Logs:Full House
| Full House | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2020-10-21 "All quiet in here?" (Part of Riverdale TP.) |
| Location
<NYC> BoM Safehouse - Sunset Park | |
From outside, this brownstone currently looks like nothing at all, really; the houses (one abandoned, one anything but, with a steady stream of people coming and going at all hours) abutting it just seem each slighly larger than they really are, obscuring the facade of the townhome in between. Those who've been given the directions should have little enough trouble finding the door that's actually tucked into the stone face. The house inside, though large and clean and reasonably comfortably appointed, has been strained past its capacity lately. Extra mattresses have been packed into the living room, more people are sharing each bedroom than is likely comfortable. Regan is seated in an armchair by a front window near the door in soft cowl-necked red sweater, black skinny jeans and tall black boots, her hair pulled up into a messy bun. She has a tablet out in her lap, which she's currently tapping at intermittently with a thin stylus. The door opens, closes again in short order. Dusk is in jeans and boots, a soft blue v-neck long sleeved tee that's been gashed open at one arm, blood soaked into the fabric. For all that he seems very unbothered by this injury, casual and light as he stretches one black-and-crimson wing out to touch lightly against Regan's shoulder. "All quiet in here?" Isra follows close behind Dusk, not so obviously injured although there is a small hitch in her step as she walks. Dressed in a simple gray long-sleeved tunic dress, her skin a hypnotic sunset spectrum--a deep purple along the dorsal side fading to rosy pink on her face and palms, subtle drifts of gold shimmer contouring her entire body to emphasize, rather than disguise, the inhuman angles of her physique. The heavy talons tipping all thirty of her digits and the horns spiraling back from her temples are burnished gold, and so too are her irises. Her ears press back as she looks around the house, tucking her wings in tighter. "Quieter here, at least, than where we were." "Quiet enough." Regan looks up, eyes flicking from Dusk's arm to Isra. She tucks her stylus behind her ear, sweeping the room with a quick glance before returning them to her comrades. "Don't know if it'll stay that way. If this keeps up we'll need a waiting list. Only so many people we can cram in here before they start boiling over, too." Dusk huffs a soft breath out, perching on the edge of Regan's armchair with his large wings folding tight back in against his back. "Brownsville is full up, too. Harlem, Flushing, Crown Heights --" His brows knit, fingers tapping against his knee. "Out by Evolve it's a fucking madhouse. Jamaica? Jamaica's big." Isra tucks herself sidewise on the windowsill, one immense wing extended to brace against the floor, the other curled around herself like a cape. "Comes to it, I could accommodate some people in my house," she offers hesitantly. "as overflow for the LES house. But the scale of this..." Her uncanny golden eyes fix on Regan. "It is still escalating. We cannot keep up with it piecemeal." "Jamaica's packed." Regan's eyes meet Isra's steadily, her forefinger tapping very lightly at the arm of her chair. There's a stretch of silence between them, broken by the cry of a baby in a room up above. "Well, then." When she speaks again it's more decisive. "Looks like we're in the market for a new house." | |
