ArchivedLogs:Being Freaky

Being Freaky
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Ion, Tristan	September 28, 2013 "You got an itch, scratch." (A flashback to the days just after the Harlem raid. TW: brief discussion of rape.)
Location <BOM> Beachfront - Ascension Island
Largely rocky and desolate, the majority of the waterfront on this small island is an unwelcoming place. Craggy and forbidding, lined with jagged black rocks, the coast here can take a fair bit of scrambling to navigate. Here and there, though, the coastline levels out to narrow sweeps of pebbly beaches littered with shells and seaweed carried in on the frigid tide. Occasional old trunks of fallen trees dot the narrow beach, victims of the storms that frequently plague the island. One small stretch of the western shore holds a small dock, a few boats usually moored there. Tucked off the mainland coast in Jamaica Bay, the buildings and lights of the city can be seen far across the water. The sun is setting over the water, playing rich colours out over the bay. Far off across it the city is indistinct; it's not late enough for it to be /that/ lit up and there's a bit of a haze today leaving the buildings in a kind of murk. Against the hazy silhouette backdrop Dusk kind of fits /in/, a shadowy silhoutte himself. Gargoyle-esque, the way he's crouched on a jagged outcropping of black rock, his enormous black wings spiked high over his shoulders -- a little lopsidedly at the moment, one pulled in more than usual where it's taped and splinted against his shoulder. As if to compensate the other is just a little bit more outstretched, sharp black talons hooked down against the rocks behind him. He's in a pair of camoflauge cargo shorts, no shoes, no shirt, just a stippling of scrapes and red burnmarks that are already starting to heal. In one hand there is a bottle of tequila. His other is tucking a cellphone back into his shorts pocket, as his over-large dark eyes turn back out towards the water and he takes a swig. In a playful mood today, Lynx is dressed in a pair of ripped jeans a t-shirt and barefoot. The young teenager is running down the beach at top speed leaving a dust trail in his wake, when he sees Dusk's looming presence from a distance. The boy grins to himself, as he turns in the man's direction. When he is a good 200 feet away, Tristan grunts as he leaps high into the air and goes into a twirling spin, and just as he lands before the bat, he lands on his feet with ease. He bows and throws his hands up in the air, "Thank you. Thank you. I'm here all week." He looks over at the man and grins, "Sup bats?" There's a pounding of booted feet -- first thumping softer against sand and then crunchier against rock. Then a scramble, then lively-bright eyes looking up at the bat-man from a lower bit of stone. "Ey-/o/, /Bat/-man, {you ain't never tell me your folks}, they got whole-damn-island what the hell you been holding /out/." His gravelly-deep voice slides from Spanish to English -- really his Spanish is just about as coarse and rough as his English is, though the English is a bit choppier. Ion is more dressed than Dusk. Jeans, boots, a leather kutte worn open with no shirt under the vest -- it's covered in patches though most prominent is the enormous MUTANT MONGRELS MC patch on the back. Its insignia is a skull and crossbones, more or less -- though the skull is twisted and inhuman, fanged and horned, and the crossbones really a pair of jagged crossed lightning bolts. Once actually solidly /on/ the rocks he holds up his hands, forefingers and thumbs framing Tristan for his landing. "Ai, you all got a damn knack for that, huh?" The makeshift picture-frame shifts so that he can squint through it at Dusk. Then back at Tristan. "All picture-perfect the fucking both of you." /He/ sprawls. UNGAINLY. Flopping out on the rocks now like a beached /fish/. "Make me sick." Though his tone is /amused/, not sickened. "-- Hit me, hermano." One hand is reaching out. GRABBY-HANDS. Tequila. Now. Dusk lowers his bottle, a bright-warm (very fanged) smile flashing across his face. He holds up his hand, forefinger and thumb pressed together like an 'okay' handsign -- "I give it a nine of ten. Fantastic." He leans down, his good wing pressing downward to stabilize him on the rock as he stretches out to hand off the bottle to Ion. "You know, if we started a circus, we could kick those Cirque du Soleil people in the ass. Well. Not /me/. I have all the grace of -- uh." He frowns down at Ion; one of the long upper thumb-claws on his wing twitches down at the electrokinetic. "/him/, but. You know, if some of you /actually/ agile people. Started one. I bet you'd make bank. And half the time they perform in so much costumes and makeup it wouldn't even matter what anyone looked like." Tristan smirks softly, as he crouches down like a cat ready to pounce on his prey, his ass swishing back and forth without even knowing it as he cocks his head to the side and sniffs the air, "Tequila. Ewww no thanks. I tried it once and didn't like it." He runs a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes he looks over at Dusk and asks, "How are you feeling? Hope your wing is mending up good. Still not sure how that happened. I was dealing with some of those haters and didn't see what happened." Tristan pushs his hands down in front of him as he extends his legs outward into a split and then into an Indian position as he crosses his legs one over the other to sit. "Hey you saying I not graceful I /graceful/ as /fuck/ yo." Ion kind of /tumble-rolls/ to a more upright position at this, an /also/ ungainly shift of limbs to put himself into a croch so that he can leap up and /tackle/ Dusk (the contact comes with a brief static-shock jolt). With the tequila still in hand, it probably spills quite a bit of it. On Dusk. On the rocks. On wherever. The tackle ends up more of a kind of HEADBUTT with his boots scrabbling for purchase against the rock. "I like a goddamn ballerina, you think is easy to dance /inside/ a fucking /power-line/?" His grin is fiercely brightly amused. "-- The secret," he adds through his grin, not bothering to /stop/ wrestling at Dusk, however /futile/ a battle of /strength/ against the vampire might be, "is just to not actually taste your booze, huh? Just /chug/-gulp done that shit it go right to your. Brains. What do you -- uf -- like?" Dusk's startled laugh comes out kind of like a /oof/ of breath, his eyes widening and his good wing reflexively curling in to push back against Ion. He does rock back slightly with the tackling but aside from this it doesn't much /shift/ him, his grin spreading wider. "Yeah, graceful as fuck." His wing sliiides in between Ion and his body, pressing back out-out-out; despite the thin-looking membrane there's a phenomenal amount of strength in the limb. The long thumb-talon hooks under the neck of Ion's vest, the bone-spar at the top of his wing pushing up at the man's chest to -- just -- push him. Up into the air and off the rock. He does snag the tequila back, though. "That's /my/ alcochol you're abusing. -- This is /good/ tequila, too. Not the shitty rotgut kind -- /that/ crap tastes like battery acid," he allows. "And it's all most people ever get. I'm uh --" He glances back across the water, towards the city. "S'good to be home, you know?" His scruffy-bearded chin jerks up towards Tristan. "Doing aright?" A chuckle escapes Tristan, "As right as rain." He lifts up his shirt to reveal his muscular rib cage covered in light bruises. "These were alot blacker a few days ago. I don't have a healing factor like some." He lowers his shirt, "But in a few days or so they will be gone completely." He looks out over the water and then back at the pair, "I am gonna have to go up north in a few weeks or so...maybe a month." He sniffs the air and closes his eyes as the shift to a yellow cat eye for a moment as he looks up at the sky, before shifting back to his normal baby blues. "The air is changing and the leaves are gonna start falling soon. That means I could go into heat soon." He frowns at that thought. Ion /yelps/ as he is hefted, curling his hands down to grip on tight to Dusk's wing. After the initial surprise he seems glad enough for the ride, though, hanging on and /swinging/ there -- though then his head turns sharply to look at Tristan, wide-eyed. "Whaaaa. Heat no shit? You for real, dog?" Now he's lifting upwards -- maybe trying to do a /pullup/ on Dusk's wingbone? "That don't sound so bad we'll just put you in a cabin with this one, huh? Darkwing, he'll bone fuckin' all his friends. You got an itch, scratch." Dusk /was/ taking a swing of tequila but he chokes on it, spluttering, as he's -- /offered out/ like this. His wing /shakes/ hard to dislodge Ion back down to the rocks. "-- Huh seriously?" More a curiosity than anything else, but his brows have lifted slightly as he looks at Tristan. His cheeks flush a little darker, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "... where would you go? At least it's safe here." Tristan shrugs, as he shakes his head, "It's best that I am not around people. My animal side comes out alot more when I am in heat. I become...bad." He looks over at Ion and grins like a Cheshire Cat, "I would fuck you, beat you up, maybe leave a few marks, fuck you again, and leave you there running away in a fit of rage....it would happen to anyone who...smelled good and had a certain need to fill for me. My human side has very little control when I am in heat. It's just better I suffer thru it alone or at least hire a Vegas hooker." Tristan laughs out loud. "You see this motherfucker." Ion has /collapsed/ onto the rocks, tumbled down and barely caught himself before falling off onto a ledge below. He pulls back up into a seated position, waves a hand towards Dusk. One shoulder rolls in a stretch; he reaches into his vest afterwards to tug out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, slipping one between his lips and offering the pack out to the others. "I mean, you /see/ this motherfucker, huh? I a grown-ass dude, he just bench me with one wing /literally/ tie-behind-the-back. I think we got people on this island who they can handle -- how long this thing it last?" The flush in Dusk's cheeks deepens, just a touch. He snags one of Ion's cigarettes, capping the tequila and setting it aside. "That doesn't sound so bad," he admits with a crooked twitch of smile. "And /I/ do heal fast. Though I wouldn't get so cocky on the beat me up part. -- Anyway, I'm pretty sure hookers don't like getting beat on either so it's probably best to stick with --" His wing shrugs. "Where /would/ you go, if you didn't stay?" Tristan chuckles, "I don't want to hurt you guys. I may not be able to throw cars around but I can throw a motorcycle with ease. I can do some damage...and when I am in that state. It...I don't like how I am. I would be out prowling every night trying to find the..." The apples in the boys cheeks begin to flush a few deeper shades of cherry as he says, "Last time I went camping up in Vermont. I killed a few deer with my bare hands, and had a three way with this girl and guy camping in the woods." He runs a hand through his hair and looks really uncomfortable. "Not only I am like 1000 times hornier I think I make people around me the same way. Not sure yet. I don't understand it all yet." "I just sayin'. Dusk he can /fly/ with a motorcycle. I think is like -- maybe around here you don't gotta so much of worry huh? There some people probably, can handle what you can throw." Ion shrugs, pulling out a lighter and flicking it to light Dusk's cigarette first and then his own. "Anyway you-in-this-heat it sound like Dusk on some /normal/ day. Fuck every-damn-body, kill some big-game, no-big-deal when you a goddamn feral-ass vampire yeah." His fist thumps against Dusk's shoulder. "All I mean is, seems like this place it's damn /freak/ town. And everybody got their own way of being-freak right?" Dusk nods, rubbing again at the back of his neck and then leaning in to light his cigarette. "That's what I mean. I mean, it sounds like you aren't -- entirely comfortable with it all, but if you're out somewhere -- like even when you were out in the woods when you're on your own you ran into some random people yeah? And there's nothing you could do about it and nothing /they/ could do about it even if neither of you wanted that. But here there /are/ people who are as strong as you or stronger. Telepaths who won't necessarily be affected by --" His fingers waggle towards his temple. "Brain-fuckery the same way. It might be safer to stay in a cabin by yourself with a bottle of lube. Where we can make sure you /don't/ get out and do anything you don't actually /want/ to do. And I mean," he adds, quietly, "that means making sure you don't force any people out there to do anything they don't want to do, either. Because we could handle it. Some random girl in the woods? You'd just rape." A soft growl escapes the feral's lips as he rolls his shoulder, and says in an embrassed hurried tone, "yeah...fine...whatever. Can we change the subject please?" Tristan rolls backwards and goes into a handstand to hide his face from the pair. He balances with no issues on the rock as he walks on his hands down the rock while facing the water. Ion holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. He stands as he takes a deep drag from his cigarette. "{Of course, man.} Just don't know what family is /for/ if it ain't helping you over the /bumps/ in the road. Any-damn-one can be a family when you just coasting." He thumps a hand lightly down against Dusk's shoulder, thumb flicking at the filter of his cigarette as he wanders off further down the beach. Dusk's wing twitches uncomfortably, his eyes lowering to the rocks. "Yeah. S'just. What we're here for. Shouldn't have to do anything you don't want." His gaze shifts to watch Ion head off, and he, too, takes a long pull from his cigarette. He sprawls out on the rock, one leg now dangling over its edge and his wing stretching behind him to prop himself up. "And I --" But here he stops, cheeks darkening. Eyes lowering again. "Right, sorry. Changing the subject." Or reaching for the bottle of tequila again. Tristan turns around in his hand stand looking at Dusk. The vampire is upside down to the cat, as he talks like he was sitting on a bus, "Please...lets. I am just still learning all of this crap and what it is doing to me." His eyes shift to that cat-eye yellow as he sniffs the air, he wrinkles his nose as he lowers his feet and comes to stand like a normal person. He runs a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes and says, "A fish boat is gonna be passing by soon." His eyes shift back to normal. "I've been there. Is all." Dusk takes another pull from the bottle, eyes briefly closing. Opening again to look out at the water, a crooked grin on his lips. "I've just been eating Doritos all day. Probably not the healthiest." Tristan turns to sniff the air around Dusk, "Cool Ranch too." He smirks softly, as he crosses his arms over his chest and shrugs, "I know you guys want to help. I am grateful trust me. I think you would understand more then Ion that...well it's a constant fight for me between the cat and the boy. I tend to lose more then I like." Dusk chuckles, setting the bottle back down. "It's a fight, yeah," he acknowledges softly. "With me it's --" His cheeks puff out, breath expelled sharply. "Just, always. I feel people around me and it gets so damn hard to remember what's friends and what's /food/ and what's --" A small shiver runs up his back, wings trembling slightly. "And especially when it was new, I hurt a lot of people. Don't really want to ever do that anymore. But that's the thing, I don't think it's a /fight/ --" His wing hitches up in a shrug. "Because all of it, if I want to hug someone or fuck them or rip their goddamn throat out -- that's all /me/. I think I started navigating it better when I /stopped/ fighting it. It's like -- like flying. In a goddamn storm. You fight the winds it's just gonna tear you to shreds, you have to learn how to ride /with/ it to get where you want to be. Cat, boy -- s'both who you are. If you're not fighting you can't lose." Tristan nods slowly, "I should head back and get my stuff. I left it down the beach when I got your scent. I wanted to say hi and see how you were feeling." As he stretches, he arcs his back and lets out a yawn, "And I could use some food. See you at the mess hall later?" Dusk waggles his cigarette lazily towards Tristan. "Probably be down. I'm sure there's something better for dinner than Doritos." His fanged smile is easy and warm, head tipping up in a nod before he relaxes back against the rocks.