Logs:Rumblings

Rumblings
Dramatis Personae Fury, Lucien
In Absentia	2021-12-03 "World's not ending any faster than it's been ending, but it's sure fixin' to get a lot more obnoxious."
Location <NYC> Fury's Safe House (1/??) - Crown Heights
From the outside, this house looks like just another historic brownstone. It is, in most of the ways that matter, just another historic brownstone, little different from the others in this "up and coming" neighborhood. And, like many others, there's a sign out front indicating it has been sold to a development company that hasn't actually bothered developing it yet. And so it has lain empty in a traffic camera blind spot--incidentally, of course--another silent witness to the systematic dismantling of New York's Black neighborhoods. Except tonight it is not empty. Despite the apparent neglect of the development company that theoretically owns it, the interior of the house is clean and well-maintained and tastefully appointed in mid-century modern style, straight edges softened with subtle curves in rich polished teak and upholstery in a warm palette of earthtones. For all the care that went into furnishing and decorating, the place feels a bit like a model home, too perfect to be a place people actually live. Nick Fury does not live here, but he is cooking here, in a black dress shirt and black slacks as usual on weekdays, though with the addition of an apron -- also black, of course. The kitchen, actually (21st century) modern, is a slight departure from the "modern" aesthetic, and perhaps in an effort to minimize this, many of the appliances have been hidden one way or another. He's just let his guest in and resumed scowling at his black-eyed peas where he left off. "I can't find jack shit in this kitchen and I got no one to blame but me." He returns the lid to the pot and checks the cast iron skillet beside it. "At least the cornbread's done, if you need somethin' tide you over. My mama, God rest her soul, would be spinning in her grave if I ain't had nothing ready for a guest. Though..." He's doffing his apron and his grousing right along with it. "...whisky's always ready. Care for a glass?" The hint of amusement that crinkles the corners of Lucien's eyes suggests he seems to find some part of all this grousing charming. He's fetched up against a counter to watch the proceedings, more casual than his host in blue henley shirt under an impossibly soft cream sweater, his slim fit jeans perfectly tailored. "I should hate to trouble your poor mother's rest. A whiskey would be lovely." His eyes skim over the kitchen in brief appraisal, returning to watch Fury's hands at work. "If you need a sous chef for anything I am more than capable of taking orders." Fury raises both eyebrows, which always looks somewhat skeptical on his face. "Ain't much for this meal now but time. Might could find other uses for you, though." He stirs the simmering greens and clicks off the burner under the rice. For all his complaining, he has no trouble finding the scotch and, pouring two generous glasses, hands one to Lucien. "Come'n sit. Hoppin' john'll take care itself for a while." He waves the younger man along to the lounge, where he sinks down onto the sofa, rolling his left shoulder, slow, almost managing to cover the grimace. "You know, 'bout 90% my job is givin' orders. The actual spyin' I mostly delegate these days." His eye flicks over Lucien appraisingly as he takes a sip of his drink. "But I known a lot of folks in my time, enough to keep my ear to the ground, and it sure been rumbling lately." For all his claimed obedience, Lucien does not manage to follow the simple instructions given him. Come: yes, claiming his glass of Scotch and trailing Fury to the lounge. Sit... well, perhaps he intended it, but he's waylaid before he reaches the sofa by a curious exploration of the lounge, stopping to turn a mildly skeptical eye to a Thomas Kinkade on the wall before perusing a bookshelf with a longer interest. "You've just made your spying more efficient, it seems to me. Two ears can only hear so much." His drifting steps bring him back in Fury's direction. He sets his Scotch down on a coaster, freeing his hands to drop down, knead idly at the shoulder that Fury has been rolling. For an inexpert masseuse his touch brings a startling amount of relief, old pains melting away easily under the gentle work of his hands. "If the world is in danger of being swallowed again, I should dearly like to know." "It's larger scale, anyway." Fury tips his glass in Lucien's direction, the closest he's likely to come to conceding the point. "Efficient is a real generous word. You seen how Coulson handled bringing Rogers back to the fold, and these jokers are the best of the best." There's both real exasperation and real pride in all this grumbling. "I had a helluva time tryna keep a straight face while chewin' him out, the whole operation was goddamned ludicrous." There's a momentary reluctance before Fury relaxes under Lucien's hands, letting out a slow, relieved breath. "I done figured it out. It ain't the sex. This is how you get creaky old men to spoil you." He rolls the whisky around his glass. "World's not ending any faster than it's been ending, but it's sure fixin' to get a lot more obnoxious for folks of a certain genetic persuasion. Mutant registration's been 'on the horizon' for what -- two years, now? This time it actually is." "That attempt managed to strike a chord of amusement with all my siblings, and that is not nothing. Gaétan often refuses to enjoy entertainment with the rest of us simply on principle." Lucien's hands have slipped just a touch further beneath Fury's shirt, the sense of relaxation growing alongside the easing of pain. "Mm. And here I thought it was my scintillating wit." What amusement had been in his words bleeds out of it soon enough, though. The breath he pulls in is slow, and he's slow as well to reply. "I'd rather hoped the murmurings I'd been hearing were just the idle hopes of overeager Friends." His tone is mild, his hands continuing their steady massaging. "I suppose it was an inevitability. After that business with the rift, it is hard all the same not to see echoes of those missteps in it." Fury snorts, derisive but not unamused. "He should go into comedy. Better for his longevity than his current career." There's a faint note of concern that he can't quite keep out of this last, and Lucien can feel the cold, distant fear beneath it even if he manages not to physically tense up. "Been a long time comin', and even I couldn't tell you how much of a factor the rift was. But even delayed by the pandemic, I'm damned surprised it ain't happened a sight earlier." The worry does not fade, even if he leans gratefully into Lucien's ministrations. "MAD can't find its own ass with a ten-man crew, but no amount'a incompetence explains all the roadblocks they've hit. Grapevine on the Hill says mutant activists been sabotaging them all along." His shoulders hitch in a small shrug, though there's more than idle curiosity in him at this. "Maybe that's so, but barring some truly spectacular op on the part of them hypothetical saboteurs, registration will go live in February." A heavy unease ripples through him, deep. "I reckon that's like to be relevant to some folks in your life, one way or another." "With all the political sway mutants have in this country, getting yourself sabotaged by them ought to be counted its own brand of incompetence. I'd be embarrassed to let a rumour like that stand." Despite the continued mildness of his tone there's a tension now in Lucien's posture, shoulders clenched, his breathing too deliberate and pulled out of its regular cadence. "One way or another. My gods but I can only imagine what Ryan will do with this. -- I suppose I can hope," he's pulling back, retrieving his Scotch now for a deep pull as he sinks down onto the sofa beside Fury, "that these echoes do not extend to all-out war." Fury raises an eyebrow -- just the right one, this time. "Feeds into their spin though, don't it?" He takes a long pull of his drink. "Might be it's different for mutant-adjcent folks, but I think for most humans, that sorta thing just proves we need things like the registry." He shakes his head slowly. "That's a self-fulfillin' prophecy -- hell, most mutant legislation is self-fulfillin' prophecies, but ain't nobody wanna hear that." His jaw sets hard. "All out war's what I'm trying to prevent, but the ways I got to go about that are limited. Uncle Sam knows who I am and what S.H.I.E.L.D. is for, but they won't give us the time of day unless somethin' fully blowin' up in they face. Now," he adds blandly, "that won't stop me bein' a pain in their ass, but it's near for sure this is going to happen." The next drink is more of a gulp. "Figure you might wanna advise your folks to get their official documents sorted out sooner than later if they don't mean to register." "I suppose for some of them that was overdue, regardless. Thankfully my superpower is a somewhat limitless patience with navigating bureaucracy." Lucien swirls his whiskey slowly, eyes fixed on the golden liquid running against the sides of the glass. "Incompetent as MAD is, I'm sure this incarnation will be a clusterfuck," he muses, "but do you? Think we need things like the registry?" His bright blue eyes have lifted to Fury curiously as he sips at his drink. "Most is not all -- is there a variation on this that works?" His mouth twitches to the side, wry. "Is the goal a worthwhile one to begin with?" Fury takes his time considering these questions, taking another sip of his whisky. "I think in the majority of cases, the laws we got are good enough. Don't want nobody killin' people with powers? Great, killin' people's already illegal -- unless you are the government." He rolls his eye. "Now, enforcement might be rough if your murderer shoots laser beams out his hands, but making a law against hand lasers ain't gon' help with that, neither." He turns slightly in his seat and props his arm on the back of the sofa. "Ideally, there's ways powers should be regulated, and maybe there's a way to do that with some kind of a registry, but how things are now? That's damn near impossible without jus turnin' into another way to fuck mutants over while fully ignoring there's folks with powers who ain't even mutants at all." He tips his glass slightly toward Lucien, regarding him steadily. "If the goal is genuinely keepin' people safe, then legistlation around powers needs to focus on research, education, social services, and managing dangerous powers without hitching that to an assumption of malice or criminality." Lucien's laugh is just a small quiet breath. "So what does it take to get people like you running MAD instead of --" He rolls his wrist, hand sweeping vaguely. "It seems like a balanced opinion on the question of metahuman abilities is rarer even than competence in a government agency to begin with." Still, his fingers have tightened around his glass -- just slightly, and his next drink is deeper than the last. "Gods help us, though, when we see what legislation the government does decide to craft around research." He does not entirely keep the bitter note out of his voice, this time, though he's reassembled his composure when he continues, "I imagine if it comes to that it it will not entirely be toward the end goal of safety." Fury levels a faintly incredulous look at Lucien. "I don't know, but it'd take a motherfuckin' miracle to keep someone like me in a post where your job's really just making the administration look good. You either toe the line or you're outta there an' ain't no one gon' say boo." He glances at Lucien's hand where it tightens on the glass, then looks down at his own. "Not sure how balanced my opinion is, but I spent a lot of time thinking and reading about -- as you say, metahuman abilities." The lapse in Lucien's composure isn't lost on him. "I suspect eventually the registry itself might be used for research, legally or otherwise, on questions like how powers run in families -- or how the hell the X-gene is inherited to begin with." He hesitates. just the barest moment, and when he continues there's a new note in his voice, a kind of softness that seems at odds with the rest of his persona. "But I haven't heard anything to suggest the MRA is a dry run for any kinda mutant research program. I think Homeland Security is content at least for the moment with the one they already got." "If the program they have now is a dry run, I do not want to see its next evolution." His thumb traces slow circles against the side of his glass, his eyes fixed downward. "They had my brother, you know. I don't know that making the issue more concrete has brought with it any particular insight. But seeing that other world -- hearing this looming, now -- it's hard not to feel --" He shakes his head, drains his glass. "Well. If what you aim for is to keep the world from catastrophe, I dearly hope someone starts to attend to you. Before something is blowing up in their face." "I know." Fury's usual cantankerous bravado is so quiet here it might as well be absent. "Some of y'all friends, too. I been tryna get an angle on their funding, their clearance process, their channels -- e'erything I can, but it's a black project an' I got to go about this careful." Some of his wonted bluster starts to return. "Dollars to donuts the next evolution'd jus' be the same damn thing, but in the open. I don't expect no one gonna listen to me then, neither. If I get enough dirt on Prometheus I can still turn that into some kinda leverage with the UN. But managing how it hit the media may have a bigger impact, and that's more your wheelhouse." He tosses back the rest of his drink and holds up the empty glass. "I know ain't neither of us eat yet, but you want another?" "If it were my decision to make, my life at stake, I'd have had that story crafted and pitched to a sympathetic outlet long before now," Lucien admits, quiet, "but pulling that trigger on those with so much more to lose --" His lips compress, thin. "Still. Someone will go public with it -- sooner than later, I imagine, with registration on the table. Far better our spin than theirs, gods help me." He looks up from his glass, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips as he looks to Fury. "You may be endlessly hale and robust but I have two shows tomorrow." He sets his glass aside, sliding closer to the older man. "I can think of other distractions we could pass the time with."