ArchivedLogs:Fangs

Fangs
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Ion, Isra, Regan
In Absentia	2015-09-08 "Was there someone in /particular/ you were thinking to blow up this weekend?"
Location <BOM> Front Porch - Main Lodge - Ascension Island
The front porch of the lodge unfurls its way across the entire front length of the building. Stained in a dark reddish finish, it seems to have been refurbished somewhat recently, the sturdy wood rather less weather-beaten than many of the buildings on the island. A half-height railing edges most of the porch, with a wide gated staircase centrally leading to the heavy front door, and ungated ramps at either side end. Protected from all but the most driving of rains by a sloped roof, the porch has been furnished with an assortment of furniture. Wicker rocking chairs, a pair of small square aluminum tables, a hammock at the far right end, a bench swing at the left. Despite the solid locks on the doors and windows, the front door holds a cheerfully flower-edged mat reading WELCOME. It's firefly o'clock on the island. Things are quiet, tonight; there are lights on in the lodge and a few voices off in the garden, more distant ones somewhere far off down by the beach, but mostly at the moment it is peaceful. The rustle of a breeze through the leaves and the permanent, if faint, background noise of the ocean in the distance. On the porch Regan is dressed casually in a plain red wrap dress tied around her waist; she's had black sandals on, but they've been kicked off to the side. One foot is tucked up beneath herself in the rocking chair she sits in, the other propped against the railing of the porch. A Kindle rests against her knee, an all-but-empty bottle of beer held in her hand. No, scratch that; empty, now, as she takes a swig. Wait, what, what was that, was Regan having a /peaceful/ moment? Oh sorry, here is an ION crashing in to put an end to /that/. The door to the lodge opens with a thud, spilling out a rough bark of laughter together with the young man. He's in jeans, plain white tee, stompy boots, a ridiculously ostentatious glittering rainbow-gemmed watch. The flick of a lighter crackles in the air as he stops to light a cigarette -- then shakes his head with another rough breath of a laugh. "Ey-o, mama, you so quiet there, I think this porch empty, eh? You enjoying this night, it got some peace to it out here?" He leans back against the railing heavily. Regan sets her Kindle down on a thigh, sets the empty beer bottle down on the porch beside her chair. She tips a small smile over to Ion, a lilt of amusement in her voice. "It did have." To the other evening noises there is now added the flutter-swoop of wings. Considerably larger ones than any native island creatures; Dusk's enormous wings have been painted up, now, to resemble the destruction of a star spread across their membranes. He wears black jean shorts, Vans sneakers, deep blue mostly backless halter-necked top. A bag slung across his chest. There's a significant draft that stirs the air as he lands on the railing to the other side of Regan, backwinging hard as he settles down in a crouch. His wings snap in behind himself, hand dropping down to grip the bar. His other hand reaches out, silently imperious, in demand for Ion's cigarette. "{Man, I missed you guys.}" Isra does not lag far behind Dusk, though she kills her momentum more gently than he and actually opts to land on the /ground/ and step up onto the porch. "Good evening," she offers, mildly. She wears a backless white sundress and a black shoulder bag decorated with an applique of a wide-eyed cartoon baby vampire bat. One of her wings--which depict a colorful, luminous nebula pregnant with a protostar--stretches out to curl around Ion, pull him to her more roughly than her wont, silver wingclaws digging into his arm and side. "We need a vacation from humans." "{Oh /shit/! Oh /shit/ you see this?}" Ion relinquishes his cigarette with little fuss, eyes widening bright as his hair fluffs up in the wind stirred by Dusk's wings. He claps Regan on the shoulder with a happy /yip/, shaking her enthusiastically to call her ATTENTION to this bounty of Monster that has just turned up on their porch. "{This island's been /lacking/ in beautiful /wing/.}" Isra gets a jolt for her hug, zapping brief but strong when she drags Ion to her. He leans up into it, his grin bright as his arm snakes around her. "{What you need is a goddamn beer, I'll hook you up.} You just /on/ vacation and all, don't tell me it weren't no fun? I thought you getting your geek on, huh? Ain't that your /people/?" Regan lifts her hand, tucking hair back behind her ear when it whips up into her face. "{I did notice,}" she confirms to Ion, rocking her chair back to look up towards Dusk's perch. "Did you all just get in? I didn't expect you back until -- ah." Her wince is a little sympathetic. "That good, huh?" Dusk takes a long deep pull off of Ion's smoke, his eyes closing as his wings relax behind him. "{I wouldn't say no.}" The words come out in a cloud of grey. "Vacation kicked ass, but seventy thousand fucking nerds is seventy thousand fucking nerds. There's only so much --" His head shakes, and he leans forward to offer the cigarette back to Ion. "{Don't be fucking stupid, man.} You're my people." A quiet rumble issues from low in Isra's chest at the shock, but she does not release Ion at once. "I think I heard 'una cerveza' in there, somewhere?" A sharp grin spreads across her face as she finally lets Ion go. "I did enjoy networking with other scientists, professional and amateur--in some ways this sort of convention is more friendly to freaks than the more academic variety, and in some ways less." Her wings shake out, then fold in loosely behind her. "That is to say, I did indeed 'get my geek on,' but I also got harassed at every turn, in ways both familiar and not. So, no. Those were not our people." Her grin tugs higher on one side as she glances at Dusk. "These are." "No, you tripping, you heard /four/ fucking cervezas," Ion answers. Grinning bright as he tucks the cigarette back between his lips. He vanishes back into the house but is soon to return -- as promised, with four bottles of stout, cracking the lids one by one on his belt buckle to pass them around to the others on the porch. "{When you gonna learn to speak a decent fucking language, huh?}" His shoulder bumps lightly against the edge of Isra's wing. "Anyway whole-long-weekend surrounded by flatscans think they're more-smart than everyone, I'd'a shoot every damn body. Fuck. Even up here some times they /try/ me--" He shoots Regan an only sliiightly sheepish look. "-- but I not blow up a /single/ person this weekend, yeah? Been /so/ damn good." "Unfortunate. In that case, welcome home." Regan lifts her beer to the others. "Did your presentations go well, at least?" Her lips twitch when Ion talks. "You're a paragon of virtue, Ion." Regan sounds amused; perhaps the long pull of beer she takes helps with this. "Was there someone in /particular/ you were thinking to blow up this weekend? I'm hoping the next time it can be with -- at least a smidge," she holds forefinger and thumb a hair apart in indication, "more planning." "{You don't speak a single language decently, bro.}" Dusk drops down a little lower where he sits, perching more solidly on the railing and letting his legs dangle down. "B and Isra both killed it. But then everyone just wanted to talk about how they could possibly do /science/ while being /freaks/." His head shakes. "Met more than a few people who could've done with some blowing up." Isra accepts her beer with a grateful incline of her horned head. "Dusk has more or less got the gist of it. The presentations went well, but largely unnoticed in and of themselves." She takes a long sip of the beer. "I suppose the greater part of our audiences found the spectacle of our bodies more interesting than the science and technology we brought to share." Her tail whips behind her, quick and agitated. "I found the sheer number of propositions I received rather startling, but I managed not to eat anyone." Somehow, the tone of this last sounds less proud and more disappointed. "Did your Labor Day Weekend also inspire frustration?" "You dating this motherfucker," a small spark dances out from Ion's fingertips to zap light and mostly harmless over at Dusk, "how you ever get startled by getting propositioned no more?" Ion is holding off on his beer in favor of finishing his cigarette. He rests a booted foot on the curved band of Regan's chair, pushing down to send it rocking rather harder than it is meant to. "{Hell yeah}, these goddamn flatscans they up in everyone /shit/ lately. {Friday, I'm out in Queens, having some dinner at my boy Dani's house, minding our own damn fucking /business/ the ICE squad bust in, take him /and/ his girl away. /Right/ in front of their little kids, yo, that's some fuck shit right there. They say what, /his/ papers aren't in order, and neither one of them's registered, neighbor's reported the whole family for being freaks so now they stolen them straight the fuck away.}" The breath he huffs out is sharp and irritable. "I'd blow the whole damn thing up, if I get them out a damn holding cell first. {Before they ship them back off to Mexico. Their babies I put in a safehouse}, I'm sure you don't mind, eh, mama? I watch them good. Once I find out where they /at/ I yoink 'em no problem. This a bullshit though. {Fifth family I heard about in so many weeks.}" "A shame. You both do /science/ so beautifully." Regan's brows lift, the mouth of her bottle tapping lightly against her lips before she takes a sip. "Mmm. Not the first similar story I've heard lately, either." A small frown creases her forehead. "{I'll see if Eric has any contacts that might know where they're being held.} I'm certainly not going to /stop/ you blowing things up, {but if you're looking for a target, you could probably aim higher than an ICE detainment facility.}" "Immigration motherfuckers grabbed some friends of his for failing to register," Dusk translates quietly for Isra, wings twitching behind his back. "Ion stashed their kids in a safehouse. Looking to bust them back out before they're shipped out of the country, if he can find where they're at. -- Not the first I've heard of it either," the raising of his voice here signals the switch from translation to busy interjecting into the conversation. "Don't know what it's like among freaks in /general/ right now, but, uh, you talk to people rolling in from places a few shades browner --" One wing shrugs. "Not exactly /surprising/ if there's a cross-section of bigotry at play. With election season --" His hand indicates a sharp spike. "Everyone's tripping over themselves to show how they're all for humans, how they're going to keep America strong. Why not both at once?" "Perhaps Dusk has spoiled me, then; I have developed higher standards for propositioning." Isra rolls her wings in a slow shrug, then falls silent for a moment, head tilted. Thoughtful. "The MRA, not so toothless after all." This she says softly, but beneath her words a faint growl issues from her second set of vocal chords. "We ought to show them we also have fangs." "He do give them pretty-eyes, yeah?" Ion nudges at the side of Isra's wing. "Spoil the chances for the rest of us." He stubs out the butt of his cigarette, flicking the spent nub off into the dusky evening. "Fff. Keep America fucking pure. {Me and Kay, we'll damn well /cleanse/ the place.}" The small sparks that dance from his uplifted fingertips light his broad grin in cold blue. "That toothy enough, hermana?" "I have no doubt people are more than capable of oppressing on /multiple/ axes at once." Regan sounds rather dry, here. She takes a longer pull from her beer, eyes slipping closed and jaw clenching a little tighter. A small chuckle escapes her. "Your fangs were never in question." She drops her legs to the ground, toes questing to find her discarded sandals and slip them back on as she rises. To Dusk, a slight lift of her chin. "I'm sure you want rest after your trip. But when you're ready, perhaps you might help me with some research?" "Only the highest quality flirtation for you." Dusk downs a long gulp of beer, stretching his wings behind him for balance as he hops down backward off the railing and into the grass. "I'm feeling oddly galvanized. Caffeine me and we're good to go."