ArchivedLogs:Into the Storms

Into the Storms
Dramatis Personae B, Dusk, Isra
In Absentia	2015-04-21 "Get battered or -- rage."
Location <NYC> The Roost - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side
The second level of this house takes up less floor space than the ground floor, owing largely to the open sweep of balcony that overlooks half the home below. Up here the floors are in natural hardwood, polished and smooth. At one side of the balcony, again, a door leads over to the adjacent unit in the house. One door off the balcony leads to a quiet office space, with a wide metal-and-glass desk, long sofa and armchair opposite a large pair of bookshelves. A tall glass door in the large windows on the back wall leads out to a wide outdoor balcony overlooking the river. The second door leads to Dusk's bedroom, dominated by greens and greys. He has finally actually gotten himself a /proper/ bed to pair with his dresser and bookshelf, king-sized and settled low to the ground onto a solid wood base with a number of drawers built into it. His desk holds the desktop -- somewhat literally. The desk /itself/, with see-through glass body and softly glowing lights inside, has been configured to /be/ the computer case. Closer inspection of a pair of small decorative aquariums sitting to either side of its three monitors finds them to /also/ be computer cases, their inner workings submerged in a pale blue liquid on a bed of aquarium pebbles alongside plastic plants and little plastic castles or fake coral. In this bedroom, too, a door leads out to the same balcony outside. Capping off the balcony at its other end is a guest bedroom, large wood-frame bed with a small end table, dresser, a hammock-chair hanging from the ceiling in a corner, a desk by the window. "-- gonna be hella fucking different five years from now." Dusk might be talking to himself, maybe. Kind of half a mumble. Maybe he's talking to the lines of code on his computer screen. /Maybe/ he's talking to B. It's all kind of a jumble at this point. "But if we could get your bugs in and they could figure out --" One of B's dragonflies is perched on his desk beside the computer. He's sort of frowning at it, wings (deep lightning-opal colouring, today, black shaded over with a storm of slightly iridescent blue) twitching behind him. He's crouched on his desk stool, ragged cutoff shorts, no shirt, no shoes. B is tucked cross-legged on the bed behind Dusk, hir own computer out and glowing all around hir. "Probably help if we could plan a little better. Like what am I going to do, just /sleep/ with my dragonflies /on/ me -- I mean okay I could do that." Frown. Hir fingers fly over hir holographic keyboard. Ze is more dressed than Dusk, a metallic silver skirt over galaxy-print leggings, black tank, silver-and-black crocheted sweater. "It'd be easier if I could just tell future-me to stop being a crazypants though." The click of heavy talons on the stairs precedes Isra into the room. She has two mugs in one hand and one in the other, redolent of tea and coffee. Beneath the drape of the purple spiral wrap dress--a new design of hers, not quite refined yet--her pale pink skin has a certain suggestion of flower petals, contoured with red and white spots too fine to make out at a distance. The many angry weals of recent wounds not yet healed, however, show quite clearly--many of them bright enough a red to match her horns and the membranes of her wings. One coffee she deposits on the desk within Dusk's reach, running the taloned fingers of the hand thus freed cursorily through his hair. The cup of masala chai she holds out for B even while lowering herself--a touch stiffly--to sit beside hir. "I suppose ze isn't in on this...project?" A soft rumble purrs up in Dusk's chest at the feel of talons against his scalp. "Think we're gonna have more luck hijacking fucking Sentinels than therapizing your crazyass self, hermanita." His own bare skin bears its share of bruising, though it is far more faded, his cuts lightened to just reddened scrapes along his skin. "If B is in on the project /now/ does that make B-five-years-later in on it by default?" B frowns. Hir gills ripple quickly at the sides of hir neck. She reaches up -- a little stiffly, too -- to take the chai, tucking hirself just a bit closer to Isra. "I'm -- not sure it works like that. I don't know if those people are quite -- us. Yet." Hir head shakes, frown a little deeper. "I hope not, anyway. That me is kind of --" A small shudder runs through her. "They're not us." Isra's dual voice resounds with certitude. "I seen through her eyes and flown with her wings, but when I woke she was like a stranger to me--albeit one with a great deal in common with me." Her wing unfurls only to curl back around B. Twists of steam spiral up from her own coffee, black and strong. She does not drink from it just yet. "They have seen things we hope to never see, and it marks them." Her right hand flexes, perhaps subconsciously--when she notices it her ears press back and the flexing stops. "What does future-B have that we need--knowledge? Technology?" "An almost inappopriate relationship with hir horde of Sentinel-submissives," Dusk replies, head turning juuust slightly to mark the flex of Isra's hand out of the corner of his eyes. "Which means a better working knowledge of them than we could /possibly/ hope to get in the span of a dream no matter /how/ industrious we make these little bugs. Still. We gotta try, I guess." "She does kind of wear a lot more black, too." B's nose crinkles up as ze nestles into the curl of wing. "But I /so/ don't need hir fashion sense." Hir tongue pokes at the side of hir cheek slowly. "... it might be at least kind of helpful," ze says, also slowly, "if we could at least get a look at what the Sentinels' code is like /now/. I mean, even if they /change/ in five years they're probably going to be building on these as a foundation..." "I do not suppose anyone could convince hir to lend us one of hir hacked Sentinels." Isra holds the mug near her face and closes her eyes, breathing the coffee. "But, failing that, B has an excellent point about the present-day Sentinels." The wing squeezes down gently, as if to underline which B she meant. "Given that they have not yet become murder machines--at least not overtly--subduing one should not be so difficult a task. We /could/ probably even contrive to get our hands on one without violence." There's a small perk of Dusk's wings, here, a small straightening of his shoulders. "Well, we /could/ do. Doug's been working on some code to sneak into the present-day ones too -- which'll also require getting to see their /workings/." He sounds so excited about this, too! Though his wings droop a little at Isra's last words. Now he swivels around on his stool to properly face the others, his sharp grin teasing. "Fun-killer." B blushes, gills rippling again. There's a faint spark of interest in hir eyes, though hir tone is quieter with: "... violence would be kind of noticeable anyway," ze points out, a little guiltily. "I just want to take a look. That's all. Quiet -- violence-free look. If they're putting them in ambulances do you think Joshua would -- well. I probably shouldn't ask him. He'd get in such huge trouble for that probably? We could always," hir giggle here makes this not a /genuine/ suggestion, "just claw you up a bit, if they /send/ one on an ambulance to treat you then it'll be right here." Demonstratively ze lifts a hand, raking claws in midair towards Dusk. See? Helpful. "I admit, I find the idea of dismantling one of those things--all of those things--immensely appealing, but yes, in all likelihood /someone/ would notice. However..." Isra finally takes a sip of her coffee, a beatific smile spreading across her face. "...That isn't /always/ a bad thing. In this case, though, probably counterproductive." The smile sharpens, fangs showing, and she strokes B's head fondly. "Actually, that idea might serve for getting at one for a preliminary look, if nothing else." Though the unblinking predatory gaze she levels at Dusk suggests perhaps she wants the fight more than the alleged goal of it. "I /am/ a hardened criminal as /well/ as a freak," Dusk meets these suggestions with a fierce bright grin, a small eager ripple of his wings, their upper claws twitching. "I mean, if anyone's likely to warrant getting those things sent out to tend them it's me. Plus, you know, best of both worlds. /You/ get to stay below the radar," his head tips towards B, slightly, "and we still get some violence. Win-win." B giggles, tapping a hand at hir computer display to minimize it. Ze takes a sip of tea, lowering the cup to hir lap. "... I mean," she says more quietly once the giggling has subsided. "A preliminary look is what we'll need for dealing with the -- future ones. But we've still /got/ all these ones here now? That's -- creepy, right?" Isra's ears swivel forward and her tail thumps against the bed a few times before she stills it again. "I call dibs on rendering you fit for emergency medical services." The slang sounds odder on her lips than the euphemism that follows, but her grin has not faded. Then, to B, more gently. "I find it unsettling, and would even without the omens of future as we have seen it. Consider, however, that in examining these early Sentinels for insight on their descendant, you may well find weaknesses for exploiting them in the present, should the need arise. In all honesty, I do not think that destroying the EMS Sentinels will keep the technology away from law enforcement and, ultimately, genocide. It may even accelerate the process." She takes a long pull of her coffee. "Ultimately, we must dismantle the social and economic systems that permit, encourage, and in some cases /rely/ on projects like Prometheus and the Sentinels; anything less will only put off the storm." "Creepy as fuck," Dusk agrees, finally reaching for his own coffee to take a swig. "But Isra's right. Fighting this shit's going to take a lot more than just -- /fighting/ this shit. We have a whole frakking world to rebuild before things get better. Kinda takes attacking the problem on a /lot/ of axes." B's fingers flex, toying absently with small bits of hir holo-display. One of hir dragonflies wakes up, hums over to sit on hir shoulder. "I feel like it's kind of /been/ storming a long time already. But if there's a way to --" Hir head gives a small shake. "... storm right back? It's better than just being tossed around still, anyway." Isra falls silent, ears slowly pressing back against her smooth scalp. Her eyes track the dragonfly, then flick to Dusk. She lifts one bare eyebrow ridge at him--questioning, perhaps even expectant, and also just a touch worried. "You can--and people do it a variety of ways. It comes down to a question of /how/ you want to storm back." "Sometimes kinda feels like those are the only choices, huh?" Dusk's twitchiness has settled, his wings drooping in lower against his back, his arm tightening around one knee. "Get battered or -- rage." His eyes meet Isra's, then slip back to B, his fingers tightening against his shin. "Feel like it's just important to remember it's not a battle you have to fight alone." B's claws click lightly against the outside of hir mug. She sips at it again, eyes shifting between the others. Hir other hand lifts, fingertips tracing against the wing of hir dragonfly. "I want to rebuild the world," ze answers with a small smile. "Doing it with family around is definitely better than the alternative." "Family," Isra echoes, distracted. The very tip of her tail twitches rapidly. "Yes. A family that will fight for you and alongside you. You have that already." Then, more quietly, the bass voice dropping away to a low rumble not unlike a purr. "Maybe more than you realize."