ArchivedLogs:Fast/Slow
| Fast/Slow | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2015-11-06 No patience. I wonder where they learned that. |
| Location
<NYC> Queens | |
Home to the New York Mets and thus a fierce rivalry among baseball fans, Queens is the largest of New York's boroughs in size, and the most ethnically diverse urban area in the worlds. Many of the different neighborhoods in Queens reflect that diversity, and the various cuisines found throughout often are in keeping with the traditional backgrounds of the residents there. Ion's bike may perhaps be capable of flight but at this moment it is firmly on the ground. Parked -- with its lights off it looks reasonably unobtrusive, just an admittedly odd sort of chopper, plain black, parked by a curb outside a fruit market. A fruit stand several blocks away from an NYPD station, one of the few in the city to have received the newly-armed modified Sentinels upgraded from the medical version of the bots; one of the even fewer so far, not to have had an UNFORTUNATE conflagration in the past weeks. It won't be having one tonight, either; tonight Ion has just been watching. And munching on a handful of pomegranate arils from a just-purchased fruit, as he meanders -- past his bike, now, on down the street. The weather is nice; warm, if slightly muggy and threatening rain. He holds out a handful of jewel-red fruit towards Isra. "{More security than they had this time last week.}" The flash of his smile after this is a little delayed, but looks kind of proud all the same. Walking beside Ion, Isra cuts a striking figure despite the relatively tame color scheme of her body art this week. The majority of her skin she has left its natural slate gray, accented with a faint pearly shimmer where it catches the light just so. Her horns and talons resemble hematite, dark gray with a mirror-like silver finish, and the membranes of her wings are the darkest matte black, dotted with stars. She wears a simple white linen dress with a cowl neckline that drapes down in a low U cut down her back, leaving her immense wings free, though she keeps them folded in close as they walk. She also wears a thick leather baby harness that in no way matches the rest of her outfit, though the long-eared, sharp-toothed passenger in the harness certainly resembles her. She plucks a few arils from the proffered pomegranate and, popping these into her mouth, signs, 'Does that deter you in the least?' The skeptical lift of one eyebrow suggests she already knows the answer. In the harness, Egg stirs from their dozing to follow the movement of her hand with huge, green eyes that flash in the dim light. Ion cracks another bit off the pomegranate, scraping its seeds off into his palm. "{More incentive to step up my game.}" He pops the fruit into his mouth, crunching down. His eyes lift towards the grey sky, then drop back to the fruit. "{They change, I change.}" His dark eyes slip back to Isra, after this. "{Who's got time to get spooked by some bullshit, seriously. I see scarier shit than a few extra pigs every day.}" Isra nods easily, tilting her head to study Ion from the side, her expression unreadable and her green eyes keen. Still, one-handed now, 'I worry.' Egg blinks hugely, working their own hands free--long, skinny fingers tipped with sharp black claws--to sign 'Wrong what?' Perhaps they actually understood Isras meaning, or perhaps they have merely picked up on her palpable concern. Either way, they emit a low, soft clicking and look between the two adults expectantly. Then, again 'Wrong what?' "{These days everybody's worrying.}" The smile, though, has faded off of Ion's face. He reaches out a hand, the fingers that he runs against the Gremlin's head noticeably devoid of staticking. There's a pause, before he answers, a small cough pressed into one shoulder. "{Oh, tiny monster, how I even begin to answer that. The whole fucking /world/ is wrong. We're trying to set it right, though. Slow going. Slow --}" His fingers curl tighter around the shell of the opened pomegranate. "{Slow going.}" 'Plenty to worry about, but I'm not in the habit.' Isras hands move slowly, deliberately. 'It does not suit me well.' 'The next time that you go to wreck something? /Tell/ me.' Her emphasis on the word tell comes through less in facial expression than the lean of her body, the slight flare of her folded wings. 'I will help you.' Goblin has not taken their eyes off of Ion, though their clicking has gone up slightly in volume. 'Not slow, Ion-Dad,' they insist. 'Fast.' Their wings unfold and flap against the sides of the leather carrier. 'Fast fast fast.' Here, Ion's smile returns -- but slow, again. A little thin, a little lopsided, twisting up at one side of his mouth and then fading. "{Fast like the fucking lightning,}" he agrees -- slowly. "{Soon. Soon I be there again.}" There's a hardening of his jaw at this statement. "{Then we really fly again, yeah?}" He snaps off another small chunk of pomegranate to liberate its seeds from their thin webbing. "{You been spoiling for something to smash up, sister?}" 'I have,' Isra admits, her tail whipping the air behind them fast enough to whistle. 'In truth, I always do, but usually I trust that Regan--' She fingerspells the name slowly. '--will guide us to use our smashing to best effect. But.' Her shrug moves her wings, but not her shoulders. 'I'm angry. I miss him. I want him back and I cannot stand waiting.' She hesitates. 'And I cannot bear the thought of losing you, too.' Gremlin has, predictably, fixated on 'fly', and repeats the sign several times hopefully, stretching their wings as if they mean to do it themselves. Adults slacking too much. "{Waiting, it's not usually my strong point neither. Dusk searching. B searching. Never gonna be fast enough.}" Ion snorts, shaking his head with a laugh at the monsterling's flapping. "{No patience, tinymonster. Later, you fly.}" He stops, brushing more pomegranate seeds into his palm and offering them to Isra. His head bows as he leans back against a lamp post, a hard tension to his posture. "{Where you think I'm going? I'm still here. Still -- me.}" Isra scoops the tiny, gem-like seeds from Ion's hand and pours them into her mouth. 'No patience,' she agrees, smiling faintly, the tips of her fangs flashing. 'I wonder where they learned that.' Egg cranes their head back to stare at Isra, one clawed hand swiping at her mouth, curious about the pomegranate, perhaps. 'You're still you. But I fear they'll kill you, or take you.' Her wing unfolds partly, the heavy thumb claw clasping Ion's shoulder. 'Like Kay.' Egg stills, cocks their head far to one side, long floppy ears pressing back. 'Kay-Dad,' they sign, frowning, 'where?' Ion's head turns, angled down towards Isra's hand on his shoulder. "{Everyone die some day. Not gonna stop me fighting like hell until then.}" His eyes close, shoulders pressing back in a harder lean against the lamp post. "{Kay ain't here, little one. Not no more. Not -- fuck.}" His hand drops to his side, holding tightly to the remains of the fruit still in his hand. "I..." He straightens with a fierce shake of his head. "{Should get in. Be rain soon.}" | |
