ArchivedLogs:Sharpen Your Knife

Sharpen Your Knife
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Charlie Torres, Daken	12 March 2015 "You got shit to fix, then fix it."
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. It's been bright and sunny and /warm/ -- ish -- today, and there's been work going on in earnest in the outdoor parts of the compound. Things put off in cold weather or simply chores that don't have to /happen/ during winter. There have been people in the gardens starting to prep the soil for planting, people in the trees cleaning up the piles of dead soggy leaves, people by the cabins repainting. Like spring cleaning is coming to Ascension Island. Dusk has been in the first of these groups; you can tell by the dirt still crusted on his boots and dusting his jeans and hands. Though the sun is starting to set and the temperature beginning to drop, he isn't wearing a shirt. Despite this he's still /very/ colourful -- the design on his wings isn't quite entirely visible, the way he's currently holding them very tightly folded against his back, but what can be seen of their crumpled membranes is a brilliant motley of reds and oranges and yellows, a few streaks of purples. The long spars of bones are coloured a deeper blue-black, his sharp talons gleaming black but faintly iridescently so. He is seated on the porch railing, legs straddling the wood; there's a laptop balanced sort of on the railing and sort of against his thighs that he is -- mostly ignoring. In favour of pulling deep long drags from a cigarette, head thunked back against a wooden post and his eyes shaded behind very dark sunglasses. Warm/ish/ means that Charlie's still got her long ears tucked half into her even longer brown hair, half under a teal wool hat. Those things leak body heat like nobody's business. The wiry girl's also still buttoned up /tight/ in a navy and white jacket, loose chocolate corduroys ending in what appear to be oversized work boots. The faint smell of cinnamon can be attributed to the licorice twig chewstick in her mouth, wiggling between her lips as her teeth scrape at it. After getting mostly settled in, she's been doing a lot of wandering and familiarising herself with the place. Not that her eye hasn't been on that garden already. The twitch of her nose at the cigarette smoke could betray what led her here. "Any chance you got another one a'those?" she asks as she wanders onto the porch, chin lifting in the direction of...Dusk's face. Her gaze might linger a little longer than necessary on what appear to be tie dye wings. Daken has obviously been in none of those groups just yet, wandering in from the common area. He's wearing a purple v-neck and a pair of worn-in jeans and no shoes. In one of his hands is a container, judging from the smell coming from it he's brought fried pork. "Hey," he greets lightly, offering a two fingered salute. His nostrils flare lightly, "Thought I smelled cigarettes. Need to get a few more cigars. But I don't know where to get Cubans anymore." Dusk turns his head, brows lifting and a quick (very /fangy/) smile flashing across his lips. "My face? I only come standard with the one." He tips his chin up, lifting in a nod to Daken. "Jersey," he advises, "half the gorram cubanx I know fled out to the burbs. Or ask Ion. He has hookups with basically everybody." One of his hands drops to hold the laptop in place as he shifts his weight, his other hand rooting in his pocket to get a crumpled pack of cigarettes out. Mostly empty. One left. He tosses it to Charlie. "Dusk," he adds, by way of introduction. "When'd you wash up?" Charlie's lips pull into a half-grin in a way only someone with hare-like facial features could replicate. "'Hey, gimme your face so I can put it in my mouth,' seems like a hell of a way t'start a first conversation. Cigs," she clarifies though it's obviously unnecessary, catching the thrown cigarette almost at the same time the word drops from her mouth, "totally there, though." True to her word, she has it traded out for the chewstick quickly enough, cheapo lighter emerging from her pocket to get the thing going. Only then does she add, "Thanks, I owe y'one. Charlie," serves as an equally brief intro. to the pair. "Just got in mad late on Sunday. Drove up from Baltimore. Know a coupla folks here in passing. Or at least recognise some faces. Don't think you're one of 'em, though. Hard to forget technicolor wings." Yet again, there is a nod indicating...pretty much Dusk. Or at least the soil on him. "I'm a pretty good hand at gardening. There a method t'the madness here or just show up when there's work to be done?" "Ran into Ion the other day. Was certain killing your way to the top was a bad idea." Daken offers after Charlie finishes speaking. "I'd have done it if I hadn't got hooked on heat." he grumbles a bit at that. "You know it turns out the guy I was using for information was the one actually making it?" he shakes his head a bit there, taking a seat on one of the rocking chairs. "Killed my healing factor. Almost got /me/ killed." His attention falls to the container in his lap, an audible SNK as the spike of a claw in his wrist extends, which he promptly uses to skewer a piece of meat and toss it into his mouth. After a moment of chewing he swallows, then finally introduces himself. "Daken." Dusk's grin curls brighter. "I'd probably go for it, to be honest. S'worse places for my face to be than a friendly mouth. -- Hey, Maryland? I'm from down that way. Cool. The wings aren't usually technicolour. Kind of get them dyed a lot by --" He trails off, cocking his head in puzzlement at Daken. "Ion -- what? Who's getting killed?" The rest of Daken's words don't /stop/ his puzzlement anyway. "... got -- what? {Sorry, bro}, I am not grokking a gorram word you say." He taps his cigarette out over the edge of the porch rail. "Some method. There's a chore -- shit. List. Thing. On the bulletin board inside. Can check in there who's leading each group. Hit them up for tasks need doing. Gets rotated, every -- so often. About equal parts madness and method." "Pffft, I'll keep that in mind," Charlie replies in a half-snort that's really more effective for the smoke curling out with it. The combination of Dusk's Maryland announcement and the Spanish brings a fuzzy brown fist in his direction for a knuckle-tap. "{Feeling more at home already}. Guess I should get myself put on the shit list, then. Gonna be on one, seems like chores ain't the worst way to go." The amusement in her features is replaced with confusion, too. "Killing your way to the top of /what/? Can see how that'd be a fuckin' stupid idea in most cases." Her brows raise, one higher than the other, at Daken's method of eating. "Guess that don't hurt as much as it looks like, if you're using yourself just for cutlery." "{Seems to be a lot of that.}" Daken replies, attention drifting towards Charlie. "Hurts like a bitch, every time. But I suppose I should explain, yeah?" he clears his throat a bit. "My business went down in the early two-thousands, so I ended up moving to Las Angeles, fronts take a long time to set up. So I'd planned on just killing the bosses and taking over smaller organizations until I ran the area." He throws another piece of pork into his mouth before bring the spike up to his face, pressing it into his cheek and dragging it down a bit, which splits his skin before he just retracts it completely. He brings his napkin up to clean the surprisingly small amount of blood from his cheek, revealing a distinct lack of a cut. "But the person I was using for information was the one really running the game. He got me hooked on the drug he was manufacturing, which burnt out my healing factor completely. Made doing any of that really hard. By the time I managed to get off of it, I was done with Las Vegas. So here I am." He sets the container in his lap down on a table next to the chair. "That clear things up?" "{A lot of what?}" Dusk's confusion is /not/ clearing up, it seems. He leans forward to return the fist bump in a quick tap. "{I -- I don't know, man, it sounds kinda fucked? Like /hell/ yeah killing people to take over their organizations sounds dumb as /shit/, we're not living in Stormhold. -- Plus if your plan is bad enough /Ion/ thinks you have a Bad Plan, it's probably time to re-evaluate your life choices.}" He sounds /amused/ more than critical, laughter warm in his voice. "{Ion is like our grand high master of bad-fucking-plans. -- What are you doing here?}" The laughter dies away into a more curious tone. "Because if the answer is 'killing your way to the top' Regan's probably got a short leash she's gonna be keeping you on." "{I'm gonna go with 'bad ideas',}" Charlie fills in for Dusk on just what there is a lot of going on, before her amusement again...meets an abrupt end. Her huge-doe eyes manage to go even wider at the random face slicing. "So...you like some kinda emo cutter kid or full-on psycho? 'Cause a girl's gotta have lists for these things." Somehow the healing part seems less important than the face-stabbing part; that's where her focus is hanging, anyhow. "Think maybe Regan's got more than a leash if that's true, man." Shaking her head, she takes another drag from her cigarette before deciding that settling back in vaguely-amused mode suits her better. "{Gotta make a point to meet Master Ion. Guy sounds like a good time.}" "A lot of people not understanding my plans. Though that isn't a bad thing." Daken replies with an easy shrug. "And if it's a lot of small time leaders you take out, most of the time they put it up to gang on gang violence, which used to take a back seat to gang on citizen violence. Killing my way to the top here would be suicidal. If I kill anybody, it'll be my father. Last I heard he was out here, I /know/ he was here during the Liberty Island incident." He reaches up to run a hand over his head. "Got a few contacts still here, but they haven't aged quite as well as me." He flashes a grin and a wink towards the pair. "Mainly just here to help you guys out, registration and monitoring isn't good for anybody. Though Charlie's question seems to catch him a bit off guard. "Nah, just making a point. Be a fucking waste of time if I was emo, wouldn't it? Got bigger and better things to worry about." "{Dude, it's not that I'm not understanding, it's that your plans sound dumb. I can understand and still disagree. There's /way/ better ways to get shit done than leaving a trail of bodies behind you.}" Dusk finishes his cigarette in a long drag, smooshing it out on the pillar behind him. "And killing pretty much anyone without Regan's say-so out here is probably suicidal. She's not much for reckless. Or attention. -- What point?" His smile hooks wide to Charlie. "{Ion's a goddamn trip. /Crazy/-fucking sparkplug. His cabin's out in the woods -- s'the one usually on fire.}" "Mmm...hm." The steady tick upward of Charlie's eyebrows might clue people in to which way she's leaning in answer to her own question. Since it's not emo. The Liberty Island mention stops her hand halfway to returning the cigarette to her lips. "Your papa, he ain't one of us, is he?" Her shoulders tense at the help talk, the fabric of her jacket bunching up. "{Shit. Don't do me no favours. I just fuckin' got here.}" The cigarette finally completes its route, another smile curling in along with the smoke, head nodding in silent approval. "{Alright. /That's/ where the party's at. Got all the inside info. now.}" "{That I could have one it if my healing factor hadn't of shorted. And I know it sounds dumb, I never thought it was the best way to do shit. Just the fastest.}." Daken says. "{Actually he isn't... Name is Logan, but he's been going by Wolverine for years. But my uncle, his half-brother, is one of us. Goes by Sabertooth. Almost certain Victor doesn't know about me though.}" "Wait." The humour has gone out of Dusk's voice. "{Are you serious? I totally thought you were just kind of pulling our leg. Because dude, it's not about /fastest/ that's just -- sick. You just straight-up /murdered/ people for -- what? To do more crime? Jesus.}" His brows have pulled in, deep. He shifts on the railing, swinging both his legs to the inside; behind him his wings flare for balance as he shifts. Not tie-dyed, their pattern is a very intricate geometric starburst design that has been carefully sectioned and lined to resemble stained glass -- all the moreso when the setting sun's light hits the thin membrane. He pulls his legs up into a crouch on the railing, folding his laptop closed and tucking it under an arm. "{Fff. You don't want to fuck with that guy. Not because he'll wreck your shit. Because /Regan/ will wreck your shit if you go stirring up trouble with the X-folk for your own personal grudges. And you do not want to fuck with her.}" He gives his head a small shake. "{Yeah. Ion and Kay usually bring the partying. Kind of nonstop.}" Though he's regarding Daken sort of warily, now; his previously amiable tone doesn't sound much in the mood for partying, anymore. "That's fucked up, man," Charlie says past the cigarette dangling from her lips, freeing up her hands to be presented palms out, just a /little/ step taken back toward Dusk and his railing. "There's a pretty serious Don't Fuck With list, too. Regan /and/ those X-guys're pretty high up /on/ it." Seriously, though, huge shiny tie dye wings are distracting. "{Shiiit, that must've taken a week of dye jobs,}" sure seems adequately impressed. "To each their own, right?" Daken replies, arching an eyebrow. "I only killed three people there. Human traffickers." His shoulders lift in an easy shrug. "When you take the life of another without regard, or you force another person into a life of slavery, what's the value of your life?" He actually chuckles a bit at that. "Suppose I fall into the first group though, yeah? Never hurt a person that didn't deserve it. Been around for a long time. A real long time. I don't know how you were brought up, but I was a half white child in a /very/ traditional home shortly after world war two. Take it you don't speak Japanese. Where I got my name, bastard dog. My mother tried to kill me, and my father killed himself in front of me shortly after I accidentally killed her. Claws are a bitch when you first get them." He reaches over to throw a piece of meat into his mouth, chewing it quietly. "I was trained to kill. Punished hard when I didn't go through with it. But I don't kill just to kill. If it benefits me, and they aren't innocent? Doesn't ruffle my feathers at all." "{Nah, it took a little under an hour.}" Dusk's expression relaxes back into an easy smile as his wings unfurl again. This time on /purpose/ rather than incidentally, stretching out -- and out, and /out/ to reach their full span of over seventeen feet. "{Got a friend who does this. Can recolour pretty much anything in sight. He gives the best freaking dye jobs, too.}" The look he turns back to Daken is -- largely inscrutable, expression partially obscured behind the sunglasses. "{To each their own kind of applies to, like. If you like wearing fishnets and having people pee on you or you like Pepsi better than Coke or think skeet shooting is an exciting weekend. It's not really, 'also I murder people when they have business ventures I want.'}" He gives another shake of his head. "Come /on/, dog, everyone here has their sob story. And pretty much /every/ person I've ever met who managed to make it to adulthood probably /deserves/ it. Neither of those things really -- justify --" His head shakes as he rises, hops down backwards off the rail. "{You ever, uh, considered looking into therapy?}" "You...wanted to take over businesses from human traffickers? That don't sound like the best mission statement for your resume, man." Charlie finishes her cigarette, stabbing it out and flicking it into a butt can. "Parents took one look at me, decided to go ahead and chuck the baby with the bathwater. First day breathing. {I figure, fuck 'em. I don't gotta know them and I'm better for it.}" Another shrug crumples up the navy fabric of her jacket. "Sounds fucked up. Guess the killing didn't stick, you looking to give 'em another one, huh." It could be her mouth gets her in trouble sometimes. Dusk's wings shooting out /more/ does stick a cork in it, eyebrows climbing again with an impressed, "Daaamn," to go with the 'shiiit'. It's a matched set. "{Kid could make some serious bank, he does all that in an hour flat, too? You like a flying /church/, man. The pretty parts, not the fucked up parts.}" "{Ion suggested that, too. And not really a sob story, just the way things are.}" Daken shrugs once more, attention drifting towards Charlie. "That's some fuck shit. {And no, I didn't want shit to do with the human traffickers work. I fucked them up, because they were human traffickers.}" He shakes his head slightly before looking back at Dusk. "{At the end of the day, it is what it is. You take the good with the bad, and I have a lot of good to go with it.}" That grin is back once more. "{We'll just have to agree to disagree when it comes to killing. You need a sparring partner, or somebody to train people? See me. Going to come in handy in the future, there's a storm brewing. I can smell it.}" His nostrils flare, attention moving skyward. "I'll be seventy next year. Too old to change anyway." "{Guess I'll have to take your word on the good.}" Dusk is /definitely/ not smiling, jaw tensed in answer to Daken's grin. His wings snap inward with a crack of air. "{Yeeah, some parents aren't really good for -- shit. S'just why you gotta make your own family, huh?}" Charlie's last comment, though, finally /does/ return the smile to his face. At least briefly. "I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife --" Sung; his quiet voice isn't half-bad, either. "There's always a storm coming. One of the earliest things you learn in the sky is how to ride them." The tip of his wing curls down in a small wave to the others. "See you 'round." "Dude, you're /old/, not /dead/. You got shit to fix, then fix it." The whip-crack of Dusk's wings isn't fading Charlie's impressed face any. Her own too-toothy smile finds its way back to answer his, sharpish. "{Stop reading my mind, Bats. Had that song playing long before you took on singing it.}" She chuckles, just a little, an amused 'hm' tacked on to the laughter. "See you 'round," the hare-girl echoes before grabbing the rail and so-easily leaping over it after him before dashing off in the direction of her cabin. "And that mother and father aren't my birth parents." Daken says towards Charlie. "{Logan killed my birth mother while she was still pregnant with me.}" He taps out a salute towards Dusk and Charlie as she hops off. "Take care." He starts humming to himself, turning to head back towards the kitchen.