Logs:Chaos Vortices
| Chaos Vortices | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2025-01-13 "I just cannot quite get at who it will be." (Followed shortly by a confrontation). |
| Location
<BOM> Jenner Ruins - Courtyard | |
The bones of this long-defunct Prometheus research facility have been gradually cleaned- and spruced-up, though the grounds visible from outside the fence with its alarming biohazard warning signs still look intentionally abandoned and overgrown. The courtyard enclosed by the main building is a different story. The weeds have been cleaned up, but many of the saplings that have grown on their own far enough from the foundation have been spared, promising future shade for future Brothers. There's a firepit at the center, a rusty barbecue nearby, and a scattering of used and mismatched but entirely serviceable patio furniture throughout. Several raised beds have been installed along the northern edge of the space, where there's the best sun. There are paw prints pressed light and airy across the deep snow that has accumulated in the courtyard. A few longer furrows eeling through the snow. The trail ends in a tunnel, or the mouth of one -- where the ferret is that created the thing, now, is anyone's guess, the snow-carpet spread wide around in all directions. Mystique, whose flowing white dress looks hardly adequate to be standing in the the thigh-deep snow, is crouching beside the mouth of the tunnel. Her glowing yellow eyes are faintly narrowed. "A cowardly retreat," she is telling the mouth of the tunnel. "And you will see no victory until you emerge." In her other hand, a small plastic canister full of dried chicken liver, which she's rattling quietly by the tunnel mouth. Somewhere inside, there's a soft snuffle. There is only one set of bipedal footprints in the snow, but Destiny is sitting daintily by one of fire pits, hardly a flake of snow on her boots. For all that, she is dressed for the weather in a sky blue coat with white fur lining the hood and cuffs, a soft pink scarf tucked neatly around her neck, and heavy lined blue jeans to go with those immaculate boots, The pit itself had been diligently (and pyrokinetically) cleared after each storm, and she only needed to pry off the admittedly still snow-heavy cover to start coaxing a small flame to life. "She will go gladly into a tube if you offer one," she calls out helpfully without turning. "Or under a wing. Maybe. She is a formidable vortex of pure chaos." "Perhaps it is I who came underprepared for this battle. I am quite tubeless." Mystique is looking, contemplatively, at the (pretty tubelike!) canister of treats, and then at her empty hand. For a moment it warps, shifts longer, drooping at the ends where her limb has stretched and expanded and hollowed itself out. She does not actually put this fleshtube near the snow, though. She returns her arm to its natural order shortly, and flexes her shoulders instead as large soft-napped batlike wings sprout behind her. She crouches, mantling the wings protectively over the tunnel mouth. "You would think we could handle a little chaos around here by now." "She is a wily opponent." Destiny sounds very sincere and conciliatory, though there's a smile in her quiet voice. She waits just long enough to say "But you are wilier" in time with Alanna's hesitant emergence. Her lower half is still in the tunnel, but she is snuffling pointedly toward the treats. "We are...handling." Her head tilts as if listening to the raucous merriment inside, though it's just as likely she's riffling through possible progressions of Ion's birthday celebration. "I think the nexus I've been searching for will be in Genosha. The downtrodden rise." Mystique opens the treat can, tipping several small liver bits out into a palm. She sprinkles them down just in front of her large wings. A small smile tugs at her mouth as she watches the emerging ferret. "Do they, really. I've been starting to think no amount of boot will be too much for them to suffer. It is promising to think there might be an ounce of fight left in that country." Destiny carefully feeds another branch to the fire and turns as though she could watch the touching ferret drama unfold even without the shelter of Mystique's wings. Alanna stretches toward the treats, her neck extending but her front paws planted firmly to indicate she absolutely will not be tricked, though her hind legs possibly didn't get the memo, and are scrabbling up the snow tunnel. This bunches her body up cartoonishly for a moment before spiling her face-first into the snow, where she flails far more than is necessary to right herself and start scarfing up bits of liver. "They want a leader. I just cannot quite get at who it will be." Treacherous to the last, Mystique waits for the ferret to be lulled into complacency by the feast before swooping. Or, scooping. Her wing slides beneath the tumbly long body, lifting Alanna in the soft cradle. She offers out another treat as she carries the damp and slightly shivery ferret back toward the firepit. She is sitting down beside the small fire, not letting Alanna down but holding her close enough to start drying in its warmth. "That mad old fool is rallying quite a few beneath his banner." Destiny's smile blossoms at his wife's successful ferret retrieval, and she shifts to tuck herself under the unoccupied wing. "It seems too obvious," she murmurs meditatively. "And few are the advisors who can wield him well." A sudden burst of laughter comes from inside, punctuating the end of some wild story or other. "I think now is when --" She sits up, her wide black pupils turning to Mystique in something almost like surprise. "-- Ion must go. The lost Brother will not reach the Enforcers in time. The Maine safehouse is under attack." | |
