ArchivedLogs:Not Ready

Not Ready
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Hive, Isra
In Absentia	2013-10-15 (Part of Prometheus TP.)
Location <XS> Roof
The view from up here is phenomenal, a panorama of the expansive Xavier's grounds, forest and lake and rocky cliffs alike. Even without the view outwards, the rooftop itself holds its own delights, in the form of the tiny jewel of a flower garden tucked away up here, tended by one of the school's teachers. From the edge of the roof, with a veeery careful jump, it looks like it just might be possible to reach the treehouse in the old oak tree. There have been a few less-familiar faces in and out of Xavier's, the past couple weeks. Not spending much time mingling but generally disappearing into the basement levels and then leaving again. Still, as /distinctive/ as some of them are and as small (and security-minded) a school as Xavier's is, word travels fast when unusual people come through. Dusk is hard to /miss/ as he makes his way through the school, enormous wings quite noticeable even in a school like this one. He's moved up from the basement to the roof, where currently he crouches at roof's edge, wings spread out wide in a slow lazy streeeeetch. He's dressed comfortably, boots and dark cargo pants and a black v-neck tee that at the moment is rather damp with sweat. There's a cigarette between his fingers, only just lit; he's still absently flicking his lighter with his other hand. His expression is -- tired. Darkly shadowed eyes, lips pressed thin, a heavy droop to his shoulders. Hive doesn't have wings, but he seems fairly comfortable ambling to the roof's edge /anyway/, familiarity, perhaps, with navigating unfinished buildings much taller than this one. He drops down to sit, legs dangling over the edge, beside Dusk. There's a glassy vacancy to his eyes; they hardly look like they're noticing much of anything, but with as many minds as there are currently joined to his his /mental/ senses are acutely aware, picking up easily on those minds around him. He braces one hand on the edge of the roof, reaching out with the other, fingers beckoning for Dusk's cigarettes. Gimme. Isra's thoughts--an orderly cresting wave of perplexity, excitement, joy, and foreboding--precede her onto the rooftop. She wears a sky blue wrap tunic with slightly irregular violet piping, a tiered skirt that deepens from cerulean down to navy, and a huge purple shawl slung over one arm. This last she tosses over herself as she steps out onto the roof, letting the wind unfurl it and pull it over her folded wings. She makes a mental note to work on outerwear next. "Good day, gentlemen." A few long, stalking steps bring her to the roof's edge. Her eyes sweep the campus, searching for signs of trouble and, not quite so consciously, for prey. "Training again?" There is not much doubt in her mind about that, which troubles her for its suggestion of specific purpose. Her wings unfold just enough to brush against Dusk's wing and Hive's shoulder. A flood of tenderness and desire crashes through her, but shows nowhere on her person save in a twitch of the tail and dilating pupils. "Isra." Dusk doesn't turn, but recognition of this voice comes with mingled emotions; a stirring of happiness, a stirring of desire, a clamped-down reticence to /allow/ himself these feelings just right now. He presses the lighter into Hive's hand first, digging in his pocket to slip the cigarette case out again, opening it to tap one out and let Hive take it himself. "Yeah. Last one. Kind of -- expected it to be a while but Jax is shipping us out tonight." His wing presses back against Isra's, letting the contact linger. Hive's eyes are vaguely directed out towards the grounds -- somewhere down below, Flicker is chatting animatedly with Joshua over a lunch pilfered from the kitchen. He might be looking at them or he might be looking /through/ them; though his head turns slightly at Isra's approach, his eyes don't focus on her at all. He does shift into the touch of her wing, leaning slightly against it as he takes the cigarette, lights it. << Kind of down to the wire, >> he agrees, his voice soft and echoing with a chorusing crowd of other voices twined together with it. << Better, maybe. Spend less time worrying about it. More time doing. >> The tips of Isra's wings quiver. "Tonight," she echoes. It is not a question. Pain lances through her chest, so raw and physical that for a moment she actually contemplates the possibility of cardiac arrest. She draws a deep breath, then another, remaining nearly still the whole while. When she speaks again, her voice is near to breaking, the bass rumble beneath it rough and growly. "I trust Jax's judgement." She banishes a vision of the twins and Spencer huddled around Micah. "And I know you are capable." By sheer force of will, her mind is blank and serene, bearing only the words she composes before she speaks them. << I love you. But my love isn't what you need. >> "Do you require anything? Equipment, funds, blood." "He's gotten us through a lot of these." Though with how many dead already, is a thought that goes through Dusk's mind and doesn't make it to his lips. "We're driving out tonight. If things go as planned, we should be back here some time Thursday. Maybe with a few new additions to your school." << If -- >> His wing brushes more firmly back against Isra's, a slow gentle caress. He lifts his hand to his lips, drawing a long drag of his cigarette. "You know Jax's fiance? Micah?" This comes with another pained twinge, though outwardly he still only looks -- tired. "He's holding down the fort at home. Helping deal with medical care once we get back. Feeding everyone. Housing them. We always need so many hands there." His head turns up towards Isra, now, and a slow swallow rolls down his throat as he looks at her. "I need --" << You, >> surfaces immediately in his mind. He exhales a stream of smoke. "I always need blood. Most of my regular people are on my team and we can't afford to have any of them even slightly tired. And /I've/ been losing blood to --" He shakes his head with a small shiver of wings. "And even when I feed it's never as much as I need. As much as I need would kill any one person. So the more the -- better, pretty much always." << We've lost a lot of people through a lot of these. >> Hive says it, even if Dusk doesn't. << But I don't think that was because he had poor judgment. There's just no real way to win, here. >> He slips the offered cigarette into his mouth, lighting it and then dropping the lighter back into Dusk's lap. << You got money? We'll need money. We're set for the trip down. If we get back we'll have so many new mouths to feed. That shit isn't cheap. >> Isra nods, talking herself through the motions inwardly, eyes fixed Dusk. "I will offer my assistance, such as it is, to Micah." Though the ache in her chest has not faded, she has mastered her voice at least, her alto level and calm. She turns to Hive. "I am no Tony Stark, but certainly well off enough to see to food." There is a growing disconnect between her words and her perspective, as though her mind had somehow taken a step back from her body and can now operate dispassionately. Her eyes defocus a little as they slide back to Dusk. "As for blood, I have plenty--if my latest hematocrit level is any indication." The tension bleeds from her, and she re-settles her wings across her shoulders under the shawl. "You are welcome to it." "He'll appreciate it, I think. It --" A tension ripples through Dusk's shoulders. His wings shiver at his back, flexing out afterwards to curl one around Isra for a moment. His wing slides against hers over the shawl as he folds them slowly back in. "It can be harder, I think. Being the ones to stay here. It helps, to have something to do. Instead of just sitting and wondering --" His hand shakes, slightly, on his next drag of cigarette. "I think he'll be glad for the help." << Good. You don't happen to have spare couch space or bed or floor space if we need somewhere to put people? Because we need space, too. And that's harder to come by than food. >> Hive's hand has dropped after his first long drag of smoke, and the cigarette in it is seemingly forgotten. << Wondering who it's going to be not making it home this time. >> For just a moment, his eyes actually do seem to focus, down towards Flicker on the grounds below. Just a moment, though, and then they are vacant once more. << Who knows. Jax /is/ timing this well. Maybe this'll be our first perfect run. >> "I have an entire spare apartment, if they don't mind periodic vandalism." Isra's ears press back against her skull as she raises her eyes to the tree-lined horizon. She is calculating distance and wind speed. << I'll wonder about the problems I can solve. >> How to ferry mutant fugitives to her apartment without drawing undue attention. How far could she glide if she jumped off the roof right now. Beneath the drape of her wings, her arms curl around her torso, talons pressing into her sides. The sharp pain, real and logical and biologically quantifiable, brings her back to herself. "You are competent and driven." She crouches down and, kneeling--awkwardly, given the shape of her legs--wraps a wing around each of them. Her eyes are closed, and she keeps thinking tears are about to spill out, but they never do. Excessively efficient nasolacrimal system. "Oh, man, a whole apartment, that'd be a godsend." Dusk has been largely calm, outwardly quiet, but when Isra's wing curls around him he turns to lean into it. The breath he exhales is shuddery, slow, and he transfers his cigarette to his opposite hand, his arm curling now around Isra's waist. "Competent and driven, that's way nicer than 'batshit crazy'. Which is mostly how I feel." His head turns in towards her, too, lips brushing lightly for just a second against the side of her neck. His forehead rests against her shoulder afterwards, eyes closing tight as if that can shut out the fear that inevitably accompanies these raids. << Batshit crazy /and/ competent and driven. >> Hive tenses faintly at those prickles of pain from Isra, though he still doesn't look at either of the other two. << Dusk stayed back, last time. There were a lot of tears. But we need people. Home. To make sure we have something safe to come back /to/. To make sure the kids have someone here if we don't come back at all. >> "Crazy, competent, and driven." Isra agrees, squeezing the two men tighter when a gust of wind kicks up. The chill registers somewhere in her brain, but does not seem to affect her sense of comfort. Long fingers comb through Dusk's hair, talons scraping lightly against his scalp. "I will wait for you. I will look after your families." A fierce protectiveness flairs up, wordless and primal. << And I will defend them, with tooth and claw if need be. >> Dusk nestles closer into the shelter of Isra's wing at that gust of wind, his own pressed down flat against his back. His eyes close, tension easing in his body at the scritching of talons at his head. It doesn't ease in his mind, though, a jangling of nerves, a /guilt/ at the people left behind, mixing with a fierce determination to do what he needs to do and get back to them. "Jax's boys kinda love you a lot. They're gonna need all the support they can --" He swallows, head pressing harder against Isra's shoulder. "They go through this a lot." << We go through this a lot. >> << Might need to. Some day. They come after our families, when they -- >> Hive doesn't seem to hesitate so much as just drop off into nothing, still and silent where he perches on the roof's edge. There's a faint sizzle, from his cigarette, burning down forgotten towards his fingers with a slightly burning smell; if he /notices/ the embers crisping his fingers he doesn't seem to so much as flinch. << We're not leaving till nighttime. Done with training. Packing'll be handled. You two have till then, together. >> Isra ducks her head, laying her cheek against Dusk's head. "They're splendid kids." The ache in her chest returns even stronger. << You /all/ are. >> "There's phlebotomy equipment down in the med lab...or do you just..." Distracted, eyes tracking sidewise, she stretches out her free hand to pluck the cigarette from Hive's fingers, the tips of her talons impervious to such a small brand. "Are you sure /you/ should be alone until then? Though...I suppose you are not--in there." "Depends how averse you are to pain. Some people prefer the needle. A lot of my friends oddly enjoy the biting. My teeth are sharp; it could be worse, I guess." Till tonight; not long /enough/, judging by the wrench inside Dusk. He curls his arm tighter around Isra, watching with a slow shift of gaze as she takes Hive's cigarette. "Good to have a first aid kit on hand, though. It's not exactly dangerous so much as really messy. I don't bite /deep/ with most people." He looks up at Hive, a tinge of worry in his thoughts. "You don't have to go." << Alone? >> Hive echoes this word uncertainly. << We aren't alone. >> He doesn't notice Isra's removal of the cigarette any more than he noticed the burning; after a pause, he lifts his fingers as if to take a drag, lowering his hand with no evident disappointment (or even notice) that the cigarette is gone. Slowly, he pulls his legs back onto the roof, planting his boots squarely before he gets to his feet. << Flicker'll bring you bandages. Unless you wanted to go inside. >> This comes with oh-so-helpful mental imagery to go with it, Dusk and another woman, prickly-spiny with hedgehog quills running down her back and the backs of her arms and legs, rather intimately /entwined/ up against the wall as his teeth sink into her. << Lots of people do enjoy it. On a lot of levels. >> He doesn't wait to hear answer for this, hands tucking into his pockets as he slouches his way back towards the roof window. "Hive, please..." Isra trails off, suddenly uncertain what she meant to say. She watches Hive carefully--convinced for a moment he is about to fall--and only retracts the wing she had wrapped around him when he has both feet planted. "I get needles stuck in my arms often, but have really only experienced fangs in combat." A blurry flashback of Dusk tearing into her neck, both of them covered in blood. She draws a sharp breath and her talons dig just a little harder into his scalp. "Pain is...familiar, and no great object to me." Even so, her pulse speeds up and her body grows warmer when Hive shows her the image. "If you are able to and enjoy feeding directly, then please do so." Dusk shivers, his breath catching at that press of talons. << Thank you, >> sounds in his mind, worry diminished but not vanished. His thoughts are turning more towards the woman beside him, though; he shifts more to face her, with little heed for his proximity to the roof's edge. His wing curls around in front of her, lips nuzzling against the side of her neck. When Isra's pulse speeds, a soft growl sounds in his chest, rumbling there quietly. "Brace yourself," he murmurs, perhaps more /literally/ than it might often be taken, given the slanted precipice they perch on. "And remember to breathe." Hive doesn't stop, at the sound of his name. There's a quiet press of feeling, mental touch that touches to Dusk's mind and Isra's, and then he is gone. Down below, Flicker pauses in his conversation, and then vanishes. It's shortly afterwards that a first-aid kit is quietly deposited behind Dusk; Flicker isn't there for long enough to really be /seen/ before they are alone on the roof again. Isra nods, a quick jerky movement. The wing that was holding Hive has already found purchase on the rooftop to steady her, and the talons on her feet clutch reflexively. For the most part, though, she is just hanging onto Dusk as though she were falling out of the sky again and he her only hope. Again. She draws a deep breath and lets it out, heart pounding so fast that her pulse is clearly visible beneath gray skin. "I am ready." "I'm not," Dusk admits with a soft whisper, his lips brushing against the side of Isra's neck. "I don't know if I can ever be ready for this." It's likely enough he's not speaking of feeding; against Isra his pulse is speeding, too, his face slightly flushed. His lips press to her neck again, tongue flicking there before, with one quick stroke, his fangs sink in against her vein. His wing wraps closer around her, arm holding her tight and his lips pressed tight to her skin. And then for a while there is nothing but the whisper of wind around them and his pulse, pounding stronger against her own.