ArchivedLogs:Miracle Workers

Miracle Workers
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Isra, Regan
In Absentia	2015-03-14 "I think our futures are kind of colliding here." (Part of Future Past TP.)
Location <BOM> House of Leaves - Ascension Island
A small log cabin halfway between the main clearing and the beach, this little lodge is nestled alongside a twist in the stream. A large mulberry tree by the water has had a tire swing hung down over the creek; its branches seem in occasional need of pruning for how they butt up against the side of the cabin. Inside, the cabin is small and neat. Its entry room is a small sitting space, an eclectic host of artwork hanging on the walls. It holds an old but very comfortable black leather couch, a sunny yellow throw rug in front of the fireplace, a pair of large bookshelves on the back wall, a small oak coffee table in front of the sofa. A little dining table along the left side wall stands next to a window; pushed up against the wall, it has room for only three chairs. There's a tiny kitchenette off in the back. The right wall has a door leading to the bedroom. Its queen-sized bed is usually covered in an abundance of pillows and blankets, bright yellow and dark blue. A desk stands against the window, often littered with books and notes. The bathroom is small, tiled in pale stone, with a claw-footed bathtub. It's wearing on towards dinnertime, at the island. Somewhere there's probably cooking underway. Maybe even eating, for some lucky people. Dusk isn't one of them. Hasn't been one of them all day -- or all night, for that matter. It's been a while since he slept. Didn't go to Fight Club last night, hasn't showed up for meals in a while. Where he has been is right here at Regan's couch, laptop in front of him, dressed in brown corduroys and no shirt. His wings are painted in a brilliant starburst pattern, red-yellow-orange, bits of purple, talons and the long bone spars a deeper blue, the design done up to look like stained glass. He's been working. And working. And /working/. But now he just kind of sprawls. Tired, yes, but a little triumphant. Beside Dusk, Regan is more dressed. A blue cowl-necked sweater, dark jeans, grey socks. Her fingers knead in between his wings, working firmly at the muscles. "I told Isra to bring some /food/ when she arrives. You really should have had some long before now." Though there's a small smile on her face. "Something that isn't just /Bawls/." On cue, Isra lets herself in from the mild, drizzly afternoon. She shakes the water from her wings before stepping inside--the water beads and slides off of her inhuman skin with remarkable ease, only clinging to her tights and top, both black. Mottled patterns of slate gray and varying shades of blue decorate her skin, faintly reminiscent whale sharks. "Good evening. She unslings a backpack from across her chest. "I brought Thai, as well as a good deal of rainwater. Might I trouble you for a towel or two." "Bawls gets fucking miracles out of me, though." Dusk's quiet groan is almost orgasmic, at the kneading. He melts down into the couch, eyes closing. They don't actually open even when Isra arrives. "Did you know," he tells her, without looking up, "that the future is here." "But only so many miracles, before you pass out." The kneading only goes so much longer before Regan stands, patting lightly between Dusk's shoulders and slipping off to the bathroom to retrieve a pair of large fluffy blue towels from the linen closet to hand to Isra. Trade them for the food. "I'm starting to think Dusk kind of /is/ the future. At least when you sit him in front of a computer." "Thank you." Isra lifts a fragrant bag full of takout containers out of the sodden backpack and hands it to Regan. "I'll take his future over the one I keep visiting in my sleep." Folding in her wings, she starts drying herself off. "Or I should guess I might--in truth it probably depends on the miracles in question." One eyebrow arches as she stalks over the couch, one towel still draped over shoulders and wings. "I think our futures are kind of colliding here." Dusk pulls himself up reluctantly, wincing and slowly shifting to drape his arms back over an arm of the couch. "You read the Bugle this weekend?" "Ah -- yes." Regan moves to nudge Dusk's computer to one side, clearing space on the coffee table to set the food out. "Some overlap, certainly. I'm afraid I'm going to have you visit that future while awake, today. The Bugle has just run a piece on Oscorp's new line of -- Sentinels. Groundbreaking technology, they are saying. Certain to safeguard the interests of mutants everywhere." Isra's ears press back nearly flat against the sides of her hairless head. "I saw--indirectly, as one often does in the age of digital news." She sets the one towel on the couch's other arm and leans on it so she can lean down to pat her legs dry, too. "What will you require of me, in connection with this?" "I saw it on tumblr first," Dusk admits with a crooked hook of a grin. It fades away, soon. "So here's the thing, I did a little digging. A lot of digging. These Sentinels, they're not quite ready to go, yet. Oscorp is still in negotiations to get them actually out on the streets. They're going to be having a meeting next week with the chair of the emergency services committee -- he's a biiig proponent of getting the Sentinels out there with EMS." "It's a rubber stamp, really. If the meeting happens." Regan's hand tips out towards Isra. "You need to make sure he never makes it." Isra's hairless brows wrinkle ever so slightly. "If it's only a rubber stamp, will removing him put it off for all that long?" She reaches for a container of choo chee and a pair of chopsticks. "Rubber stamp because Representative Gallatin is in Oscorp's pocket already. Not -- inherently because they have overwhelming support." Dusk's wings twitch behind him. He leans forward to snag a container of panang, plucking a piece of chicken out of it with his fingers rather than chopsticks. "But they have /his/ support, and he's got the keys." "He'll only be in the city a short while. It seems ideal for all our futures that the Legislature --" Regan isn't joining in the Thai food, not quite yet. "Be given more time to think this over before rushing into such a decision. Perhaps his successor will have more moderate views." "I see." Isra stirs her food, tucking the sprigs of fresh basil expertly into the sauce. "Do we have access to his itinerary, or information his usual habits? I can probably intercept him with ease if we do, but otherwise..." She tilts her head and allows a half-smile. "I don't blend all that well out amongst the hoi polloi." "What? I was thinking you'd just put on a toupee and a business suit, show up at the meeting, nobody would know the difference." Dusk's eyes widen in feigned surprise. After this, though, he shakes his head. "Nah, like I said. I've been busy with the miracles. I've got you covered with his schedule." "Ion will be able to get you around quickly and unobtrusively," Regan adds. "If you catch him early on before his meeting -- as assignments go it should be far less eventful than some of our earlier ones." "Me, in a business suit." Isra levels a critical look at Dusk, more evidently dismayed with the stylistic choice of disguise than its obvious impossibility. "Very good. I think I shall be particularly glad of Ion's assistance on the exit. I do not expect I shall leave an attractive scene." Though this does not deter her from her seafood curry. "Pff." Though Dusk's wing slips out to hook kind of casually around Isra's, there's a smaller note of tension in his jaw, in his /tone/. "Have a hard time imagining you doing /anything/ unattractively."