ArchivedLogs:Shiny

From X-Men: rEvolution
Shiny
Dramatis Personae

Ion, Teague, Omelette

2015-04-14


"Boring is the last thing I want."

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.

Gloomy gray clouds hang overhead, but the temperature is a comfortable 64.

Teague is taking advantage of the respite from the extreme cold and heat of the recent season changing. Sitting off to the side on the porch steps in unassuming black and gray sweats, the sunburnt teen cranes over himself. Wisps of his long, dark hair fall into his field of vision as he goes about well-practiced, methodical foot stretches. Using both his hands, he runs through the arches of one foot in particular. Either the audible popping of his toes and ankle don't cause him discomfort or he's just too used to it.

"{/One/ day,}" Ion is saying in Spanish as he approaches from the woods across the grounds, "{You'll get around all this so much easier, huh? Just two wing-beats, bam, whole island is yours. One day when you're not so goddamn useless, jeez, shit your pants /every/ two seconds I fucking swear, yo, you not even eating any-damn-food at all today where's it coming from --}" By all evidence he is talking down to a very thick (and somewhat scratched-up) leather sling wrapped around his chest. The clawed tips of batlike wings and a very much not-human-looking horned pointy-eared grey head with bulging green eyes are protruding from the top of the sling.

Ion is quite human looking, though. Dressed fairly drab in boots and dark jeans, a wifebeater, his Mutant Mongrels kutte thrown on over top (the vest is quite -- /well-loved/, we'll say. Tooth marks. Claw marks. Singed at its edges. Bleached white handprints on the front. BEADAZZLED rhinestone lightning bolts on the shoulders. Many-times-repaired tears in various places.) There are fading blue streaks in his shaggy dark hair. Fading bruising on his arm, fading scabs on his knuckles. A very much not-fading bright /grin/ on his face as he (stiffly) wanders up to lean up against a post on the porch steps' railing. "Ey-o. Newkid. You the shiny one, huh?" His gravelly-deep voice carries a quite thick Argentine accent.

Removing a hand from his elegant but worse-for-wear dancer's foot, Teague slowly pushes his hair from his face and tosses it back over his head. Coming out of "the zone," he looks up from behind sultry, heavy eye-lids. "Shiny, eh?" A tinge of a smile passes warmly over his mouth and he lets out a breathy laugh, "I suppose so." His head tilts as his eyes wander to the partially concealed baby and back up to Ion's grin, "I like your vest." He slowly bats his lashes, laughing breathily some more as he returns his hands to his foot. "Is that the baby I've heard about?" He doesn't project his voice or his own London accent, and so it is quite smooth.

"Shiny --" Ion gestures, first to the cheap plastic rhinestones on his vest and then to his wrist which bears a /Very/ Large, /Very/ Colorful watch that bears a ridiculous extravagance of sapphires and diamonds set into it. "Like /shiny/, huh? Dusk said that you like -- like the fucking /wizard/ of shiny. The most goddamn /magic/. Maybemaybe --" And suddenly his smile is lighting more, an utterly /delighted/ glee in his face, "maybe you help, my vest it could probably use some more? Shine?" So hopeful.

He drops his hand, rubbing the top of Eridani's head lightly between the small fuzzy horn-nubs. "/Hell/ yeah this tinygoblin, this is the Frittata. This monster gonna be king-of-this-island some day just you watch. Just gotta get her damn -- toilet-train first. Not quite figure out yet things like how to use legs? They fucking tricky, you know?"

"Legs. Quite tricky, yes," Teague agrees pleasantly. He extends his legs, stretching them before wrapping them back in front of him to pursue the other foot. He continues to smile coolly back, "Why do I have trouble believing that is verbatim?" His eyes twinkle at the gaudy, flashy accessories but his eyes linger on the scabs on Ion's knuckles rather than the watch. "Maybe I could help," he flits his gaze back up to Ion's face, a motive behind his expression, "Do you fight well?" He gestures vaguely to the bruises on Ion's arm, "Or not very well?" Now, he grins.

"He not too solid on arms neither. Or," Ion looks down at the tiny vampire-gargoyle in his sling, head currently lolling to one side in a halfhearted attempt to jaw at Ion's hand, "necks. Mostly any -- muscles. Tricky."

His brows pull in, briefly puzzled. "Verb-adem? Huh?" He's moving on past this quickly enough, though, eyes flicking down to his hand and then back up to Teague. "Eh-huh? What's'at, you looking to throw down?" He seems amused by this. "Some days, well. Some days, I'm picking myself off the street, you know? Good enough I'm still /alive/ though, that, it ain't nothing. You, you do much? Fighting?"

"I don't know anything at all about babies," Teague announces flatly. He pauses to take in Ion's energy, poised in almost the same graceful position he's been in this entire time, "Or 'throwing down.' But I feel I ought to." His eyebrows flick. Giving his feet a break from their exercises, the ballet dancer presses a hand to the same post that Ion leans on. In no sudden motion, the teen rises to stand and is, well, rather close. "If you have any suggestions."

"Oh, babies, they're easy. Food in one side, poop out the other. Basically they're made of rubber, you know? So is like you can bounce them around, no big deal." Ion's head dips, chin nuzzling down against the top of Eridani's head. His eyes widen very faintly at the sudden closeness of the teenager. There's a small tingle in the air, a crackling charge that lifts hairs all along his arms.

Eridani stretches a wing in a graceless floooop out towards Teague. Possibly this is an attempt to hook at him. It isn't very coordinated though. Just, flail. Ion reflexively nudges the wing back down. "Suggestions, yo, sure. Like this --" He lifts his hand up between them, curled into a fist, "and then /bam/." That same fist drops low, twisting in a very slow-mo punching motion towards Teague's gut. "But with more /bam/ in it, yeah? Really, best-damn-suggestion I give you, grab any-fucking-body on this island, any-fucking-body down the lower-east safehouse Friday nights, just jump the fuck in a few rounds. Here, there's, what's it. Practice. Trainings. Every fucking day if you /want/ them. Learn you good. Not just the punching part. Using what you do and make your punching all the better."

Tensing for impact, Teague sways away from the slow-motion demonstration. He watches Ion, calculating before offering a breathy, "Thanks." He tests a hand to his arm, not sure if Ion's power is what makes own hair stand slightly on end, or just the jolt from the fear of being suddenly electrocuted that surged through him in that moment. Either way, his expression remains calm, like the surface of undesturbed water.

"I'll keep that in mind," he tilts his head, pushing off of the post to put slightly more distance between them.

"Don't worry," Ion assures Teague when he tenses, "I'm not going to fry you, probably." Though a couple sparks are crackling down his /own/ arms before the charge in the air fades away. "Maybe Regan she'll put you in training before long. Maybe. Everybody gotta learn how to protect themself, right?" His smile curls up, lopsided. "'less you just want to hang out, here on the island all-the-damn-time. Safe as goddamn houses. Get boring, though."

A bit embarrassed, Teague rubs his arm, "Boring is the last thing I want, I'd say." Becoming aware of his hand, he stops himself. His toy-soldier posture and first position footing speak to the boy's discipline and previous training, albeit not in combat.

"So, what do you want?" His eyes trace down Ion's vest, "A spike or something? I'm not sure I can just fasten anything in," He takes in the little details, "It seems like just about everyone has made their mark..."

"Good." Ion's grin evens out. Brighter. "What's your kind-a fun, then? I'm sure /someone/ 'round here they can find it for you. -- oh shit." The reminder of the potential for /more bling/ makes his eyes light again, makes him /bounce/ on the balls of his feet. He seems to regret the exuberance right after, though, the bouncing jostling the infant against his torso and his teeth gritting up, eyes scrunching in a wince. "Maybe you put, like, around the collar, or the sleeves, stud some spikes on? That would be fucking badass, huh? Or you give my skull --" He turns slightly to display the huge skull-and-crossed-lightning bolts MMMC insignia on the back, "some /shiny/ new grin. Like he got him some grills in his fangs. Maybe maybe."

"I have an idea," Teague smiles with his eyes, pursing his lips thoughtfully, "But it may take a little while. And it may be more my style than yours." He brings a few fingers up to twirl into the ends of his hair, "Come find me later. I'll work on it." Satisfied with whatever it is that he has in mind, he retreats a step, intending to leave, "And good luck with the baby."

"I find you." Ion jerks his chin upward, hopping back a step as well to move up the stairs towards the lodge. "Soon. 'n welcome to the familia, vato." His arm curls loosely around the baby against him as he wanders up inside.

"Thanks," Teague watches him meander inside, responding quietly, possibly after Ion is out of hearing range. It's sincere.