ArchivedLogs:Yesterday's Woes

Yesterday's Woes
Dramatis Personae Daken, Teague
In Absentia	2015-08-11 "You ever been shot in the face?" "As a matter of fact, I have never been shot in the face."
Location <BOM> Common Room - Main Lodge - Ascension Island
The common room's rustic-lodge feel has been somewhat mitigated by the modern amenities inside its sturdy wooden walls. It has comfortable couches, several chairs, a refrigerator (stocked with snacks and drinks!), a pool table, a pinball machine (METALLICA!), an assortment of books, a television -- with several game systems! -- and a splendid view out the windows (when their lacy yellow curtains are drawn open) for the rest of the island. The pale wood floors have been covered in places -- by a pair of soft thick blue rugs, by a large squishy pair of beanbags that stand in front of the stone fireplace. There's also a board up on the wall, half corkboard, half whiteboard, with a variety of community notes (and occasional insults) to other Brotherhood members. Large doors on the right-hand side lead off to the kitchen and dining room. In the back of the room, the council room's heavy oak door bears solid locks that are almost never actually barred. A short hall adjacent to the council room's door leads to a trio of multi-stalled bathrooms; these might once have been marked with the typical man-woman-handicapped signs, but someone has given them new plaques on the door; a stick figure with horns and a long tail, one with wings. One -- the large single-user toilet -- has instead been given a helmet and a cape. It's definitely late and the common room has been deserted in favor of fires and merrymaking outside, mostly anyway. Daken has commandeered the couch and is currently hitting up his third bottle of whiskey, but there are a few more and several cases of beer scattered about within reach. It's also painfully obvious that he hasn't put any effort into his appearance, his hair's spiky in some places and flat in others, and the beginnings of muttonchops are clearly visible on his face, even his arms look hairier than usual. Just another day in paradise. Coming up from the training center, Teague pauses in the door's threshold to stoop and brush himself down in a way that would have anybody mark him as British. "Dashing as ever, I see," he cooes, planting his hands on his narrow hips with a tired sigh as he looks down his nose at Daken. Glistening with sweat, the young man wears very few garments so most of the bruises he's earned are exposed. His shirt is black, and blacker where perspiration creeps down his chest and down back. His flimsy running shorts are black as well, as is the knee-support bandage he wears on his right leg. Pointe shoes hang off of his shoulder, attached to a string, and the other shoulder houses the strap of his gym bag. He holds his hand out for a swig from the bottle. "Yesterday was rough." Daken replies simply, offering over one of the unopened bottles of whiskey before taking a long swing of his own. "See you decided training was a good idea. At least that's how I hope you earned those bruises." He leans his head back to stare at the ceiling a few moments before reaching over to feel for the ashtray, it takes a few pats before he finds it and tugs one of the good cigars out to light it up. "Was watching the news the other day, apparently your bigot father is running for office. Thought about killing him to brighten my week up... But I figure if anybody here should have the honor it's you. Speaking of which, when you wanted a new identification, you want a fresh start or a card that says you can get drunk?" "Yes, almost every morning," Teague confirms dryly, plucking the bottle from Daken and scanning the room for where he might procure a mixer, or chaser at the very least. "We're not allowed to. Big picture and all that," he says absently, eyebrows twitching upward, "Now, you're making me need a drink." He opts not to, twisting hard at the bottle's seal as he falls down onto the couch beside the other man. The teen presses his lips to the bottle and tossing his hair back. With a cringe, Teague puts the back of his hand to his mouth and plants the bottle between his legs, "Can't a lady have both?" He coughs out a laugh. "You can have whatever as long as the cash comes through." Daken lifts his shoulders slightly. "Wish I had a moral authority like the Brotherhood in charge of me during my assassin years, would have been at least three less power struggles disguised as wars and uprisings." He takes a slow drag from his cigar before returning his gaze skyward and releasing the smoke from his lungs. "Pissed Anette off, got distracted by information and let her get her ass kicked. Part of me feels like the worst fucking boyfriend in history, and part of me feels like the worst fucking teacher in history. Though it usually ended with sex rather than her actually learning to fight." "I hear that a lot," Teague mumbles to the cash comment, licking whiskey remnants from his lips. "Come now, I'm sure you taught her plenty," There is more than just a little innuendo in his tone. "Take this whatever way you want but the makers of /Dream Phone/ didn't exactly write a guy like you into the game. I think you may need cut yourself some slack." He pulls out a cigarette, lighting it and absently looking over their shoulders, "Is it respectable to smoke indoors here?" "Don't know. What are they gonna do, shoot me?" Daken replies, lazily looking over towards Teague. "You ever been shot in the face? I have. More than once." He takes another drag from his cigar before turning his bottle up once more. "Also, a bit of advice. Don't ever fall in love, I have twice. Ended up having to cut one of their hands off, and it seems all I do is fight with Anette. She just wants to murder and hold grudges, and I'm trying to ensure that isn't who I am anymore. There's almost as much anger and distrust in her as there is in me, and I think I'm losing to it." "As a matter of fact, I have never been shot in the face," Teague smiles demurely, lighting up. "I don't think I can," he deflects, his voice muffled by the cigarette. Removing it between two fingers, the teen blows a smooth line of smoke into the air. The next question may be a little close to home for Teague, who eyes Daken through his peripheral, "How exactly did you stop? Holding grudges? Wanting people dead who deserve it?" "I haven't." Daken replies with a tired sigh. "I'm trying to be somebody different than the person I've been for the last fifty-four years. I put on a fucking costume and break people's noses as a vigilante sometimes, it's a struggle." He leaves the cigar in his mouth this time, using his canines to hold it in place. "I know Sabertooth is still doing whatever he wants, hard not just being like him sometimes. Though I don't think Uncle Victor has been around since the Liberty Island incident." "Admirable," Teague's mouth presses into a flat line. Cigarette in one hand, he brings up the bottle of whiskey with the other, "The self improvement," he flicks his eyes down and up Daken, "Not the costume." He coughs after taking another swig, "Running around all dressed up. ...That's just an excuse to mash people up, yeah?" "Why not throw a mask on the crazy bird and let her get the poison out of her system?" "Because she threatened to burn my costume if she ever saw it. And because one of the people she wants to kill is one of us." Daken explains. "Because of the future dreams we all had. I can't blame her though, if my life up until this point hadn't made it look like a vacation, I'd still be hung up on it too." "Fair, enough. I'd probably burn it, too." Teague continues to remain very mild in his responses, "Yes. She's said as much." Swan-dipping forward, he taps some ash from the end of his cigarette into one of the previously emptied bottles, "I never got a name, but killing is out of the question. I've always been a fan of keeping your enemies closer." Daken reaches over to ash his cigar in the ashtray he retrieved it from originally. "I don't have enemies." He replies after a moment of thought. "Except maybe Burr, wouldn't be surprised if he still hates me for destroying that training camp and killing all his students. All my other enemies are definitely dead, or I don't know about them." “I think, and correct me if I’m wrong, the idea behind a relationship is,” Teague takes another drag, “You share things. Things overlap. For humans, it’s friends, hobbies, pets. For us…” His eyebrows twitch upward into his forehead. "It's pretty much the same thing. Except I'm going to watch you all get old and die, and I'm still going to be here." Daken replies grimly, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm already old enough to be your great-grandfather."