Logs:"Away" Away

"Away" Away
Amateur Sewer Dwellers
Dramatis Personae Lumin, Gino
In Absentia Taylor	2024-05-02 "When you say away, do you mean the same way everybody else around these parts says they were away for a while?"
Location <MOR> Welcome to the Freakshow - Morlock
Wider and more spacious than many of the surrounding nooks and niches, this chill cavern is the central hub of the Morlock's underground network. With tunnels branching off in many directions, it takes a while to learn to navigate from here to where you want to go, but there's generally plenty of more experienced people around to teach newcomers the ins and outs of the pathways. Here, though, is a safe place to come and relax, for what value of relaxation can be found among moss-covered walls and the occasional stagnant puddles on the floor. There's been furniture brought in, a mismatched assortment of crates, mattresses with busted springs, a few broken and subsequently repaired chairs, a folding table in a corner. Shelves along a wall hold entertainment; books, a smattering of board and card games, sometimes snacks. There's even electricity, wiring none too safe and visible in places where the wall has been broken open; the naked light bulbs flicker often and the lone outlet has had so many power strips attached it is undoubtedly a fire hazard. It's certainly a time of day in the Morlock tunnels, whatever time it was probably didn't matter much considering it's hard to tell anyways! The central hub is probably busy, all the little nooks in the area now being occupied by arrays of mattresses and new mutants recovering from the events prior. Lumin has probably become a familiar face, or more so one that just so happens to be hard to forget. But nonetheless, they've been doing whatever they can to get a handle on the influx of people, and help them out where needed. Today, they've probably been moving a bit slower than usual, too many nights staying up instead of what they call 'sleeping', and soon to be due for a trip to the surface to get some light. Right now, however, they're probably helping organize some medical supplies, setting aside specific things for some mutants they know need it. They're still rocking one hand, the other one still cut off at the wrist, and their glass form has probably gotten some dirt smudged on it that they haven't bothered to wipe off quite yet. Did someone order more medical supplies? Here come more medical supplies, individual packages of bandages and sterile wipes and blankets and instant cold compresses and bulk bottles of aspirin and acetaminophen and Tums and Nyquil, all piled high in a grubby cardboard box that, really, is neither deep enough nor sturdy enough to contain all of this. When the box drops down on the floor with a solid thud-rattle-swish, the pile does not budge. The man behind it is much less colorful than Lumin -- tough greyish skin studded with sharp, rippled shells that line his eyes, his chin, his ears with streaky, purple-grey ridges, that speckle his cheeks with creepy, hollow dead-barnacle clusters. In keeping with this vaguely oceanic theme he is wearing a Hawaiian shirt even in the chill of the tunnels, navy blue with pineapples, open over a wifebeater and khaki shorts, very worn Birkenstocks (the original color is no longer discernible.) "More doctor shit here for ya," he announces, then -- as an afterthought -- he drops one spiky hand to the top of his offering, which instantly starts to spill away, the pill bottles bouncing off first and rolling away on the concrete. Behind the spikes, Gino's eyes bulge wide -- "Ohshit," he says; abruptly the pile restabilizes, one by one the pill bottles stop rolling. Gino picks one up: "Catch!" he says, but he doesn't throw it, now giving Lumin a dubious squint. "Do your hands have, like. Any traction? Can you catch things?" Lumin startles at the sudden thud, a high pitched squeak escaping them before they manage to tamp it down. They turn, the initial reflexive look of annoyance quickly fading at the sight of the medical supplies and Gino. "Fantastic, thank yo-" They can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of their mouth as the pill bottles begin to scatter, and then the bewilderment as the bottles seem to break physics and suddenly restabilize. They open their mouth to question it, but oh god wait they have to catch something now oh crap- Lumin reflexively brings their hand up in a weak attempt at preparing to catch the bottle, but visibly relaxes when it's not actually thrown, "Ah.. barely. I'm sure I probably could...But lets not test it shall we? Would hate for it to break open and have to distribute pills covered in sewage." They bend down to help pick up the fallen bottles, then jerk unexpectedly when it doesn't remove from the floor. They pause, try one more time and laugh with a shake of their head. They consider for a moment, then look up to Gino, "Please tell me this is your doing and that I haven't suddenly become too weak to lift a pill bottle?" The pill bottle is suddenly rolling again -- "My b," says Gino; he's collected the other pill bottles now, as well as the more triangular, less rolly Nyquil bottle, and he stoops over to just set them all down near the pile of supplies Lumin was organizing earlier. "I'll help put all this away," he says -- this is less an offer than a decree. "If I'm going up top again I guess I should have a shopping list." Before he actually does any helping he wanders away, tests the sturdiness of an old, saggy milk crate with one foot before deeming it Good Enough and kicking it over toward the pile of supplies. He tromps back after it and sits a moment later. Lumin picks up the pill bottle, inspecting it curiously, before turning to watch Gino. They don't say anything for while, just studying him probably to the point it could be a little awkward, but eventually they get back to moving again and organizing supplies. "Thank you, for the help. It's appreciated." They tilt their head, "Have you been settling in alright? Things have been a little hectic I know." Gino scoots the milk crate in closer, leans over the already-organized supplies to inspect it, and then starts detaching things from his pile. "No prob," he says. "Seems shitty not to pitch in, the way you're all putting yourselves out for us. I know there's a lot of us." He stares consideringly at the pill bottle in his hands, now, spinning it lazily around by its childproof lid with a faint rattling sound before he slots it into the correct compartment. "I'm used to hectic," he says. "Hard to get used to the dark, but --" he waves this complaint away. "Still seems wild that people live down here -- how long have you been here?" Lumin raises an eyebrow, "Used to hectic? Sounds like a stressful way to live." They study some labels, narrowing their eyes in frustration, and taking a wild guess and shoving it with some other similar supplies, "I'm practically just as new as you guys. Almost...Two weeks? If you can believe it." They grin, "Do I sell it well? Seeming like I know what I'm doing." Gino laughs -- "Sure, if you get stressed easy. I prefer to think of it as exciting." He tosses a lightweight box of butterfly closures between his hands distractedly. "Two weeks? Shit. Is the turnover down here that bad? You were really coming across like a veteran sewer dweller." The butterfly closures, and a box of adhesive bandages, both get put away, but a box of disposable cold packs gives him more pause. "Are you local?" Lumin laughs, "I'm not so sure about turnover rates, but I do know there's plenty of people here who've been down here a long time. Plenty of people who are actual veteran sewer dwellers, no stolen valor from me today." They shoot a quick glance around the hub, "They were kind to me, least I can do is help do the same for others." They pause at Gino's question, and turn their gaze to him to watch him again, "Ah...yeah. Grew up in New York, was uh...away for a few years, now I'm back. And now I live here." They gesture to their corner nook. "You were one of the residents in...Freaktown I believe it was called?" "Where in New York? I'm from Staten Island." The cold compresses just get re-stuck to the bottom of the stack to be dealt with later, where they stick out ledge-like, and now Gino is opening a box of emergency blankets to carefully unleaf them from their congealed Mylar blob, and refold them. "When you say away, do you mean the same way everybody else around these parts says they were away for a while?" There is a thick note of amusement in his tone, here. "I was at Euler, outside Pensacola, before Freaktown." Lumin listens, “Ah! I had some cousins from Staten Island.” They begin to attempt to open some packaging for some gauze, but can’t seem to get a grip on it, especially one handed. Wordlessly they slide it over by Gino’s crate and move on to something else. “I grew up in the Bronx, and then was ‘away’ for a few years. And…I don’t…think I mean ‘away’ the same way? Unless other people were like, kinda willingly kidnapped for a few years inside a mansion and then convinced to stay inside and turns out I couldn’t leave but is that really such a bad thing if I agreed? Honestly I’m starting to wonder if they were right the whole time?? I mean, if Taylor didn’t make it then what chance do I-” Their speech had started to devolve into a muttering rant, but they stop themself, looking a little horrified, “Actually! The details aren’t really all that important!” They laugh, nervously, and quickly attempt to change the subject, “ah- so what did you mean by away?” "Oh, my God," says Gino; his spiky-shelled face does not have much mobility but at this, his brow twitches with a slight grinding sound. "Not at all what I meant." He stuffs the emergency blankets back into the box and takes the gauze, checking this too to see if it caught any fusion crossfire during the trip down to the tunnels before chucking it into the finished pile as well. He doesn't grab anything new from the pile, though, picking uncomfortably at the spikes on the back of one hand and waiting politely for this rant to peter out before he weighs in, "Ain't a lot of us would survive what killed Taylor, man. Doesn't mean you should still have to be some millionaire's -- plaything. Goddamn! When I said 'away' I meant the labs." He snags a squashed box of bandages from his pile with his fingertips and tries to unsquash the flimsy cardboard. "...did your mansion kidnappers let you watch the news or do you not know about all that?" Lumin winces, “Okay fair. Listen it’s been kinda crazy lately, sometimes the 3am thoughts hit at—whatever the time it is now.” They admit, tone shifting more casual for a moment. They bounce their leg idly, “And not really. Unless it was shared with me, I usually was piecing news together from what I overheard. But I do remember overhearing some things about some big lab shutdown. The word Prometheus was usually thrown around a lot when they chatted about it.” They recite, almost like they’ve drilled this particular piece of information into their head. “The people talking about it didn’t seem too happy. Probably had some links with it. I can take a good guess though at what happens when you mix Labs and Mutants—just didn’t realize there were a lot of people from there.” They say with a wince, glancing around the room with a new light, and back to Gino. They stare for a long moment, considering, “So…did you go away too then?” Gino is now just squashing the band-aid box in the other way. "Yeah, Prometheus, less there's some other wackjob mutant experimentation program I don't know about. Nobody is happy how that one went down, let me tell you. I dunno if the liberals or conservatives are gonna reinvent the mutant holding facility first, but I guarantee both sides are already thinking about it. Wouldn't like to be the secretary of -- mutant affairs or whatever right now. Everyone's a fucking critic!" He gives up on the bandages and just puts the battered box away. The next several items in his stack are entire first aid kits, and after a moment Gino seems to decide these should be left intact -- he sets them aside. "Oh, yeah. The normal way, though, not like you." Lumin laughs, “Right, the normal way. Unfortunate that that’s the normal way.” They tilt their head, “Ah, I am sorry that happened though. I don’t know the full story but I imagine it must have been a… not great experience.” They say delicately. Lumin reaches for the battered bandage box Gino had been fighting and transfers the remaining bandaids into a different box. They precisely fold the ruined empty box and slide it to the side. “What made them interested in you? Your spikes or the fact that physics seems to break around you?” They ask. Gino blinks, as if taken aback, at the apology, but returns it swiftly with a casual, "Yeah, sorry about your, uh, kidnapping." His final contribution to the first aid is a pilfered handful of clean syringes, still in their crinkly bags, tucked upright on the inside of the box; he taps them against his other palm and says, with a bracing, self-conscious grin, "Oh, it was definitely the breaking of physics that got all the attention. Nobody wants spikes. You would not believe how hard it is to wear sweaters." Lumin nods at the apology, “It’s alright, we’re out now.” They lean in curiously, observing the spikes and plating lining his skin, “Were you born with them or did they grow in—if you don’t mind me asking that is.” They tilt their head. Gino twists one arm around to look at the spikes around his elbow, as though he's never seen them before -- "They grew in," he says. "What about you, were you always," in lieu of finishing this sentence (perhaps he is not totally clear on what, exactly, Lumin is) he gestures with the syringes, then mimes -- an explosion? Razzle-dazzle? Shiny? Who can say. Lumin blinks, “Made of glass?” They guess, “No. This happened a few years ago. A little bit then all at once. Seems we both had our lives turned upside down huh.” They consider for a moment, then focus really hard on their forearm. Little tiny tiny rainbow glass spike shards emerge from hairline fractures, “Look, now we match.” They hold it up for Gino to see since the spikes are probably so small. “Yours are more impressive.” Gino widens his eyes at Lumin's newly spiky arm, with a surprised, delighted smile, but then -- "Did you just. Break your own arm?" “Somewhat. These fractures were already there from something else, but they’re small enough that I barely notice them and they don’t impact my structural integrity all that much. I just pulled some of the shards from the hairline fractures to the surface. They don’t take much effort to fix.” They explain, “If I wanted bigger spikes I think I’d have to cause actual big fractures which..ah…take a bit longer for me to fix, so I’m not all that willing to do that at the moment—not even sure if I could. Haven’t tried it…” they consider, “Something to potentially test though.” "Damn," Gino looks vaguely disappointed that this is as spiky as Lumin can become, but he's still giving their arm a contemplative look. He shakes his head and puts the syringes away. "Glad I've never had to break my arms for the privilege of these spikes. Gaining a whole new perspective here. Live and learn." He chews this over for a moment -- literally chews at the inside of his mouth -- then shakes his head again, grins. "You want some spikes without breaking yourself I can prolly bootstrap you something. Like this --" he reaches down, snags a pill bottle, sticks it to his forehead like a rhino horn. "It can be a little uncomfortable for normal skin-havers but you seem like you'll be fine." Lumin eyes widen, “Whoaho!!!” Their formality disappears in an instant in their excitement, “That would be so sick! Can you stick something to me right now?” They stick out their arm. “How long does it last? Is it permanent?” Gino immediately plonks a second pill bottle onto Lumin's arm -- "Plop" -- but then he gestures for them to let him take it back. "Extremely permanent," he says, as though this is nothing to worry about, but then he squints, tugs at the corner of his thin, straggly mustache with one hand. "Actually, maybe I better not, you don't wanna know how many things I've accidentally broken. I can just unstick stuff easy now --" as if to illustrate this, his rhino horn just falls off into his hand, "-- but, pro tip, don't try to detach anything with a crowbar or a hammer or anything like that." Lumin nods excitedly, nudging at the pill bottle with their other handless arm to test it. “Must’ve taken quite a lot of practice.” They pause, “Wait Wait—so can you detach it?” They ask concerned, sticking out their arm again. “Or am I stuck with a pull bottle on my arm forever until I somehow break it off?” In answer, Gino just plucks the bottle away again, this time with a pop (of his cheek; the actual action is silent save for the rattle of pills.) Lumin slumps in relief, “Thank you.” They tilt their head, “How’d you figure out you could do that? Stick two people together or something?” They ask jokingly. Was this a joke? Because Gino is answering completely seriously with, "Yep, that is exactly what I did. Not my finest hour." What time is it down here, who knows, who cares, but Gino is yawning now, eyes squinching shut, the protective plates around his eyes grinding against each other. Then he's getting to his feet, snagging his empty cardboard box with just the fingertips of his empty hand and dropping the two pill bottles back with the supplies. "That's a story for another day," he decides, though immediately he follows that with -- "That made it sound interesting. It's not interesting, I'm just tired." Lumin shakes their head in bewilderment at the confirmation that Gino really did stick two people together. They smile a little, “Well I’d still like to hear it some time. Thank you for the help, by the way.” They stand up as well and pick up a few of the scraps, “And for the conversation. I enjoyed it.” They say, genuinely, “I’ll see you around?” "You know it," does sound a little tired, but not without good humor. "Not like I have anywhere else to be." And on this very cheerful note Gino is strolling away again, swinging the cardboard box at his side.