ArchivedLogs:Unraveling

Unraveling
Dramatis Personae Daken Teague	2015-04-28 "You're kinda.. paranoid, aren't you?"
Location <BOM> Garden - Ascension Island
Considerably reduced from what they must have been when this place was /actually/ running at full capacity, there is nevertheless a hefty amount of garden space tucked away behind the main cabin of the compound. Somewhat haphazard in its organization, the rows of plants -- mostly vegetables, with some herbs lining the borders -- seem to be chosen somewhat at whim. Despite the disorganized mishmash of crop selection, the ground seems well-tended, fielding the occupants a decent cache of produce three seasons out of the year. To one side, a fenced-in area with a raised coop houses chickens, often noisily squawking throughout the day. It's getting late, the sun has started its downward descent, and Daken is still up. He's set up near the rabbits in a red canopy topped chair. There is an herb grinder in his lap, a blue vaporizer pen in the chair's cup holder, and an actual cup in the opposite cup holder. Though it doesn't hold any liquid, instead it's home to three cigarillos. Though judging from the smell coming from the one between currently being lit between his lips, it isn't tobacco he's smoking. Unaware of any company, Teague can be observed moving candidly along the patchwork of vegetables. Meandering barefoot from the direction of the main cabin, the long-haired teen combs his fingers through his long hair, raising both arms up to do so. A patch of red light from the setting sun lay square across his hips where his tank top rises, some. Running his hands down his sides, he produces a cigarette from the pockets of his sweats. Holding it between his lips, he continues to search himself for a lighter as he pretends to browse through the labels along the herb garden. Daken plucks the blunt from between his lips and whistles towards Teague. "Looking for something?" he calls over, brow raising slightly. "Haven't been out here too much, but might be able to point you in the right direction." Then he's taking another drag and French inhaling. “A light, for one,” Teague slowly tilts his head, eyes focusing in on Daken. His voice breathy with a pretty British twist. Casually moving closer, Teague plucks the cigarette from his mouth and holds it between two fingers as he moves. "Never did care for smoking. Then again, I'd have to smoke an entire pack back to back to get anything from it. Healing factor." Daken rambles slightly. Might explain why he has so much around him. He leans over enough to pluck a lighter from the front pocket of his jeans, offering it out towards Teague. Rather presumptuously, Teague leans forward to have Daken light it, whether that’s what the man with the healing factor is offering or not. He hums in response to his explanation, raising his eyebrows as if with interest, and letting them fall again. Daken flicks the lighter, letting Teague spark up. "Haven't met you yet. I'm Daken, but most people call me asshole, dickhead, or that idiot that was talking about blowing buildings up in public. Also one of the oldest members still floating around that aren't hiding out. Though nobody treats me like it. Sixty-nine in thirteen days." He also apparently likes to talk. He tucks his lighter away and takes another hit, before offering the blunt out. "Four hits and it'll grab you by the ass. Try it." Teague purses his lips at the end of his cigarette until it glows red. He watches Daken as he rights himself, gently folding a bit of hair behind his ear, "Yes. They do." He smiles just a little with his eyes. "Remind me just have one," the teen mumbles, taking the offering in one hand while holding his American Spirit away from himself with the other. He takes a little drag, and then another before handing it back while he holds his breath. He gives a nod of thanks. "Glad to hear they talk about me. Even if it isn't positive. They'd change their attitude if they'd send me on an actual mission." Daken finishes off that blunt, putting it out on his palm with a slight wince though the burn is healed within seconds. Then he's taking up the vaporizer, taking a five second drag from it. It's likely the only reason he isn't speaking is because he's holding his breath. But it doesn't last too long, vaporizer returning to it's home and another blunt coming from the cup. "How's your training looking?" Each word is accented by a little bit of smoke before he finally exhales. Teague languidly shrugs his shoulder, taking a drag of his cigarette and exhaling a small stream of white smoke, "Well, I believe." He half looks back towards the main cabin, as if expecting someone to poke their head out at any moment. "You're kinda.. paranoid, aren't you?" Daken asks, taking another hit. "We're terrorists. Don't think they give a shit if we get high. I'm just pissed, really. First I go to help train a guy and he runs off crying when Anette punches him in the face, then I go to ask a few questions and they shoot me down. About my father and about the people that attacked them. It pissed me off. I /almost/ did something stupid. Well, I did do something stupid. But it didn't hurt anybody but me." Teague turns back to watch Daken behind a pair of lazy looking eyes. Crossing his arm over his stomach, he supports his cigarette bearing arm by the elbow. "Am I? No, no," He pants out a quiet laugh, tapping some ash, "But it does sound as though you may be, doesn't it?" He blinks hard, smirking. "I was sent for more cilantro," Teague explains, barely gesturing towards the bigger building, "But had no intention of returning. I assumed I'd have gotten farther away by now." "Not paranoid. Not really cautious, unless I have somebody else to look after." Daken shrugs slightly, his eyes are finally starting to take a reddish tint. "Just one of those weeks." he sighs slightly, attention turning to his own cherry. "I need to start seeing a therapist too. But I don't really want to show up to the clinic, so I need to settle on an office either near the docks, or near Anette's." Teague prowls closer, releasing both arms to swing at his side as he maneuvers around a piece of discarded wood, "Anette doesn't live on the island?" He asks, only revealing mild interest if any. He stops on the other side of Daken, sufficiently out of sight. "Do you /honestly/ think anyone would offer psychological help to someone like us, without ulterior motive?" He shrugs again, "And what's this clinic you're on about? And who is this 'they' and 'them,' you keep referring to?" He makes slow air-quotes with his fingers. "Depends on the context. I'm either talking about our brothers and sisters here, the x-men, people I know off the island, or people I've killed." Daken takes another long drag before exhaling a cloud. "And the clinic offers free medical service and is super mutant friendly. People have tried to blow it up a few times. And Anette doesn't live on the island, lives in an apartment building in New York. Been meaning to rent a place.. But my money won't last forever, and finding a job is shit. I'm not registered, and the visa I'm here on is expired. Oh, and the identity is fake. So I'm an illegal alien, a terrorist, and a mutant. Fuck me, right?" He leans his head back and frowns slightly. "Getting tired of it." This is much quieter than the rest of his ramblings. "Every day it gets harder and harder to carry on. No respect, and the reputation I've earned for myself isn't one you'd want." “It does /seem/ as though you’re unraveling,” Teague takes an even longer drag, taking his time to respond. He watches Daken dryly, “Why do you need money? Or a flat?” He taps his cigarette, huffing as he looks out over the island, “Or a visa? Why try to assimilate into their exclusionary, self-centered, /mundane/ human culture? You’re here. With loads of illegals, mutants, ‘terrorists.’” "So they don't try to force me back to Japan." Daken says simply. "I wouldn't have had a problem with it ten years ago.. But I don't know if those darts they've developed work on me or not. And I don't plan on finding out just yet." “Whatever,” Teague shakes his head, eyebrows going up and down in a dismissive wave. “I can’t help but feel as though you’re manufacturing problems just to have some.” Of course, Teague is reaping all the benefits that come with the overconfidence of youth, and of course, shitting diamonds. "Boy." Daken raises an eyebrow and gives his head a slight shake. "You can sit here, smoke, and not train all you want. But fantasyland is coming crashing down in a few years if we don't get our shit together and stop the government from making sentinels. Even then they still might raid the island and throw some of us in jail and kill the rest." His fist raises and the ebony blades concealed in his forearms extend up between his knuckles. "You gotta get your head out of your ass and look at everything. /I'm/ a god. I can't say anything about you, but I've had my brains blown out at least thirty times. Can you get up and walk away from that?" The blades retract but his attitude doesn't simmer down any. "I suggest finding a sparring partner and devoting every goddamned day to learning to kick ass. Because we're in deep shit if nobody can fight." Teague watches Daken's display from behind a cool facade, lips only moving enough to blow smoke. "So sorry for disturbing you," he says, with much apathy, "Cilantro." Bending at the knee, he slowly dibs and plucks a sprig of green with his free hand. Rising, he flicks his eyebrows to acknowledge the older man, "I'll leave you to your brooding." The teen slowly moves to step away towards the main cabin, walking carefully on the balls of his bare feet. "Alright, when they send me out you're coming with me. Even if I have to drag you." Daken informs Teague. "So get your shit together, this isn't the scouts." If anything, he looks more stressed out now than he did before he left. Relaxation mission officially failed. “You don’t know who I am!” Teague reminds Daken in a quiet, sing-song tone, wiggling his fingers behind him in a lackadaisical farewell. He puts out his cigarette before entering the cabin. Daken puts the blunt in it's cup and pushes to his feet, grinder finding itself in his back pocket. "Alright.. I need to go kill something." he growls quietly, fingernails biting into his palms. He wanders out towards the beach, paraphernalia abandoned in the chair.