ArchivedLogs:Firepower

Firepower
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Ion, Kay, Regan	2-13-11-06 (Part of Infected TP.)
Location <BOM> Front Porch - Main Lodge - Ascension Island
The front porch of the lodge unfurls its way across the entire front length of the building. Stained in a dark reddish finish, it seems to have been refurbished somewhat recently, the sturdy wood rather less weather-beaten than many of the buildings on the island. A half-height railing edges most of the porch, with a wide gated staircase centrally leading to the heavy front door, and ungated ramps at either side end. Protected from all but the most driving of rains by a sloped roof, the porch has been furnished with an assortment of furniture. Wicker rocking chairs, a pair of small square aluminum tables, a hammock at the far right end, a bench swing at the left. Despite the solid locks on the doors and windows, the front door holds a cheerfully flower-edged mat reading WELCOME. The weather is startlingly pleasant for the grim pall that's settled over the city. Low 60s, sunny, a faint breeze lending a definite /autumn/ crispness to the air. Good flying weather. Huge dark wings briefly blot out the sun overhead, outside the Brotherhood's common lodge. Dusk lands with a soft ripple of air, a WHUMP down onto the porch railing, his wings tucking in behind him. If it's the apocalypse he's not particularly dressed for it. Vans sneakers, faded old jeans, a black denim jacket over his black t-shirt (with an image of Doctor Whooves holding a sonic screwdriver in his mouth; it reads 'Trust me, I'm a doctor' around the pony's image), a black messenger back strapped across his chest. Ion, on the other hand, is /often/ dressed for an apocalypse; there's something perma-gritty about his heavy boots, heavy jeans, MMMC kutte worn over a long-sleeved denim shirt. He's in a wicker rocking chair at the moment, though, slowly working his way through a large chocolate-chip cookie, which cuts down on the overall feel. "Not dead yet, Darkwing?" is his greeting. Not far away comes the sound of someone squawking in surprise from around the side of a building, followed by a dry /fwooom/, a fiery snarl-noise oddly like cardboard being torn in half. A small lazy gout of flame mushrooms up against the sky, growing blacker and more oily-shimmery as it rises. It burns out quickly. A mutant with a crown of horns and a long thick tail stumbles in a /hurry/ from this direction, skids on a patch of loose earth, falls to his knees then scrambles off even faster on all fours. Shortly, Kay emerges as well, stooped over to gaze out at the world from beneath his furrowed eyebrows, teeth bared somewhere between a snarl and a savage /grin/. His hands hover out from either hip, rippling with a budding heat that can be seen visibly whipping in the autumn breeze. Kay doesn't dress like he's ready for an apocalypse so much as like he's been living in one until it degraded into a Mad Max universe. He's shaved the sides of his head, showing off a number of scars beneath, his kutte black and charred over a worn out black t-shirt with the sleeves ripped off. Battered jeans, steel toe boots, black bandana tied around one bicep and a general plethora of scars, his eyes are vacant for a single moment, snapping /after/ the fleeing mutant. – then they blink and move to Dusk and Ion. And in an instant, it was as though none of it had even happened – he throws up a long-fingered hand and waves, "Batman!" And comes strolling over, bony hips swinging. One hand thumps down on the back of Ion's chair, rocking it waaaaay back. His teeth are still out. "Yet," Dusk agrees, one leg sliding down so that he sits rather than crouches on the railing. "-- Fuck did you do?" His eyes narrow on the fleeing mutant, turning to Kay afterwards. One wing crooks in a small wave. "You been down the city today?" He frowns after he says this, looking towards the others. "City's -- city's -- it's fucking ridiculous." His teeth sink briefly against his lip. "Middle of a zombie apocalypse and the mayor's already talking about what new shit he's going to sling at /us/." Though this comes with a frown. "... also talking about the National Guard and putting the city -- city -- on --" He trails off, wing drooping back against his back. "Oy, vato, it's not hunting season." Ion lifts a hand to offer Kay a fistbump when he comes over. And then a half a cookie. His toes stretch down towards the ground to keep himself planted until his chair tips back too far to manage this. "No, city is ridiculous. I did not vote. They discriminate if you are not a citizen. I would like to cast my vote, though," if the fistbump is taken it comes with a brief sharp static ZAP, "by electrocuting all the politicians." "Not hunting season, ese?" Kay doesn't just pound it, taking Ion's static-zap, he blows it up with fingers thrown out. If Ion follows suit, a mini-conflagration (just a little match-flame really) will fill either of their palms for a single moment. Mutants make the coolest secret handshakes. "Someone better tell the fucking city – city of… /New York/." His sharp, vulpine features drift into an abrupt moment of profound blank confusion, looking back in the direction the fleeing mutant had run again. Except that he doesn't seem to be looking for anything at all. Just – staring. "…city… uh." He resumes momentum only slowly, bouncing gradually on the balls of his feet and then swinging back to either men, saying abruptly as though the conversation had never ebbed, "-but fuck electrocution. /Frag/ 'em. Shit, all these zombies running around, wouldn't it be great if they tore a few holes off the fucking /mayor's/ fleshy backside?" "That could be arranged." It's quiet, from the doorway, in Regan's smooth contralto. She also does not look particularly apocalypse-y, jeans and dark ankle boots and a soft grey-blue cardigan. "In all the chaos, nobody would notice a few zombies more or less -- shepherded towards Gracie Mansion." Dusk's head swivels towards the doorway, brows furrowing in brief thought. "It does make a pretty conspicuous target." His teeth work at his chapped lower lip. "And at this rate in another day or two --" He turns up his hand. "You'll be more lucky than not to /not/ run into some of these --" His brow furrows deeper. "Ah -- ahah. Ahah, see this," Ion is /bounding/ to his feet with a (static-shock-y) clap of hand to Regan's shoulder, a brief jostle, "this is why I love this woman, yeah? In the movies they never plan right. For the apocalypse. So much of golden /opportunities/." With Ion /out/ of the rocking chair, Kay is toppling down into it backwards, his knees on the seat, his arms folded over the chairback – sticking his bony ass out RIGHT at Dusk, to GRIN at Regan, "It get that bad, we're gonna go /looting/ right? I know a few anti-freak businesses that got some nice shit I been casing. Just take one brick in'a riot." He'll go there if no one else is going to. "If you want to go looting," Regan sounds kind of /patient/ about this, like she's telling Kay he can have his ice cream /after/ he finishes his vegetables, "I'm sure there'll be plenty of opportunity for it once we get real work done. You know, he was talking during the campaign of a measure to ban mutants from congregating in too large of numbers? I doubt it would ever fly, but --" Her tongue clicks against the back of her teeth. Dusk grimaces. "But," he agrees. His other leg slides down to join the first, hands planted on the railing beside him. "Know some people who're working on figuring this out, but. Weird mutant diseases nobody's ever seen before --" He shakes his head. "It'll get that bad, I think." "So we wait for it to get that bad." Ion has not stopped grinning. Bright. Broad. Right at Kay. "Because you know who comes out on top in these kind of things, it's the man with the most firepower." Kay is having a /moment/, grinning back at Ion and nodding his head YES, his tongue hung between his open bared teeth like a Japanese oni statue, slow-motion gesturing at himself with BOTH thumbs in the cyclic. "Tsk. Why you gotta say it that way?" he asks Regan, hoisting himself out of his seat, "Momma, you know I do by you. These jokers can just keep lining 'em up, and we'll keep on /knockin'/ 'em down." All cavalier and cocky, you almost wouldn't think anything of it, the awkwardly gentle way his burn-calloused hand passes, for a moment, over one of Dusk's shoulders. Giving it a squeeze. But it's brief. Shortly after, his hands are raising up, palms to the sky and he's kiiiiind of bopping a little. Singing softly in a hissy little monotone with his eyes locked with Ion, "April 26th, 1992. There was a riot on the streets. Tell me where were you?" "Yeah. Yeah, you do." Regan gives this agreement with a small curl of smile, one that only grows wider with a soft huff of breath at the singing. She claps Ion absently on the back, looking out over the grounds. Then turning, to disappear back inside. Dusk's wings shift, briefly flexing at the squeeze to absently drift one fuzzy long bone against the back of Kay's knuckles. His teeth bare, a slow gradual creep of smile that takes a long moment to fully commit itself to existence. "... You were sittin' home watchin' your TV." Ion's smiles are always committed. HUGE. Toothy. His dark eyes lock back on Kay's, and it's not /soft/ as he finishes with a vicious energy, "While I was participatin' in some anarchy." His smile stays wide as he digs a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, to stick one in his mouth and offer the others their own. "We are not cancelling this apocalypse, then?" "Hell no." Kay says, throwing an arm around Ion, /ruffling/ Dusk's hair; there's still anger, and frustration, all clenched up muscles and gritted teeth. But he's still grinning. And he leads them on into the rest of the song, until a few other Brothers wander by. Some to watch. Some to join in. It may get ugly later. He'll probably attack someone again. But for now, it's good between all of them. "First spot we hit it was my liquor store I finally got all that alcohol I can't afford With red lights flashin', time to retire And then we turned that liquor store into a structure fire..."