ArchivedLogs:Call to Arms

Call to Arms
Dramatis Personae Ducky, Faelan, Horus
In Absentia	Christmas Eve, 2019 Followed by playing Santa Claus. Part of Future Past TP.
Location Somewhere upstate
There is nothing particularly special about this area, nestled deep in a heavily wooded area of western New York state, far enough away from the camping sites and hiking trails that dot the region. Birds of all types occupy the area year round, thanks to conservation sites nearby, undisturbed by people and the problems they bring with them; though the birds are for the most part quiet in the early morning. Winter has already settled in to the area, with a light covering of snow on the exposed areas, occasionally being dislodged from the branches overhead to provide a fresh supply of flakes to the serene setting. An outcropping of rock is barely visible between the trees, covered with a seemingly haphazard tangle of leafless vines and fallen branches beneath a dusting of glittering snow. More branches and vines hide the underside of the outcropping from view from almost any angle, seemingly blown there over the years by various storms. Inside the little shelter, however, is a bit more obviously intentional, with blankets, tarps, and a surprising amount of feathers are layered to form insulation against the chill wind, all along the walls of the little cave. Tucked at the far corner of the space beneath the stones, almost entirely hidden beneath a pile of blankets and feathers, is Ducky, apparently still asleep even as the morning creeps onward. Between her sleeping form and the doorway is one very stern looking Canada Goose. Trudging through the snow carefully so as not to leave an obvious trail of foot prints, an individual covered in the grey and white of digital camouflage taken from a surplus store. Puffs of warm breath come out in carefully controlled flow through the balaclava keeping him warm, and he occasionally adjusts something on his shoulder, though what it is can’t be seen. “I know it’s around here somewhere, maybe the birds will be helpful hrm?” he says to the air, not really expecting the local fauna to be of much assistance. Taking the covering off and running a hand through sweat drenched hair, Faelan looks about over the outcropping, finally settling his gaze on the tangle of vines and branches with the birds flittering about, he lets out a sigh of relief. “Least she hasn’t went off then,” he continues speaking to himself but at least he seems relaxed more now, not having seen or heard anyone else along his way. Flipping the invisible pack off to hang in one hand he lets it appear, the black satchel covered in tactical straps with various things clipped down hard to prevent any jangling. “Now… just not to startle her,” he says as he takes a few careful steps towards the tangle with his gloved hand held open and the pack held out in the other. Somewhere far overhead there is another birdshape, far larger than most that frequent the area. Far larger than /most/, period. For a moment a shadow flits over Faelan's trudged path. Then a rustle of feathers through snowy frozen boughs. /Swoop/thud! Horus's landing comes in a small sprinkling-shower of snow, talons curling downwards onto a rock nearby the outcropping. There's a pack strapped around his back, weathered and beaten and not often seen on him when he is attempting to go incognito. His mind is all a-buzz, jangling wired and edgy with a mingling of fraying nerves and /fierce/ determination. << Did you ever believe? Were you ever a dreamer? Ever imagine heart open and free? >> The song in his head is playing with a very stompy-clappy backbeat. His head bobs a little in time with the mental music. His mental courage meter is wavering, but slowly the purple bars are growing as he sings. Bop, bop, bop. << This is a call to arms, >> he informs the goose, very seriously. And, brighter, louder: << Up-up-up-up-up today is the /day/. >> What day, who knows. /The/ day, evidently. His head bobs to Faelan, too. Courteous. Greeting. Feathers ruffling up --puffpuff! -- to make himself just that much bigger. It's still, admittedly, not /very/ big. The bird life in the trees, previously quiet and all but unnoticeable, begins to ruffle and chirp as Faelan approaches - the twitter of activity is easily enough dismissed as the wakening of the forest in the early morning. By the time Faelan approaches the tangle of twigs, a quiet, but decidedly angry hissing noise can be heard, coming from a grumpily posturing goose at the mouth of the little shelter. Horus earns a similar greeting from the territorial goose - though the hissing fades to a rather muted honk as the goose settles back into a less threatening position. From within the shelter, amidst the rustling of leaves and the shuffle of feet a disjointed mess of thoughts, more twittering and ruffling than proper English, begins to spill out from Ducky’s mind. Bundled in a snowy camouflage parka several sizes too large, scuffed and smudged with dried mud in places, Ducky stands at the mouth of the cave, reaching out to pat the goose’s head reassuringly, cooing softly at it for doing so well at guarding the nest, as it were. Thick jeans were once solid blue are now just as dirty as the parka, the same could be said for her worn hiking boots. Her sandy blonde hair is matted, where it sticks out from beneath her olive drab knit cap, stray feathers tucked up beneath the brim and braided into occasional locks of hair. << H’lo >> she finally manages, shakily, in greeting, eyeing Faelan first, her hazel eyes distant as she blinks as though still waking up from sleep. Clearing her throat, she shakes her head, blinking a few more times, “Hi.” Her speech is hesitant, out of practice, her mind still a whirl of twittering bird song and chatter. << Call to arms? What day is it? I don’t remember the days anymore. Sunrise. Sunset. Swiftly follow the days, >> the last part comes in a sad sing-song, hummed aloud. “C...all? To arms? To what? Against what? How? Who?” Ducky babbles quickly, confusedly looking between Faelan and Horus, “Danger? Wassamatter? Something wrong? Nothing out here. Here safe.” Her mind is quickly spiraling into a paranoid whirl, the birds in the area ruffling uneasily, including her companion goose, << I made sure. Sure it was safe. No one comes this way. Just me. Just Faelan. Just you. Just birds. No people. No danger. Just cold and silence. >> “I had brought the supplies we had scheduled. Food, fuel, toiletries, such forth,” Faelan says as he patted the pack with his free hand, a small smile coming to his lips to provide some assurances. He glances towards the head bobbing of Horus and offers a little waggle of fingers in greeting, not exactly expecting audio conversation to be provided to him from the fellow. As Ducky babbles of a call to arms though, Faelan raises a brow, glancing between the two since obviously he himself was not the source of an alarm. “No, they couldn’t have followed me.” He shakes his head at that, and flips open the the backpack to show the goods inside it to Ducky. “Do you want me to carry the stuff in for you?” He frowns thinking and looks to Horus again, trying to decide if there was in fact something he had missed and peers skywards trying to hear or see anything that might… be coming. << This is a call to arms, >> this time it is sung and not spoken, a fervent earnestness in Horus's mental voice, << Gather soldiers, time to go to war. >> He hops down off his rock, scooting closer to the entryway of Ducky's cave. << /We/, >> he informs Ducky, << are going to be dangerous. >> After this it takes him a while to converse further, having to twist his pack around, retrieve his tablet from it, turn it on to speak aloud -- the robotic monotone of his tablet loses some of its solemnity with the repetition for Faelan's benefit: 'This is a battle song, brothers and sisters, time to go to war.' Though it doesn't sound much like a /song/, just droning robo-voice. Bop-bop-bop, his /head/ is still moving in time with the tune it /should/ be singing. 'I told you this day was coming today is the day this is the day. The day we've all been training for.' OK, admittedly, there hasn't actually been any training. Just Horus diligently keeping tabs on people and occasionally swooping in to make cryptic speeches about how one day they should be ready to fight with him. It's probable enough most of his network never supposed he would /actually/ try to organize them into real fighting. AND YET: 'Here we are at the start I can feel the bean beatle what swype you're messing up again okay look, hi, hello, should I have said hi first? Hi now. I'm making an army will you come.' Focusing her attention on Faelan, Ducky bobs her head several times in acknowledgment, scrubbing at her face as she struggles to bring her mind into proper focus again, quieting the twittering of her thoughts. “Right. Schedule. ‘pologies about that,” she mutters, shaking her head again, and reaching out to take the pack of supplies from Faelan, “S’getting worse. But thank you. Again. Can get it, though. ‘Less you wanted to come in from the cold, ‘cause its so less cold in here.” She glances into the pack curiously, accompanied by the goose, which cranes its neck in mimic of her movements to look into the bag. Then her attention turns back to Horus, as though she can only focus on one thing at a time. Her expression creases into a frown at Horus’s statement, head tilting again in confusion as she shuffles back into the safety of her shelter. << Not dangerous. Had a card that said so, once upon a time. Then they decided we’re all dangerous. Not dangerous. Just bird-brained. >> she responds, shrugging - the expression echoed perfectly in the goose that stands by her side “War is coming? War has been here. Been hiding from it,” Ducky echoes, shaking her head, mentally berating herself for her cowardice, hugging her coat closer around herself, “Don’t know what I can do to help, what I can do. Don’t know.” She pauses, tilting her head the opposite way, regarding Horus, her eyes focusing a little bit more sharply, “What do you need? Can I help? I should help. Don’t know how. But I should help.” As her mind begins to focus sharper, the birds that had been waiting quietly in the trees begin to rustle once more, their movements falling in line with Ducky’s, each head tilt copied, all focused on Horus in suddenly perfect silence. “I can get it for you. Really, no problem” Faelan says, trying to keep the concern for Ducky off his face. He does watch the goose a little, not wanting another goose bite just to prevent having to send it off and away. “Unless we’re going somewhere else then?” He looks questioningly between Horus and Ducky as he starts to process more the robotic words. “What kind of army are you even going to be able to make? A few people hiding from the world, against an army of robots?” Faelan seems to be doubtful that something much will be made of it. “Or have you found more? The strong ones? Any of the strong ones?” He bites his lip and shakes his head trying not to let the hope take him that much. He fingers something beneath a scarf as if in thought. “No one had answered in so long, I stopped turning it on.” Horus hops a little bit closer, fluttering up to an outcropping of rock so that he can stretch his head out and preen gently with his large beak at some of the matted hair sticking out from under Ducky's cap. 'Hiding yes good hiding now hiding is done.' In his mind, his purple courage-meter flashes bright. Indicative. See? 'Please turn coverage-cooperate- no wait COURAGE please turn courage up to eleven.' He settles back down, feathers rustling quietly as his wings fold in against his sides. 'Need help. Transport. Spies. Bird-bird-bird-bird army birds spy-birds. Jumpy-Faelan.' His head bobs again; there are mental images flashing through his mind, faces -- so very many faces. Some of them familiar, most of them not-so-much. 'Angry army. Best army. Many strong. And I have good hats,' Horus explains, continuing on: 'Not all the robots only some. Isra-Dusk-Dusk-Isra ran off. Runaway-fugitive oh no. We will go. Swoop in. Save the day? Help them. Help their camp. Bring them back! Here!' His head tilts, huge eyes fixing first on Ducky then on Faelan. 'Like Big Damn Heroes.' Ducky nods slowly and steps out of the way to let Faelan through with the pack, her guard goose moving out of the way to stand between the young woman and the outcropping. One hand drops to pet the goose’s head, absent mindedly stroking her fingers against his feathers as she listens, lost in her own noisy thoughts. She tilts her head again at the preening, sighing contentedly - if she had feathers, they would ruffle and resettle here, but she doesn’t so instead all the birds that have gathered in the branches do this for her in perfect unison. “Not very brave. But I can try? We can try,” she says, the second phrase having a sing-song echo in her mind. << Can be brave. I think. Many of us. Together there are many. Together strong? >> She mentally ruffles again, hugging her parka tight around her too-thin frame, the birds in the area starting to hop closer to the small group. “We’re going against one of the camps? I…” she shivers, closing her eyes tighter, her resolve wavering, “Should help. We’ll help. Can send birds. Many birds. They stay near me. Can send them. Bird-spies. Birds eye views.” As she speaks, a discordant warble escapes from the gathered birds, as though voicing their agreement - voluntary or not. “But, I wasn’t planning on dressing up as a space cowboy for Halloween this year,” Faelan murmured back with a slight smile. Glancing between them, he scoots in to drop off the contents of the bag before coming back out and adjusting the straps on it. “Do we have a plan? Maps, locations, any information at all?” He frowns and starts to pull the balaclava back into place against the winter, only his eyes really showing now, though it helps to hide any other emotion from his face. Now with a more muffled sound to his voice he continues, “Helping is possible, but need to know what. If anyone gets hit with those darts, no more powers right? So an escape route can’t rely on any one person, or one way.” He unclips a pair of ski goggles from the bag and fingers them, but from the sound of his voice it’s gone slightly flat in affect, like he’s trying to distance the plan from himself. “Getting in is easier. After all it’s a prison right? Or a trap. Go in, not back out.” It seems that the X-men training doesn’t just disappear, it just gets buried. 'Information I have. Places pictures maps.' Horus taps his beak against his tablet indicatively. Scoots a little closer to Ducky, one wing butting up against her side. 'Together brave brave together. Then there will be more of us yes? All brave together. So many people. I have. Just need to put them. Together.' His talons scrape against the rock. 'You get us in. Together we'll come. Out. Throw everyone far-far-far. Away, safe.' His mind has taken on a kind of wistful tone. << Grow the army bigger. >> 'I will get you,' he promises, 'cowboy hat.' “Plan. Yes. Planning is good. Scheduling,” Ducky says, babbling, as she tries to bring her thoughts into line - a bit of a struggle. She leans into Horus, just briefly, just a little bit, as she presses her hand against her forehead, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. The fear does not help with getting things in line; the worry of being caught, of being thrown into the camps, killed, or depowered. Her shoulders slump, and she takes a deep breath, getting things in order, slowly, her thoughts finally calming into quiet focus. “When? How soon?” she asks finally, glancing between Horus and Faelan. Faelan tilts his head, an eyebrow raising at the fact of maps and information. He does now, letting out a slow exhale as he puts on the ski goggles, hiding the last bits of him from the world, an invisibility for the visible. “We’ll need some time then. I have stockpile not too far from here, a few things that I’ll need. A rifle, a first aid kit and some other medicines I’ve stolen. If you want everyone far far away I’ll need the syringe in there.” He tugs tighter his gloves, and pats at his arms in a few places through his coat as if reminding himself of things. “Bravery will get us in, but fear is what will get us out,” Faelan says as he looks towards Ducky. “You don’t need to get closer than you have to for the birds. Unless you want to be close enough to be sent far far away with others.” Clenching his hands he glances at them, and nods. “And we’ll want trucks. Big big trucks.” 'Bravery will get us everywhere,' Horus replies to this, craning his head up to preen again at Ducky's hair. '... but maybe can be afraid a little too.' He settles back down, nodding to Faelan's instructions. 'Now-soon. We'll plan. And we'll go. And we'll fight.'