Logs:Worlds Together, Worlds Apart
| Worlds Together, Worlds Apart | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-10-20 Home is... |
| Location
<XAV> Back Patio - Xs Grounds | |
This patio is expertly laid out for relaxing singly or in groups. The section nearest the back door is a more or less conventional veranda, the mansion's eaves--supported by elegant white wooden columns joined with matching railings--extending out to shelter the long porch swings, rocking chairs, and a chess table from the elements. Down the stairs or the ramp from this is a fan-shaped expanse of slate flagstones populated by clusters of deck chairs and picnic tables, always changing in number and arrangement, and stone planter boxes bursting with seasonal flowers and ornamentals. The centerpiece is an elegant pavilion with a hot tub open for use year-round, even if the transition in and out may prove chilly in snowy weather. Shane's memorial is letting out, though plenty of the guests are lingering to swap stories or catch up, to eat or -- okay, the Mongrels seem to be starting some kind of Fight Club Auxiliary out on the patio as they wait for the rest of their group to get here so that they can start the next phase of their Memorial Ride. DJ is sort of a peripheral mourner, here, a plus-one to the people in his life who knew Shane a lot better. Though he also isn't coming along for the Shane/Dusk memoriam that will happen after this, he is kind of drawn -- a little curious, a little habitually hypervigilant -- towards the periphery of the sparring that is starting to take place on the patio. He's not joining -- just hanging back at a remove, sipping at a cranberry juice and eying the rowdy group. Egg, conversely, is a mainstay participant in the final (public) send-off for the departed Shane and (privately, between themself and Ion) Rift!Dusk. Soon to be parading in the processional in the refurbished bike that used to belong to the sharkpup mutant, decorated with small funerary banners, their arrival is a bit delayed. When the vampoyle finally surfaces, it is still in true Mongrel attire: a custom pair of goggles fitted to their monstrous bulging eyes pulled back to rest on their forehead, below their large ears; and a black leather vest, its scant but proud display of honorary patches drawing clear association. After visually tracking Ion, in a curiously motivated move, the alter-dimensional transplant skirts around their familiar crowd, tentative, probing for more like-aged mourners, bringing them into vicinity of DJ. Sera has left her siblings behind and looks oddly smaller without them, and though she doesn't look quite like she's fleeing the mansion, she does look relieved to be outside, her presence wan and wavery. She's wearing a simple black midi dress and also simple black maryjanes, pale under her impeccable makeup, long auburn hair in a braided updo. Though her initial trajectory was definitely garden-ward she slows, turns, and makes her way toward DJ instead. She starts to speak -- presumably a greeting -- but the words catch in her throat when her bright green eyes fix on Egg's familiar silhouette. What does come out is an intangible shiver of surprise weighed down with grief. "Oh, goodness." Her voice is soft, when she finally finds it, and she's reeled her power back in, now. "Good day to you both." DJ's chin lifts to Sera, his (flesh) arm lifting to offer out a hug (his other hand, holding the cranberry juice, is distinctly noticeably artificial, painted up today in shifting shades of blue that look very realistically like ocean waves.) "Hey --" he's starting, and trailing off as his eyes snap in the direction of Egg, too. His mouth compresses. "I don't know how long it takes before that stops feeling..." He trails off -- maybe Sera's wash of feeling speaks for itself. Curiosity blooms into surprise, recognition following a familiar circuit of internal reconciliation, as Egg matches face to memory and solidifies Rift! or Real! when DJ and Sera catch their attention. The nicitating membrane flicks over bright, emerald green eyes, a flicker of ear and flaring of nose-leaf physical cues to shortlived chagrin, subsiding into the general somber gravitas of the day and reasoning for their congregation. Swallowing, they issue a low click and chirp of greeting, taloned fingers fluttering in more formal salutation as they acquire the gumption to press forward, full-steam ahead into this reunion. For the moment, they offer no words, but the sub-surface emotions betray mostly intrigue towards the two. Sera leans into the one-armed embrace, slow and heavy, though there's a bleak joy lurking somewhere in the muddled ripples of her grief. "I'm sorry, I didn't even realize you..." She trails off. "It seems a bit untoward to say your existence is a surprise. Did you know...the other Sera?" She doesn't include DJ aloud in this question, though there's a suggestion of it in her sidelong glance. DJ squeezes Sera close, his own mental scape a sharply frenetic-tinged exhaustion that doesn't quite have room for adding more grief, just right now. He is curious, as he looks towards the young vampoyle, and then drops his eyes apologetically. 'Sorry', he's signing to Egg, "I don't mean to stare. I just -- you look a lot like someone we knew in a whole other --" He shrugs, and takes a swallow of his juice. "Life. I didn't even know this Dusk had a kid." Egg blinks, a querying just-above-subsonic sounds issuing from their mouth, head canted to the side. Their bare chest, gray and expanding as they inhale and mental cogs continue to churn out revelation as their gaze intensifies with mentions of 'other' and 'this' lead to upraised palms, gesticulating the formation of several signed sentences before they halt. 'I only know my Sera and my dad from--home. But now I live with this Ion,' they communicate at least, special emphasis given in the selfsame manner as, 'Not from here.' "I keep meaning to learn ASL properly." Sera ducks her head, allowing a small embarrassed smile and a faint blush. She watches Egg's hands very intently, and though her growing confusion does not slip her control fully it is distantly sensible as a sort of impression. "Wait, this Ion --" She points in the general direction of the gathered Mongrels as curiosity starts to surmount her perplexity. "Where is 'home'?" With a quiet and deft mental touch, DJ is setting the meaning of Egg's signing into Sera's mind. This brief realignment has distracted him enough that it's only a second after Sera that he's looking, perplexed, at Egg. "Your Sera --" His brows knit. He's scrutinizing the batwinged youth intently. "We're not from here, either. Have -- you. Have we -- met." 'Home is...' Egg starts to disclose, then drops their hands, brow ridge coming together with furrows across their forehead, mirroring Dj's expression in more monstrous reflection. More visual frisking assesses who really stands before them, before, still incredulous, 'Where are you from?' Their nose-leaf flares, keener sense of smell and sonar-satellite-ear-twitches try to detect some ineffable trace of origin. As much an answer, as an indirect reply, an exasperated, 'You shitting me,' with hands thrown in the air and a guffaw as the last bit of doubt in their face erodes. Only a faint awkwardness in remembering where and why they are all there tempers full-on excitement. Sera lifts one loosely curled hand, pressing knuckles to her lips, but does not stifle the quiet "oh!" Something lighter ripples through all of the second-hand grief tugging at her. "We came from a world very much like this one, but not quite. But there must be countless other worlds beyond countless other doors, no?" That something fluttering out from her, feather-light, is at once hope and longing and fear, and she quiets it again. "If this keeps up we'll have to start numbering them." "A world a lot like this," DJ is offering in almost-overlap with Sera, then quieting with a small blush. "Almost four years ago. Our world was at war, then." There's a brief psionic touch against Egg's mind, at once very familiar and very not -- some Hive across the rift had so-frequently been a vessel for resistance communication before his death, this Hive feels much the same and still, so alien. But the quiet (joyful) (amazed) feel of the wordless << !!! >> that touches the youth's mind is definitely a familiar DJ, in all his bright-fierce energy. He's lifting an arm again -- offering a hug, but brought up short by the curious: "But how?" 'I only been to two, okay, three worlds,' Egg informs them, puzzling out the math and exponential growth of this number in so recent a time, chirping and ogling at the more complex probability of overlap Sera touches upon. Sitting with the thought for a brief, quiet moment, they respond to the not-quite-foreign telepathic probe, feeling it out along their end with instinctual caution, then, lighter suffused emotion. 'DJ!' is a confident assertion, melting into the fluid motion of an abrupt and inhumanly strong embrace with exciting echolocation. Pulling back, they sign a detailed but concise amount of exposition all too rehearsed these days. In conclusion: 'So yeah, dad died and aliens from another world kidnapped me and Ion.' It's hard to tell how much of her joy and relief is her own and how much her companions drawing her along. Maybe there isn't really a meaningful difference, in this particular instance. Either way, she's drawing them along in turn, into joy and solace and amazement carefully plaited around her horror at Egg's recounting of their somewhat rocky path to this particular memorial service. She drops her hand from her mouth. "I'm so sorry for your loss. Losses." DJ returns the hug, fierce enough if far less strong, lopsided with one less arm than he'd had last time Egg saw him. "Holy smokes, that's -- I'm so sorry." There's horror here too, but grief as well, fresh now and raw and a little muddled. "Your father was a great man." He takes another swallow of juice, determinedly washing back down the hope that is trying to surface beneath the grief. "I don't -- know if this is the best time for it but can you -- we've just missed so much from back home, I --" He closes his mouth. Doesn't ask about his wife, about his children, just looks down at the teenagers and then the ground. "I'm glad Ion found you." Egg yields to the psychic bond and resulting journey, with its collective processing of emotions, both rapid and comprehensive. When given to its physical expression, nonchalance reigns supreme, lifting shoulders in a dismissive shrug. 'I got to rip apart robots and blow up aliens,' perhaps undermines the too relative trauma and chaos of their original world, one where peace and paradise were fresh and fragilely brokered. While quick to gloss over their own turmoil, they frame DJ with a more empathetic glance. 'Maybe we all reminisce sometime soon. Leave today for Shane.' | |
