Logs:Good Hunters
| Good Hunters | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2023-07-24 "At some point the price of keeping on is higher than they want to pay." |
| Location | |
Is it late? It's quite dark, at least, but there's a charge electrifying the camps even at this bedtime hour, a more fervid buzz of conversation illuminated in clusters around campfires, by car dome lights, by flashlights and handheld lanterns. Here in a distant corner of the gardens, Jax has only brought the light he carries with him -- there's a very soft glow that radiates from his skin to uncanny effect where it shows pale at the edges of his pitch-black body armor. Gentle though the light is, it's a beacon in the camp -- although for this moment, at least, there's been a break in the press of people clamoring to get close to him. Maybe he's requested a moment, or, more likely, the very hungry, very large dragonfly he's standing by has dissuaded all but the most bold -- by his dim illumination he's filling a bucket with raw hamburger meat, packed neat in a cooler that had been attached to one side of her saddle before he removed her riding gear. Sugar is digging in eagerly, serrated jaws tearing messily into her dinner. Jax himself, this responsibility complete, takes a step back to take a long swig from a very minty-smelling insulated mug. Sugar's appetite has not dissuaded Erik from his approach -- but again, he also is not demanding Jax's attention right this second, seeming more engrossed with watching the dragonfly. Erik is in Full Magneto Regalia -- suited in red and black armor, cape draped across his back, dark boots, dark gloves, the promise of metal hidden in each shadow. It's a bit at odds with his offering, here, in the stainless steel carafe floating with a steel camp mug at his side. The carafe goes to Jackson's side first, before Erik follows -- it, too, smells of mint. "I did not quite understand, before, why Shane suggested a dragonfly." Erik sounds ever so lightly amused. "She is a fine steed, indeed." "She's a good'n, for sure." Jax is patting at Sugar's sturdy side as she tears into her food. "Thank you, sir." He turns, dipping his head in a nod of thanks as he plucks the carafe out of the air, topping off his mug with the fresher tea. "Did you know hunting dragonflies catch their prey 'bout ninety-five percent of the time? Fiercest hunters we ever done discovered." "I did not know that." Erik's brows lift, impressed, with another look towards Sugar. "Would I have had one at my side in my own hunting days, perhaps they would have ended sooner." There's a weight in Jax's hand when Erik's power releases the carafe to him, one that lightens when he finishes pouring. He's giving the younger man a curious look in the gentle light. "Are you on the hunt, Jackson? You are dressed for it, but --" The handle of his mug rotates, vaguely, in the direction of the rest of the camp, "-- your party, such as it is, does not." At first, Jackson doesn't answer this. He turns, too, to survey the camp. He takes a long sip of tea. He rocks, absent, from heel to toe and back. "This ain't the only lab -- far from it. It's the hub, but all 'round the country our folk locked up -- in places even Sugar, fast'n true as she flies, can't reach quicker'n they can kill or disappear people even deeper." He cups both hands around his mug, a nearby firelight reflected in his eye. "Lord knows those people ain't got no shame; those doors ain't gonna open out of no crisis of conscience, but all these folk here -- all those folk round the country clamoring for an end to this -- at some point the price of keeping on is higher than they want to pay. If I can get our people out without bloodshed -- I think more of them will get out; wars got many casualties on all sides. And if those doors don't open --" His voice is soft, but sure. "Well. I am a Georgia boy. I can't quite touch Sugar but I'm a right good hunter." Erik's intense gaze rests steadily on Jax as he speaks. Somewhere in here, the carafe and mug are set aside on the ground. Somewhere in here, Erik's left arm tenses, and then slowest, deliberately relaxes. Somewhere in here, his nostrils flare -- just once, before his eyes close for one short moment. "If," he repeats, "you can end this with no more blood spilled. You do not fear what they might do while you lay siege? Are you sure that, in the titan's final hours, they will not simply liquidate these ca--" Erik catches himself with a harsh frown, "-- laboratories rather than risk further secrets being known?" "Of course I fear it," Jax answers softly. "Every single day for fourteen years now, I've been terrified what they might do. Out of fear or spite, to my friends, to my kids, to the people in labs we ain't even never found yet. These past months been my years of nightmare come to vivid life. I can't be sure what they might do or not do and I've driven myself full mad trying to second guess that half my life." He's turning, now, away from the camp to look up at Erik. "If I gotta fight, I'll fight, but what I want is to carve a path for every Promethean to walk free. If I made all my choices outta fear my sons woulda been in cages these past fourteen years an' Ryan and I would be farming peaches back home." Erik is not smiling, but there is grim approval in his expression. His hands clasp under his cape, behind his back. "I had thought, perhaps, some of your methods were rooted in fear of reprisal." Is there judgement, in his words? If it's there at all, it's very slight. "It's certainly not what I would do. But --" and he's not looking towards the camp, now, but up at the walls of Lassiter, "-- these places made us into very different men. My time in a cage taught me to go for blood at every opportunity-- they will kill us anyway. Maybe that was the wrong lesson." His eyes go unfocused, as if trying to see through the walls. "Spencer made it home, did he not?" "Maybe. I don't know. Takes a diversity of tactics to fight a war, and Lord knows even when Prometheus folds the bigger one's gonna be far from over." Jax drinks deep from his mug, though this delay doesn't quite cover the hitch in his breath, the faint fluttering waver of the glow that illuminates him. "He got out safe." He swallows here, hard. "Ion kept goin' back for folks right till the end." "He's a good man." The difference between he is or he was gets swallowed in Erik's accent, in the contraction, in the faintest waver creeping into his voice. "Strong. Hopeful, but not blinded by it. Like so many of your team. Like our children." Somewhere on the ground, tea is poured, the splash of liquid filling the pause before Erik speaks again. "They have my daughter -- or perhaps her body. Had you not summoned our people here, I would have rent this wretched place apart, piece by piece, to find her." He tears his gaze away from the walls. "I would still, if you gave me leave to do so." Jax's head bows as the tea pours -- is there a jagged spear of lightning arcing down within the liquid, or is that a trick of the dim light? When he lifts his head his eye has narrowed on the ugly shadow of the fortress looming over them. "If I don't bring her back," he answers, quiet and firm as the glow around him ripples brighter, "we'll burn this place down together." | |
