Logs:Another Wednesday
| Another Wednesday | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2022-02-09 "This was -- was going to be an attempt, to say thank you." |
| Location | |
It's an unseasonably warm day and what's come to be the central square of Riverdale is bustling. the cul-de-sac that once was likely home to a number of very fancy cars is now home to several makeshift stalls and blankets, the wares being offered spanning the prosaic (hand-knitted scarves and homemade jewelry) to the immediately practical (a stand with the spicy aroma of barbecuing kebabs is particularly popular now that it is hovering around lunch hour) to the esoteric and somewhat questionable (one young clairvoyant is not the only one here offering their power up for trade but is happily advertising SPYING -- FOR SALE or barter -- Hovering around the periphery of this cheery bustle, Dusk is not evidently offering anything today, though he has just finished extending the mesh router system to cover the farthest afield of the blankets. He's now perched on a stone pillar bookending what was probably once a lovely front yard garden of one of these mansions. He's leaning hard into the Vampire Aesthetic these days, pale and drawn, his enormous wings folded around him like a cape, a faint glint of fangtips visible lightly atop his lip. Behind his dark sunglasses he's staring off in the direction of the makeshift bazaar, looking at the last stall whose wifi he's just fixed up. "-- sounded a little too ominous to take him up on that offer," he's saying with a jerk of scruffy chin towards the stall (nobody else, currently, seems to be keen to barter with its occupant either.) "Gotta admit I'm curious though." Draped partly against the pillar and partly against Dusk himself, Matt looks hale and healthy by contrast. Possibly the image is helped by the color that the kebabs have brought to his winter-pale face. It is not nearly warm enough for most to go without some kind of outer garment, but if he bothered to bring a jacket it is nowhere evident. He looks comfortable enough in a moss green tee shirt with a snake--its sinuous coils spell out "dangerous"--stalking an unwary songbird and faded but properly fitted straight leg blue jeans, but while he may be too good for sleeves, he does have socks on beneath his brown sandals. "Likewise. I've been waiting for someone to contract him so I can do some spying of my own." He sounds faintly put out that no one has yet afforded him this opportunity. "Might have to take matters into my own hands, unless you're ready to go have your ass handed to you at a game of your choice." Finally, the clairvoyant has a customer -- Lily, kebab skewer spinning empty in one hand, stops by to chat with the Spymaster For Hire. She's dressed unassumingly; a grey sweater is tied around her waist over a dark blue henley shirt, her free hand tucked into a pocket of black barrel cut jeans with a silver chain hanging off one loop, paintsplattered boots nudging at the legs of the stall. The conversation isn't that long, all things considered -- Lily asks a few questions, Mr. Spymaster asks a few in return, then they just seem to stare at each other for a long moment. Lily laughs to break the silence, holds out her phone to exchange Signal information. When she walks away, there's a small, pleased smile on her face. It brightens a touch when she spots Matt, then completely fades when her eyes scan over Dusk. Her kebab-skewer hand is already raised in a half wave in their direction -- the motion stutters, but her path continues to bring her towards the two men. Dusk's eyebrows have climbed beneath his shaggy dark hair as Lily approaches the clairvoyant's stall. His head turns juuust slightly -- maybe he's looking more squarely at Matt or maybe tipping an ear in the direction of the stall. His thumbclaw flicks towards Lily, one corner of his mouth hooking upward. "Ask and you shall receive. Though you really should've specified --" He breaks off as Lily starts coming their way, his half-a-smile fading into a more neutral expression. The top of one wing folds down in a claw-tipped wave. Very mildly: "How goes the spying?" Matt's head tilts and he unfurls from his languid draping--just a little. "Mm, the plot thickens." When Lily peels away from the clairvoyant he settles back against Dusk's side. "Boring," he pronounces, far too quiet for most people to hear over the ambient noise but only a touch petulant. "This is what I get for sloppy magic, no?" For all that, his smile flashes as bright and friendly as ever when Lily comes up to them. "Yours or his." For a moment it looks like Lily might just keep sailing by them, en route to some other Riverdale destination. She comes to a stop by the pillar, just out of Matt’s arm’s reach. “His spying? Not so good. Mine?” She shrugs. “Sure you’ll hear if it’s productive. How is —“ Lily glances up at Dusk, “—looming. Going. For you both.” Both of Dusk's thumbclaws twitch this time, long and sharp and quick. His wings press tighter to his shoulders as his eyebrows lift. "I'm just sitting here." Matt tilts his head the other way and gives a small tsk. "Such a tease! See what's become of metafreak solidarity these days?" This last with a kind of gentle mock-chagrin." At Lily's question he straightens up just a fraction, hangs one hip, settles one elbow on Dusk's knee, and props his chin up delicately by his index and middle fingers. "It's a common misconception that he defaults to looming." His smile does not fade, but his gaze has gone unnervingly steady. "But he's a tailor, not a weaver. My loom is going just fine, though." The corner of Lily’s mouth twitches. “Hah.” Looks up from Matt to Dusk. “Sorry. Bad joke.” Her attempt at an apologetic smile is wanting — she keeps taking surreptitious glances up at Dusk, as if to make sure he hasn’t swooped down. “You want a demo, ask outright — I’m not great at subtext, historically.” She’s twisting the silver chain from her pocket around her right index finger now, tight enough to impede circulation. “Might not be able to get back into my body after, but, hey. Sure some folks wouldn’t mind that.” "Sorry, I don't get it." Dusk's voice is still level, his head cocking just slightly to one side. "The joke. Explain it to me?" His brows lift higher at the explanation of the borrowed powers. "Tessier. Means weaver. The puns are kind of an addiction with him. Iiii -- think I'll pass on that demonstration but uh --" He's glancing down, shooting a quick uncertain glance to Matt. "Maybe the clairvoyance comes with a side of precognition, no?" Matt relaxes subtly, tilting his cheek into the his knuckles now. "She was setting up the puns for me. Very considerate. You, also--I knew you wouldn't weave me hanging." He quirks a fey grin back at Dusk that skews just a touch incredulous when he looks back to Lily. "Goodness! Permanently? I don't know how anyone else around here would feel about it, but even if you don't mind, a mindless body can be awkward to mind." Lily’s mouth has opened, presumably to offer some other, clunkier excuse, but Matt beats her to it. “Mm. Teamwork makes the weave work.” Her eyes meet Dusk’s for a moment. “Didn’t think a little astral projection would put you off.” Back to Matt. “If you don’t mind minding a mindless me for a little bit while I figure it out, I would appreciate it. But I’ll manage either way.” A low rumble of growl snarls up momentarily in Dusk's throat, his eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. He shifts on his stone pillar, extricating himself gently but firmly from Matt's lean. "Oh, you were serious. Have fun with that." He's dropping himself down off his perch, wings flexing slightly out and then folding back close as he moves. "Should I be wishing you good luck?" Matt blinks, then blinks again. "I...thought you were joking. This is not why I have come here today, but also--tsé, that is dangerous!" He straightens up himself, all languor fled. "Darling?" He does not reach for Dusk, though it would not be a stretch to interpret the twitch of his hand as a conquered reflex to do so. "What's wrong?" “I think we established I’m no good at jokes.” Lily is biting on the inside of her cheek. “As well as subtext, and most of all self-preservation. You remember.” Lily tilts her chin up at Dusk there. She steps back, turning on one heel to face back along her initial path past them. “Never mind, then.” "Remember? What?" There's still a soft growl undergirding Dusk's words, a jarring contrast to his briefly baffled tone of voice. He flinches back a step at the twitch of Matt's hand, the rumble in his chest growing deeper. "Are you kidding?" His wing flares wide, now, gesturing in a wide sweep in Lily's direction. "Some bog fucking white girl rolls up here just to insult me and you swerve out your damn way to give cover to her bigotry because of course. Her, I get but you? You, I trusted." Whether Matt understood what Lily said or not is an open question--his frown might easily be disapproval or confusion or something else altogether. "Not your problem only, if you make yourself catatonic," is what he says finally, and then to Dusk, less abstractly, "I am sorry, my dear." His expression does not change appreciably, but he does bow his head. "I only thought to--" He shuts his mouth abruptly and blows out the rest of the breath he'd drawn to speak. "Alors, it was thoughtless." “Oh, I get it. For you, it was just another Wednesday.” The corner of Lily’s mouth twitches. “See, I remember being called a monster, threatened, and then, very disappointingly, was not put out of my misery. Maybe you do this to bog fucking white girls every week. Maybe it doesn’t stand out.” The hand twisting at the chain on her belt tucks into the pocket, squeezes something round there tight. “You’re pretty much the reason I’m still here. So thanks for that. And I didn’t, actually, intend to insult you.” Only at the last sentence does Lily’s tone take on any sort of softness, any sort of reconciliatory tone. To Matt, she just shrugs. Dusk's eyes go wide behind his sunglasses. "You have got to be shitting me. Do you fucking hear yourself?" He's whirled around from Matt to face Lily, now, wing snapping back into place behind him hard enough to stir up a gust that sends leaves around them swirling. In counterpoint to the sharpness of that motion he's just taking another step back, his hands raised and his voice now just incredulous. "Yeah, I was mad at you. If you forgot, you worked for Prometheus. The people who tortured half my community to death. Who murdered the man you have no right to call brother. Who you helped to kill us. You have some gall acting like I didn't have every right to be upset. You are a monster if you've spent the entire past year here pretending to be one of us and you haven't learned shit." Matt inclines his head minutely as if, despite the rising volume, he needs to concentrate to hear the others. But the frown has relaxed away, leaving his expression serene and neutral. "Wait, are you still holding a grudge--" He cuts himself off, pressing the knuckle of his index finger to his mouth, eyes flitting to Dusk, then back to Lily. "You baited him to murder you in public, but he wouldn't oblige, so you decided--what? That his anger was more violent than your collaboration? Then stuck around to stick it to him? Câlisse...I assumed you stayed more out of guilt than love, but surely not spite." His voice remains level. "And I thought I was a messy bitch. You keep this up, someone who can actually get away with stabbing a white girl is liable to take your bait." "I'm not pretending. I'm not here out of fucking spite." Lily's lip curls. "This was -- was going to be an attempt, to say thank you. For telling me. Nobody else did after a goddamn month. But --" she gestures out to Dusk, back to herself, "--hm. Fucked this right up. Also --", and this is to Matt now, "someone already did. Hasn't stuck yet. Here's hoping." She holds her fingers up, middle crossed over her index finger. "Nobody else fucking knew! Thank God I never told Dawson when I saw your name in those files, he'd have --" Dusk's teeth click shut, his, head shaking hard. "Jesus, this," his arms are folding across his chest and his bony shoulders hunching inward, "is how you say thank you? I'd hate to see how you say fuck you." His lips curl back when Lily's hand raises, sharp fangs baring and his head turning aside. There's a rougher quality to the rumbling now, tearing up from his chest into his throat and snarling up into his words. "Fuck all the way off. Fuck off with your microaggressions, fuck off with your self-flagellating, just fuck -- off." Matt closes his eyes momentarily, as if that might negate Lily's crossed fingers, his thumb brushing jerkily over his black titanium ring. "Dear gods, woman, stop that." Though he hasn't raised his voice and evinces no outwardly sign of anger at all--only Dusk can hear his heart pounding fast--there something firm and authoritative in those words. "What do you suppose the cops would do to him, if he actually hurt you? If you want to die, that's between you, your therapist, and those you would bereave. Don't put that on us." The imperious tone is gone as quickly as it had come and he suddenly just sounds tired. "It's--cruel." Something shifts in Lily's expression -- the smallest furrow of the brows, a slow dawning recognition in her eyes under all the other anger. "Fine." What this is responding to is unclear. She drops her hand, finishes her pivot and begins to -- finally, finally -- walk away, with no further awful comments to offer. Dusk wilts down against the pillar he was previously sitting on as Lily heads off, both wingspars braced against it, his wings folded out around him to form large curtains around his bowed head. "How the fuck is she related to Dawson. He was a goddamn mess but he was always -- always --" This cuts off, the guttural low snarl choked off in his throat and his words hitching raggedly. A brief tremor ripples through his large wings. It's not too much more steady when he breathes out, "Fuck," but the growling has subsided. Matt watches Lily go, his expression blank and inscrutable. Then he drags one hand down over his face, pressing it briefly to his mouth and drawing a deep breath in through his nose. When he drops his hand and breathes out, some of his wonted expressiveness has returned--his brows furrowing, his mouth pressing thin. "He was always kind." These words come out quiet and breathy. He reaches for Dusk's wing when it trembles, but stops short of making contact, eyes flicking to the other man's face appraisingly. "But then, he had a better family, no?" Dusk just growls again at this, but it's soft and brief. "DJ grew up in the nightmareverse version of that family and he isn't a heinous goddamn toerag." His wing pulls in tight against his back when Matt reaches for him, his head turning away with a small clench of jaw. "How the hell did that get so... All I wanted was for her to see why that joke was fucked up." When he pushes himself up it's a slow and heavy motion, like his wings can't quite support the weight now. His expression is similarly exhausted when he turns to Matt. "Why the fuck were you covering for her bullshit?" Matt drops his hand and turns away, too, bright green eyes trained glassily on a small knot of children playing in the square. "I don't know much about the Bizarro Allreds, but the very fact they didn't kick DJ out says something." He huffs a soft, humorless laugh, his pulse suddenly accelerating again. "That bar is set so low they'd have to dig under it." At the question he looks back at Dusk. "I was so ready to hate her, and I knew that wasn't fair or helpful. I also knew--or, strongly suspected you didn't want a fight, and if she got catty about it, I worried I might just eviscerate her. Not literally." He turns one hand palm up, fingers splaying elegantly. "I'm used to diffusing tension with humor, but...sometimes I can't, and sometimes I shouldn't. This was both, and I ought to have thought it through. I could have held my tongue and still had your back if it actually came to a messy bitch showdown." His gaze is steady. "It was shitty, and I'm sorry." Dusk's breath quickens as Matt's pulse does. He takes another step back, arms wrapped tight around his chest and his wings folding around himself as well. His eyes close through his next few breaths, claws curling inward. "Was shitty," he agrees. "I didn't want a fight. I don't want a fight. I just -- can we --" One of his hands lifts, his knuckles digging beneath his sunglasses at the hollow of one eye. This time his quiet "fuck" sounds defeated. "I should go." "I know." Matt slows his breathing, and by degrees his heartbeat slows, too. "And you've a right to be angry about this, also." He's quiet a moment, eyes flicking over Dusk again, a very small furrow between his brows. "I would really rather--" There's no evident frustration here, no truncated breath. He just leaves off as though the sentence were complete as spoken and nods once, down and back up. After a brief hesitation, he says instead, "I can leave your supper--here, if that's...allowed, or at Hive's." He tips his hand toward Dusk and inclines his head. "Be safe, darling." | |
