ArchivedLogs:Two Parts Sisterhood, One Part Telepathy, Agitate Well

Two Parts Sisterhood, One Part Telepathy, Agitate Well
Dramatis Personae Isra, Julie, Natalie, Regan, Scramble
In Absentia	2015-12-31 "{Sometimes, kicking asses just ain't enough.}"
Location <NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. It's a brisk New Year's Eve, the afternoon sunny but not in the least warm. The city is bustling with folks getting ready for the evening's festivities, their preparation imbued with a kind of determinedly frenetic energy. It's as if all of New York is collectively gathering its strength to finally climb out of the long shadow of the outbreak and quarantine. In the dining room, Scramble is arranging the contents of a beaten-up paper file box onto the table, which she has covered with a broad runner of many-colored kente cloth. She herself is bedecked in a black and gold kaftan with intricate geometric beadwork around the collar, sleeves, and hems, and she hums softly as she works. First she places the centerpiece: a dark, polished wooden kinara, carved in abstract organic fashion so that it looks like a tree with seven branches that support red, black, and green candles. Then, beside it, a matching chalice, followed by several beautifully painted earthenware bowls. These she fills with a somewhat random assortment of produce (Corn! Guavas! Squash! Dragonfruit! And whatever those other things are...) Natalie is just coming down the stairs, running a comb through still-damp red hair, a towel draped around her shoulders. She's in jeans, a plain black undershirt over a sports bra, hiking boots. Kind of shivery. "{Was an oversight,}" she might not be saying this to anyone in /particular/, though she's eying Scramble's kaftan with a look of appreciation, "{not building that coffeeshop with showers. That's gorgeous.}" And then, magically, there's Julie! Well... Maybe not magically. But she does tend to blink around with short bursts of speed. She's tame with opening the door when she shows up, but Ion had pointed these people out to her, and everything has been pretty chill so far. Still, she most frequently comes by for work of some sort. So when Ion had dropped her a time to show up, well... she showed up. The man's been pretty straight with her so far, and what's more, it's been good for getting her bike shined up. So when Julie arrives with a 'whoosh' of air, she is soon pacing back and forth in a blurr that is beginning to create a vibrating sound. Hyper, today? Isra does not seem in the least startled by Julie's abrupt appearance in the doorway ahead of her--probably inured, by now, to people arriving here in dramatic fashions. Her own /mode/ of entry may not looks nearly so unusual, but in her person she certainly does draw the eye. Her skin rich holly green, her talons and horns bright gold, and her wings a filigree of gold over sparkling snowy white, she wears a comparatively plain red wrap dress that flares wide at the hem and leaves her midriff bare. She has a black mirrorwork satchel slung across her chest and an ancient Cornell University Astronomy canvas bag over one shoulder. "{Good afternoon, ladies.}" Her Spanish has a strong Argentinian accent that, within the context of these circles, at least, almost certainly calls to mind Ion's manner of speaking. She sweeps through the living room and pauses by Scramble to study the arrangement on the table and to drape one wing over the other woman's shoulder--as tall as she is, Isra stands almost half a head over her. Regan, in contrast, doesn't particularly draw the eye at all. Certainly not in contrast to all the rest -- she slips out from the kitchen quietly, drifting rather sedate in Isra's wake. Much less eye-catching in blue-and-black handkerchief-hem calf-length skirt, soft black sweater, fingers curled around a mug of coffee. "{There's more brewing,}" is her contribution to the day, blue eyes sweeping the room with a sleepy look before she takes a sip. Perks, slightly. The smile she offers Natalie is a little sympathetic. "{Probably more hot water brewing, too. -- Hello.}" Her head tips to Julie, a small quick nod. "{Who knows,}" Scramble says, grinning brightly at Natalie, "{we get Evolve up and running again, maybe that'll be the next upgrade, huh?}" She leans back into Isra's wing. Looks down at her garb, her smile going crooked. "{I know right? My mama been sending me one every year since I moved away. Not great for ass-kicking, but Kwanzaa only come once a year. Hey.}" This last part is directed at Julie, with a more even smile. "Sup. {I seen you around with Ion, but you always running somewhere. I'm Scramble.}" "{Three hundred fifty eight other days for ass kicking. Ooh. Thanks! Hey.}" Natalie's smile brightens at the mention of coffee, though if she /were/ going to beeline towards the kitchen her motion is arrested by Julie's whooshblur. Her head turns -- back, forth, following the rapid motion with quick flicks of eyes. "{Oh -- hey. Ion's -- usually running somewhere too.}" She squints at the blur that is Julie, meandering over to lean up against the back of an armchair and fold one edge of the towel up to squeeze at her hair. "Natalie," she adds, by way of introduction. "{I did fix the plumbing over there this morning but that was just the toilets. No showers. Still, if the shop opens back up at least people can -- shit. Pretty vital.}" "{Showers broken? Want me to take a look at them?}" The woman's words run together, and hold something of the Guerrera in her voice. Whatever the case may be, she decides politeness may be in order,"{Juliette, or Julie, or Crazy Julie if you like.}" She's clear to enunciate the American pronunciation of her name, even if it's all still a little too fast. "{Hellohellohello. Yes. Fix all the things. What needs fixing?}" She's not quite about to wear a hole in the floor from pacing, but it can make a person dizzy. She finally stops pacing... But this leaves her face blurry and emenates a sort of vibrating sound,"{Nice to meet you Scram.}" She even reaches out for hand-shakeage, though she is distinctly restraining herself. She's got a hell of a grip, and pumping peoples' arms too fast can be unpleasant at best. "{Haven't seen Ion today. He around?}" "{The showers here work,} Isra replies equably, "{the water heater just isn't quite able to keep up with the number of people showering here sometimes. I think Natalie meant that Evolve--the coffee shop--needs a shower. Still closed, too, and will remain closed until Shane can muster up the funds to reopen.}" She drifts into the living room and folds herself down onto one end of the couch, her wings hanging over the arm. "{Isra,}" she says, indicating herself with one clawed, long-fingered hand. "{Ion has excellent things to say about you. I have not seen him today, though he will probably show up sooner or later, if you care to wait.}" Watching Julie pace, however, she looks just a little doubtful of this last happening. "Mmm." Regan's lips compress at the mention of Shane mustering up funds, a briefly thoughtful look crossing her face. She moves over to settle herself into the armchair that Natlie is leaning on, sipping again at the coffee. "{Ion will be by. His notions of time can occasionally be a little bit flexible.}" She says this with a fond smile. "{Natalie. Julie. Yes. He's had good things to say about you both, really. -- Are you staying at Evolve now too, then?}" This last is to Scramble, with a small tilt of head. "{What happened to your place?}" "{More ass that needs kicking than there are days for it,}" Scramble sounds reasonably /cheerful/ about this, though. She shakes Julie's hand -- or, at least, she /holds onto/ Julie's hand while the other woman pumps hers. Eyebrows go up. "{You got a /grip/ on you!}" This with a grin, clearly impressed, even while she's flicking her own hand as if to restore circulation. Passing by Natalie, she stretches out a fist to bump. "{Yep. Looking for a new place now. Old building was a fucking dump even before zombies, and after...}" She shrugs, dropping down onto the couch beside Isra. "{Well. TL;DR is landlord said he was just gonna sell the place instead of fixing anything.}" She looks back at Julie. "{Where you staying at?}" Natalie stretches out a hand, taps Scramble's knuckles lazily with her own. "{Just sounds like a /challenge/ to me.}" Her tone is cheerful as well, smile turning to Julie after when she asks what needs fixing: "{Oh, just about the world.}" Her elbow stays propped on the back of the armchair, cheek pressing into one hand and her eyes dropping to -- the top of Regan's head, when the other woman sits. "{I get the feeling Ion's got a lot of good to say about a /lot/ of people. But it's nice to hear.}" "{Ooooh. Well, I mean, get me the materials, give me a day, I can probably put together something that works. Give ya a good price, too.}" Doing day laborer work? Theft? Life takes some strange turns. "{Nice to meet you Isra. Nah, I kinda need to be doing something. Ion'd understand. What isn't so important as staying busy is.}" The girl shrugs a little bit,"{There's always enough time to kick ass that needs kicking. Especially if you're adventurous and willing to take risks.}" She her carotid in an almost bizarrely absent manner. Taking her own pulse? "{A lot of people ask me where I'm staying. No. I... stay moving. I got word from an old sergeant that the USMC started looking for me again shortly after I got discharged. You do the math. Don't know what they want, but I got an idea. Right now, there's this comfy clothing donation bin in Chelsea that I've taken a liking to. And yeah, Ion is a total bro. Cute kid, too. So, we need to kick this landlord's ass?}" "{If you're a mutant, you're family to Ion.}" Isra smiles fondly, flashing sharp fangs. "{Until proven otherwise, at least.}" She considers Julie, green eyes keen and unblinking. "{I have found,}" she says at last, "{that the number of asses kicked matters less than kicking the /right/ asses, in terms of making an impact.}" So saying, her gaze flicks to Regan. "{The world does need a good deal of fixing.}" Regan's smile is relaxed, her posture as well as she lifts her mug for another sip of coffee. Silent and unfelt, her mental sense stretches out, focusing, opening up -- just enough to gauge the surface thoughts of the other women in the room while they converse. "{But if you're /looking/ to make an impact I've found a good deal of value in Ion's approach. There's a lot to be said for having family around in your --}" There's a bit of amusement pulling warmer crinkles at the corners of her eyes. "{Ass-kicking.}" Scramble looks like she's kind of zoning out, staring at the Kwanzaa display in the dining room. Regan can tell she's staring at the first red candle on the kinara. << Umoja. Unity. All as one -- unless you're a freak. >> "{Yeah I feel him on that one,}" she says, kind of quietly. "{But if you mean my landlord? Nah. No asskicking gonna help anyone he's booting out. You though? Uncle Sam after you? That's fucked.}" Her thoughts are fluttering around the labs, the people still held there, perhaps even new people being sent there. And then, inevitably, Peace. "{Sometimes, kicking asses just ain't enough.}" There's a small twinge in Natalie's smile at Regan's mention of family -- echoed more heavily in her thoughts, a flutter of loss, a tweak of ache for family /not/ there. "{Yeah. A lot to be said for...}" She shakes her head quickly, and pockets the comb she's long since finished with, straightening from the armchair. << Finding the right people. >> "{Kicking asses is a /start/. Kind of looking for people to move forward with.}" "{Nothing wrong with that. I don't think about it too much, myself. I get what you're saying, though. Business school and OTS both liked throwing Sun Tzu around, but the truth is, nothing was quite so important as knowing your goal and knowing how to select your targets. I never got far enough to learn much about grand strategy or target selection. The truth is, logistics is almost always the weakest and conversely one of most important and well-defended points of-}" She shakes her head suddenly, and makes a little bit of a face,"{Sorry. That ain't me anymore. Sometimes I forget that ain't my life anymore.}" She goes back to pacing. "{You're talking about what Ion was. Finding a new squad. Why do I feel like I'm being...}" A sharp look, and for a brief moment, her angular, hollow, weatherbeaten features hum into focus. It's less than a handful of seconds, but for her, it's a long hard stare. She finds herself a corner to sit, legs crossed lotus style, and begins to drum her hands on her knees in a humming staccato,"{Truth is, sometimes you stick your hand out to shake, and they shit in it. I got my freedom, and I got plenty to eat most days. Life is okay. It's just not okay for everyone.}" "{I think,}" Isra says slowly, watching Natalie and then sweeping her gaze across to the other women, "{you have found some.}" Her ears swivel--one forward and one back, straining toward the kitchen--and the tip of her tail twitches. "{Coffee's ready. I suggest you call it now if you want some. Before I drink the whole pot.}" She's smiling as she rises, but something in her tone suggests she does not say this entirely in jest. Then, completely deadpan, she adds, "{Again.}" "{Okay is a better place to be than many people ever get.}" Regan's eyes flick over to focus on Julie, now, though her thoughts remain quietly listening to all of them. "{Perhaps it is the most comfortable place to stay.}" Her head inclines in acknowledgment -- in time with a small chuckle, perhaps over at Isra; at least that's where her gaze shifts. "{I actually have to get /up/ for a refill?}" The injustice of life. She draws another deep gulp from her cup. "{Though working on extending that /okay/ to others --}" Her eyes have moved on, drifting over to Natalie and Scramble. "{Usually that takes more of a community. And yes. If you're looking for more than ass-kicking --}" Her mug lifts, tipping just slightly out towards the two women. "{I'd be glad to help you move forward.}" Scramble gives Isra a /look/ before getting up to follow her. "{Sure, but only cuz you make good coffee.}" This with a smirk. She really does prefer tea, in general, but the coffee's ready /now/. She darts a glance at Julie, perplexed; the whole strategy thing kind of lost her. "{You mean you still wanna be a soldier?}" Slightly incredulous. "{But yeah, plenty of people don't need to stick out their hands to get shat on. Pretty much /most/ people, really.}" She bumps Natalie on her arm as she passes by. "{Want coffee -- either of you?}" Her brows wrinkle slightly when she turns to Regan. She doesn't know the woman all /that/ well, but somehow she suspects that help isn't meant to be abstract. "{How do you mean?}" "{Please.}" Natalie's answering about the coffee first because, well, priorities. She's kind of glazing over a lot of Julie's very rapidfire talking with a quiet mental, << Jesus, >> hands lifting to wrap around the ends of her towel as she leans up against the wall by the kitchen. One heel hooks back against the baseboard, a sudden spark of excited hope in her mind at Regan's words. "{Yeah. Yeah. Never really /had/ so much of a community in Queens but since getting here --}" Her smile is quicker -- both to arrive and to vanish again. "{Well, it sure hasn't been folks around /here/,}" the mental connotation filled in together with her small flick of hand indicates -- the safehouse, sure, but Evolve, the shelter, /mutants/ in general that she's been harboring with, "{who've been, uh, shitting in my hand. Be glad to keep helping out. Where I can.}" It's not hard to track. When your blood is a potential siphonable battle drug, it's a bit easier to trust mutants who already have natural advantages. That doesn't make it a cakewalk, either. In truth, Regan gets more of an ear than she would otherwise. Mostly due to the fact that Ion seems to trust her. With the coiling desire of addiction wending its way in the back of her thoughts, an increasingly steady, warm pulse... it's easy for one's confidence to be stricken. Indeed, Julie wants to be a soldier again, but it's because of the adrenaline. The god-like feeling of the world around her slowing to a crawl. The excitement of her heartbeat thundering in her ears... One doesn't need telepathy to catch the distant look in her eyes as she loses herself in the memory. Her heart even flutters momentarily in anticipation before she drags her attention back to the now. "{Caffeine and I don't mix.}" For obvious reasons. She stands now, back to that blurry pacing all over again. "{Thanks, though.}" Her gaze flickers to Regan, then, and she comes to a decision. "{You're Ion's tribe. If you need something, then you let me know.}" Not easy for her to trust, and certainly not quickly. More than she would give most. "{This is... an easy place to disappear. Noone remembers you for long.}" She holds out a hand though,"{I'll get the coffee. How do you take it?}" If only because in her mind, it will take them FOREVER to get the coffee. Isra returns from the kitchen with her large NASA travel mug steaming. The smell of coffee has bloomed to fill the room. "{It's the price of not finishing your coffee fast enough,}" she informs Regan breezily, a touch of amusement sensible in her thoughts if not visible on her face. << They're eager to help, certainly, in their own ways. >> Even the thought comes through curiously neutral. Sipping at the coffee, she returns to her seat, though not settling into it fully as before--she just perches on the arm of it and watches Julie pace, her expression completely blank. A very soft purring noise issues from deep in her throat as she nurses her beverage. "{Remember,}" she says, only the clear alto voice from her upper vocal chords this time--the other set occupied with purring, "{/you/ are also Ion's tribe.}" "{Sometimes life is very difficult.}" Regan's tone is so longsuffering. Not that she's getting up, just /nursing/ what coffee she has left with all the more relish until she hands over her mug to Julie. "{Just black is fine. Thank you.}" Her voice slips into Julie's mind with a touch of quiet thoughtfulness as she continues to assess the young woman: << Whether or not we choose to be, we're all the same tribe. What we get to choose is whether or not we're going to live like it. >> Her elbow props on the armrest of the chair, fingers curling loosely so that she can rest her cheek against it. To Scramble and Natalie, now: << I mean that our Brotherhood always welcomes more family. Now as much as ever, if we don't have solidarity, we have -- very little. As mentioned. Kicking asses is not, really, enough. It never has been. >> Her fingers curl upwards against the side of her head, splaying into her loose blonde hair. << In their own ways. >> To Isra her mental voice is neutral as well. << But whether those are our ways... >> This trails off, still not quite decided. "{I'm way into that mutual aid, but I think I got this,}" is Scramble's reply to Julie, with a lopsided grin, as she vanishes into the kitchen. She only lingers long enough to pour two cups, one undoctored and the other tempered with a splash of milk and a couple of sugar cubes. Though she does also hold out the coffee pot for Julie -- assuming the speedster hasn't beaten her to it altogether. The voice in her mind startles her only a little, and she hardly breaks stride, delivering the lightened cup to Natalie and keeping the other for herself without drinking from it just yet. Her mind is rapidly piecing together all the little hints and coincidences accumulated down through her friendships. << So say we all, >> she thinks, excited now. << I'm ready. Been ready the the moment I got outta that lab. I'm with you. >> "{And you /aren't/?}" Warm and good-natured, Natalie is eying Julie's blurring about with a crookedly amused smile. She stays leaning against the wall -- her hand freezes mid-reach for the mug, startled by the voice that intrudes into her mind, a reflexive twitch to her shoulders, a note of spooked << ! >> flashing through her thoughts. Followed by a kind of defensive, << Hey! >> Those were /her/ thoughts, thanks, she was using them! Blink, blink -- only after a pause does she remember to claim the cup, wrap her fingers around it. The warmth of the mug and the smell of coffee helps ground her; she focuses on that, instead, nodding. << Never enough, >> she agrees, now, mind slowly cycling back over snippets taken from the past weeks; violence that /didn't/ come from the undead, not likely to get better now that /that/ threat has faded. << If you have a place for me, >> this, here, has confidence to it, << I'm there. >> She frowns for a moment as she looks on at Isra,"{Tribe or not, I know Ion a bit. Trust isn't something I just decide to give, though.}" Still, when the mental voice approaches her. She's surprised. No hiding that. What may, in and of itself, be surprising is how strongly she reacts to the telepathy. Her mind practically tries to cling to the foreign one. It's longing. She's had a taste of Hive in her head, and rather than find it discomfiting, she actually found it comfortable. It soothes the loneliness she buries DEEP. Luckily, she's just lonely, and not in fact a telepath. << Nnn... You know I'm an addict. Can you handle it if I get lost again? >> Images of some of her more grisly work flash through. To get her eyes averted, she rises and pops into the kitchen to get some coffee. She waits long enough to nod to Scramble, then pop back into the previous room (a paper towel and hand over the mouth of the cup to keep from spilling it), and holds it out to the woman. Takes a few seconds. Probably since she can't turn off the speed. She holds out the cup, though the liquid inside trembles from her twitching. Isra pauses, mid-sip, to blink at Julie. Just once. One of her hairless eyebrow ridges arches, ever so slightly. "{Neither do I,}" she replies, both voices speaking now, "{but I make no comment on trust. Only that you have a family, if you want one, that will accept you as you are.}" She watches the expected hitches--subtle or dramatic--from all three young women as Regan speaks in their minds. << I leave the mind-reading to you, but I think they can learn our way, if the world has not already taught it to them. >> "{I would hope not.}" Regan's voice is mild. "{Trust is something that people earn from each other. But working together to help support one another? That /is/ something that you choose.}" She accepts her mug back with a nod of thanks, eyes slipping closed as she sips from it. "{But, as Isra says, only if you want to.}" There's a faint note of distance to her mental voice when she speaks to Julie again, a quiet reserve. << We can handle a lot. Can /you/ handle depending on other people again? Them depending on you? It's not quite the /military/, but it's not quite a /lone-wolf/ sort of freedom, either. >> For Scramble and Natalie, her mental voice is warm. << With us. Very good. We always have a place. >> When her eyes open again, she gives a very faint smile to Isra. << I think we'll have a lot of teaching to do. >> Scramble mind is brimming with half-formed questions: << Wait, so Dusk must be... where is it y'all disappear off to... and that Homeland Security bombing couple months back... >> But she sucks in a deep breath and just sips her coffee, nodding. "{You gotta choose your family. /Especially/ the ones you born into, I think. You gotta dedicate yourself to making it work -- again and again.}" She nods at the kinara on the table. "{That's what holidays like this are /about/, at the root.}" Natalie's eyes travel to Scramble's table; her eyes lock on the candles a long time, mind thinking back to a broken-down shell of townhouse over in Queens. "{Yeah. May not have chosen our genes, but. This?}" She gestures around the safehouse. "{Carving out a place for ourselves. That work is a constant commitment.}" She lifts her mug, takes a long swallow. Her eyes lift, to Isra first, and then Regan. Quietly: "{Thank you.}" << How can I do less, when you're willing to take most of the risk. >> She doesn't place a whole lot of value on her own life. Not these days. Still, she gives it enough value that she worked to survive the zombie invasion. So there must be something there. Julie looks at the others, her shoulders sag. She actually stops moving for a full five seconds and just hangs her shoulder. She suddenly wants to sleep very much. Which means one thing. "{I need to get moving again.}" She's suddenly so aware of how cramped her muscles feel. How closed in it all is. How much time she's spent in one place. << I'll work with you. And I'll be open to trusting you. I gave it all for my country once. Maybe it's time to start thinking closer to home. >> She doesn't leave, but the increasing impatience is showing on her face. It's that urge to be DOING something. The people around her? They're very nice indeed. But to her? She's dedicated an eternity to conversing at relatively normal speed with them. Her ability to stretch that attention span is pulled tight. "{I'm very tired of pretending I'm more or less than I am.}" Isra wraps both of her hands around her mug and settles her wings down over her shoulders so that their leathery membranes drape around her like a gilded cloak. Her tail swishes from side to side, slow and rhythmic. "{Very good,}" this to Julie, with an incline of her head, "{we shall let Ion know you came by looking for him. But as for pretending...feel free to stop.}" Coming from someone else, it might sound sarcastic, but she seems entirely sincere, if her expression is still flat. << Luckily, I enjoy teaching. >>