Logs:—so marred was his appearance, beyond human semblance, and his form beyond that of mortals—so he shall startle many nations;

—so marred was his appearance, beyond human semblance, and his form beyond that of mortals—so he shall startle many nations;
Dramatis Personae Egg, Ion, Isra, Leo
In Absentia Dusk, Erik	2024-08-25 "{I show him, be the best fucking dad.}"
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. Ion has definitely seen better days. He's still pale, kind of unsteady on his feet from the blood lost in Genosha, but he's been bandaged up, at least. Has he slept since getting back, it's anyone's guess -- he's wide-eyed, wild-eyed, a little manic in his rapid-jittery movements, rapid-jittery speech. Maybe he should be sitting down right now, but he isn't, instead teetering on the edge of one of the garden beds in jeans and motorcycle boots and a plain white undershirt, gesticulating broadly with his hook-hand (he's holding a rather filthy rubber ball in it) as he speaks in a fiery Spanish: "{-- can't believe that fucker, just like him come all this way just die on us all. Again! Again-again. Just like him, yeah? I show him, be the best fucking dad. Fuck. You got like 'leventy billion cousin, huh? You good with kid, yeah, Plague Doctor? Gonna have hella aunty-uncle here, at least.}" In front of Ion, poor Buttercup is watching the ball bounce back-forth-up-down in the hook with an increasingly frantic expectation, head bobbing, tail wagging, tongue lolling. The dog is not paying overly much attention to the conversation, his focus here rather single-minded. Aaaany minute now. Ion, alas, has very much forgotten he even has the ball. Leo is sitting, has been sitting through most of this, in a patio chair beside the garden bed. He's dressed in a daisy yellow short-sleeve button-down with a subtle windowpane pattern and medium wash cigarette cut blue jeans with brown chukka boots. He is, to his partial credit, looking only very slightly poleaxed -- a little wide in the eyes, brow slightly wrinkled. At occasional intervals he has made halfhearted overtures towards attempting to pluck the ball from Ion and relieve Buttercup of his misery but as the story progresses he has given up on this, his hand moving to cup lightly over his mouth. "{A -- child.}" is what he finally repeats, slow, and a little bit hesitant. "{Here?}" Isra is perched on split log benches with her tablet open to her AAC app, but has barely spoken or stirred at all since she followed Ion out here. She's wearing rather more clothing than is her wont in summer: a voluminous black kaftan, surpassingly soft and printed with constellations, which she reserves largely for recovering from extensive injuries. The extent of said injuries is nevertheless visible, most strikingly in the long tears in her wing membranes, which have been variously stitched, glued, and steri-stripped back together. More alarming perhaps is the pallor of her skin, a washed out gray that somehow makes her look even more monstrous than usual--not a low bar by any means. Or maybe that's just her stillness. She has clearly been attending, however. Her ears swivel toward Leo, then flatten back against her head. Her stylus moves, slow and deliberate, but she speaks aloud while doing so, "{Adolescent.}" This does not have the tone of a correction, and neither does, "{Fierce fighter. But yes.} She finally finishes writing, and the tablet's mechanical voice supplements, "The child also came across to help us." "{Kid grew up in a fucking war, they can handle us.} That backwards fucking Batman tell me look after 'em what the fuck else I do. {Look after 'em so damn good.}" Ion is looking at his hook, now, like he's only just noticing the ball he's holding. "Shit, boy, why you don't say nothing." He flings the ball far across the yard, sending Buttercup rocketing off at top speed. Ion's brows furrow deep in some abrupt misgiving, his prongs clackclackclacking together. "Fuck." Leo's brows lift, but after some small consideration of Ion's current highly-keyed up state he holds his tongue on the subject of how very eloquent Buttercup's eyes have been for the past long while. "Growing up in a war doesn't mean they should stay in one," he protests, softly, once Isra's tablet has finished speaking. Still, there's a gentle sympathy in his expression at the restless clacks of Ion's hook. "{Your whole life is taking care of people. You can do this.}" Isra's eyes track Buttercup, and one of her ears flicks in the direction of where the ball landed. "{You are. Very damn good. At--}" She twitches the thumb claw of one wing at Leo and gives a very subtle tilt of one head that doesn't quite qualify as a nod, but it's clear enough she's seconding him, anyway. She's also writing, all this while, and now her AAC says, "All our children are growing up in a war. It's only a matter of how much insulation they have from the fighting." A few sparks crackle between Ion's clacking hook, and his tongue sucks hard against his teeth. "Shit, sister, you hear that King Magnus shit? We gotta go find ourselves a whole damn country, let our kids grow up free as hell." His cheeks puff out, breath popping out hard, and when Buttercup gallops back to drop the ball, panting, he scoops the ball back up and flings it back out again hard. "We ain't got no other kids here. Maybe I bring 'em in town with me. Meet some friends?" Free and like a bat out of hell: Egg descends upon the Brothers congregating in the courtyard, a blur of gray thrashing limbs. All the sharp severity of their menacing, monstrous appearance pronounces itself with a tinge of crimson, as, self-sufficient and still acclimating, the adolescent vampoyle supplements the diet of very normal, very human food provided with--well, it's anyone's guess by the dried blood staining their mouth and talons. Already imprinted on the crackling-electric Ion and processing the similarity between Rift!Isra and Real!Isra, they make no effort to conceal their hunting as they drop in from above with a terrifying smile intended to be congenial but really nothing shorting of terrifying as they flash sharp canines at Leo while beckoning Buttercup to bring them his ball upon return from fetching. This is Totally Normal. At least, as much as one would expect from the dimension-hopping, world-stranding, trauma-inducing slew of Recent Events. Perhaps Leo was going to respond to this. Maybe ask about King Magnus. Maybe a suggestion about where an adolescent mutant ought to be going. Maybe something. But then there's a batwinged gremlin descending abruptly and he's glancing up -- first curious like maybe this is a bird, then startled like wait this is not a bird, then pressing back suddenly enough that if he were on hard ground and not grass it might well have tipped his chair. As is all it does is dig it harder into the soft earth. His eyes have gone wide, his hands clamped down tight against the arms of the patio chair, and it takes several long breaths before he slowly eases. Blinks. Looks to Ion -- then to Isra -- then back to Egg. He swallows. "Oh," he finally manages, though it's a little dry, "Is this. You must be. Hello." "Heard," Isra confirms. "Wonder what Genoshans think." Her ears perk up well before the others can hear Egg's approach--before Ion or Leo, anyhow; Buttercup is another story. She tips her head back and clicks, likewise only audible to those with Superior hearing, possibly to estimate Egg's (alarming?) (impressive?) descent speed. If so she's evidently satisfied with the result, because by the time her other-worldly not-child has landed, her vocalizations have mellowed out to a sub-audible purr. "Egg. Yes." Then signs to Egg, idly curious, 'What did you catch?' Ion is already twitchy as hell, so his additional jumpy blink at the unexpected motion almost doesn't register. There's a shiver of sparks down his arm and he's huffing, sharp and maaaybe amused at Leo's reaction. His chin jerks upward to Egg. "Yooo. Guess you ain't met Leo yet. He's great." He's jerking his head towards Leo in introduction. "This Egg. Leo don't sign for shit but he'll learn." Is he saying this confidently or like a threat? Hard to say. Twitching ears that flick upward reticulate in synchronization with subsonic clicks and sound to radar-orient Egg and communicate back with Isra as they fling a clawed hand into the air with an enthusiastic wave and those bared teeth. They shoot Ion a presumptuous, chin-waggling nod of affirmation and chuff, signing 'I know Leo. Busted dad out of jail. Before.' Scuttling forward, now earthbound, their bulging eyes fixate obvious attention on Leo, shifting--only briefly--to Isra, with a sheepish, dismissive set of hand motions. 'Not a person, promise! Just. Very hungry.' Their tail sashays behind them, wings folded in a loose cape about their body, and wing spars criss-crossed at the hollow of their throat as they dip to pick up the ball Buttercup drops at their feet and hurl it with impressive strength a distance away. If they are still shell-shocked or coping, well, a brave front is offered as they shift back to flutter fingers at Leo. 'Tell this Leo thank you, please' he motions to both of the sign-fluent adults. Leo does flush, now, head dipping in sheepish embarrassment at his rude fixated staring. 'Sorry', he offers, juuust about the limit of the signing he does know (together with "thank you", largely the only part of Egg's words he catches). "Sorry, I -- was. Startled, I didn't expect." His brow creases, eyes starting to lift but then lowering again, and he hesitates, perhaps catching himself before he says any of the many possibly-also-rude things that might have followed. What he finally does manage is, "... you did say Dusk's child. Maybe I should have. Expected the. Flying." He takes another slow breath before he looks up, and offers, gently, "I am so very sorry for your loss." Slightly chagrined: "I will learn." Isra does not seem very worried about whether Egg's meal had been a person. 'As long as you cleaned up after yourself.' She signs this one-handed to Egg while she scribbles something on her tablet, which then tells Leo, "Egg says thank you. The other you broke the other Dusk out of jail." Her brows lift slightly and she adds, "Some children from our world, too, I think." "{Shit, you a straight badass in every world.}" Ion is nudging Leo's shoulder, an absent zap accompanying his jostling. "-- We get you fed on the regular, yeah? We got blood to spare. Everyone give a little it'll all work out." There something distant and wistful in his expression as Buttercup takes off after the ball again. "You one of us. Ain't none our people going hungry here." 'Are you sure?' Voices an outlying query and general cause of concern. Still, the hematophage seems to brim pridefully towards Leo and Isra, as they bound off after Buttercup. Thanks given, boundaries established; very little else occupies their worry or focus as they immerse themselves in the moment. Perhaps this is enough for Leo, Isra, and Ion to similarly lose themselves in the present. At any rate: no offense taken, as life moves on, one monstrous and momentous moment at a time.