Logs:Forkers
| Forkers | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2020-09-30 "Guess it's not too late to learn." |
| Location
<PRV> VL 403 {Geekhaus} - East Village | |
This is a small, two-bedroom apartment, the living room semi-open to the kitchen and dining area, a single bathroom situated between the doors to the bedrooms. The common areas are beautifully appointed with solid, matching handmade wooden furniture in intricate geometric mosaics. The kitchen table is ringed with coordinated but not identical chairs, two of them modular with low scooped backs, designed with winged bodies in mind. The wide, low coffee table fits neatly into the corner of a modular sectional couch, and the immense television is enthroned in an entertainment center that also houses various consoles and video games. The walls are lined with bookshelves laden with comics, roleplaying supplements, board games, speculative fiction, and a grab-bag of technical texts. The walls in between are adorned with some framed posters of classical science fiction and fantasy media along with a few pieces of gorgeous if unusual original art. It's early in the afternoon yet, and a gorgeous autumn day outside. The windows of the apartment stand partially ajar to admit the moderately fresh breeze as well as the music and voices from the park below. Polaris lets herself in quietly and closes the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment before stooping to unlace her heavy black boots. Still redolent of coffee and pastries, she's dressed in a black fitted tee shirt with two red horseshoe magnets that overlap to form the figure of a heart and black jeans, her wrist cuffs and belt with copious steel hardware much like the boots she just shed. She carries a nylon folding tote bag over one shoulder, purple and festooned with flowering herbs and bees. There's a jangling edge to her movements as she stalks into the kitchen and pours herself a glass of water--hands shaking--her hair is coming all undone from the bun she'd worn it in, and a bruise is just starting to show beneath the makeup on her cheek. Polaris seemingly has the apartment to hersellf -- for a short time, at least, before Dawson and Hive's closed bedroom door opens. It's been quiet in there, but it isn't either of the nerdbros who exits. Instead, Lucien, dressed in neatly tailored grey linen trousers and vest, tie in a neat half-Windsor, slips out quietly and closes the door carefully behind himself. He drifts towards the kitchen, stopping short of it to look at Polaris. His head tilts, just slightly. "You look," his voice is as mild as ever, "to have had something of a day." Polaris streadily drinks down the entire glass of water before pouring herself another. She looks up, only a slightly wild-eyed edge to her curiosity, when Lucien emerges. "Hi." She waves, slipping out of the kitchen to make more space for him, though she lingers at the end of the counter, glass in hand. "Some bigots showed up at Evolve to make trouble." Her free hand probes gingerly at the bruise on her cheek. "They've been getting bolder, harder to intimidate. Flying cutlery just isn't cutting it anymore." "Mmm." Lucien slips past Polaris to get a glass of water of his own. "Regrettable. I have heard they are quite emboldened, lately. I am sorry they have been troubling you, so." He leans back against the counter after he has it, sipping slowly and eyeing Polaris. "Is that what you typically wield against them? Has that tactic served you well, in the past?" Polaris scrunches up the unswollen side of her face, wobbles one hand in the air. "Hit or miss." She guffaws. "Kind of literally. My aim isn't great, so especially when inside I mostly rely on scaring them off which..." Here a small shrug. "Works pretty great on casual troublemakers. Not so much the ones actually spoiling for a fight, which these fu--forkers apparently were." The corner of Lucien's mouth twitches upward. "Goodness, but you have been hanging around Dawson's compatriots too much. I daresay if these extremists were intimidated by the potential of levitating cutlery they would choose a very different target than an entire cafe full of mutants." His head rolls back, one well-manicured finger tapping the outside of his glass lightly. "These tensions unfortunately do not seem likely to fade any time soon" The compression of his lips is very small, and his tone slips a little drier "Perhaps Shane ought to start factoring combat skills into his hiring matrix." "Ha!" It's hard to tell whether Polaris's short bark of laughter is real amusement. "Seriously, right? I mean, I'm always down to fight, but the closest thing I've got to 'combat skills' is like--half a semester of Women's Self Defense from ten years ago. Not gonna get me far in terms of beating down bigots." She tucks a stray tress of hair back behind her ear. "Guess it's not too late to learn." Lucien lifts his glass, sipping it slow as he regards Polaris over its rim. "No," he agrees softly, "until you are dead it never is." He pulls himself slightly away from the counter, though one hand still rests against it. "Who do you intend to learn it from? I do not -- intend to be presumptuous," his hand is tipping slightly upward, head tilting slightly down as his voice shifts a touch apologetic, "but I suspect in your position there may be some -- small hurdles." "I...hadn't gotten that far yet." Polaris blushes, the color showing easily on skin so pale. "I mean, I'll figure something out. Preferably without any death involved." Though, after a moment, a deeper flush. Quieter, "Do you have any suggestions?" Lucien's fingers curl slowly in to rest against his palm. "On the one hand, likely a wealth of classes -- though many may not be too happy to accept you. And on the other, a community who secretes themselves behind superpowers at the slightest susurration of strife." His knuckles fall back to the counter, pressing down lightly. "I learned the traditional way. Get beaten up a lot. Then -- get beaten up somewhat less. Perhaps not efficient, but effective." After a moment of reflection, a glance to Polaris's eye: "-- there may be something to be said for mitigating the first step. Learn from people who have been there, I suppose. Rather than the ones who --" His hand tips out towards Polaris. "Well." "It probably wouldn't be a bad idea for me to get better with my power, either, but yeah--I feel like most mutants would tell me to just do that." Polaris looks down at the countertop, though her eyes do not quite focus on it. "But there's lots of times powers don't do us much good." She looks back up, considering Lucien. "Will you teach me? I can pay you--I mean that's presuming a lot about your time, I feel like you're a..." Wide hazel eyes dart to Hive and Dawson's door, then back. "...pretty busy guy." Lucien's brows quirk a touch higher, his eyes open wider. His gaze followers Polaris's much more languidly, drifting towards the closed bedroom door as he drinks slowly. "Not typically the sort of workout people pay me for," he acknowledges, light, "but I'm sure we can come to an arrangement." | |
