Logs:All of This Has Happened Before
| All of This Has Happened Before | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | Earth Day "You shouldn’t have known this pain." |
| Location | |
It's a brilliant balmy spring day, dappled sunshine filtering down through freshly unfurled leaves. There's a low-key Earth Day block party happening in the Freaktown plaza, but it's quieter on the far side of the empty lot amongst the trees. There are a few more trees here now than there were in the morning, little saplings with damp mulch piled up around their roots. The crew that had planted them has gone off to join the block party--almost all of them. Polaris is lounging up against one of the older trees, attention fixed on her smartphone as she sips from a sticker-covered thermos, her shovel and bucket abandoned to one side. She wears a purple t-shirt emblazoned with a fiery bird soaring triumphant into the sky, broken shackles half-melted off of its flame-blue talons, skinny black jeans, and heavy black boots shot through with steel hardware. Her long green hair tumbles loose over her shoulders, she has an intricate woven-wire choker, and her wrists are circled with smooth steel link bracelets. Erik has been in Riverdale for most of the day now, and his disguise is crusted with soil at the knees and hems. He’s been outfitted for this excursion in the Best Punk Fashion available — well-worn leather military boots with buckle straps down the shin, haphazardly bleached jeans, a studded denim jacket adorned with patches of punk bands lost to New York history over a white THE CLASH tee-shirt. A metal studded and chain adorned black facemask covers the lower half of his face, eyes similarly obscured by huge sunglasses. His hair is bright, bright red and slicked up into a faux-hawk. In short — Erik is dressed as unlike himself and his famous image as is possible. He’s slowly made his way from settling in the last of the saplings, spade in hand. “Excuse me,” he says to Polaris, his voice gravelly, distinctly German accented, and modulated very much unlike his televised threats in years past. “I seem to have forgotten, in my slowness, where these were meant to go.” He sounds almost nervous when he asks. Polaris slips her phone into a back pocket and straightens with a ready smile as the old man approaches. "Happy Earth Day!" Her wide hazel eyes flick to the spade. "Oh, you can chuck it in here..." A bucket levitates over to Erik. "I was just about to make a sweep for loose tools, you're helping me out. That is a sick jacket, man." “Happy Earth Day.” The smile Erik offers in return is a touch melancholy, barely visible at the corners of his eyes, though that edge is quickly replaced by something more like surprise when the bucket floats towards him. “Mm. It is the work of many hands and many years. It suits young people better.” His eyes drop to Polaris’ boots, then back up to the young woman's face. “Maybe it suits you better than me.” He drops the spade into the bucket, knocks one knuckle against the metal side afterwards. “This is some gift — I suspect I am only saving you a little time, if you can lift all the spades this way.” "Whaaaat? No it looks great on you!" Polaris looks at the rest of Erik's outfit. "Punk isn't about genre or generation it's like. A mindset." She glows at the compliment, and a handful of spades lift from where they've been discarded all around the lot, gathering toward the bucket. "It's pretty handy, yeah. You new in town?" She sets the now laden bucket down next to her shovel. "My name's Polaris." Erik chuckles, the puff of air rattling the chains of his mask. “A mindset some people do not appreciate in their elders. Not that I have let that stop me.” He wipes the last of the dirt off his palm before reaching a cautious hand out to Polaris. “A beautiful name. Mine is Max, and though I am not new to the city, I have only just returned. I do love,” and he’s tilting his head in the direction of the sounds of the block party, “what you all have done to the neighbourhood.” "You know what? Fuck those people." Polaris shakes Erik's hand without any apparent hesitation at the dirt--her own hands are still dusty, too. "Thanks, I picked it out myself! Welcome to Freaktown, Max. Honestly, I never came up here before all this, it was way bougie, but..." She lapses into a smile as she turns toward the noise of the nearby festivities. "Yeah. I guess we're doing pretty okay. You visiting someone?" Then she adds, hastily, "Not that you gotta tell me I'm not like the X-gene police. It's all honor system, and I don't even live here." “An excellent choice. From the star, yes?” The corners of Erik’s eyes crinkle, the smile below the mask obvious. “My understanding,” Erik says, amused as he withdraws his hand, “was that our dear federal government had taken the policing job for itself.” His attention shifts to the newly planted trees. “Visiting, yes, old friends and new ones. Mostly I was curious when I heard about this place — it’s been a long time since the last attempt at a mutant collective like this.” "Yeah. It was kinda like...we both know which way is north." Polaris jerks a thumb casually in the direction of (magnetic) north. Though her cheer dims a little here. "Registration is worse than just policing our powers, which would be bad enough but..." She hesitates. "Just. I've seen where that road leads, and I--" She pauses, takes a deep, steadying breath. "That's why we need places like this more than ever, you know? Freaktown isn't perfect, and it isn't what all of us need, but it's a start. And if we try to take care of each other wherever we go..." She pushes a hand through her hair, blushing. "Sorry I uh, went into propaganda mode. You probably know all that if you've seen other mutant collectives. Or attempts." She's studying him with renewed curiosity now. "Any lessons we can learn from?" “So you do.” Erik’s attention has stuttered on, when Polaris raises her hand, the steel link bracelet on that wrist. Almost doesn’t catch the next bit for staring at it, so his echoing question comes out abrupt and disjointed — “You’ve — seen?” His arms fold over his chest, right thumb rubbing over a spot on his left forearm as he quietly considers Polaris further, brows furrowing with what could reasonably be seen as concern. Under the mask, his jaw tenses. “Lessons. As if the destruction of our families can be boiled down into aesops and parables.” Still he considers it, head tilting towards the sounds of the party even as his eyes look somewhere far away. “A place like this, should it grow, will bring down the wrath of human government. You already keep defend each other — but when they bring their tanks and drones and guns, do you know who will stay behind to fight and who will lead the rest to safe haven? Do you know how you will steal away the children, evacuate the sick? Where will you take them?” Polaris nods, just once down and back up, shallow and jerky. "I was--you know Prometheus, right--I was there, four years. A lot of mutants think registration is harmless or an inconvenience or at most garden variety discrimination but it's not." Her fists clench tight, and a quiet rattling starts up in the bucket, then quiets. "But also like...plenty of freaks know what it really is and just dunno what to do about it. Building places like this is doing something about it, but...there really--aren't any safe havens." She shrugs, fatalistic. "We know the pigs could roll in here any day and, probably the actual residents have more of an evacuation plan, but I know we got people who will defend it, at least. I will be here if and when it goes down." Her voice takes on a dangerous edge, the faint quiver of rage only barely contained. "Their tanks and drones and guns won't save them." Erik is quiet though all of this, lips pressed tight together under his mask, frozen until the end of Polaris’ impassioned promise. Then — all in one, swift movement — Erik’s arms wrap around Polaris, tugging her into a tight, fierce embrace. Almost as quickly he seems to realize what he has done, and his arms loosen enough that she could easily step out of the hug. “I am so sorry, child,” he murmurs. “I — we — your elders have failed you so terribly. You shouldn’t have known this pain. You should have been protected --” The studs and chains of the mask rattle when he sucks in a breath. “All of you,” is added late but no less fervently. “From having to make this choice again.” Polaris goes still, but evidently more out of surprise than any actual opposition, since she shortly returns the embrace, gently as though concerned she might injure the old man if she squeezed too tight. "Hey...look. Do I wish your generation had magically fixed the world? Sure!" She pulls back but keeps one hand on his shoulder. "But the world was trying to kill you, too so that was probably tricky. And you're still here to guide us, right?" She does finally let go, blushing again. "You know, you're not the first old--elder who's told me that recently. Maybe current events are just feeling too much like the bad old days, huh?" The watery blue of Erik’s eyes seem just a little extra damp when Polaris pulls away, obscured further by the sunglasses. “You make kind excuses for our failures. Not just to you, but to our own comrades — far too few remain.” One hand crosses to cover Polaris’ hand on his shoulder, squeezing once more (his thumb swiping over the edge of the steel link bracelet) before she lets go. “We had hoped that the next generations would fight new battles, not repetitions of the same old ones.” Somewhere in here the accent has started to slip — a little less thick, a little less distinctly German. “Apologies. You are not here to listen to an old man's regrets." He glances down at the bucket of shovels. "I do not mean to keep you from joining the festivities." "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dismiss the--failures. But I don't think it's making excuses either, to acknowledge that shit was hard." Polaris sounds determinedly gentle about this, though her smile skews sharp as she adds, "And. You know. Maybe I'm paying it forward for when the Zoomers ask me why we don't have fully automated luxury gay mutant space communism yet. C'mon." She waves Max with her as she heads back toward the plaza, the levitated tools trailing behind them. "You know what? I'm here to do exactly what I'm doin'." Her eyes skip back to him and linger thoughtfully as his speech shifts. "Anyway, I wasn't gonna stick around this party much longer, but I hope your regrets don't keep you from enjoying it, if that's your speed." The little huff of noise that escapes from under the mask could almost be a laugh, somewhere halfway between a breath and a chuckle. “Luxury gay mutant space communism,” Erik repeats, considering each word deliberately as he follows Polaris. “How delightfully ambitious.” As they draw nearer to the plaza, the accent grows stronger again. “Yes, I should return to my — friends. Thank you, Polaris, for your company and your work here.” The chains on the mask jangle as Erik opens his mouth to say more, closes it again as he considers Polaris again, then settles on stepping back as he says — “It was -- wonderful to meet you.” "My generation dreams big. Sometimes that's all we got." Polaris beams a dazzling smile. "I dunno how long you plan on being in town, but maybe you could help your friends work on some contingency plans for Freaktown." She waves as she turns aside to bring the tools back to storage. "I work at Evolve Cafe, if you find yourself down in the Lower East Side. But either way, it's a small world in a big city--I'm sure I'll see you around." | |
