Logs:Rolling
| Rolling | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae
Anahita, Lucien, Rocket, Ryan, with Matt & Jax & Steve via text | |
| In Absentia | 2024-07-14 "What is with these people with their cake based emotional warfare..." (set just after diving in the pool.) |
| Location
<PRV> The Belfry - Le Bonne Entente - Astoria | |
Nestled just below the belfry and above the gardeners' workshop and storage rooms, this penthouse apartment is accessible only at the proprietor sufferance via a special panel in the elevator and a locked utility stairway. The whole of it is psi-shielded, and equipped with a largely unused power suppression grid as well. Spanning one and a half levels, this space could be mistaken for an extension of the conservatory below, with plentiful bookshelves and greenery spilling from every nook, but even a cursory examination will reveal the personal touches that went into its design, softening the neoclassical aesthetic of the building at large with paradoxically fastidious whimsy. The elevator shaft bridging the full level and the loft is, save for the doors, encased in the coral reef of an immense cylindrical aquarium that houses a thriving tropical community. The sitting room immediately adjoining this is bright and airy, open to the empty half of the story above, with a plush circular sectional couch, a low tea table, a sideboard and a bar, its walls covered with lush trellises where not taken up with recessed bookshelves. Opposite the oceanic entryway on the western wall, tall french doors lead to a crescent balcony with views of the waterfront and city beyond as well as the restaurant terrace and garden far below. To either side of the doors, floor to ceiling waterfall windows feed twin pools connected under a thick glass floor panel, an indoor pond lined with smooth river stones and stocked with hardy freshwater fish. On the other end of the apartment, tucked under the loft and behind the elevator shaft, is a large kitchen bracketed by a pantry on one end and a breakfast nook on the other, its culinary conveniences--even the the refrigerator and ovens--hidden behind opaque glass panels that light up at a touch with lists of their contents. An elegant floating stairway spirals up around the elevator cum aquarium, its balusters and those of the loft's railing above twined with well-trained philodendrons. The long wall of the loft showcases a variety of bows from historical and modern, humble to ornate. A no-nonsense workshop at one end of this gallery stores the less picturesque archery paraphernalia as well as a wide range of tools, striking a quaint contrast with the cozier if no less utilitarian study at the other end. Open offset doorways at either end lead to a capacious bedroom with a king sized bed, its walls graced with myriad orchids and other epiphytes in Greek sconces. The generously sized bathroom is tiled with mosaic scenes from classical mythology and has an entire corner dedicated to the antique clawfoot tub. The walk-in closet is similarly generous, with specialized storage for every imaginable accessory, and a hidden staircase leading to the belfry above and the exit below. Not long past, the elevator has chimed its quiet announcement that it is about to return. When the doors do slide open, there's a very subtle background melody that spills out with it, a bright and cheerful string chorus that sounds like it is coming from a distance but brings with it an immediate and visceral wash of warmth and wonder. Ryan -- still dressed just in swim trunks and a ribbed red tank, both quite wet -- has a large towel kind of haphazardly draped around him in his lightweight manual wheelchair, his phone clutched tight in his hand. He has not actually gotten far into the apartment. His chair has rolled to a halt just outside the elevator doors, still tucked in the watery doorway nook, and he's staring up at the aquarium that surrounds the entryway. His eyes are wide, and he pulls in a soft gasp in time with an exuberant delighted trill that sounds through his current personal theme music. He's trying to follow the path of an exquisite fairy wrasse as it glides by but soon transfers his staring to a spotted-stripey sailfin tang and then (as his eyes kind of vibrate with his over-focus) just zones out a little bit, tipping his head back and up. "Your elevator goes to the ocean? How did you get the. What. Oh god are we drowning." He doesn't sound worried about this possibility -- kind of thrilled, really. A bit further into the apartment, in the kitchen, Rocket is (and likely has been for some time) pacing back and forth, focused elsewhere while he practices cube disassembly and reassembly. A cake box with an envelope and the large letters spelling out LUCI attached to it are the source of his consternation. "What is with these people with their cake based emotional warfare..." he grumbles impatiently. At the sound of the elevator opening, though, he is instantly bounding in that direction, "Hey! Someone left a--" But his words are cut off at the appearance of Ryan, his gaze moving up and down as he takes stock and quickly assesses the guest. "Who's this rolling disaster?" Lucien is trailing out of the elevator behind Ryan. His clothing is mostly dry -- but also mostly not on him, neatly folded jeans and button-down and loafers in a neat pile in his arms, leaving him currently in just (very wet) boxer briefs. "This is Ryan. He is actually much more of a disaster than he first appears. Ryan, Rocket. Rocket it staying with me for the moment." He is slipping out around Ryan's wheelchair, his head shaking slow. "More like, I brought the ocean to my elevator. You will not drown." He's saying this as he trails up the staircase, casting a glance down between the slats of the stairs. "What did someone leave?" Anahita is trailing Lucien and fetches up beside Ryan, doing more or less the same thing in spirit that he is doing. She is, granted, neither high nor empathically broadcasting her startled delight to anyone other than Ryan with the single soft "oh!" that escapes her at the sight of the watery blue archway over them. They have not come so very far from the pool, but the voluminous folds of her blue wrap dress have dried with such shocking alacrity that it is easy to imagine she had not been in the pool at all. She looks up up up into the column of captive ocean. And then down at Rocket. "I'm Anahita," she tells him, her intensely curious perplexity also audible only to Ryan, to whom she adds, "The water is behind glass." She blinks, her bright wonder resurging as she looks past Ryan's shoulder toward the double doors on the other side of the apartment. "Most of it. There is a waterfall over there. I do not think you will drown in that, either." "I'm already drowning," Ryan whispers, awed. He's trying, hard, to type on his phone but gives up on this halfway through and speaks to it instead: "I fell in the ocean why does he live in the ocean" He has to make a conscious effort to pull his eyes away from the water, looking in stark bafflement at Rocket: "What happened to Flèche is -- she a raccoon now. That's a disaster. Friend," this is directed straight toward Rocket, "do you live here. This is not. An apartment this is some kind of." He doesn't finish explaining 'some kind of', instead focusing Very Intently on wheeling himself another foot forward. It gets him just past the entryway where he stops again, to marvel at the rest of the apartment.
"Left a box of food with your name on it. You're not gonna finish it all, are you?" says Rocket. He puts his hand on his hip and looks up at the fish, and he notes for Anahita and Ryan's benefit: "You're not supposed to eat those things you're eyeing, by the way, they're pet fish. I'm Rocket, and I live here temporarily while I fix my ship. Still can't say how long that will take, but I expect to be around for a bit." A pause and a slight tilt of his head, "Is it a disaster to be a raccoon?" "It would be a disaster if Flèche had become a raccoon, which I believe Ryan is concerned about." Lucien's voice has raised just enough to carry as he disappears into his room. Only very briefly. He returns shortly, in soft black lounge pants, pulling a plain grey tee shirt over his head as he heads back down the stairs, clicking his tongue until the dog in question rouses herself from where she's been lying with eyes riveted steadfastly on The Cake. "A box of --" Now he's distracted, eyes riveting on Rocket's puzzle cube. "-- Oh, what an excellent cube, where did you pick that up?" He has to wrest his attention away, drifting toward the table so that he can pick the card up. He blinks, looking a long moment just at the blocky name printed on it before he carefully opens the envelope. "There is also a pool near the waterfall," he sounds a little distracted with this addition, "if you are very set on drowning you could tip yourself into that." He turns the card over in his hand, and then over again. His expression is neutral, but Ryan can feel the keen ache beneath his soft voice. "I will most certainly not eat it all -- let me get plates and I can cut some slices for you both." "Rocket. Considerably larger than an arrow, usually, but you look of a similar size. It is lovely to meet you." Anahita bows. "And thank you for the warning. You are a sailor?" She starts to follow Ryan out into the apartment, perhaps out of some obscure concern he might in fact manage to drown himself, after all. But she does not get far before getting distracted again by the sheer volume of the aquarium, turning to stare up at the coral reef. "Actually, I am coming around to Ryan's point of view that your elevator goes up to the ocean." "Is it a disaster to be a raccoon? I've never been -- I don't think I've ever been a raccoon," Ryan is amending with a scrunch of his brows, "but I'll try most things once." He's starting to roll himself further into the apartment; his eyes are getting no less wide as he takes in more of it. He's tapping at his phone to talk to it again -- "No I'm upset tonight already or I was upset because he's wait no this is amazing there's plants and Flèche is a raccoon now --" but he's kind of forgetting about this disorganized text message halfway through because he's again been distracted: "What's that cube for. It looks. That is a good cube. Is your name Rocket or are you a... wait, both? Who doesn't get cake?" This is miffing him enough that he's rolling into motion again, heading toward the waterfall. Maybe because of the promised drowning opportunity over there but maybe, also, it's very transfixing. "Oho! You've got yourself a discerning cube eye," says Rocket, shaking it in Lucien's direction, "I got it at some market, it's for taking apart and putting back together. You can give it a shot." He follows back to the cake to be nearby when the first slices are made, "It's got a strong smell, it almost forced me to eat it." He says this very much in a tone that Lucien should be grateful that he displayed such awesome willpower. "My name is Rocket, I'm not a rocket. I'm some other kind of thing. And yeah, I'm a sailor from across the blackest starry sea." "You do not get cake. Certainly I will give you cake if you like, but I very much expect it is not vegan," Lucien answers Ryan, "and please do not actually cast yourself into my pond or I will be back in the same unfortunate PR position we neatly averted earlier. -- Rocket," Lucien is saying this as if it is very normal, "is a sailor from space. He is a veritable font of space information." Lucien is getting out four forks and four plates, just in case, but he only plates three slices -- and cuts a couple more preemptively just in case any raccoons will be wanting seconds. He offers Anahita a slice first, and then Rocket, eyes a little wider when he trades it for the cube. "I admire your reserve, thank you." He sounds earnest enough with this but it is very clear that some considerable portion of his attention has immediately transferred to the cube, which he is hefting appreciatively in his palm, fingers running light over its surface before he starts fiddling with its interlocking pieces. Anahita finally tears her eyes from the aquarium again to step out of her sandals and slips them into the shoe cubby. She turns to study the puzzle cube in Rocket's hand, then Rocket himself, more closely. "Blackest starry sea," she echoes, looking back to the (huge) miniature coral reef.. Then repeats it a few more times under her breath, nearly silent where it whispers soothing pleasure. Then her eyes snap back to Rocket again. "Space." Her intonation is nearly flat, the effort to suppress her incredulity erasing the question mark that probably should have been there. She shakes herself out of contemplating the middle distance when cake appears, accepting it with a dip of her head and a murmured thank-you before drifting to the couch. She is a small woman to begin with, and looks smaller still in the middle of the capacious space. "There is a river running under you," she informs Ryan without actually looking. Then returns her attention to Rocket. "Are you. You are not a mutant? Are there mutants in space?" "Oh shit this isn't for you, stop stop fuck, don't read all that I was talking to Luci's new raccoon mate," Ryan is telling his phone with an increasing agitation. He swipes at its screen a few more times before giving up and dropping it on the seat beside him. "Can't have an ocean and a river that's just greedy." He's muttering this while still staring down at the river beneath the glass under his wheels. When he looks up again he's blinking -- looking at Flèche begging for cake, looking at Rocket, looking at Flèche again. "No, I thought --" Anahita asks the question he had been going to ask, which (briefly) puts a slightly sulky twinge in the quiet music, but it soon returns to the pleasant warmth. "How did you -- go to space. There's raccoons in space? What's your best. Planet."
"I don't think I'm a mutant. I'm just-- there ain't anything that's what I am." says Rocket, decisively, taking the cake from Lucien's hands. "Even if I am, according to you people, looking a lot like the raccoons you're used to." He sits down on the floor and sniffs it. "I bet there are mutants in space. There's lots of stuff in space. It's actually pretty big. I haven't got any planets, so I can't tell you the best one, and it really depends on the best at what." Rocket tilts his head back to look at Lucien, "What's vegan and why's this not that?" "This is my hotel, I can have an ocean and a river and a pond if I like. -- Have you not encountered an earth raccoon yet? There is one in the park across the street that occasionally likes to harry Flèche." Lucien is still fiddling with the cube, and now his voice is radiating a softer and calmer delight, to Ryan. "Vegan is --" He glances at the cake, and then Ryan. "He avoids consuming any food that came from an animal. I think this cake is likely to have quite a lot of butter. Oh, goodness." Suddenly chagrined, he is looking up from his cubing to go and fetch a glass of water, and "-- does anyone else need a drink," while he is at it. "Apologies for Ryan, he is usually insane on quite another axis altogether, but I think he has consumed a fair amount of drugs." "The raccoons here do not speak human languages." Anahita does not now sound completely certain on this front. "Usually. Which planet do you love best?" The curiosity in her voice has gone a little giddy, a little untethered. "I would like. Something to drink. Whatever you think complements this sort of cake. If you know what sort of cake this is." She gives Ryan a long, searching look. "He also has a waterfall. Would you like to be dry? I can do that easily, but it will feel quite odd. Odd is not always pleasant when high." "I have so much drugs." Ryan is not tipping himself into the pond! He is slowly and clunkily turning back around so that he can wheel closer to the others, or the aquarium, or both. "Do you like drugs? I have -- are drugs the same for raccoons, shit. I have good drugs." He doesn't quite get all the way back to the aquarium; he's paused to stare downward again at the water flowing through the floor. "-- Yes. Please. He promised me blankets. I don't," comes with a little laugh, "want to be wet. Blankets. Oh! Music. Which planet is the best at music." "Oh yeah, I love drugs," says Rocket, nodding approvingly, as he takes a bite of the cake. "Drugs are cool. Sometimes stuff needs to get less real." He takes a few chews to contemplate the flavour of it. "I like Gangalar. It's--" Rocket points confidently in a direction. "It's quiet, got plants and water and little critters that don't do any harm." Again to Lucien, "Does butter come from animals? There's meat in this?" He does not seem bothered by this idea. "If you ask my buddy, Quill, he'd say this planet is the best at music. I disagree." He pauses and then concedes, "But some of it's catchy." "Butter comes from milk, which comes from animals. Most commonly we use milk from cows, but we also get it from several other species. He does not eat meat, but he also does not eat eggs, or dairy, or honey or anything else an animal directly made, whether while alive or whether we took it from their flesh. -- Ryan, you are drugs." Lucien is getting a pitcher from the fridge, pouring glasses of horchata (non-dairy!) to distribute to the others. "There are several blankets on the couch, if you get yourself dried. Or -- if she gets you dried." He is finally taking his own cake and drink and settling down -- together with the cube, very importantly -- on the couch, Flèche hopefully trotting along to settle in front of him in continued hopes of cake. "... Ryan is himself a very accomplished musician," he is telling Rocket, "by many earthling's standards up there among the best our planet currently has to offer." With a glance to the dog, he is cutting a very small corner piece off his cake and setting it to the side before he actually takes a bite. His eyes widen -- he is looking at the cake with a complicated delight, and savoring this slow. His thumb runs lightly against a smooth plane of the cube. "-- how do you generally. Communicate. Through space. Will your friends have any way to know where you are?" "Galangar," Anahita repeats thoughtfully. "That sounds lovely. I do think Earth produces some wonderful music, but I have not got much basis for comparison. Have you heard much of his music?" She tips a hand in Ryan's direction. As she does so, the water on his person all gathers into jewelike beads that sluice off in cool, tingling trails that do, as promised, feel exceedingly odd. Within a few seconds, his skin and hair and, most dramatically, his clothes are dry. A few seconds after that the towel under him, as well, though it feels very chilly around the edges. She nods her thanks to Lucien again and takes a very small bite of her cake. Then stops, staring down at her plate. Then takes another bite, and another few beats before she distills whatever she was contemplating into, "My compliments to the baker." Her words murmur an indefinable melange of surprise and joy and longing. "Is Quill from Earth?" Her brows furrow as she picks up her glass for a drink. "I suppose, in retrospect, there have probably been many visitors to this world from others. It would explain a lot about marine biology." Ryan is twisting around to get his bag, fumbling it open and digging around inside. The sluicing of the water stops him, wide-eyed, shivering, and he lifts a hand to run it through his hair in puzzlement. Then run it through his hair again -- then again. "I think I got a new -- power. Thing." He sounds very impressed with himself, and is feeling around for his phone again to tell it (hushed like this is a secret for his voice-to-text's ears alone), "I stole your mutant. Thing."
He rolls himself closer to the couch, returning to his clumsy searching until from somewhere in one of the many pockets of his bag he pulls out a tiny antique-looking jar, red glass with a flower design inlaid on its silvered lid. "Here!" Triumphant, he is holding the jar up and then opening it to tip a tiny bit of the powder it holds onto his palm. "See you just dab it --" He's touching the little granulss on his palm to his gums with a fingertips, "and then. Drugs. Things will be less real and way -- way better. Shit, I bet space has so many drugs. Wait did you come from space?" This Totally Brand New Revelation is amazing him all over again; there's a warmer thrill that flutters through the quiet background music, though this is followed by a very concerned: "Oh no. Are your friends all still. Across the starry sea. And you're here. Oh no." Rocket watches Ryan's demonstration with interest, though he is still more occupied with the cake, his gaze lowering when he is asked about his friends. "I still need to repair the communications center." He looks back up, and speaks as if trying to convince himself of something than anyone else, "They're not worried about me, they know I'm a survivor, I'm not gonna die from a little crash landing explosion during a Brood invasion. I bet they're laughing it up, having their little vacation from Rocket!" He throws one of his hands up in frustration, "Quill's from here, but I don't think he's been back in a long, long time, so I don't think he'd know your music. He speaks this language we're using, though. I'm from space. Somewhere in space." His shoulders slump, "I've always made my home in the places between." Now he becomes interested in the drugs again, scooching himself a bit closer to Ryan. Lucien eyes the small jar of powder, and there's a longing somewhere behind his neutral tone. "That particular drug is a strong entactogen -- a pleasant mood and sensory enhancer. Just make sure to drink a little water every hour or so and it is," though he's considering Rocket uncertainly, "fairly safe. For humans. I admit I have not a lot of experience with pharmacological effects on too many other species." Lucien is scooting to make room on the sofa, rearranging its (very soft) blankets to provide a good landing pad. "I think -- one way or another, many of us here are familiar with making home where and with whom we can find it." He's texting while he speaks and looks up to tell Anahita: "Steve baked it. With," with a small grimace, "Damien's assistance. -- Oh, Rocket, Steve passes along his apologies for snapping at you about his cake." He is eating his slice slowly, a mingled appreciation and oddly pleasant melancholy in his words.
"I think it is possible to have a concern about even the strongest and bravest of friends. Ryan and his partner spent a good many years engaged in an extraordinarily dangerous series of battles to liberate many mutants from the cages they'd been kept in, and knowing they were fierce and competent warriors did not fully quell my worries and wishes, each time, for their safe return. -- I do look forward, once your ship is in order, to meeting these friends of yours. I can only imagine anyone keeping close company with you would be a delightfully interesting person to know." Anahita's eyebrows hitch up minutely. "I do not know if this is a significant improvement on Steve's part. I have only ever had his brownies, which are quite good." She pauses, and the aggressive neutrality of her tone when she continues does not fully cover her intense curiosity and equally intense wariness. "For his part, Damien...does seem to get around." None of which seems to diminish her enjoyment of the cake. "Being good at surviving tends to come of experiencing many difficulties, as it sounds like you have. Even if your friends are enjoying their vacation worry-free, they may long for home." She indicates Rocket with a nod. "Wherever you have found it." There is a quiet solace in her voice that was not there before, and she is actually considering Ryan's (non-audio-empathic) drugs hesitantly. "I have not dropped molly since. The aughties." Now she is considering Lucien. "Would it be an imposition on you, if I get high in your..." She trails off and looks around the garden apartment. "Living room." Ryan offers the jar to Rocket and Anahita in turn -- "if you're not. Used to it might want to start with just a little. Can have more in a bit if it's not. Not. Y'know." At Luci's mention of the raid team he is flushing deep, and his startled pride reverberates through the intricate string melody. "Crash landing sounds intense. I am glad. That you're a survivor." He is a little slow and a little clumsy transferring himself from his chair to the sofa, and his resulting shiver of pleasure thrums even louder as he pets a hand down against the soft blanket. "Oh shit Damien. You met him, then. He's. Magic." Luci is the last to get the offered Drugs, his brows hiking in offer. "Not an imposition if everyone's having a good time." At the talk of being a survivor coming from experiencing many difficulties, Rocket's fingers trace along his collarbone. He dismisses this thought with a shake of his head, and takes just a little bit of the powder as instructed. "Can you help me make a cake for him? Hit him with the nice-revenge. We could even," a more sinister motivation creeps into his voice, "Make two." He rubs his hands together as he contemplates this plot, but then. "Why were those mutants in cages? What the hell?" He turns his head back towards Lucien, "Aren't mutant just guys but strange? You thought I was a mutant-- are mutants raccoons sometimes? Why the hell are they putting the raccoons in cages? Is that why I got put in a cage?!" He turns to Ryan, seriously, "If it was up to me I'd break every bar and smash every chain. You're a space hero." "Mutants -- yes. They are otherwise human earthlings who have abilities that most humans do not. The government here had a very extensive operation of locking up mutants and experimenting on them, in hopes, among other things, of learning how to augment humans with similar abilities. Some mutants do have many traits that resemble some of our animals, which is likely why many earthlings will think you are one. You are the first alien most people here will ever meet." Lucien is watching the trace of Rocket's fingers, eyes lingering on one of the metal knobs. "I do not know why you were imprisoned, but I know quite a few people who share your sentiments regarding liberation." Somewhere in this, Ryan's offer has become increasingly tempting. He nods to Anahita, gesturing invitingly before taking a pinch for himself. "I have plenty of water and plenty of --" Lucien is looking at the stream winding through his apartment with a small frown. "-- Water. Oh, here." He returns Rocket his cube. "In a short while this is going to become even more fascinating than it already was." "He likes plants," Anahita tells Ryan, with an outsized dose of amusement. "But at this point I think the question is who has not met him." She does not tense up at Lucien's explanation of Prometheus. She very adamantly does not tense up, and takes a big gulp of her horchata. "This world. This country in particular. Is full of cages." Her voice is steady and quiet and furious. "I am sorry that you were put in one, as well, whatever the putative reason." If she was on the fence about getting high before, she does not seem to be any longer, and accepts Ryan's offer with something almost kind of like a smile. "Thank you, Space Hero. Tonight is already so surreal, I am not sure I'll recognize when this hits." "Luci is a great person to assist you with pastry-based warfare," Ryan assures Rocket. He's carefully screwing the cap back onto his jar, setting it on the table in case anyone needs seconds. "You're a space hero, I never even been to space. So far. Earth heroing only. Sorry about your cages that's shitty. That shit," he is very earnest here, "is why we get the good drugs." He gives Anahita a bright smile. "And don't worry. Things can always get weirder." (Quite a good while later:)
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