"Do kindly /shut up./"
In some places, reaching the main grounds of this island takes a precarious scramble up from the rocky-craggy shore; in some places, just a short hike away from the beach. Once an old homestead, most of the 28 acres of property are taken up with forest, a dark thick sprawl of greenery through which a small stream winds crookedly. Under its shady canopy, myriad buildings are tucked away, an eclectic mix of sheds and tiny sturdy log cabins that give the area a rustic feel.
Centrally, a wide clearing has been cut out of the trees. A large sweep of lawn has had a metal swingset -- two swings to either side of a small trapeze bar -- set up to one side. The lawn leads up to a cabin bigger than the others, a squat one-story building. Long and low, its wide front porch and cheerfully-painted yellow and pink shutters lend the building a welcoming air.
There's a quiet creak creak creak, the metal chains of the swingset evidently in need of some grease lately. One swing is rocking very slowly back and forth -- B's legs don't /actually/ touch the ground, where ze sits perched on the swing, but intermittently the heavy metal boots ze wears glow faintly, propel hir seat forward again, turn off to let it fall back. Ze is dressed otherwise fairly plain, black skinny jeans and a black and white striped t-shirt, leather Mongrels cut tossed on over the tee and hir blue and silver bike parked not far away. A small blue robot-dragonfly is perched on hir shoulder, a tablet on hir lap that ze is swiping against at slow intervals.
Anette steps out from the direction of her cabin, her boots making soft crunching sounds against the fallen leaves. She's just simply today, a black tanktop, jeans, her hair braided. The only odd thing is a make-shift sling, where her child currently resides, leaving her hands free. Or at least the potential to be free, she can't help but continue to cradle the baby in her arms. She wanders slowly, having no real aim or purpose, spending most of her time looking down at the child and whispering softly to it. When she finally does look up to the squeaking of the swing, she pauses, recognizing B and watching for a moment. She does make her way foreward again, eventually joining B on the other swing. "Hey," she says in polite greeting as she holds onto the chains, spreading her wings behind her and gently batting them to propel her swing into a gentle rocking motion.
There's a shadow of wings overhead, curving lazily as Isra banks and spirals down toward a graceful landing. She has a sturdy canvas knapsack strapped to her chest over an elegant white himation which flutters wildly in the eddies stirred up by her backwinging. Unslinging the pack and carrying it over one shoulder, now, she stalks toward her two Sisters. "Good afternoon," she says quietly, holding out the sack toward Anette. "These are for you."
B's head lifts, eyes opening up enormously wide and nose twitching rapidly. The swing comes to a slow halt; hir boots do not light again, letting the rocking still. It's only when Isra lands that ze finally speaks, quiet: "... Hi." Hir head turns slightly toward Isra, then lowers to hir tablet.
"You look surprised. That I'm sitting here or the baby?" Anette mumbles, gently adjusting said baby against her chest with one arm. When Isra approaches and lands, she offers the woman a more genuine smile, folding her wings behind her and dragging her feet on the ground to stop. "Oh? What is it?" she asks, surprised as a bag is suddenly held to her. She carefully opens it and peers around inside, grinning at the contents. "Thank you. You didn't have to." She looks back up to Isra. "And...thank you. For before. For helping."
"Given that she was running mission support when we broke you out, I doubt if either should surprise her." Isra's voice is eerily doubled as her lower vocal chords engage. She cocks her head to peer at the infant strapped to Anette, her expression neutral and her tail swishing rhythmically behind her. "You always need more diapers than you estimate."
B's ridged brows lift, lips compressing. A very flat look turned toward Anette at that mumbled question. "Yes. Shocked. I'd no /idea/ you were back." It's extremely bland. Hir gils press down flat and still when Isra speaks, eyes once more turning back to the tablet.
"Mission support?" Anette repeats, glancing to B with a raised brow. "Figured you'd be the last person to help me out." She sets the sack down on the ground and resumes rocking on the swing, a soft cooing escaping from the bundle tied to her chest. "Thank you," she eventually adds, before turning back towards Isra with a soft chuckle. "I'm starting to catch that. I can barely keep up some days."
"Technically, the mission was keeping Dusk alive." Isra folds her wings down neatly over her shoulders and her ears press back against her skull. "And, ultimately, you are /family/." One of her ears prick forward as the baby coos.
"Anette," B /doesn't/ look up this time. Hir voice is still flat -- a little tired, but largely emotionless. "It's been three years. Get. Over. It."
"Ah. So you coming to get me, what, that was going rogue? A side mission?" Anette teases, reaching into the sling and gently ticking Harley with her talons, releasing a wave of giggles and squirms. She sighs and shakes her head at B's response. "I did thank you. And I am over it. I just know I'm not your favorite person. Or are we suddenly friends now?"
Isra raises her bare eyebrow ridges. "From a certain point of view, I suppose. But for a close-knit group of radical mutant terrorists, going off-script to rescue a family member is not all that outrageous." She cocks her head again, listening to the child. "If you are hoping to make amends, this is probably not the best approach."
"Close-knit might be overstating the case for some of us." B flicks the tablet off, hopping lightly down from the swing without actually touching the ground. "I don't think we'll ever be friends, Anette. I'm not really sure you're capable of it. But I'm still going to have your back. Hers, too." A small flick of claws toward the squirming bundle in Anette's arms. "Even though you do jack but fall down on having anyone /else's/ around here. Even if you act incredulous about it every. Single. Gorram. Time. And the fact you don't get that after all these years is why we're never going to be friends."
"No...I suppose not," Anette agrees with Isra's statement. "I'd have done the same." She casts sharp glance towards B as the shark goes on with her rant. "...whether some people would believe it or not." Anette rises from the swing, wings flattened tightly against her back. "Ah yes. Silly of me to be surprised you had a hand in my rescue. I can just feel the love."
Isra blinks, and blinks again. She lifts a talon to trace the curve of one horn. "Anette," she says, her voice low and calm, no trace of censure, "I am aware that you are still recovering, but...do kindly /shut up./" She unfolds her wings, shakes them out, and--still takes a couple of steps back before taking off.
B just lifts the ridge of hir brows. One hand tips out, silently, toward Isra. Quiet affirmation of this suggestion, perhaps. Ze doesn't add anything further. Just slips silently around the swingset, trotting over to hir bike to hop onto it, bringing it quietly humming to life to lift off into the air after hir Sister.
Anette silently waits for the others to leave, apparently taking Isra's advice though she grits her teeth the entire time. Once the others are out of earshot, /her/ earshot, she turns and casually makes her way back to her cabin, though with a more determinded and focused step than she had arrived with.