Logs:Fantasy and Reality
| Fantasy and Reality | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2023-01-15 "Peace, I like just fine. Sometimes you just have a hell of a fight to find it." |
| Location | |
The Mid Atlantic seems to have suddenly remembered that it is winter; far from the practically balmy 50s earlier in the week, this weekend has been punctuated with flurries and deep overnight chills. As the sun sinks below the horizon it's just started flurrying again, a sharp biting swirl of pinpoint ice-flecks that do not seem eager to linger. Currently, melting into the distance nearly as fast as the vanishing snow are a trio of vehicles -- two motorcycles alongside one large SUV. It's hard to tell from the current distance who the riders are -- but the two white-crossed jackets in DJ's hand are a dead giveaway. One brief flutter of motion later and the jackets have joined a very long string of other accoutrements -- vests, jackets, a couple dogtags, several baseball caps with the bright-striped FOH eagle silhouette, a few tee shirts, one patch-covered pair of jeans -- all strung across or embedded into a metal cable strung between two tall poles to either side of the road. The poles themselves are more cheerfully decorated -- strung about with fairy lights and colorful hand-made lettering reading WELCOME TO on one pole and FREAKTOWN down the other. Regan is dressed for the cold, deep red duffel coat over warm lined leggings, tall black boots, a very soft red-pink ombre cashmere scarf wound around her neck. She pauses near one of the poles, straightening the K where it hangs slightly askew as if this will significantly elevate the overall vibe of this entryway arch. "If only we could have you here full time, they might stop even trying their luck." She's glancing up towards the string of collected bigot-detritus with an impressed lift of brows. "If it weren't a health hazard I might suggest graduating to some more severe trophies." Akihiro is also dressed for the cold, in a fur lined denim jacket over a red and black flannel shirt, boot cut blue jeans, and a pair of black biker boots with a buckle over the ankle. Currently he's knelt next to a vintage Honda Dream, fiddling at something with tools while a cigarette hangs out of his mouth (an ashtray set up nearby this time). "If you want us to up the intensity, I do know a thing or two about keeping other groups in check." he says loud enough for Reagan to hear, pushing up to his feet and wiping his hands off on his pants. "Don't even have to kill too many of them. Unless you'd prefer it that way." He takes a drag from the cigarette and turns to admire the new trophy's, nodding to DJ. "Great work as always." DJ is just wiping his hands against his jeans when Regan approaches. He follows her gaze back up to the haphazard collection, a verrrrrry small smile pulling at his mouth. "I'd stick around more if it seemed like they needed the help here, but --" His one good shoulder hitches, eyes flicking to Akihiro. "Figure people can handle things just fine. Besides, we start throwing limbs up there and the cops might start hassling the neighborhood in earnest." "Tempting," Regan allows with a small tip of her head, eyes briefly lighting at Akihiro's suggestion. On the wire overhead, some of the jackets have now morphed -- a severed arm, a severed head dangling gruesomely alongside the collected clothing and accessories. "You are probably right about the police, though. I suppose we'll have to make due with just scaring them away." Just a touch of disappointment, there, as she leans up against the pole. "-- Where do you stay, when you aren't here? Half of what I hear about you is transposed and the other half --" She doesn't finish this thought, just studying DJ with a frank curiosity. "Part of being a good leader is knowing when to step back and let the new generation handle things." Akihiro says with a small grin, taking another drag from his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray. "We might be competent, but that doesn't mean we don't need all the help we can get. Solidarity is important." He falls quiet when the topic changes to DJ, a hand disappearing into the pocket of his jacket. There's a small easing in DJ's smile, at Akihiro's words. He nods, unconsciously drifting closer to the other man to examine the motorcycle he's been working on. "That it is," he agrees, though he's looking Akihiro over, too, with a curious lift of brows. "... new generation." Half questioning, half surprised. A faint flush darkens his cheeks, and he lifts his hand, fingers raking along the side of his head. "Oh, anywhere. Nowhere. My goat's been staying here, though. She's a big hit with the kids." This last comment is light, albeit not quite light enough to obscure the twinge of regret that had accompanied his initial answer. His gaze shifts away from the others, lifting up overhead and catching with a grimace on the newly bloodied display above. "... shouldn't you be good at sorting fantasy from reality?" "Oh, Akihiro has been around long enough to have picked up -- a few things. Part of the community before there was a community." Overhead, the bloody trophies are vanishing, severed limbs replaced instead with high-tech prosthetics. "With our people it can be hard to distinguish, sometimes. Aged samurai in young men's bodies. X-Men reborn from other universes -- for so many of us, fantasy and reality are often one and the same." “Wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a samurai.” Akihiro chuckles, taking a few steps closer to the group. “Just an old biker that grows food and makes repairs now.” He pulls his hand free along with a pack of cigarettes, putting one between his lips but not lighting it. “I’m about four years older than Charles I believe. Well, this Charles at least.” DJ's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening momentarily. "I am not an X-Man." This is immediate, a little clipped. His shoulders have gone tense -- oddly more noticeable where it sets his empty sleeve to swaying than in his actual arm. "I hope you're a few years wiser, too." Though the heat drains out of his voice soon enough, head dipping in mild apology. "-- I shouldn't make assumptions. I don't even know the man, here." His smile returns, a little bit crooked. "The other universe part, though, that's true enough." Regan's eyebrows lift at DJ's reaction to being called an X-Man. The line overhead melts back into its actual collection of stolen tokens as she pulls herself straighter from where she's been leaning. "Not a fan of Charlie's Angels? I suppose," she muses, "people who are looking for a path to peaceful assimilation don't end up back here, over and over." Akihiro actually chuckles softly at DJ’s reaction. “Wise enough to know that playing hero isn’t going to help us. Regardless of the good they hope they’re doing, they’re still labeled criminals and used to fan the fires of paranoia and mistrust. They need to know that we wont go gently into that good night.” He reaches down to his waist to grab the lighter leash hanging from his belt loop and drags it up to the cigarette between his lips. “I know I didn’t have my bones pumped full of adamantium just so I can sit back and watch these kids get thrown into cages or harassed by fucking murder bots and bikers.” DJ exhales slowly, looking away from the others, now -- back towards the boisterous sprawl that has taken over the once-stately neighborhood. "Peace, I like just fine. Sometimes you just have a hell of a fight to find it." His eyes flick back to Akihiro, though only briefly, a very faint snort flaring his nostrils at murder bots. "Whole lot of kids still in cages. Only man I've seen stepping up to do something about it is behind bars, now." His voice is mild, at least. "Mmm." The pleased gleam in Regan's expression has only sharpened, as DJ talks. "His bravery is unquestionable -- but those kids, are they getting any freer while he waits for the government to approve of his heroism? They will always build more cages. They will always stick more of our children in them. Unless you stop destroying the cages and start destroying the systems that build them." She's starting away, now, back down the walk toward the center of Riverdale. "In that work, we could use a man like you." Akihiro simply nods towards Regan. “We aren’t resting on our laurels. We know there’s a lot left to be done, and a lot of injustices being committed. A number of us are intimately familiar with the government’s cages, and do what we can where we can. I’m sure you don’t have to walk far here to meet Prometheus survivors.” He heads back over to his bike, puffing on the cigarette. “Just think about it, yeah? We’re always open to suggestions.” DJ's brows crease, slow. He tucks his hand into his jacket pocket, lips pursing thoughtfully. He does not actually give the others any answer, though. Only a last pensive look before, with a ghostly flutter, he has vanished. | |
