ArchivedLogs:Wing Party

Wing Party
Dramatis Personae Anette, Dusk, Isra, Pedro, Gremlin	2015-11-20 "{Lovely night, no?}" (Part of Flu Season TP.)
Location <BOM> Beachfront - Ascension Island
Largely rocky and desolate, the majority of the waterfront on this small island is an unwelcoming place. Craggy and forbidding, lined with jagged black rocks, the coast here can take a fair bit of scrambling to navigate. Here and there, though, the coastline levels out to narrow sweeps of pebbly beaches littered with shells and seaweed carried in on the frigid tide. Occasional old trunks of fallen trees dot the narrow beach, victims of the storms that frequently plague the island. One small stretch of the western shore holds a small dock, a few boats usually moored there. Tucked off the mainland coast in Jamaica Bay, the buildings and lights of the city can be seen far across the water. It's cold out here, tonight. Clear, yes. Bright. But windy down by the beach, a crisp breeze off the water that smells of salt and seaweed and -- much more faintly -- of rot. Perched upon one prong of rock, Dusk looks half a statue at the moment. Crouched, wings (one is painted deep black with a frosty white dusting of snow swirled on it, gathering in thicker drifts along his long fingerbones; the other /had/ matched it but is redder, rawer, too-shiny with newly growing skin that has only patchily grown its soft fuzz back) mantled behind him, hands pressed down on the rock, he looks half a gargoyle -- albeit a gargoyle in black sneakers, bluejeans, soft blue fleece messily torn at its back to allow for his wings. A cellphone is resting on the rock beside him. Though it buzzes, intermittently, he's currently ignoring it. It's been a long time since Anette's gotten some fresh air and she looks it, too. Though in much better shape than she's been in lately, she still looks just a bit green around the gills and a tad sleep deprived. Still, she's out and moving. She wears black leggings, a grey sweater (modified for the wings of course), and knee high boots as she casually wanders down the beach, wings wrapped loosely around her body for extra warmth. When she spots Dusk, she smiles faintly, veering off into his direction. Pedro walks a few steps behind Anette, stepping carefully as he walks, looking a little ungainly in winter boots two or three sizes too big. He hugs himself, jeans and track pants not quite cutting it in the breeze. Every so often he glances out towards the water, and emits a click, pausing a moment before moving on. When Anette veers off in Dusk's direction, the young mutant slows to give her space, looking out to the ocean once more. Not immediately obvious to the casual observer, Isra circles high over the beach, green eyes shining keen and scanning the surf. She eventually glides down in a long, lazy spiral, her pale blue skin and icy-white wings ghostly in the moonlight. Her wings hardly move at all until her final approach, whereupon she beats them down hard with a leathery snap against the wind, breaking her momentum and dropping her lightly to the ground near Dusk. She wears a long-sleeved seafoam green wrap dress, darker green leggings, and a heavy leather baby harness from which protrudes a dark, fuzzy head with long, drooping ears and huge green eyes above a toothy maw half-parted to emit a long stream of soft clicks. Isra nods at Anette and Pedro, folding her wings in behind her. "{Lovely night, no?}" Her Spanish is rough and colloquial and very, very Argentinian. Dusk's shoulders shudder, wings briefly folding slightly inward but then mantling out again. His face is kind of pale as he looks up, lips pressed hard together. He just shakes his head fiercely at Isra's question -- then immediately winces as though very much regretting the motion. 'Fuck tonight.' Even without knowing any sign, the scowl in his features and sharp emphasis of his hands make cursing all too apparent. His voice is thick when he speaks, his own Spanish coloured straight-up American, nuyorican influence heavy in /his/ words: "{I'm going to puke all over this shitty night.}" Spanish. Fantastic. "No hablo Espanol," Anette says. "Ich spreche Deutsch." She makes her way over to Dusk and sits down a few feet from him with a frown. With a questioning look of concern, she mimes the insertion of the IV used for the cure on her own arm and raises a brow as if to add a question mark to the end. She glances behind her to where Pedro stopped and offers a half a smile, patting the spot next to her in invitation. Pedro watches as Isra lands next to Dusk, his ears perking up at the stream of clicks coming from the wee one in the harness. He smiles at the sound of Spanish, looking between Dusk and Isra. He takes a few steps closer, but still apart. {Yes, it is a lovely night out.}, he says to Isra, his Spanish old school, mostly. The young mutant glances at Dusk, and then to Anette, and back again to Dusk. {I hope you are better soon. You are, uhm, 'enjoying' the effects of the cure, yes?} His eyes look to where Anette pats, and he slowly, almost shyly moves to sit next to her. From the large pocket of his sweatshirt, he pulls a small, well used pad of paper, and a pen. 'The night does not mind,' Isra replies, unruffled. If she wore a less neutral expression, it might come across as 'the night does not /care/.' Then, cocking her head at Anette, tries, "{Arabic, by any chance?}" in that language. She does not sound particularly sanguine about it, though. The baby in the sling she wears has started trying to climb out, working their wings free to hold their scrawny body upright. 'She, say what?' Egg signs, pointing at Anette. "{PUKE}," Dusk re-emphasizes this, signed as well as spoken -- the sign for /this/ makes it pretty evident what he's talking about, as well. "{ALL OVER.}" A soft growl is rumbling in his chest. He nods at Anette, miming the needle going into his own arm. Then making an exaggerated grimace. His nostrils twitch, eyes focusing back out towards the water. "{No German,}" he sounds apologetic. His uninjured wing stretches outward, brushing against Anette's back. He repeats the motion of the IV, this time pointing towards her with a lift of eyebrows. 'Finish?' Hands flicking outward in a fairly typical "over" gesture. 'She says no Spanish. German only. Different language.' He signs this to Egg. Anette grimaces as Dusk emphasizes the puking bit, nodding sympathetically. She holds out her arm where the faint scar of a needle still exists and nods in response to Dusk's question. She rubs her own stomach and holds her and out, finger and thumb together together in the universal sign for 'little bit'. As Isra questions in yet another language, Anette can only chuckle and shake her head. Pedro looks on as several different languages are tried out, including sign language. He nudges Anette with the pad of paper and pen. His ears stand up when Dusk re-emphasizes puking. {I was told that nausea would not last too long afterwards, only just while you are taking the pills. You have my empathy. And uhm, Anette and I have been drawing or writing out on paper. But basically have had shitty communication while she's been sick.} He glances to Isra a moment, {How old is your child, if I may ask?} Isra shrugs, her wings rising fractionally and then settling back down with a faint rustle. She copies Anette's IV gesturing, then points at the other woman's head, giving a thumbs-up with upraised eyebrows. "{Writing isn't safe--not in English, at least,}" she tells Pedro, and adds, presumably for Anette's benefit, the pantomime of writing while shaking her head. At the question about Egg, her pointed ears press back against her hairless skull. "{Ion's child, really. Just over ten and a half months.}" 'Ion-dad!' Egg agrees with immense enthusiasm. 'Fly fly fly!' Hard to say whether this last comes as a /demand/ to Isra or a description of Ion. Dusk's wince is sympathetic as well. His wing squeezes briefly against Anette's back, one hand lifting to draw near-but-not-quite-touching the other. Almost. "{Ion's kid.}" His answer comes nearly together with Isra's -- though kind of fast, kind of /emphasized/. 'You were just flying!' he protests to the baby. 'Glutton.' He reaches for his phone, swiping at it quickly. Pulling up an image of... a number of puppies, wearing brightly coloured conical party hats, streamers and confetti fluttering down among them. A few have martini glasses. 'Party', he signs, holding the image up towards Anette. His hand moves forward -- /after/. "{Gonna need the biggest fucking celebration once this bullshit's all through.}" Though here his wings pull back in, tighten against his back. "{... if there's any booze left after the /memorials/ we'll need.}" This last much quieter. Apparently written English having the same effect as spoken English is news to Anette as she stares in disbelief at Isra before rolling her eyes and letting out a string of German profanities. At least - they're probably profanties, it's hard to tell with German. Once she gets it out of her system she gives a gentle nod to Isra's 'questioning', pointing at her head and giving a thumbs-up. Charades it is. Whatever issues she's having with the language barriers are momentarily forgotten as Egg bursts out in excitement. She watches him, before Dusk inadvertantly gets her attention with the wing squeeze. She flinches and pulls her right shoulder, apparently tender, out of the way. She doesn't say anything though, taking the moment to look at Dusk's phone and grinning at the picture, giving an enthusiastic nod of approval. Oh. He winces at Anette's cursing and looks to Isra. {Thank you. I think I shall have to learn German then. Or convince Anette to learn sign language with me, or something.} Pedro fusses with one of his ears, before grinning at Egg's enthusiasm. {Ten months? Wow. They know sign language, that's really cool!} He looks to Dusk, nodding when he mentions required large party once all the shit stops hitting the fan. {Too many good people have died, and too many more again have fallen ill. I think it will be the biggest and best wake anyone has ever seen.} Pedro looks to Anette. {I hope you can forgive me. I should have known even writing was bad.} Glancing back to Dusk, {Oh, careful, she's got some injuries. She and Killian were taking ... uh... chunks out of each other.} Isra's confirming nod to Anette looks distinctly sympathetic. To Pedro, "{They can't wait to fly on their own wings.}" She scratches Goblin's head absently, while the infant falls to chewing on the leather harness. "{This plague encourages language learning, and sign is good to know. Many brothers and sisters know it.} J.C. and Dusk," with tip of horned head at him, "{are fluent. But many others can get by.}" Falling silent, she looks out over the empty beach, and nods sedately. "{It will be a hell of a wake.}"