Logs:The storms of winter / left our roads broken and fraught / now we repave them.
| The storms of winter / left our roads broken and fraught / now we repave them. | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-03-22 "The thing about a year is that it always comes back around." |
| Location
<NYC> The Gazebo - Freaktown - Riverdale | |
When Freaktown residents say "the gazebo", this is the one they mean. It's an elegant octagonal affair of sturdy wood, with railings and padded benches along six of its sides and two open sides opposite each other. It has long been a popular spot to hang out, tell stories, and jam, but it's received a glow-up--literal and figurative--in the last few months. Like most outdoor structures in Freaktown, it is adorned with fairy lights, but someone has added and rearranged them to outline every column and railing and even the tiers and edges of each roof face. From afar, especially on dark nights, it looks like a gazebo made of many-colored lights. Beside the gazebo is a fire pit ringed with log seats of varying heights and orientations, often augmented with more comfortable folding chairs brought down from the house. The log nearest to the gazebo has been removed and a garden installed where spring bulbs are just starting to poke up through the patchy ground cover amongst a chaos of outdoor art. A trellis now leans against the side of the gazebo, decorated with silk flowers, ribbons, Christmas ornaments, and all manner of random trinkets. The glittery green garlands and new strings of light may have been hung up for Saint Patrick's Day, but they have served the spring equinox just as well. For that matter they will, if patterns hold, serve for every season and holiday until entropy or a misfiring power takes them, and the cycle of eclectic decorations continues. It's really hard to tell if the general air of festivity developing around the gazebo is just the normal state of affairs on a Friday afternoon or some specific celebration winding up. In Ion's Seated on a nearby log, Anahita is tending the fire, which is young as yet and needs encouragement from time to time. She's wearing a long black tunic cinched with a belt in rainbow beadwork, a green-and-silver shayla draped around her shoulders, wide-legged gray pants, and soft black leather moccasins. Her long black hair is liberally shot through with silver, much of it hanging loose down her back save for two crown braids adorned with striking blue forget-me-nots. There's a teenage girl wandering over toward the garden, and though she's very conspicuously busying herself with examining the bright flowers and bright decorations, she's continually peeking small sidewise glances towards the food and those gathered around it. Natsumi is dressed just as bright as the garden, in wide-legged flood-length pants, an oversized rainbow knit sweater, gold Doc Martens, colorful earrings, a gauzy length of scarf wrapped and tied up around her messy updo like a kind of headband. Despite her clearly carefully arranged- and accessorized- outfit there are telltale signs of her situation -- the very overstuffed backpack slung over her shoulders dirty and scuffed up, boots far too worn, nails chipping and grubby. She's sidling over to the food table, and she's not furtive as she starts to hastily make herself a plate, but she is watching the nearby adults with a very wary sense of expectation. Is there anything odd about a memorial garden when the person it memorializes is hanging out in it, alive and well? Clearly Ion doesn't think so; he's been mingling exuberantly with the residents celebrating Nowruz in and around the gazebo. He's in his usual; jeans, heavy flannel under his much-abused and much-repaired Mongrels cut, sturdy boots. A large white and pink daffodil has kind of haphazardly been tucked into his hair, looking very much at risk of falling down into one of his eyes. He's just recently dropped down on a log beside Anahita -- no plate but he's cramming dolma into his face. "{-- wild ass drama brewing down that house,}" he's been saying to the firekeeper, and it's hard to tell from his animated tone of he's excited or exasperated, "{think them boys may need a better mediator than me I not at all sure why they don't just throw some punch and get over --}" But here he's glancing up, throwing a casually curious look to the newcomer that shifts easily into bright welcome. Maybe the hook he waggles in greeting is less welcoming, but it's what he's got. "Food's for the eating," he assures the girl brightly. "You just rock up, ain't see you around before." Anahita perks up at the fresh gossip, though she's at least making a small pretense of nodding along in dignified disapproval. Perhaps to drive home her matronly bearing, she reaches over and adjusts the flower to sit more securely in Ion's hair. "{I'll talk to them,}" she promises, her Spanish rough with Cuban angles startling beside her delicate cultured English. "{If I can't get them to work it out, I'll get them to punch it out instead.}" She's glancing at the teenager as Ion cuts off, her own smile more reserved. "It is a blessing to receive new visitors on the new year. Come, sit with us." She picks up a hefty ancient thermos sitting beside her and waggles it. "There's tea in it for you, if you like tea." Natsumi's eyes go wider when she's actually addressed, and reflexively she's holding her plate a little closer to herself. The curl of her arm eases a little more casual at Ion's reassurance. Her eyes flick between Anahita and Ion, then return to Ion's cut for a lingering moment before she heads over. "Yes, I -- just got here. The internet said it was -- well I'm just glad it was more true than the shelter they said was in Jersey." She finds herself another seat, setting the plate on her knees. She doesn't remove the backpack. "New year?" Her smile is polite, if puzzled. "I thought it was -- March but I sometimes lose track. What kind of --" She pauses briefly and then swiftly adjusts: "I'd love some tea, ma'am." "Time fake as hell," Ion says cheerfully, "but it March. You hang out with the right people, you could be celebrating a different New Year every damn month. The Persians taking their turn now." He pops the rest of the dolma into his mouth and licks lemon juice off his fingers. "Was a shelter in Jersey." The fleeting frown across Ion's face makes this slightly less offhand than his tone. "But we still standing. Where you come in from?" Anahita hums her quiet agreement to Ion as produces a sleeve of Dixie cups which are definitely leftover from Saint Patrick's Day. "The thing about a year is that it always comes back around. No matter where you start counting. My people start counting on the first day of spring." She unscrews the thermos and pours two cups of lightly cardamom scented tea green tea, offering one to Natsumi and the other to Ion. The sidelong flick of her glance to him lingers, just a moment. "What did the Internet tell you about us?" "Oh, thank you!" Natsumi leans just slightly forward to take the tea with a quick and thankful bob of head. She cups it carefully in both hands, taking a deep drink as she considers her answer. She's giving just a small and surreptitious glance to Ion's hook, his battered cut, before her eyes drop to the plate. "They said it was -- safe? Here? To, um," and though she's doubtless seen several weirdnesses on her path through the enclave to even reach this garden at all, her voice is dropping to a slightly uncertain hush, "to be a mutant? And that there was. Places to stay. Like, if you, maybe, are looking for a bed or something." She's sounding more confident when she looks up at Ion again, directly at the Mongrels patch before looking up to his face. "It also said that you guys -- um, your g --" Her tongue touches lightly to her upper lip and she shifts gears on this word, "-- your group look after people here. Anyway I don't have a lot of money but I can be a real, um," Her smile here is quick and a little affected in its shyness, "friendly houseguest, if you've got room." Ion's smile doesn't vanish, though it does soften somewhat in its intensity. He casts a brief glance to Anahita, and though there's a touch of dismay in his small hum it's far from surprised. "We all look out for each other here, yeah? My dogs try keep this place safe but, make sure everyone food, house, clothes'd, alla that, whole damn team effort. Miss Anahita here she real good helping you new kids get settle in." He's leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and there's a greater firmness in his deep voice, now. "We got rooms, and look, don't nobody pay nothing to stay here. Not in food, not in trade, yeah? Anyone try convince you you gotta get friendly, earn your way," he taps at the Mongrels emblem on his vest, "you find one my dogs, Miss Anahita, one the safety squad, you let 'em know, aight? Ain't how we roll here. Got plenty work crews you looking to pitch in some other ways." Anahita's hands still as she's screwing the lid of the thermos back on, but when she meets Ion's sidelong glance there's no discernible change in her expression. She just nods her firm agreement. "This is a place for mutants, by mutants. We are not perfect, but we do our best to take care of each other." She picks up the poker and nudges one of the logs in the fire pit. The flames leap brighter with the improved air circulation. "The Mongrels. His group." She tips her hand at Ion's cut. "They will not stand for anyone to abuse you. I will not stand for it." Though her emphasis on the "I" is very mild, it gives a distinct impression that anyone who did should hope the Mongrels get to them first. "What name can we call you? It does not need to be your legal name." She doesn't smile, not quite, but she leans toward the teenager in a slightly conspiratorial way. "It does not need to be a mutant code name, either." Natsumi's eyes widen, her smile frozen in place. She looks from Ion to Anahita as if she's confirming with the older woman what Ion is saying. When Anahita says much the same, she's just looking into the fire, sipping at her tea. After her next sip she slowly shifts her backpack off her back, setting it down on the ground (though she does tuck it snug behind her legs.) "I've never heard of a place like this before. I mean, the last place I was in for mutants was not..." Maybe she's not trailing off, maybe she's just digging hungrily into her food now, but either way she doesn't finish the sentence. When she swallows she's sitting up a little straighter and looking considerably more lively. "Do you have mutant code names?" "Last place?" Ion's brows hike up, curiously. "Places for us by human usually a special kinda nightmare." His hook curls around his cup to pull it closer, though he transfers it to his actual hand when he needs to lift it. The hook waggles, showering sparks off its end that dissipate harmlessly in the air. "Ion. And she --" Ion is considering Anahita for a solid second before he declares, firmly, "El torrente. No, diluvio. Rain? Flood. Marea," he's pointing the hook eagerly at Anahita, this skitter of sparks a little brighter, "buoy up her community like the damn tide. -- you want we call you something? What you do, what you love?" "When humans want to put us somewhere, it's usually for them and not for us." Anahita picks up her own tea, which has been growing cold on the ground by her feet. "Ion is the live wire that connects his community." She looks up at the strings of fairy lights crisscrossing overhead. "He is also a giver of many things, including names. None of mine have ever stuck, though I do like Marea." She does finally smile, small but pleased, as the girl revives. "Names can be simple or complicated or both at once. And they can be powerful even when they have nothing at all to do with our powers." Natsumi is covering her mouth as she giggles, and returning soon after to wolfing down her food. "Oh --" she starts to say, then lifts her hand back to cover her mouth again before swallowing and continuing. "Those are pretty cool names. My thing's just kind of weird so I don't know if -- it's definitely not cool like electricity or -- water?" she's hazarding a guess. "Anyway I was kind of in this, like, lab -- place -- it's over though so that's fine." Her smile is a little brighter. "A whole community sounds really nice." "Shit that's cool we all weirdo here. All the weird make this place home. Maybe you hang out some, you find one that fits." Ion's tongue clicks sharp against his teeth at the second half of Natsumi's words. "Shit, you outta Prometheus? Mendeleev," he's tapping his own chest with this before gesturing to Anahita, "Blackburn. Lots of labrat round here. Sorry you gone through that shit, huh? Ain't fine but I'm glad you find your way." Anahita inclines her head at Ion's assessment, and on her the elegant gesture seems perfectly at home referring to "shit that's cool". "I am a waterbender. A weird one, too." She gives a heavier nod when he gives her Prometheus introduction. "I got out a few years ago and had support from the very start. If you were released after Lassiter fell, I imagine you had no such luck. But you are here now, and this can be your community if you find it to your liking." Her smile is gentler, encouraging. "It won't make everything fine, and it doesn't mean everyone will understand what you went through. But you will not be alone, and it is very different from being on the inside." "Blackburn?" Natsumi's eyes briefly widen, but her horror is quickly shifting as she thinks through this pair of labs. "Oh -- oh, you -- you had labs that --" Her expression falls, quick and crestfallen; it's only for a second but it makes her subsequent smile seem all the more forced for it. "I was in Varela, yeah, we only got out after the whole, you know, Lassiter thing. I stayed kind -- out West for a little, but people said -- there were more of us here." Her head is bobbing as she gulps her tea. "Different. Different's good. I'm sure it'll be great here." She drains her tea hastily, and nods once more as if confirming to herself: "I'm glad I found you, too." | |
