?" He wants to know.

"I'm glad they didn't take your wings." Jackson's whisper is as fierce as his hug, before he pulls back, face slightly paled and one hand rubbing absently at his chest. His nose wrinkles as he grins over at Rene. "I can't speak for /him, sir," he says with a giggle. "I don't drink, though. -- An' if you're a queen y'need to dress the part." Rene's oversized clothes shift to an ornate gown, and a jeweled crown perches atop the blond head.

Rene lids his eyes and tilts his neck, just as his clothes change. "If I had gotten into something, it would be /very/ clear and you would certainly not need to ask." Only when he is finished does he glimpse his new outfit. For effect and support of this, the boy twirls on one foot, beaming. Queen of France!

Warren gives Jackson a thorougly startled look. "You what ... " He repeats. Then. "Damn. I'd hoped they wouldn't tell you about /that/." He gives Jackson a squeeze. "It was a long time ago." Then he laughs at Rene's antics.

"Jus' -- we was looking at pictures today, of when you were young, an' they said --" Jackson's head shakes, and he hugs Warren again, just briefly. "I just -- you're sort of really awesome and I don't get how --" For a moment, his jaw clenches, but the expression melts away into a warm smile. "M'just glad. That you're /you/." He rocks back on his heels, blue eyes shifting from Warren to watch Rene twirling, and he giggles again. "He's jus' silly all by himself. You don't /need/ to add alcohol."

"If I ever meet your father I am going to kick him in the balls." Before Rene says this, he gathers his hands in front of him all official-like, eyebrows lifting knowingly at the conversation.

"If it's any comfort, I don't understand my father either. Or anyone who can turn their back on their own kid, whatever the reason. And you have Joshua to thank for me being who I am. Otherwise, I'dve ended up a carbon copy of my father ... maybe worse." He shudders in horror at the concept, wings twitching spastically, almost lifting the two of them off the ground with the force of it. "And if you ever do meet my father Rene ... I won't stop you."

Jackson's eyes widen slightly as Warren's wings shudder, and his lips twist into a wry smile. "I think you turned out about as far from that as it's possible to get. I mean, I --" His nose wrinkles, and be blushes deeply, taking a step back. "-- shouldn't get all mushy and sentimental," he mumbles, and scrubs at his cheek with a sheepish grin.

Rene nods determinedly. "I think that out of all of us, I have the best target area." Short is good for some things. Important things. "I'm glad you're not like him." He echoes Jackson now, though in less words. "Très heureux, mon poulet ange."

Warren ruffled Jackson's hair. "You're allowed to get mushy and sentimental, though I suggest you turn loose of me before Rene gets jealous." There's a teasing note to his voice. "And ... " And whatever he'd been about to say gets lost as he puts a hand over his eyes. "I really am going to kick Joshua's ass for showing you those pictures."

Jackson grins, and stretches up onto his toes to peck Warren lightly on the cheek. He lets go, then, moving instead to loop an arm loosely around Rene's waist. "It was Mrs. Annabel," he says brightly. "She got upset cuz'a me an' Sunset took over the kitchen to cook breakfast but then she didn't stay mad an' she showed us pictures instead. Everyone here is so /nice/. It's almost like having a --" He breaks off with a slight laugh. "Aliens should totally invade more often." His expression sobers slightly, though, as he wonders, "-- How /are/ things back there? Is -- everyone's safe?"

Rene wriggles happily at Jackson's touch, but the bounciness fades slightly when the topic changes. "I suppose that must be why you're here, isn't it? But if things were bad I expect we might have been dragged inside by now..." He doesn't so much say this to anyone in particular, and lets Jackson ask what he is thinking.

"Ack! I've got cooties!" Warren squawks, making a comical face when Jackson kisses his cheek. Then. "Annabel ... waitaminute. You guys raided her kitchen? BRAVE souls. VERY brave." And more softly. "A family, Jackson? You're more than welcome to borrow them. Trust me, they won't mind. And they're definitely good people." Then he waved away their concern. "Everything's fine, or as fine as it can be, with those things bearing down on the city. No one's been hurt. I just decided to come check on you guys myself. Phone'sve been spotty as hell because of the evac, so flying down seemed to be the wiser option."

"I don't have cooties," Jackson says primly. "Only /girls/ have /cooties/." His gaze drops to the ground, a soft, shy smile playing on his lips. "A family, yeah. Almost." His voice is quiet. His arm squeezes briefly at Rene's waist before dropping to his side. "I'm glad you came! I mean, I always like seeing you, sir. I bet Miss Sunset'll be real happy, too."

Rene responds to the squeeze with a soft kiss to Jackson's cheek, lifting onto his toes in the process. It is not quick, and seems to linger before the boy looks back to Warren. "Are you going back tomorrow morning?"

"Boys have cooties too, or haven't you overheard the way girls talk?" Warren says. Well, girls under the age of 13, anyway. Then Warren grins. "Yeah, she probably will be." And a nod. "Yeah, I can't stay away long, not with the way things are heating up." He glances towards the house. "Hey. I hate to cut this short, but it's been a long time since I last had one of Annabel's homecooked meals, and I can smell something cooking. We better get inside."

"It's been a long time since I have, too," Jackson says with a solemn expression that is thrown off by the laughter in his tone. "-- At least, in teenager-stomach-terms the span of time from lunch 'till dinner is like an /eternity/." He slips his hand into Rene's, solemnity dissolving into a bright smile as he heads for the house.