Logs:There is great value in pacing yourself and making preparations or reparations rather than pushing forward.

There is great value in pacing yourself and making preparations or reparations rather than pushing forward.
Dramatis Personae Anette, Natalie
In Absentia	2020-07-24 "Huh, I forgot about the murder hornets"
Location <BOM> Common Room - Bom Lodge
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. For the third day in a row a sweltering day has given way to a dramatically stormy night. The walls of the lodge cabin rumble and shake with the intermittent cracks of thunder; the sky-splitting shivers of lightning flash bright through the gauzy curtains. On the floor by the couch, Natalie bears fading evidence of having been out in that mess at some point; her wet sandals have been removed and set aside, her black tank top and olive-drab cargo shorts are still damp. She's just taking her long red hair out of its thick braid, fingers combing through damp tresses in an effort to set them a little more orderly after her soaking. On the television the news has been playing with the volume muted and captions on -- though only just now as Trump's face flashes on the screen does she reach for the remote. Kind of glare at the screen. After a pause, unmute it to frown at the newscaster's matter-of-fact informing about the cancellation of the Republican National Convention. Her lips purse, twist to the side. She reaches for a barely-touched bottle of beer near her knee, picks it up to drink deep. Anette is leaning up against the open fridge door, the sounds of bottles and containers shifting around as she searches for something. After several moments, she finally emerges with a bottle of purple Powerade. She carefully twists the top of with her talons and tilts her head back, taking several large swigs. With a satisfied sigh, she finally closes the refrigerator door. Though an attempt has been made to pull her hair neatly in a pony-tail, it bears the moistness and frizz to suggest she’s post-workout. She’s also wearing a black sports bra and capri leggings and workout shoes, her skin still shimmering with sweat despite the used towel draped around her neck. She notices Natalie’s presence and makes her way over, standing a few feet back as she takes another large gulp of her drink and half watches the TV. Anette focuses, however, once the volume goes up, lowering her drink to her side to listen in herself. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.” "I don't know what to expect from this year anymore," Natalie admits with a grimace. She half-turns toward Anette, eyes flicking briefly over the other woman before slanting back toward the television. "I lost the plot somewhere around the murder hornets and have not caught up. But this new chapter --" She tips the neck of her beer bottle towards the television. "That's going to be a hitch in some things." “Huh. I forgot about the murder hornets.” Anette takes another, more reasonable swig. “Whatever happened with those?” She leans forward against the back of a chair, wings spreading lazily out behind her and drooping to the floor. She focuses on the TV for a few more seconds, as if it’ll provide the answers they need. “Maybe we’ll get lucky the virus will do the work for us.” "Either the author of this trainwreck realized this season was really jumping the shark and benched the murder hornets or they're Chekhov's murder hornets and they'll make a dramatic return in the fall." Natalie unthreads her fingers from her hair, wiping her damp hand on her shorts. Then looking down at the shorts with a frown when she realizes the futility of this. "Maaaan." She lifts her beer in salute to Anette. "I'll drink to that. Still. Hope for the best and plan for --" Her lips compress after she takes her next swig. "I'd say the worst but I no longer trust my ability to even imagine what is lurking around the corner. I swear to God if aliens invaded next month I'd shrug and be like, well, guess that's just 2020 for you." Anette returns the salute with her own drink, taking a sip in unity. “I’m not sure there is a worse at this point. It’s just…more.” She does chuckle at the mention of aliens. “If you were an alien, would you want to invade this dumpster fire?” Anette stands up and pulls the towel off her neck, using it to pat the excess sweat from her face as she makes her way around the chair to sit down. “I wouldn’t worry though. His ego’s too big to avoid showing off to a large crowd. He’ll come up with some stupid other reason to gather everyone to brag about what an amazing person he is." Natalie tips her head back against the base of the couch. Even though she cannot see the sky she looks up, squinting first at the ceiling and then at the window as though aliens might be descending as they speak. "If I was an alien and could understand any of these broadcasts on our news I'd --" Her hand forms a plane-shape, whooshes through the air, aiming up up and away. "You know come to think of it, no wonder we haven't made first contact yet. Half the people on this planet want off it already." She taps the beer bottle lightly against her lower lip. Bobs her head in a nod. "No yeah, you're right. There'll be opportunities. We just gotta pay attention. Figure out what his security is looking like at those nutjob rallies of his." Anette can’t help but grin in agreement. “Hell, I’d be on the first UFO out of here. Aliens are probably...whatever the alien version of turning off the lights and pretending no one’s home.” She glances towards the TV, though the news has already switched to the local weather segment. “Unfortunately, even though he’s an idiot, most of the people he works with have brains. And want to keep him alive for some reason. But we’ll figure something out I guess.” "Oh god." Natalie groans. Rubs at her face with the heel of one hand. "If we ever do develop interplanetary travel are we going to be like the Jehovah's Witnesses of the Universe? Entire other planets all drawing the curtains and shutting the doors if they see an Earth ship veering too close." She rolls her head back down. Eyes the screen briefly before punching the mute button once more and letting the talking heads carry on in captions alone. "If we programmed our pet Sentinel to spout praise of him every couple minutes he'd have ten of them on his security detail in no time flat. I should ask B if that's possible." “No. I think we’d be more...colonizing. Ethnic cleansing. Humans are horrible, I don’t think we’d keep it contained to Earth.” Anette stares at the muted weather report, talons absentmindedly clicking against the plastic bottle in her hand. Natalie’s suggestion brings her out of her thoughts and she smirks, glancing back towards the other girl. “Put a bow on one of them and say they’re gifts for being the best President ever. He’d host the world’s largest press conference.” "Mngh." Natalie's nose wrinkles. She takes another sip of her beer, her head shaking slow. "I hate that you're almost certainly right." She pulls some of her damp hair back over in front of one shoulder and slumps back against the couch. "I think you're onto something. Stick a MAGA hat on it and he'll do the rest of the work for us."