Logs:Inhumane Resources
| Inhumane Resources | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-04-12 "A problem would be a good week." |
| Location
<BOM> Jenner Courtyard - ??? | |
The bones of this long-defunct Prometheus research facility have been gradually cleaned- and spruced-up, though the grounds visible from outside the fence with its alarming biohazard warning signs still look intentionally abandoned and overgrown. The courtyard enclosed by the main building is a different story. The weeds have been cleaned up, but many of the saplings that have grown on their own far enough from the foundation have been spared, promising future shade for future Brothers. There's a firepit at the center, a rusty barbecue nearby, and a scattering of used and mismatched but entirely serviceable patio furniture throughout. Several raised beds have been installed along the northern edge of the space, where there's the best sun. One of these last is where Destiny is currently busying herself, transplanting tomato seedlings from egg cartons on a repurposed cafeteria tray. She's wearing a purple plaid flannel with the sleeves rolled up, pink gardening gloves, heavy denim overalls, and pink rubber boots, her cane lying on the ground beside her and a folded tarp under her to knee her knees out of the mud. Mystique has been working quietly alongside her wife. Her black tank top and black jeans are probably not really clothes that she is wearing, but the wide brimmed lauhala hat shading her eyes from the sun is not attached. She is just resettling it at a slightly better angle before shifting her place on the edge of the raised bed to dig a neat new set of holes with her trowel in the dirt. Regan isn't dressed for any gardening, in a slinky red tube top and tight black capris. Her contribution to this work consists of a tray of lemonade that she's bringing out to deposit on a nearby table before folding herself into a seat. She's plucking up her own lemonade, sipping it slowly through a straw. "We have a problem." Destiny was brushing the dirt from her gloves before Regan even stepped outside, and now she sits back on her heels, though doesn't turn around yet. "More than one," she says as she pulls her gloves off, primly loosening each finger first. "But that one is easier to solve." Maybe it doesn't occur to her that Regan hasn't named the problem yet and Mystique can't read minds. Or maybe she knows Mystique is used to her temporally nonlinear conversational habits. Mystique tips her head back, yellow eyes fixing on Regan. She shoves the trowel blade-down in the dirt as she rises. "A problem would be a good week." There's an amusement in her deep voice. She's stepping lightly around the raised bed, picking up the other two glasses and returning to offer one to Destiny. "What are we solving first?" "A resource problem." Regan's brows have hitched up just a tic in curiosity at Destiny's answer, her head tilting. She is -- not nearly so used to the seer's habits, but maybe she's learning. At least, she evinces no impatience with the cryptic nature of the conversation. "These new Sentinels, the intel they seem to have -- if we don't deal a serious blow to HAMMER they could end us. But with the firepower we have now --" She hitches up a shoulder and sips again at her lemonade. "We can't just lick our wounds forever. Not if we want to be taken seriously." "There are many kinds of resources." Destiny smiles up at her wife as she accepts the glass. "Some we can buy. Some we can steal. Others we must win." She sips daintily at her lemonade. "We should focus on the ones who are ready to be won." "Mmm." Mystique crosses one arm over her chest, taking a swallow of lemonade as she listens. "Locked doors have never been a problem for me. But Loyalty. Trust. Those are harder to take." Her forefinger taps lightly against the side of the glass, and she inclines her head to Regan. "Our Mastermind here has had great success turning defeat into moral victory. Finding inspiration for our people to rally around. I have no great talent for stealing hearts, but maybe we can steal you an opportunity." Regan huffs, sharp but amused. "Please," she's scoffing lightly, "Our people are desperate. I could get them to rally around a sewer rat if it had a flashy costume and promised them glory." One of her legs crosses over the other, bobbing idly in place. "It just seems like a bit of a Catch-22. Need more people to strike a decisive blow to HAMMER, but until that blow is struck --" She's sucking a piece of ice out of the lemonade and crunching it idly. "If we do bring in new blood we'll have to act swiftly. Some collateral damage is one thing. Bringing people in just to be canon fodder would go down poorly." "Freaktown will fall," Destiny declares with confidence, "and soon. Many of our people will be displaced, and if they experience that displacement violently, they will be better placed to understand the necessity of answering with violence." She cocks her head slightly to one side. "Wheels are already set in motion, but the future is not a game of chess. If we give it a nudge at the right time and place..." She doesn't glance at Mystique, but the curve of her smile definitely indicates her wife. "...we will have our blood, no flashy costume needed. And yet, firepower will not be enough." Here her brows furrow, though it's not obvious what at, other than her lemonade. "If we do not reckon with the traitor, any plan to strike HAMMER will come to naught." "Could and did." Amusement thrums in Mystique's voice, her brow hitching up slightly. "It's been long enough, I think, I could dispose of the whelp without it looking like revenge." Her form is shifting fluidly, remolding into the shape of a broad and grizzled NYPD officer and then, in turn, a lean flinty-eyed Purifier. "It isn't as though she has a shortage of enemies." She's melting lean and blue once more, her hand dropping light to rest on her wife's shoulder. "Predictable, if unfortunate. It is a wonder Freaktown lasted as long as it did. Ion is nothing if not spirited." For a moment her tone and expression both have gone a little distant, her fingers squeezing light at Destiny's shoulder. Her voice levels back out when she continues. "-- But passion alone could never liberate our people. We can turn their pain into power. Freaktown may fall," her smile is thin and sharp, "but we will rise." | |
