ArchivedLogs:Bridezilla

Bridezilla
Dramatis Personae Anette Teague
In Absentia	2015-09-20 "You two are like /Ross and Rachel/."
Location <BOM> Training Center - Main Lodge - Ascension Island
Down a short flight of stairs off of the common room, this room is a departure from the homier stone and wood upstairs. Its bare concrete walls are clearly basementy in feel, though its floor has been refurbished in gleaming synthetic flooring marked out like a basketball court. This spacious gymnasium includes a variety of punching bags -- of several compositions (for normal strength mutants or mutants on the high end of the spectrum) -- a boxing ring, a wall for climbing, several lengths of rope, and many, many training dummies for people to practice their powers on. Someone's dressed up one of the training dummies as a police officer, and scrawled a dopey smiley face on it; the sign on his chest declares him to be 'OFFICER SHITS-HIS-PANTS'. Officer Shits-His-Pants has seen better days; by the look of him, he's been set on fire and lost at least one of his limbs. In the back room is more training equipment -- everything from boxing gloves, medical tape, sports equipment, and even some unusual customized equipment for the more 'physical' mutants. The infirmary door stands near the stairway leading back up. Jewel hops about one and a half feet off the ground, rapidly crossing and uncrossing his legs mid-air. The entire maneuver carries him a little over a yard’s distance from his previous position and he does so more sharply and combatively than might be expected of ballet. Upon landing, he uses the momentum to spin into a series of quick fouette turns, a few of which include pump turns that more resemble powerful spin kicks in the direction of the imaginary foe. His mop of blackish hair is held in a claw clip at the back of his head, where a few loose tendrils still spill out and bounce around. He wears little more than beige tights. Cut just above the knees, the garment gives the momentary illusion of full nudity and largely to Jewel’s benefit, leaves very little to the imagination. Left exposed, the rest of his body glistens with a fine sheen of sweat. The only sound he creates is the thin, feather-like rustling of his ballet slippers. As the young mutant continues to pivot, he achieves enough of a rhythm to bring both hands high above his head. He opens his fingers wide and claw-like. The air just between his hands sparkles and shimmers, producing a lovely wave of warmth. For a moment, it looks as though he might do something Super Saiyan ...but he falters in his footing on a turn, loses his concentration, and spins out of control. The clicking of crutches against floor announces Anette, though they're not quite rhythmic as they usually are. This is because she's just arrived at the steps and, though it's awkward and clumsy, she does appear to have a system for getting down the steps. It involves a lot of hopping. Once safely at the bottom, she looks about, just in time to see Jewel fail the turn and fall flat. "Well this was worth managing steps for," she says, grinning as she makes her way over, crutches tucked under her arms and her right leg, still in its cast, held up. "Haven't seen you in a while, how've you been?" Crumpling to the ground, Jewel remains hunched over himself for a moment. His hair coming loose, it hangs down to the floor and conceals his face. As he looks up, he rises onto his knees. Hidden at his rib cage, he holds a long, thin blade. He brandishes the freshly created little weapon, holding it back as if he might throw it at Anette. He even makes a jutting motion as if he were going to, but instead causes it to dissipate in a sparkly flourish. "Been alright," Jewel says between pants. He rises and crosses the room to close the distance between them, dipping to retrieve a towel. "Still milking it, I see," he smirks, eyeing Anette's cast. Anette is not impressed with the fake throwing of the weapon. "You're going to take someone's eye out doing that," she warns, finding a piece of equipment to sit on and setting her crutches down. At the accusation of 'milking it', she rolls her eyes. "Yes, because the only thing that makes being under house arrest more enjoyable is having a broken leg, too. I love being useless and unable to do anything but lay on the couch and eat Oreos," she responds dryly, with just a pinch of sarcasm. "It's only for a few more days though. Then I can limp around the island.” Jewel runs the towel over his chest and neck, "Come on, an eye patch would complete the picture." He gestures up and down Anette, "Just do what every other fugitive does, change your hair color, change your ehem, feather color." Jewel shrugs a shoulder, clearly more interested in amusing himself than offering reasonable suggestions. "How is it now that you're off of the pain killers, eh?" Anette grins and shakes her head. "Unfortunately, I don't think there are many winged woman in this city. I probably stand out quite a bit. Though maybe once the weather is cooler, a box of hair dye and a long coat will work." The mention of pain killers gets a slightly stiffened response, though she attempts to play it off. "I'm fine," she says, offering a thin smile before her eyes glance over Jewel's attire. "You could drive a girl crazy walking around like that," she teases with a playful wink. With a lazy shake of his head, Jewel shows some mock disappointment in Anette. He knees to retrieve some flimsy shorts made of sweat-pant material from his bag. Groaning as he sits, he slides them on. "I'll be sure to let your old man know where I got them. I'd lend him a pair if they weren't sure to get all shredded up." ... He pauses, pouting his mouth and tilting his head, "Or are you two off, again? I can never keep up. You two are like /Ross and Rachel/, let me tell you." "Oh I guarantee one way or another, those would end up torn off," Anette replies, grinning playfully. "That and yours might be just a /tad/ small for him." Though she doesn't specify how they'd be small, the mischievous tone in her voice just might clue you in. She lets out a chuckle and shakes her head. "We only broke up once. We've talked about us plenty though. Actually, I think we uh...we might up being more soon." Though she does smile, her voice is a bit hesitant. “That so?” Jewel purrs as the admission, eyebrows inching up just slightly, “Good for Daken.” He leans forward, pulling off one of his shoes with a small wince. His toes are intermittently wrapped up in bandages. The teen leans forward to massage the arch of his foot. “More? /Why/?” He asks, unable to hold back a little bit of well, disgust. He turns to look up at her with a raised upper lip and wrinkled nose, flipping his hair with the movement. "I think 'why not?' is the answer. It's not as if we can make it official, he's here illegally and I'm currently a wanted terrorist. We're also both unregistered. I don't know." Anette shrugs and casually looks out over the equipment. "I've never seen myself as the marrying type. It ties you down and, in situations like ours, it's dangerous. It's just another way to hurt someone. Though I am in love with him so that ship might have already sailed." Furrowing his brows, Jewel forms a small, amused smile, “I hope you don’t plan on writing your own vows.” He moves on to his other foot, “Come to think of it, maybe you could use something tying you down. And you know none of that /official/ shit matters, eh? /Human bureaucracy/ has no power here.” Anette laughs and shakes her head. "God I hope not. 'Dear Daken, I don't hate you as much as I hate everyone else.' Somehow, I don't think that would work as well." She sighs softly, gently swinging her good leg. "I know it really doesn't matter. We're not even going to have a ceremony. I honestly have no idea what would be different. But it makes you think." She suddenly turns towards Jewel, her head tilted slightly. "What do you mean I could use something tying me down?" “If I’m not mistaken,” Jewel huffs, putting away his ballet slippers and replacing them with flip-flops, “Ever since I’ve met you, things have just always seemed to be up in the air. Betrayals, loss. All that Darkest Timeline business. Your …little bender.” He hisses as he rises to his feet, lifting his bag with him, “You should have a ceremony. Remind everyone here that we’re a family. Remind yourself.” He tucks his hair behind his ears, “I can be the ring bearer.” "Seriously? Me in a white dress, carrying flowers while an out of tune organ plays in the background? Fuck no," Anette says, laughing at the absurdity of it. "I like things up in the air. And half of that was since I met him. If it weren't for him, the Darkest Timeline wouldn't have happened. The bender wouldn't have happened. I wouldn't be in this cast or confined on the island. The problem is I have every reason to hate him, but I love him. It makes no sense." “It would have happened with or without him,” Jewel corrects, adjusting the weight of his bag. “Don’t misunderstand me. You’re both insane. But you should be happy.” He makes to leave, but stops in the doorway, “Are you going to the poetry reading in the common room later? I’m still not sure.” Gesturing with a finger, he smiles, “It might give you some inspiration on those vows.” "Yes, but I would have been half away across the country without him. Not trying to protect a child, nursing a broken heart, and dying for that child." Anette looks up, one eyebrow raised as he mentions a poetry reading. "What? Since when? And I'll write my own vows only if you agree to be the flower girl." “There’s a little flyer for it on the activities board?” Jewel shrugs, simply shaking his head at the deal he’s given, “Already a /bridezilla/.” He waggles his eyebrows, flipflops slapping as he exits the training center, “Flower girl, it is.”