Logs:Of Deceits and Disappearances (Or, Vincent Adultbird)

Of Deceits and Disappearances (Or, Vincent Adultbird)
Dramatis Personae Horus, Matt, Ryan, Kavalam
In Absentia Jax, Lucien, Charles, Joshua, B, Scott, Spencer	2024-08-31 I bet bet bet if they have found a catastrophe it's a very very good one
Location Tessier Residence - Backyard - Greenwich Village
Living in the heart of Manhattan means space is precious, and as such, the yard behind this house is small. It is as exquisitely well-kept as the rest of the place, though; all available space has been meticulously cultivated and transformed into a lush retreat from the concrete and asphalt of the city. The borders of the garden are lined in a wealth of flowers, the selection chosen to provide a panoply of color in all seasons save winter. A grassy rock-bordered pathway separates these from the raised-bed vegetable garden that dominates its center. The far left corner of the garden plays host to a tiny rock-lined pond, goldfish and a pair of turtles living in its burbling water. To one side of the pond is a garden table and set of chairs and presiding over the pond, a large oak tree with a hammock underneath, its branches spreading out over the tall brick wall that screens the entire area off from the city outside. Something has been missing from the garden for quite some time. It's lush and green enough -- it's been watered and fertilized and even weeded somewhat regularly in between visits from professional landscapers -- but it's just...not quite right. Nevertheless, it is pleasant out here in the shade of the old oak tree on a day mild enough to be early autumn, the sky full of scudding clouds and the air with the rhythmic whir of cicada song. It's tea time, but there's coffee as well as coffee liqueur on the patio table beside a plate of somewhat unevenly cut fruit and another of several different varieties of Oreos. Probably this is still preferable to whatever non-Jax and non-Lucien vegan baked goods Matt could rustle up on any kind of notice. Matt himself is looking not especially well put-together, in a black tee with a print of a blue house that spirals a stairway deep into the ground below, ancient faded jean shorts, and no shoes. He's in the process of doctoring his coffee with sugar, oat creamer, and almost the same volume of espresso rum as all the other ingredients combined. "What did Chaz have anything to say about it? If you've gotten to him yet. He must know something." Ryan has transferred himself into a patio chair, for the moment, although he has a restless energy to him that suggests that (however ill-advised) he is giving strong consideration to chancing picking his crutches up from where they're hooked to the back of his wheelchair and doing a bit of dramatic pacing. For the moment, though, he is staying put, sprawled with one hand tapping against his knee and the other stirring far more times than necessary at his creamy-boozy coffee. He's in an almost (but not quite) sheer button-up shirt in blue-green-purple metallic ombre, its collar and cuffs expressly designed to be worn open, given the lack of buttons to do otherwise with them, wide-wide leg black jeans, and equally hefty New Rock boots with rainbow oilslick hardware, the charms on his boots jangling with the tap-tap-tap of his hand. "Don't nobody know not a damn thing, if you believe that. Just gone-gone. The hell's that even s'posed to mean? Shit, and B ain't been answering her damn phone all weekend." There's a shadow that passes brief overhead. Then, a moment later, circles back, drops down with a swoop and a flutter -- first, just to poach some fruit from the patio table in a rush of feathers. But on the next pass Horus lands, perching on the back of a spare patio chair and flexing his wings wide before pulling them in along his side. He has his slim tablet pouch strapped along his side though he isn't quite yet bothering to get it out just yet, instead turning his head one way and then another and then jabbing his beak at the bowl to pluck a chunk of pear out and gobble it down. His low croon sounds pleased enough, probably, though it rings very critical to Ryan's senses. He's sidling just a little edgeways along the top of the patio chair, inching along it closer to Ryan and staring hard at Matt. Matt raises both eyebrows. "She is sometimes incommunicado for..." The brows scrunch down, the marginal attempt at hopefulness ebbing when he corrects to, "Not usually more than two days at a stretch, no?" He takes a gulp of his coffee to make room for just a little more rum. "I know he oughtn't and might not tell if you if he tried anyway, but has Spence--" He isn't even drunk yet and almost tips backward out of his chair when Horus buzzes them. "Ostie de câlisse de tabarnak..." The startled swearing fades when he recognizes the bird approaching a second time. "Hello there, and I think you do not need my encouragement to help yourself." There's nothing of sarcasm at all in his voice. His eyes skate aside to Ryan. "Does he know yet?" It's not really worry written this, not really much at all, though there's a distant hint of bitterness in his voice when he addresses Horus again. "I'm not sure how much time you spend at their new place, absent your old eyrie." Ryan's eyes are flicking up long before Horus is actually swooping, and he just snorts at the thefts. "Man, how you gonna come steal food and then be grousing?" His cheek sucks chiding against his teeth at Horus's critical appraisal of the fruit. He's sitting up a little bit straighter when Horus edges towards his chair. "You ain't heard from Jax or Shane none, have you? I swear I am so fucking over this superhero bullshit. One day he's off fighting some insane goddamn robots, the next he disappears to Madripoor -- Madripoor! For days! I tell him when I go haring off --" His brows scrunch, and he amends, "-- usually. And come back in one piece!" Horus cranes his neck over to preen, light, at Ryan's hair, before hopping down to the table. He's setting his tablet out, so that he can open up his AAC, its chosen voice deep and rich and soothing in a way that almost entirely fails to suit Horus's somewhat frenetic tone of typing. very VERY practiced critic. Food quality here VERY down down downhill. I am cultured bird I have cultured bird tastes. This does not stop him from pecking at another piece of the lopsidedly-cut pear, of course, swallowing it in a hungry gulp. Not not not seen no pup no pups no Jax I see lots I see everything I text too! Many times. Many-many-many times I brought him such a good present SUCH a good ear such a VERY good ear. Horus is swiping away from the communication, looking up Madripoor on google maps. He is giving a loooooong and earnest contemplation to the flight distance here, beak quietly clicking against his stylus as his wings slowly shift. Hmm. Hmmmmm. Matt scuffs his knuckles over the stubble on his chin. "Admittedly, he did come back from Madripoor in one piece. The superheroics can be stressful to those near and dear all the same." This is very conciliatory, but there's an incongruous undercurrent of distant grief and distant anger, more muffed than is his norm. "They weren't on a mission, though, were they? When they disappeared." The cold weight of fear is far more present here, even if it's also muted. It does not really lift when he offers Horus an apologetic smile. "I am sorry to let you down so. We do have more fruit, if you'd like, and other, less vegan cookies." He takes another long gulp of his coffee and gestures at the map screen with his mug. "I have heard rumors that there's quite a lot of kidnapping and trafficking there, but we haven't any reason to think they'd be there." Though so saying he sounds suddenly unsure. "Have we?" "I don't think he went back to Madripoor, please don't fly all the damn way -- wait, what the fuck do you mean, ear?" Ryan is sitting up to squint at Horus's tablet, though now it is unhelpfully only showing him the map of Madripoor. He's scrubbing at the side of his face and taking a long swig of his coffee. "Shit, I don't know. They were looking into some missing people or -- damn pirates or some whole nonsense. Don't see how that means they just gone poof straight out the damn mansion. The mansion. Maybe," he's striking on this with a sudden vicious brightening, "Maybe-maybe, they just come to their senses, realized in a couple days that whole place be swarming with new teenage freaks and noped the hell outta there for a proper vacation. Joshua poofed 'em and they're on a beach right now getting blitzed." Reluctantly, Horus closes the map, though he is briefly, curiously, looking up pirate hats before flipping back to his communication app. ear ear I found him the best very best very shiniest rainbow ear present now he is rude rude where is he? Not here not GETTING it some gone gone gone away beach. No manners at all. The ear would look very fine very fine indeed on the beach. Glittery. Under the extraordinarily dignified richness of Horus's chosen voice there is an extraordinary amount of huffiness bristling through to Ryan. His feathers are starting to fluff up but with a great effort he presses them back down. Why would they nope from teenage freaks we are gr he starts to write, but then (somewhere halfway through this, its empathic mood shifts whiplash-quick from indignant to flustered) quickly cancels it and asks instead: Who else missing? I can look very very VERY good looker. Keen eyes swift wings birds see everywhere Matt chokes lightly on his coffee and sits bolt upright, coughing into the crook of his arm. "Wait wait wait -- you actually meant ear?" He's not quite incredulous, just absurdly amused in an untethered kind of way. Another cough. "I was sure that must have been a typo. Oh gods, but that burns." He decides to remedy this with another drink, and winces--presumably because that also burns. "This is some kind of artist thing, isn't it? Like a Vincent van g--" He blinks at Horus, eyes narrowing, and then wincing as he coughs again. "Why, teenage freaks are great. Courageous and defiant. Delightfully spontaneous. Veritable fonts of creativity and humor." He isn't actually altogether insincere in all his hyperbolic effusiveness as he raises his eyes to the middle distance. "Truly, the very future of our people. Alas, almost the entire residential faculty has gone missing, and a few more to boot. But I'm sure the young people an the community together--along with the Professor's nigh limitless fortune--will rise to the challenge. Ryan picks up his coffee again, and he chokes on his swallow of it somewhere in all this. He's still spluttering on a mouthful, trying to decide exactly what part of all this to respond to as he sets the mug back down. "I know you got range, man, but we don't even know if they're anywhere in flying distance. This probably just his way of punishing me for being too damn slow on getting us out of the hotel, what's life without a good heart attack every year or..." His brows are furrowing here as some internal math slowly catches up to him. "-- Damn s'been nearly a decade since you were a teenager hasn't it?" He is definitely counting up on his fingers here in the way of people who are, both, not exceptionally strong in math and don't bother very often remembering how old anyone around them is (this probably also happened frequently just the other week when he had to calculate his own age on his own birthday). Horus stretches his head out, rapping Ryan on the top of his head smartly with his beak. Yes yes yes of course EVERYBODY vanished just to spite you. All of them called me and told me they hate hate hate your music too they're on the beach laughing at you. There's a very chiding tone in these words. He drops his stylus altogether after this, feathers ruffling out big as he plucks another piece of fruit, beak clacking loud as he scarfs down the peach. He scrapes his beak on the edge of the table, plucks the stylus delicately back up. This time the undertone to his speech comes across somewhat cagey: yes of course nearly definitely a decade do you mean really really really vanished? "Nonsense, I'm sure they're all weeping into their mai tais for profound regret that they didn't invite you." Matt doesn't sound altogether insincere about this, either. "Well. Probably not Scott Summers. He might still be miffed about that one time you yelled at Chaz. The man holds fast to his grudges--I admire that about him." There is, in fact, some admiration threaded into the abrupt flash of rage beneath his words. And then it's gone. "Really, really vanished. All at once, no?" His tone is light, but Ryan can hear the muted fear in this. "Which suggests a Joshua kind of situation. But it's been almost two days, and none of them have turned back up, including a couple of workaholics who would sooner die than miss student orientation and at least one homebody who probably hasn't left the mansion in--nearly definitely a decade. How old were you, anyway, when you went into Mendeleev?" Ryan yelps, not entirely performatively, lifting his hand to rub at his head where Horus has rapped at it. "This fucker always laughing at my nightmares," he grumbles, but this time it is performative, slouching a little lower in his seat and letting out a heavy sigh. "Look, I'm trying not to catastrophize but this is looking like a bit of a catastrophe. School's starting on Tuesday this'd be a hell of a time for them to decide the pressure of mutant school's been too much and they all need to take a load off." Five answers Horus first, and then, feathers puffing up several times, oh oh oh went in in in. His stylus taps in some agitation against the side of the table as he reconsiders this. He tries again, a little bit at random, perhaps, because the answers that come out first are, 52 - 16 - 99 before he settles on, so so so long ago I forget forget forget. Fledged in the lab molted in the lab grown old lab lab lab lab lab. Very scientific bird. He plucks up an Oreo (SPACE DUNK, speckled with colorful pop-rocks crumbles) and nudges it, conciliatory, towards Matt. Jax and Joshua are A+ catastrophe experts I bet bet bet if they have found a catastrophe it's a very very good one. From his soothing-soft warble, this is clearly meant to be reassuring. "Oh, darling, I've been catastrophizing while you were running around trying to get answers." Matt has handily shoved his fear down deep enough that the quiet affection in his voice pipes through. "You can have a turn on the catastrophizing if you like. Thank you, dear." He plucks up the garish blue-purple-pink Oreo. "If they've hared off on an impromptu vacation you'll have a splendid opportunity to dramatically upbraid him. Besides, how likely are they to find a worse catastrophe than running a school for teenage freaks?" He is only moderately successful at infusing this dubious assurance with calm comfort, but his amusement in it is solid, at least. "I'm no ornithologist, but most birds--the regular sort--fledge rather young, no?" He lifts one eyebrow ever so slightly at Ryan, which may or may not be meant to supplement the question implicit in offering him half of the Oreo he's just twisted apart. "I don't suppose Joshua and the others had much recourse to communicate with you, in the lab." "They're catastrophic artistes, I don't think we want to see what new heights of disaster they've found. They're gonna have waltzed into some absurd new dimension of bizarre fiasco we haven't yet begun to dream of, outdoing each other with calamities so outlandish and horrific we won't even know whether to laugh or --" For a moment Ryan is looking a little distant, fingers tracing idly in the air as some distant melody rises dramatic and playful at once. It tumbles down abrupt as it began and he plucks the Oreo from Matt, munching it with a small shiver. "Fledged?" There's a sudden suspicion in his tone, and he glances over to Matt. "What you get sent up for, again? You couldn't've been but a bitty lil thing, how they gone and been so cruel." Horus's head bobs along to the music, talons curling into the lattice of the patio table as he sways in time. His wings fluff and resettle in a small disappointment when the brief tune ends, but his disappointment is short-lived in the face of Ryan's very proper sympathy for poor forlorn Young Horus. He is bobbing up and down rapidly in place several times in rapid succession before he dips his head back to his tablet. cruel cruel cruel CRUEL!!! Small bird SO small NO no no reason they put me there. Maybe the world just hates hates hates small birds is why. VERY bad world for small birds who don't fly. He considers this a moment, then goes back and taps again several times: very - very - very - very - very before continuing on, a little bit less panic in the words: Better now. Whole different world when you fly. And then a brief consideration: Talking is also okay sometimes. And when Ryan buys things. But mostly the flying. His head turns from one side to the other to the other, regarding the other two men for a long moment, and after a time he adds an appeasing: sorry - sorry - sorry - maybe you can ask B. She can help you fly. It's better! Much much much better. Matt's eyes grow just a little wider, and he stifles whatever interruption to this doleful monologue he was contemplating by shoving the other half of the Oreo into his mouth. He almost manages a smile at Horus's assurance that matters have improved. The fact that he doesn't, quite, probably says something. A moment later, he's lifting a hand to loosely cover his mouth--possibly because he's smiling too much, now. "I'm sorry to have brought up bad memories, darling." He isn't sorry, exactly. Or, if he is, Ryan can't hear it through the confused notes of startled understanding, distant horror, giddy bemusement, and an old familiar wrath. "But I am glad you got your liberty, earthbound though I am. You were born to fly and this bird they could not change." He lowers his hand, having now summoned up an appropriate expression of earnest sympathy. "Did anyone else--hereabouts, that is--know how small a bird you were, when you went in?" Ryan's eyes are going wide-wide, and his hand is lifting in a mirror of Matt's, pressing loose to not-quite-obscure the bemusement growing in his expression. "Not an ounce of humanity between all those shitfucks combined." He's dropped his hand, now, to rest, knuckles rapping in light and restless taptaptap at the edge of the table. "Boy you really telling me this whole damn time you got us --" There is a bewildered amusement rippling in his voice, and though it carries some grudging admiration it also carries some quiet and uneasy guilt. "Wait, how small a bird are you now, like, twelve? You really shoulda been in school all this time, damn." No nobody birds grow up fast fast fast. Very fast came in one lab small then got transferred a very proper adult bird. Horus is shaking out his feathers just a little bit here, turning his head just so to demonstrate his Very Proper Adult Bird posture to the other Very Proper Adult Men at the table. School what school don't be silly. Don't be silly I already know all the very most very most important things. Here he pauses, bobbing in place again a few seconds with a taptaptap of his stylus while he takes a proper mental reckoning of all the most important things before he lists them: flying taking good photos flying twelve best patios for music ryan bitwarden password best roofs for hiding His head bobs once more after this, and though it has an air of finality he ruins this by adding on: anyway anyway anyway what school aren't the teachers all very very very busy being vanished? Matt has clearly underestimated the absurdity of the situation, and raises his hand again just a little too late to stifle his laughter. "Goodness, but you certainly did pull one over on literally everyone who knows you." His admiration isn't quite so grudging, though still steeped in baffled amusement. He conjures something like concern, crude and slipshod, when he continues, "It is possible to be biologically full-grown yet not wholly adult in other respects, and certainly even adults can benefit from schooling..."His mouth compresses. "Oh gods, I am not the one to be giving this speech. There are nuances to such matters, but you have to admit," this is to Ryan, a bit helplessly, "he's not entirely wrong. Which still doesn't make school a bad idea, even with most of the faculty missing. I suppose I ought to talk to Chaz, myself. I'm sure it's a madhouse this weekend. Teen freak paradise." "This is not my forte," Ryan replies, kind of helpless but rapidly veering towards sharp and panicky, "Jax is the one who just keeps taking in strays -- fff, it's just like him to up and vanish and leave me here with Spence starting his senior year and apparently a whole extra kid we didn't even know we had who's just -- been on his fucking own since -- fuck." His fingers rake through his hair, leaving it somewhat mussed when his hand drops back to his lap. For a few breaths there's an uncannily artificial silence around him before, a little wry, he asks: "... what are the best patios?" He's taking out his phone, and his finger hovers, brief, over bitwarden, before he scrolls past to find the number for Xavier's. "Don't think all the teachers vanished. Just." A frown. "Some." Horus lets out a quiet stream of light chirrups, and there's a condescending amusement in them even if the touch of his beak is very affectionate as he gently smooths Ryan's hair back into place. Pat, pat, pat. Look I'm very good at madhouse very very good -- lots lots LOTS of practice!! ALL these years with you! The same amusement -- at once teasing and affectionate is in his tablet's voice, and his head is bobbing rhythmically in between words. Fine fine fine fine fine I will try your school don't FREAK OUT you have to save the freaking out for the jax jax jax catastrophe jaxtastrophe call the school call the school tell them to get ready they are not ready more bird than they can handle! Horus tucks his tablet away, and with a rapid flutter of feathers, he is -- no, not off. He's swooping back to steal another piece of fruit. Then off. (It's not until a few minutes later that an email shows up in Ryan's inbox: subj: twelve best patios!!! your other opinions are wrong i promise) Matt's mug is almost empty, but he doesn't bother with the coffee this time, save in that there is in fact a good deal of espresso in the rum he's pouring in undiluted. "{I just thought he was a weird bird, in the way many of us are after the labs, and the AAC made him sound more scattered than he really is.}" This rapid tumble of French sounds numb in a poleaxed sort of way. "{It never occurred to me he was a child, but he hasn't been on his own, not really.} Just an...accidentally free-range kid." He's valiantly rallying his accustomed nonchalant amusement, but it comes out lightly hysterical. "You're going to be such a good surprise parent that you can lord it over Jax when he gets back. And you'll have Spence's help!" His brows scrunch and he takes a swig of his caffeinated rum. "I suppose he's a bit flighty and free-range, too. What can you do? Birds of a father flock together." "He's a weird fucking bird." Ryan picks up his mug, draining the rest of his very boozy coffee in a long swig, and he's answering in still-baffled Spanish as he dials the school: "{He is not wrong. I don't think they're ready.}" --- The young man listening earnestly to this new arrival's explanations behind the administrative desk does not look that much out of high school, himself, in truth, but he's projecting an air of fussily bureaucratic authority all the same. "Yes, yes, I did go over all of that on the phone with your -- actually, I am still not very-very clear what relation you and Mr. Black are having with each other, but it sounds like you have been having a colorful. Life." He's pushing his glasses just a little bit up on his nose and looking, critically, from the form on the computer to the bird across from him. "You are coming at a very odd time, you know. Kind of a zoo..." He pauses, lips pinching together briefly. "That was a poor choice of words. I just mean things are a bit chaotic around here and this school could use your style, mmm?" Kavalam is dismissing the student enrollment form, bringing up instead paperwork for new faculty. "... have you ever taught before?" He buys me very very very fine hats reports the rich deep tones of Horus's AAC, first off, as if this is the top-most important fact that connects him and Ryan Black. He is not exactly sitting in the chair across the desk from Kavalam -- at one point he was perched on the back of it, which maybe, approximately, counts for something. but he has since fluttered over to sit atop the computer, and on the window-ledge, and on a bookshelf in turn, and is now on the desk itself, where he's been preening quite proudly at being told that he has a colorful life. His head tilts comically far to the side at the question of whether or not he has taught before and he does not answer the question for a long time, but at some length picks up his stylus to pick out a rapidfire answer: School is for learn learn learning I am a fast bird I bet I will be great!