Logs:Disdain
| Disdain | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2022-05-20 "You guys keep gossiping about my incident, I’ll be out there in a minute." |
| Location
<PRV> Kitty and Marinov's Apartment {Cathaus} - Lower East Side | |
This high ceiling, fourth floor apartment is on its way to being well lived in. The walls are a light cream colour, the spotless hardwood floors stained a rich red-brown. The door opens into the living room, always bright with natural light coming in the windows or the glow of the twin pink rock salt lamps nestled on the one of the sills. Small succulents and other resilient, cat-safe houseplants dot the windowsills and nearby surfaces – one on the low coffee table between the faux-leather couch and the television mounted on the wall, another on a ladder bookshelf squeezed into a corner. There are no rugs, nothing that can collect fur, but the couch and floor are both covered in pillows. On the wall opposite the television, there is a framed poster of the Cat’s Eye Nebula from an astrophysics conference. To the left of this space is a small kitchen, just large enough to fit two people in it, if one of them can walk through other people. To the right is a small hallway, leading to the washroom and two bedrooms. One of the bedroom doors has a small blue mezuzah on the doorframe, held in place with wall putty. On the coffee table in front of the couch rests a tray with a tea pot on it, as well as a couple of small biscuits. While Marinov is holding a cup of tea, leaned forward with one leg crossed over the other, they have not so much as looked at the biscuits. They wear a pair of black slacks, an emerald green and black paisley vest, and a white dress shirt. They are speaking to their guest, in the midst of conversation: "... it really was pitiful at the met gala this year how many missed the mark on the theme. 'Gilded' must mean something different to some people." On one end of the couch, dressed in pale blue slim-fit seersucker button down and grey linen trousers, Lucien is slowly nursing his own cup of tea. He's sitting just slightly at an angle so as to better face Marinov, and though he's clearly been savoring the tea he has also not touched the biscuits. "I expect many of them think simply showing up while fabulously wealthy should count. I rather envy you getting to mock from the comfort of your own home. I had to school myself to not look disdainful to their faces." The slight smile that touches his lips is half obscured behind his cup on his next sip. "Of course, it did help that my outfit suited the theme impeccably." Marinov bows their head in acknowledgement of Lucien's compliment. "Being fabulously wealthy is no excuse. It is even more damning to have the resources to impress and decide not to apply them. I'm lucky that my expression is inscrutable enough that my disdain is never obvious; I would recommend trying out a face like this, but it is a tough look to pull off." They chuckle softly at their own comment and take a careful sip of their own cup, glancing out to the hall. "There is more recent news about someone with a bold look weighing on my mind. Have you been following the local news the last few days?" "Riches are quite wasted on the rich," Lucien agrees with a slight tilt of his head. "Jackson has been showing up all of Hollywood in thrift store outfits ever since Ryan began taking him to these events." He studies Marinov's face with a great solemnity, very earnest when he continues, "I do not know that I could pull it off with as much aplomb as you do." His eyes flick towards the hall a moment after Marinov's. "There is so very much going on in the news at any moment. I don't suppose you are referring to Kitty's --" There's a delicate hesitation here, riffling through some mental dictionary before he plucks out a mild, "incident, the other day?" Marinov and Lucien’s furtive glances to the hallway and the main door of the apartment are not going to help them Kitty-spotting — Kitty enters the apartment straight through the wall of the kitchen, bypassing the door entirely. She’s in black athletic leggings and a shapeless oversized blue hoodie with ‘Ronin Athletics’ printed on the front. Her hair is flat-ironed straight and dull, tied in a ponytail that’s threaded through the back of the Yankees ballcap pulled low on her forehead. A pair of sunglasses are dragging the neck of the shirt down, the straps of her bag pulling the fabric at the shoulders, and the heavy canvas totes of groceries are not helping either. Her arrival is announced by the thump of those totes onto the kitchen counter, heavy and perhaps a touch aggressively. “Hi Marinov, hi Lucien,” she calls out, only a little pointed. The fridge door rattles open as Kitty begins to put away the perishables. “You guys keep gossiping about my incident, I’ll be out there in a minute.” Marinov jumps a little in surprise at the sudden thump, but manage to keep their tea unspilled. Their ears swivel back before their gaze follows suit. A bit sheepishly, they reply, "Uh, hey Kitty." They place their teacup back down on the table, and offer Lucien an apologetic half shrug. When they look back to the kitchen, the tip of their tail twitches a few times as they add: "Hard not to have it on my mind, considering that I got more from the news and social than anyone else." Lucien's fingers clamp down hard around his cup, his posture straightening minutely at the appearance of a Sudden Kitty. His "Good afternoon," comes politely and with very little trace of shame. One eyebrow hitches at Marinov's reply, and he lowers his tea to a knee. "Surely," he says mildly, "there must be more to the story than what the news has been reporting?" “Nu, you want a play by play?” The fridge door slams shut. “You saw the videos, everyone else thinks that’s as good as being there.” Freezer compartment opens. “I only thought, hey, if the police show up maybe I should have a lawyer first before I start running my mouth.” Rattle rattle rattle. “They showed up at school today, you know? The cops. I’ve got, a day? Two days? To go talk to them.” The freezer door slams. Kitty kicks her shoes off in front of the door as she emerges from the kitchen, several pieces of crumpled paper in her hand as she pulls off her backpack, pulls off the hat. “Of course there’s more! But the internet has decided I’m a violent racist and I have no idea how to make any case otherwise that seems remotely believable. Do you two,” Kitty asks, earnest and serious, “think I am a violent racist?” Marinov's ears twitch and turn in time to the slamming and thudding of items. They raise their shoulders and arms in an exaggerated shrug. "If I did, I would be endlessly shit talking you on Twitter right now, and a fair bit more to your face." They uncross their legs and lean forward, placing their hands on their knees. "But that's all the more reason I want to know more about what the fuck happened out there. And lest you think you'll strain my credulity, I've fallen into an alternate universe where Mike fucking Pence was the president while at a marshmallow roast. I am capable of believing some truly wild shit. Meanwhile, I don't even know who the skull fucker you were with is!" Lucien's eyes tick quietly between the other two. "I think," he ventures with a careful evenness, "that I am in no position to be the arbiter of violent racism. The woman who your friend tried to attack, however --" He lets this hang, unfinished, through his next sip of tea. "Is there? A case to make? I admit I am dearly curious to hear it." Kitty’s face twists up, free hand pressing into a fist against her mouth, index finger pointed towards Marinov. “You…” Kitty says, voice hard and angry, “are being —“ All at once Kitty deflates, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. “—completely reasonable. I’m sorry.” She scrubs the hand held to her face up to press against her eyes for a moment. “His name is Robbie, and jury is out on whether we’re still friends. Man told me he was full human and I do not like when my friends lie to me.” She sinks to one of the cushions on the opposite side of the coffee table, flattening out her papers against the wood into a neatest stack. The top one is a MAD registration form. “Where did the video start? Before or after the woman with the gun told us to stop harassing the tourists that were trying to attack me?” Marinov's fur starts to bristle at the very idea of what Kitty might say next, but they calm as well when she apologizes, and they cross their arms and lean back again. "Well, the guy in the video was the most on fire skeleton of a human I've ever seen," says Marinov skeptically. Their eyes pauses momentarily on the registration form, one side of their lips raising in a sharptoothed grimace, but they look up at Kitty's face. "After, I assume, since that's not something I saw in the video. Have you watched the videos that are circulating? Skull guy-- Robbie-- didn't seem to be doing you any favours when it came to optics, either." "The gun that she drew after the man began charging her? I did not," Lucien allows, "see the beginning of the incident. I saw it from approximately the time that she got annoyed at the tourists and suggested you all should leave the confrontation, which, given that that man's very next move was to light himself on fire and attack her, seems quite a mild assessment." His eyes, too, flick to the registration form, albeit with no discernible shift of expression. "It was an impressive party trick for a human, I will grant." His lips compress, brief and distasteful. "Did he have a reason for electing to do violence to her, rather than your, ah, assailants?" Kitty shakes her head. “I am trying very hard not to watch the videos. Or like. Open social media. Or get doxxed.” Kitty frowns. “Again.” Frowns deeper. “She sounded a lot more focused on me than anybody else — least until Robbie went all fire and brimstone. And then it was — did the exploding arrows make the cut? Those, uh, happened.” At Lucien’s question Kitty squeezes her eyes shut, pushing her palms against her eyelids, and groans. “He thinks. That he has an ancient mutant possessing him. That sniffs out evil people to kill them. Is this more or less out there than the President Pence universe I cannot tell anymore." "I'm not in charge of crazy mutant shit, so I don't really feel sure how exactly what kind of... rankings I'd put that at. But it is a pretty wild claim," says Marinov, their ears swivel back and they rest their chin in their hand thoughtfully. "So is he claiming like. That there is an objective evil, and a mutant in his head knows what it is? Or what? Like... I dunno. Ancient mutants can probably be assholes. Can probably just lie for the sake of being assholes. Like, there are plenty of old timey racists, yeah?" They glance over towards Lucien and remark, "I am not really good at philosophy, though, so curious at your take." Lucien's other brow hikes up now, both climbing high as he listens to this explanation. "Ah," is all he says initially, tipping his head slightly down to take a deep breath of his fragrant tea. "And you say the jury is out on whether this man is still your friend?" There's a starkly cooler edge limning his oh-so-gentle curiosity, here. "So 'friends' is still under deliberation, after he told you he fully intended to murder the one Black woman in that group because he just sensed she was evil?" He's setting his tea back down, half-empty. His eyes meet Marinov's briefly, then lower to the teacup. "Apologies, I oughtn't make assumptions -- was 'I am actually a serial killer' the case against judging this to be violent racism? I'm so very glad you helped him elude capture." “We did not get much into the philosophy of it before we — I figured he needed to see a professional. Or an exorcist.” Kitty pulls her hands down her face, opening her eyes to gaze just at the centre of the couch for a moment. “Let me clarify — if that’s just who he is? We’re done. If he’s had his brain messed with? If he’s being puppeted by some racist telepath? Yeah, maybe we’re still friends. Maybe.” The look she gives Lucien is harsh and angry again. “You weren’t there after — he was so out of it, and before it happened he wanted me to get him out of there, he was so scared of himself. Robbie didn’t want to do all that, that I’m sure of.” Kitty rests her forehead against the coffee table. She quiet for a moment, then says, considering, into the table, “— he said the thing loves cops. Which. They're pretty evil.” Marinov nods slightly after getting Lucien's take. Their eyes close while they continue leaning their chin against their hand. "Not really sure if I believe in an objective evil, but yeah, cops are probably getting pretty close. But I am not... unsympathetic to the fear of being puppeted by some kind of brain control. If it really is a. Uh. Racist serial killing mutant brain ghost. Then I hope that the fucker can be evicted. But like." They tilt their head, some tension in their expression. "If he was scared, then I'm guessing it's not the first time the skull fucker-- Has he killed before?" "Ah, well." Lucien's head inclines slightly at Kitty's anger. "If he felt very sad about his murders, I'm sure it's alright, then. I hope you hear yourself, and what you are defending." His hand tips out toward Marinov in a quiet agreement. "From what you describe, it sounds as though he was fully aware of -- whatever this thing is, driving him to kill, and did that stop him walking around waiting for its next victim? I suppose you'd be exactly as sympathetic if he'd tried to kill Marinov? But, ah, no, it was just some Black woman so we all must refrain from judgment, we simply don't understand how scary murdering strangers is for this man who just so happens to love cops -- no correlation to wanting to kill my friend's wife, I'm sure." He gets smoothly to his feet, taking in a slow breath. "Thank you, this was deeply enlightening." “Not —“ Kitty knocks her forehead against the table. “— loves cops thin blue line loves cops. Murdering cops. I wasn’t going to leave him there to murder anybody, Jesus Christ. Nor let the cops kill him either or just, leave him for them at all, last time he was in police custody they disappeared his little brother. Who was a mutant, by the way, maybe someone here can relate to that?” As the words keep tumbling out of Kitty’s mouth, it’s easy to hear the frustration and fear in her rising pitch. ”Can we please remember, that I did not know a single bit of this when it was happening? I’m not — trying to make excuses for him you wanted to know and I am so aware of how batshit this sounds that’s why I haven’t been —“ Kitty cuts herself off with a strangled, frustrated noise. “All I wanted was for nobody to die. Not Robbie, not your friend’s wife, not —” She jolts up suddenly, frowning. “Why does your friend have suppression serum on her arrows.” At first, Marinov seems confused at the attemptes creation of relatability. "Uh, I'm an only ch-" But that confusion clears up. They get up to their feet and shake their head, growling out, "Jesus fuck, Kitty. You can't just like. Fucking wield awful shit like--" They show their palms to Lucien in a conciliatory gesture and say, "My apologies. I shouldn't have involved you in this." And then back to Kitty. "It has been sounding like making excuses for him. You don't gotta be his character witness. I know sometimes making choices in the moment that are, uh, not great. I have done my share of ill advised shit. So--" They stop, then blink a couple of times, as if just finally processing something. "Suppression serum?" As Kitty speaks, the quiet calm that typically characterizes Lucien's expression grows harder and colder, finally shattering to leave behind an icy rage. When he speaks his voice is softer than before, though this does nothing to gentle the razors edging it. "I'd no idea that my brother's kidnapping gave me a license to kill, but since we are weaponizing his brutal torture, now, I will surely keep that in mind." He's taking a step back, taking a slow breath that does absolutely nothing to ease the hard set of his jaw, the tension in his broad musculature. "Why a Black queer woman who lives in a neighborhood heavily frequented by the Sword of Tyr -- who has already lost her only child to mutant violence -- might want such a tool, I will leave to you to determine. What I noticed is that her first choice of weapon against the man trying to murder her wife was restraint. I suppose you were too busy demonizing the violent Black women to notice or care." He inclines his head just fractionally to Marinov. "I apologize," he says quietly to them, "for involving myself. Please --" The flick of his ice-blue eyes toward Kitty is brief, and before he turns for the door he finishes only: "Take care." At some point after the words leave her mouth but before Marinov chides her, the color begins to to drain from Kitty’s face. She covers her mouth, looking up at Lucien from her seat on the floor and ever so slightly sinking into the cushion and then the hardwood. Very quietly, very much too late, she says “I’m sorry.” Her eyes meet Lucien’s briefly on the apology, her expression crumpling into pained sorrow. There isn’t an apology coming for Marinov, just a very small sigh as Kitty sinks deeper into the floor before disappearing entirely — “This is why I didn’t want to talk about it.” "You too," mumbles Marinov in response to Lucien's exiting words. They put their hand over their eyes, the other on their hip, unable to restrain their tail from that irritable twitch. Once several seconds pass, they release that pose, only to see Kitty sinking (literally) into her misery. A feline growl issues from their throat when there is nobody there to hear it, and they collect the cups and lift the serving tray. The remaining tea is poured out, the biscuits are discarded and the tray, for now, is placed next to the sink. They turn to lean back against the counter, both hands gripping the edge. "Well, fuck." | |
