ArchivedLogs:Beauty

Beauty
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Isra, Tabitha
In Absentia	2015-10-08 "The eyes of your friends and family--your real family, not merely those of your blood--make better mirrors than any glass."
Location <NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. It's late evening; the streets of New York are just as they always are, though the busier streets are a sea of black umbrellas thanks to the rain. Inside the Brotherhood Safehouse, the weather is in evidence mainly as a soft pattering on the windows. Near to one of these windows on the main floor sits a solitary figure, hunched forwards in an old easy chair. Tabitha keeps her hoodie drawn up over her head, doing something to conceal her features from a distance, but up close entirely failing to hide the animalistic nature of her visage. She's busy devouring a big mac; and on a coffee table in front of her are two more big macs and a quarter pounder, stood up one atop the other, and a large fries with ketchup. The door to the safehouse opens kind of abruptly. Thump-bang. It lets in a brisk gust of damp air from outside, lets in the smell of rain, lets in, also, the richer smell of coffee. Dusk tumbles in along with it, enormous wings curled up over his head like his own personal umbrella -- once he's inside he stretches them out slightly behind himself, shaking the huge limbs off with a spray of water. He's /mostly/ dry, despite the rain, his clothing (bland and unassuming; brown corduroys, Vans sneakers, a green henley shirt custom-sewn to allow for the huge wings) only faintly speckled given that his wings (very much not bland, coloured vibrant shades of ombre blue with a feathered pattern to them) have taken the brunt of the Wet. The winged mutant is holding a large case of coffee, a messenger bag slung across his chest. His nose twitches at the smell of the food already in the room, and he detours towards Tabitha's table, setting his case of coffee down on it. The grin he flashes her is bright and wide and very sharply fanged. "Don't suppose you could spare a few of those?" One of the large thumbclaws atop his wings twitches down towards the fries. Isra trails Dusk by a few seconds, executing more or less the same maneuver as she ducks inside. The water seems to slide off of her wings even more readily than his, and the pattern on their membranes matches his--only in a purple ombre rather than blue. The rest of her skin glistens in an unearthly shade of silvery gray. The caprine horns that spiral back from her forehead and the thick, sharp talons that tip all thirty of her digits have a mirrorlike chrome finish. She wears a seafoam green wrap dress with an asymmetrical hem and a darker green sash around the waist. Two large canvas shopping bags hang from her muscular shoulders, and these she deposits on the dining room table. "Alas, we brought no food with us. " Her voice sounds like two people speaking at once, an alto and a bass. She methodically removes box after box of first aid supplies from the bags and arranges them in neat stacks on the table before drifting back into the living room on gliding steps. "Might I get you something to drink, though?" This with an appraising but not unkind look at Tabitha. Tabitha reflexively tugs the hoodie lower over her faceas she hears someone entering, and looks for a moment like she's about to jump up and make a run for it, safehouse surroundings notwithstanding. When Dusk enters and asks for one of her fries, she settles down a bit, and bobs her head. "Sure, grab a couple," she murmurs. "Just... not the burgers. I don't mean to be greedy, I just... eat a lot. I need to." She takes another bite from her current big mac, just as Isra is entering behind Dusk, and her eyes shoot up again. She opens her mouth, then clamps it shut, considering; before she bobs her head, "Uhm, sure, yes please. ...And before you ask how I got here, Ion showed me the place. Apparently people know him here?" "Sweeeet." Dusk drops down into a crouch beside the coffee table, plucking a pair of fries from the carton. "I'm /pretty/ sure people know Ion everywhere. Dude gets around." He pops one of the fries into his mouth. His wings twitch and settle behind him, claws scraping along the floor as they adjust. "Wasn't gonna ask, though. He told me a goddamn /ninja/ kicked some ass with him outside Evolve the other day and you fit the desc. Though I admit I'm never entirely sure how many grains of salt to sprinkle on his stories." "We have coffee--a great deal of coffee--tea, sodas, many beers of poor quality, and..." Isra's eyes flick in the direction of the kitchen as if a glance from such a distance could help her divine its contents. "...no juice last I checked, but I make excellent smoothies." She smiles, the tips of sharp canines just barely showing. "I can hardly imagine anyone here /doesn't/ know him, but we get many visitors. Some just need a place to decompress, some have reason to fear for their lives and freedom. We do our best to see to it all are cared for." One of her wings stretches out to brush against Dusk's shoulder. "Would you like a beverage, as well?" Tabitha looks up at isra, and bobs her head. "Just.. a coke would be great, and thank you." She pauses, and shrugs her shoulders lightly. "I'm not correctly registered," she admits. "I registered when I still thought I was human and told them so, so I'm listed as that, and I don't know what my Dad told the authorities when I left home. So I avoid the police." She finishes off her big mac, but before reaching for the next one, gives a glance to Dusk. She slips one hand into her trenchcoat, and with the soft clink of chain pulls forth one of her nunchuks; she lets one end dangle in the air for a moment before swinging it around, catching it in one hand, and laying the weapon neatly on the table beside her burgers. She then casually picks up a second big-mac and starts unwrapping it. "Pfft." Dusk waves a wing in casual dismissal. "The police don't give a shit if you're registered unless you're committing some /other/ crime, /then/ they'll check." His dark eyes open wider, when she pulls out the weapon. He gives a low whistle as she swings it around. "... which, uh, I mean, I guess they might. Have reason to --" Both his wings hitch upward now in a small shrug. "Admittedly avoiding the police is best practice no matter what, motherfuckers'll shoot you as soon as look at you and say you were menacing them." He presses lightly back into the touch of Isra's wing. "There any Bawls?" Isra's hairless brow ridges raise ever so slightly at Tabitha's demonstration with the nunchaku. "Knowing Ion, I do not generally expect descriptions like 'ninja' to have much concrete grounding in reality." Though her smile softens to a sort of fondness in so saying, as she wanders into the kitchen. She returns with bottle of Coca-Cola labeled in Spanish, a disctinctively blue glass bottle of Bawls, and a ginger ale with a trying-too-hard Olde Fashion-looking label. "I can get you a cup, if you'd prefer," she says, handing the fromer to Tabitha after casually popping the cap from it with the talon on her thumb. Then, to Dusk, as she delivers the other bottle to him, "This was not in the refrigerator. I can get you ice, but I expect you'd drink it at any temperature." The ginger ale she opens and sips herself, settling gracefully down onto an ottoman beside the coffee table. "Best to avoid the police, registered or no," she agrees. "But you are welcome here regardless. I am Isra." Tabitha bobs her head, and murmurs a "Thank you," as she takes teh coke. "I don't need a glass, this is fine," she adds. She devours the second big mac rather quickly, before opening the drink and taking a couple of gulps. "My parents they... they really didn't like mutants," she adds. "And they raised me to be afraid fo them." She pauses. "Us. Then all of a sudden, I look like this. ...Which aside from the obvious, I guess, just... I miss my old face." She eats the other half of the burger, and leans back in her seat. "Thanks for making me welcome," she adds. "I haven't had a roof in a while. How does this place... work, anyway? I mean how come the cops don't just come and shut it down?" "Shut it down for what?" Dusk unbuckles the strap of his messenger bag, settling it on the floor beside him. He swivels around to snag the blue bottle from Isra, uncapping it to take a swig -- lukewarm or no. "It's not a /crack/ house. It's not a brothel. It's just a house. People crash. Nobody's doing anything /wrong/. If the owner charged people /money/ to stay here they could probably bust it for running an unlicensed hotel or some bullshit, but I'm pretty sure there's no laws against letting guests crash in a house you legally own." He takes another gulp from his energy drink. "I'm Dusk. By the way. Do you have a name? Because I don't think Ion even knew it and going around calling you ninja's probably -- weird. Unless you're into that in which case, cool." Isra's face remains placid, but her tail sways faster behind her as Tabitha tells her tale. She looks for a moment like she might speak, but opts to continue nursing her ginger ale while Dusk field the question about the safehouse. Her expansive wings fold down over her shoulders like a living cloak, and the claws tipping her elongated feet dig into the floor slightly. Then, at last, "No shame in missing your old face, but you may learn, in time, to see the beauty in your new one. Helps to have people around who can see it." For a moment, Tabitha looks like she's going to spit a mouthful of coke all over everything; fortunately she doesn't, and swallows promptly. "...Sorry," she mumbles. "Anyway, I... I don't know. I mean, sure, just.... I don't see any way I'll ever find any beauty in /this/," she finishes gesturing up to her partly concealed face. "Anyway. I don't think I've got much to worry about from the cops, really. And my names is Tabitha." She starts unwrapping her next burger. "So... do mutants like... have some sort of other name or something?" Dusk's brows hitch upward. He seems to have inhaled some of his soda a little too fast, knuckles pressing to his mouth as he coughs briefly. His wings press in against his back, eyes ticking up to Isra and then over to Tabitha. "... maybe you need to recalibrate your idea of what's /beautiful/. I don't see how you could miss it." His head tips to one side, tone a little puzzled on the following: "... other name? Huh?" "I couldn't see it in myself, either," Isra says equably, "for a long, long time. I would not presume to tell you how to feel, or how to relate to yourself, but I can tell you with confidence that much of how /any/ person sees beauty is learned." Her smile is gentle despite the tips of sharp fangs showing behind it. "The eyes of your friends and family--your real family, not merely those of your blood--make better mirrors than any glass, and through them you may yet learn to see how beautiful you are." Her bright green eyes blink a few times, rapidly, then she nods. "If you mean a chosen name, it's certainly common among us, though humans do it, too. People have many reasons to desire to go by a name other than that assigned at birth, and some communities are just more sensitive to that and more likely to repect such a choice." The rat girl bobs her head, quickly devouring the third burger, leaving just one on the table beside her nunchucks. She looks torn, by her body language; before she reaches one hand up, and pulls the hoodie down off her head, revealing her visage more fully. She sucks in a deep breath, holding the pose for a moment, before dipping her gaze back down at her knees. "I still wish I could have my own face back," she mumbles. "I don't miss other things, though. My parents raised me to hate mutants. ...I... I don't miss that. Though I'm not much for humans anymore, now that I've seen what it's like on this side." She licks her lips, and sucks in her breath. "...How about.. Stitches?" she adds. Dusk's wing stretches out, brushing lightly against Isra's as she talks. The curl of his smile is soft. His teeth click lightly against the lip of his bottle as he takes another sip. "-- Oh. Oh. Right. A name like that. Fff. S'got shit-all to do with being a mutant, honestly, there were just too many Ryans around and my friends never knew who-the-hell they were talking about." His grin is a quick thing, bright and amused. It stays in place, crooked, his wings hitching up in a careless shrug. "You asking me? You're the only one who's gonna know what feels right for you. If that works for you, roll with it." His wings brace against the floor, pushing himself to his feet. He waggles the bottle of Bawls in a lazy wave. "Thanks for the fries." And he's ambling off, scooping the first aid supplies Isra had brought off the dining room table to cart them away for organizing. "Not /quite/ so many Isras around, and a good thing, too as I have not a particularly good head for names." A glint of amusement sparkles in Isra's eyes, thoug her voice(s) sound deadpan enough. "You need not agree, but I think you quite comely, and expect that many who come and go here would, as well. Give yourself some time. As for the name--if you like it, and you want it, then let us know and we shall use it. But--" She nods at Dusk. "--that decision belongs to you alone." Rising, she dips her head gracefully. "I hope to see you around." Tabitha bobs her head. "I think I like it," she murmurs. "I'll think about it, and I'll... I'll let you know." She pauses, and looks up. "Thanks," she adds. "I... I mean I used to be pretty hot, by human standards anyway, before... well, before. It's good to hear that, even if I still want to cry when I look in a mirror." She pauses, shaking her head slowly. "Anyway. Uhm, let me know if I can do anything to help, and... and thanks."