ArchivedLogs:The Importance of Family

The Importance of Family
Dramatis Personae Deltressa and Lyric
In Absentia	2015-12-06 You're Anole's family?
Location <XS> Roof
The view from up here is phenomenal, a panorama of the expansive Xavier's grounds, forest and lake and rocky cliffs alike. Even without the view outwards, the rooftop itself holds its own delights, in the form of the tiny jewel of a flower garden tucked away up here, tended by one of the school's teachers. From the edge of the roof, with a veeery careful jump, it looks like it just might be possible to reach the treehouse in the old oak tree. The chill is not what it could be, although elevation seems to give it more bite. Even high up here, there is little solitude to be found at Xavier's. Salem residents huddle together in small clusters with hushed voices, eyeing the massive shrouded figure currently occupying the little rooftop garden. Tall even while sitting, Deltressa has set herself up on a small bench overlook the surrounding landscape. A great book is open in front of her, in which no margin has been left unfilled. Letting her pen drop however, the arachnid woman brings up her stilleto nails to frame the thin slit from which her eyes are visible. She looks out onto the school grounds. Hidden beneath the forgiving fabric of a niqab, her wing-tipped black eyes blink against a cold breeze. She gathers up the fabric of her odd looking dress: a long-sleeved men's dress shirt that seems to go one forever with patched additions of fabric, cinched at the waist. She uncrosses and recrosses her long legs, making a firm 'tap' with the heels of her boots. No humans dare to approach her. No humans yet, at any rate. The window into the attic squeaks open, a slim figure making their way out onto the roof. Dressed in long blue and black skirt over fleece-lined tights, tan ankle boots, pale grey peacoat, a neatly tucked and wrapped blue scarf wound over her hair, Lyric frowns around the roof as if looking for someone. Her arms fold across her chest, and for a moment she pauses, turning back towards the window -- but then stopping, head tipping towards the garden. Her brows raise, and she squints towards the taaaall figure in the garden before veering -- closer. Inchinchinch. Peer. The squint makes her own impeccably wingtipped eyeliner all that much more pointy. Hmm. She edges up to the side of the garden, looking first to Deltressa's book before -- more cautiously -- tipping a glance up towards the covered face. The fabric of Deltressa's headcovering ripples as something moves beneath the fabric, shifting to get more comfortable. In that moment, she turns to make eye contact with Lyric - studying the young woman with the steady, soulless gaze. Flourishing her long black nails, she closes the book and hugs it to her breasts. The faceless woman slowly pats the open space on the bench left in the tome's wake ...for Lyric to take. Lyric's eyes dart up towards the headscarf, then back to the slit in the niqab. Her arms wrap tighter around her chest, a small shiver running through her. She buttons up her coat more securely, pulling in a breath as Deltressa pats at the bench. Nodding, she signs a thanks as she moves to take it, smoothing her skirt out beneath herself and perching carefully on the edge of the seat. 'Your eye makeup pretty.' Her signing is expressive and smooth, though she doesn't sign overly /fast/. 'Though the veil. More striking.' 'Thank you,' Deltressa signs in response, placing the book down into her lap. Her long fingers stretch and move with a slow and deliberate confidence. 'What is under the veil is much more striking,' her eyes curve into small, amused crescent moons, 'Yours is better. Are you from the neighboring town?' Her long nails gesture towards their audience, now in awe of the odd pair in the garden. 'Not Muslim?' There's only a tiny hint of disappointment in Lyric's expression at this. Fleeting. By the time she has looked away towards the congregating Salem refugees and back it has passed. She shakes her head, then nods. 'No. Yes. Complicated. I live here. My brothers, me, students here. Mother teaches. But my father live in town. So both?' Shrug. 'You're Anole's family?' 'No,' Deltressa answers, despite the girl figuring it out on her own, 'Yes, Anole. My name is D-E-L.' She watches the girl, tilting her head somewhat. 'Your parents are ...separated? Is your father S-A-F-E?' 'D-E-L,' Lyric repeats. 'I'm L-Y-R-I-C.' She shakes her head. 'My parents together. My dad has a shop in town. Sometimes mom stays there, sometimes dad stays here. Depends what's convenient for whose schedule.' Shrug. 'Dad came here when things started to get bad. Long before --' She gestures to the knot of other Salem-ites on the roof. 'He's safe.' She looks out, now, over the grounds. Then back up at Del. 'Your family? I know the city was --' Her brows knit together deeply. 'Bad.' This, with a wrinkle of nose. 'Sorry probably understatement.' 'Pretty name for a pretty girl,' Deltressa nods, looking out over the Salem-ites with only slight contempt and then, back. She sighs in confirmation, 'Safe. For the time being. Three daughters. One son.' The woman's eyes smile again, 'Big understatement. Thank you for welcoming us into your home, Lyric.' This puts a warm smile on Lyric's face. Bright and happy, dark-lipsticked lips curling up as she signs a thanks. Her legs swing, the toes of her boots scuffing under the bench against the rooftop. Her eyes fix on Deltressa's long fingers, watching the dark nails move with an almost transfixed look before she blinks. 'Good. Glad they're safe. All here with you? My brother in the city I didn't hear from him for two weeks, scariest time ever. He's safe too though he just got stuck with no phone in a shelter but we worried, thought the worst -- family's so important, right? I'm afraid it's not a very /good/ welcome though. Cranky and fighting all the time. Maybe I'll start offering backrubs in the girls' dorms. Help everyone relax some.' This thought comes with a small rough chuckle. 'All here with me. Not all happy about it,' Deltressa signs, her own lips curving into a small smile behind her shroud, 'The most important thing, I think.' Her own legs are wrapped around each other and off to the side, but could probably equate to three or four of Lyric's, 'I have had much worse welcomes in my life. The girls and I are in the Chimera Room? It's actually quite lovely.' 'I should return there soon,' Deltressa continues, 'We have an orphan. A baby. My daughter will want a break.' The woman brings up her nails to toy with the fabric of her niqab before moving to sign again, 'It was a pleasure, young lady.' 'Oh --' There's a crumpling of Lyric's expression at the mention of the orphan, a kind of awkward-distress; her hand hovers above her chest for a moment before finally resolving into a hesitant equally awkward, 'sorry'. Uncertain. Her teeth press against her lip. 'You too.' She nods to Deltressa, fidgeting on the edge of her seat but then offering a quick smile. 'If you need baby clothes. For them. I sew well.' She fluffs a hand against the edge of her own (elaborately embroidered) headscarf. 'Plenty of time with no classes lately. Could use some new projects.' 'How generous. My eldest sews as well,' Deltressa answers, 'Perhaps you could convince her to do some good.' She gestures around them to the sad looking refugees that still linger around them, many of them in the worn-down clothes that they came here in. The woman nods her head in farewell before slowly rising and drawing every eye on the rooftop. Quite fearlessly, the Arachnid woman's high-heeled boots click with each effortless step she takes towards the attic's entrance.