Logs:Brother-in-law
| Brother-in-law | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-10-01 "You know I didn't ask for that." |
| Location
<MOJ> X-Men House - Mojoverse / <MOJ> Brotherhood House - Mojoverse | |
This is a largish house that has been very unevenly appointed, its decorator gone somewhat heavy-handed with yellow and blue color theming in all the decor. The exterior is garishly painted too, with "X" motifs built into the windowpanes or the brickwork of the chimney, ornate and ostentatious where it's carved into the door or the trim, but somewhat tacky moulded into all the metal fixtures. Scott is still wearing his X-team uniform, though perhaps sometime on the future a shiny new one will arrive for him, in a much more thematically cohesive red and purple. It hasn't been long since today's games, and in any case the games today left him rather less bloodied or burnt or bruised or what-have-you than was their wont of late; his posture might have a bit of drag in it, from weeks' worth of captivity, but his gait is as steady as could be expected of it as he trudges up the front. He's not bothering to knock when he gets to the door, just turning the handsomely wrought (X) doorknob, like he means to slip in quietly, though his brow is furrowed slightly with concentration -- Jean, at least, knows he's here. No knock, but the door is tugged open sharp from his grasp just a fraction of an inch into opening it. There's a narrow blue face tipped far (far) up to look up at the much taller man. Shane's eyes are wide, his features blank, gills pressed down very flat along the sides of his neck. He has not been the most habitual spectator of his teammates' performances, but if there was any doubt whether he caught today's game or not, it is probably dispelled in the sharp glint of bared teeth. The wide pull of his lips looks far less like a smile and far more like he is gearing up to take a chunk right out of Scott, but the only actual bite is in his (kind of hoarse) voice: "Shit, you got eyes? This house is for X-Men." His claws flick towards the X on the door, and his next words come somewhat dampened from behind the door a moment after he slams it, hard: "Go back to your damn brothers." Scott's hand has fallen to the doorframe as if for support, though he's still standing very very straight; he stares down at Shane, then at the closed door, his mouth only slightly open. Maybe he's one of fairly few people who could blast the door from its hinges by staring hard enough, but -- at length -- he just turns and walks away. --- <MOJ> Brotherhood House - Mojoverse This is a largish house that has been very unevenly appointed, its decorator gone somewhat heavy-handed with red and purple color theming in all the decor. The exterior is garishly painted too, with stylized helmets motifs carved into the trim and moulded into all the metal fixtures, the windows cut out in the same iconic shape. It's much, much later by the time Scott turns up here, this little corner of Mojoworld gone dark in the artificial night. This time he doesn't come straight up and knock -- instead, he meanders back and forth in the distance for a while, hands in his pockets, the one-eyed glow of his visor more visible than Scott himself. Though he probably came from the bar, he's not unsure of his footing, at least not any more than the uncharacteristic wandering might suggest. Eventually he makes it to the door, though -- again -- he doesn't knock, just slumps against one of the porch pillars. This time, the small blue face is looking slightly down on Scott, not up. B has appeared in one of the dark windows nearby, silhouette only faintly illuminated by the telltale bluish glow of some kind of screen within the room. She's peering out, head tilting very sideways. "Sorry, Mr. Summers," she finally breaks the silence, a little hesitant, a little diffident, "are you, um, lost?" The telltale reddish glow of Mr. Summers tips upward at B. He says evenly, at a slight but conspicuous delay, "Your brother told me to --" he shakes his head, gaze dropping to fix determinedly straight ahead again. Rather than finish that sentence, "Your actual brother," he adds, in case there was any confusion. B's eyes go just a little wider. She pulls herself up and in the next moment is dropping down from the window to land startlingly quietly nearby Scott. "Told you to come lurk on our porch? That's pretty weird of him. Did you need..." She trails off here, scrutinizing the older man for a moment before, evidently, deciding against hazarding a guess. "What did he tell you?" The glow follows B out the window down to the porch beside Scott, then blinks out, then blinks back on. "He said the house was for X-Men only. It's not even -- Amo's not an X-Man, she's -- I got --" he shakes his head again, finally regaining some of his sureness to say, "Figured I should do something. Come check on Ion. Wait for Joshua." "Oh, Ion's dead, sir." B is saying this with a tone of great remorse. "Did you miss that? I thought you were in there today, people were saying there was this whole thing with -- well, there's been a lot of weird rumours." She's going to open the front door, looking thoughtfully up at Scott before, hesitant, taking a step back and gesturing him inside. "I guess he'll probably be really glad to see you if Joshua gets him back up, though. After, you know, all that. Did you get kicked out?" "I know Ion is dead," says Scott, with enough swiftness to constitute a 'snap' even if his voice is still in its usual flat, underwhelming tone. It takes a moment for him to realize he's being invited in -- or, more likely, to decide to accept. Even then, he's glancing around like he expects to have his throat cut once he's over the threshold. "No. I didn't go in." "Oh. I guess if you knew then that makes the check-in pretty efficient." B is drifting further in, barely paying attention to the sharp-snapped glances that come Scott's way from two of the Brothers in the sitting room. They don't, at least, do any throat cutting, and though maybe in Pyro's case it's a close thing he does sit back down at B's overly-sweet and more than a little suggestive: "Ion's got a guest." She's leading him toward the stairs, kind of leisurely. "I knew you guys were getting close but I didn't realize it was, like. Dying-for-you kind of close." Scott has pulled his hands out of his pockets, though for now he is still keeping them at his sides as he follows B into the sitting room; his eyebrows are knitting over his visor. Probably he is paying attention to the other Brothers' looks, meeting them with his own opaque red glare. "I don't know why he did it," he says, his voice a little low. "He's got that kid to watch out for, for crying out loud, I --" he shakes his head. "You know I didn't ask for that." He doesn't say this as a question, though the tension in his posture seems to want an answer regardless. "Bear will be fine, we take care of our brothers." This time it's B's reply, immediate and quick, that seems almost a snap, though her soft voice hasn't gotten any sharper. She's stopped in the foot of the stairwell, her arms folding tight around her chest. "He's Ion. He cares too much." This sounds entirely more like an accusation than a compliment. "What do you ask for?" Scott stops too, still between two stairs, almost motionless but for his fingers flexing on the handrail. "From Ion? Nothing." B hitches a shoulder. "From your team. From any of them. From any of us, we're all just as stuck here together." "Oh." Scott doesn't shrug, though he tilts his head like this has confused him a little, his nose and eyebrow creased with bafflement. "I'm asking a lot of things from a lot of people, B. I feel like I'm asking everything from some people. I don't --" he cuts himself off, scrubs one hand wearily over his chin. "We are all stuck here together. I guess the main ask is that we all -- remember that. Take that seriously." "You feel like," B echoes, her own brow pulling just a little in. "That -- isn't actually an ask. That thing you just said." There is an odd note of amusement in this, and also in: "-- sometimes it's really obvious you were my Pa's mentor." Probably the amusement shouldn't continue on to: "... you know he tried to kill himself after Prometheus fell?" But, for some reason, it does. Both pairs of her eyelids blink in rapid succession, and she continues on up the stairs. "I'm pretty sure I know why he did it. Maybe it's better if you don't." Her pointy chin tips towards one of the closed doors in the hall. "Anyway, he's in there. The soundproofing in here is pretty good actually so if you want to stay once he's up --" Once more, just a shrug. Scott frowns even deeper, but he's fallen silent as he trudges up the stairs behind B, even the miasmic glow around his visor a little dimmed. He only manages a weak chuckle, closer to a cough than a laugh, when he reaches the door, his hand somewhat tentative at the doorknob. Perhaps he's still not quite confident he won't have his throat slit. The pause he takes to just stare at B is long enough to feel awkward by the time he says, "Thanks, B." B just smiles. Small, polite, closed-lipped. "Have a good night, Mr. Summers." Scott hesitates another moment before he goes into the other room -- "Yeah," he says, as though there is any possible chance he will do any such thing; even his voice, usually so straightforward and monotone, sounds a little doubtful for a change. Oh well. He closes the door behind himself with a barely-audible click. | |
