Logs:Getting to Know You
| Getting to Know You | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2023-05-29 "I hope you get the recognition you deserve." |
| Location | |
It's warm and bright, not a cloud in the sky. A picture-perfect holiday weekend and the ideal conditions for the Lassiter Staff Memorial Day Barbecue. It's not immediately apparent who's rambling country estate this is, a couple hundred acres of woods and well-groomed pasture. A gaggle of children have commandeered the pool and its surrounding deck; the yard nearest the stately mansion at the center has been set up with cornhole and spikeball and lawn bowling. Somewhere in the distance comes the occasional cracking report of gunfire where a firing range has been set up, several of the researchers taking earnest impromptu lessons from the Company X guards. Ansel has been tending the grill for a time, dishing out a series of perfectly-broiled burgers and hot dogs to the older teenagers gathered nearby, but now he's relinquishing his station to Mouse -- shed of his trademark on-duty glower, Ansel's partner looks plenty relaxed as he instructs The Younger Generation about how to correctly handle the meat. Ansel, casual today in jeans and a grey tee printed with a silhouette of continental America constructed out of numerous types of firearms, is wandering off after checking in with his own teenage children, beer in hand and a cheerfully bright-printed Getting To Know You Bingo! card -- he has a number of squares Xd out erratically already ('Related to another coworker', 'has raised over $1k for charity!' 'fluent in 2+ languages', 'has lived in the same foreign country as you!' 'Prometheus intramural league') but is still a couple squares shy of any bingo. He's squinting down at the card, comparing notes with one of his other Company X teammates. "-- Shit, who'd you find who's a twin?" he's asking a young man with short-cropped hair and an easy smile, "-- I find them and someone who's met a celebrity and I might win this." Lily is ambling back from the shooting lessons, in bright conversation with a woman with a large afro pulled back with a colorful headband -- or at least, the engineer is chattering brightly. Lily is mostly nodding and smiling at appropriate moments, occasionally interjecting with some quick comment that makes her companion laugh uproariously. Occasional small touches there, too -- a shoulder bump that earns a flush, here, a brush of knuckles together as the two women drift closer together. Lily's in black barrel cut jeans with a silver chain hooked onto the beltloops, cuffed well above her ankles in low rise black runners, a loose short sleeve blue shirt with embroidered asymmetric birds and flowers running down the left side, open over a tight black tank top. Her hair is loose around her face today, her glasses left at home -- when the wind blows just so, she looks Almost Like Someone Else. They're comparing bingo cards as the women wander back towards the picnic proper. "What do you mean you've never been to Scotland, I thought that was required for geneticists, like," Lily's companion is lamenting in a thick Geordie accent at both Lily and her own haphazardly filled card. "Least I can put you down for the twin one. No way I'm going to win, though. Oi!" The engineer is hollering at Ansel and his conversational partner now as they draw close. "Either of you been to the UK? Anywhere in Europe? Apparently 'America' doesn't count for this game." Maybe, with all of the engineer's enthusiasm, neither men notice the way the color drains from Lily's already pale skin, the brief hitch in her step as they continue across the grass. She looks down at her card -- not up at the men. "...Alexis says she's met Gritty," she offers, "if you haven't put her down for something else yet." "Germany!" "--Italy over there," "Spain," comes a rapid chorus from the mostly ex-mil cluster of guards. "That square was sorta a gimme over here," Ansel is admitting cheerfully, "half of us been deployed through the same four desert shitholes." "We're arguing about whether Jackson Holland counts as a celebrity," the smiling young guards says with a jostle of Ansel's shoulder. "This mofo didn't get an autograph, though." "Think this rod counts as an autograph." Ansel grumbles this good-naturedly as he taps a hand against the outside of his leg. "Tell me you said you're a twin?" He's giving Lily a hopeful look. Probably he can already taste the Applebee's gift card in his future. The engineer breaks out into a broad smile. "Brilliant -- these science types," and she's taking the opportunity to nudge Lily in the shoulder, "haven't gone anywhere interesting, seems like. She also," she says, leaning in conspiratorially towards Ansel with a stage whisper, "met your Captain America. Choose wisely, you can only put Dr. Allred on one square!" With a small squeeze at Lily's hand, the engineer drifts away, to flag down someone who's been to Germany and possibly more beer. Left alone, now, with Ansel and the younger guards, Lily raises her head. The resemblance isn't all there, her face is softer than Dawson Allred's ever was, no scars running across its left side, her hair is thinner and a lighter shade of brown -- but the nose is the same, the bright hazel-green eyes the same, the way her lips press briefly firmly together familiar. "Was a twin," she says, "though I think that still counts for the game. Holland probably also does." "You can't stop being a twin?" Ansel asks with a small furrow of his brows, even as two of his co-workers exchange a Look. "Allred," the younger man is saying Significantly, as he looks over Lily. Ansel turns to study Lily's face, too, intent for a moment before his eyes go wiiide and his face several shades redder. "Allred?" It's difficult to interpret the quick look he throws around to his co-workers -- who are melting into the background with impressive speed, abruptly engaged with their beers or their food or Something Fascinating on their phones. "Not like -- no. No way, what are you doing here?" "Many people stop being twins quite young -- vanishing twin syndrome accounts for perhaps ten percent of pregnancies." Lily's face, by contrast, looks paler next to the red rising in Ansel's countenance, but maybe that is just the contrast between them, maybe that's just her skin already being so pale. Her expression remains pleasant, a faint smile with her light tone. "I didn't reabsorb mine in utero, though. He died more recently." Lily lifts her bingo card, one eyebrow arching at the question. "Meeting my co-workers. You can --" she holds out a little nub of pencil to Ansel, "-- put 'Lily' down for the twin one, if you'd like." Ansel takes the nub of pencil with a grateful nod, scrawling 'Lily' in heavy all-caps over the HAS A TWIN square, and then, beneath it, 'ALLRED'. "Mighta been better for all of us if you had." A wry smile ghosts across his face. "Shit, forget Captain America, though, Allred's his own kinda celebrity around here." A beat of hesitation, a reconsidering: "Was his own kinda celebrity." He's still studying Lily curiously as he hands the pencil back. "But you're working here. One of you musta been switched at birth, huh?" He takes a swig of his beer. Shifts his weight, slightly awkward, more heavily off of his bad leg. "... you... liking it here?" Lily takes the pencil back and tucks it into her jean pocket -- leaves her hand in there, the silver chain growing just a smidge more taunt as she grips the object on the other end. Her expression Does Not Change from the firm, thin smile. "Our shared genes didn't actually predispose us both to terrorism, Mr. Covey. No hospital mix up required." Her eyes track the beer can, follows the line of aluminum to where it meet Ansel's lips, then -- very obviously, with a small flutter of lashes -- averts her gaze back out over the sprawling party. "I enjoy my work. And it is easier to do here, knowing we are -- protected from anti-science militants by such a capable force." "Mmh," Ansel is agreeing around a large swallow of beer, finger wagging in Lily's direction like hell yeah. "-- See this company, they had the right idea. You know, time was, they only had humans to guard these places? I mean -- m'sure they're top of the game when it comes to all that science shit but for safety, uh-uh." He's following Lily's gaze out toward the party, his own eyes hitching over the knots of Company X mercs scattered throughout. "You want to control the freaks you have to be able to think like one. You have any idea how much testing accidents dropped since they got us on board? Used to be downright dangerous to work here and that's even before you factor in your -- brother's --" He waggles the beer can vaguely in the air. Then squints at Lily. "You didn't get that teleport thing of his, did you?" "Really." Lily's gaze drifts to Ansel's large hands, to the wedding ring on one finger with a small frown. "That must have been awfully dangerous before the suppression grids were installed." She shakes her head, the steel piercings in her ears glinting in the sunlight. "Oh, no, I'm not -- I'm human. I've heard plenty, though, about how dangerous his ability was." Lily is quiet a moment, lifting her chin up to study Ansel's expression. Tilts her head to the side, curiously. "--What is your mutation?" Almost immediately Lily lifts a hand to cover her mouth, eyes going wide. "Oh gosh that's probably impolite to ask." "Dangerous for everyone." There's an earnest sincerity to Ansel's affirmation, here, entirely unself-conscious when he adds, "you all, sure, but the prisoners, too. The grids were already getting rolled out when I started here, but the things people used to have to do to keep the inmates in line -- " His head shakes, slow. "Conditions have improved, 'cross the board, pretty much, with that variable out of play." He waves away her non-apology magnanimously. "Some people don't like you asking but, why? Nothing to be ashamed of. Might as well be ashamed of having green eyes or white skin. My thing's not flashy, though, just get real strong." There's the faintest tug of smirk at the corner of his mouth as he glances down at his muscular arms. "Stronger. Useful if you need to keep some of the big guns in line, during your -- whatever you -- what is your thing, anyway?" His brows lower heavily as he looks back at Lily. "Science thing, I mean. People have had some weird-ass projects around here." Lily's eyes, too, are following the line of Ansel's arms, her hand dropping and the round 'o' of her mouth clear to see. "I would love to see that in action -- do you get bigger or does the muscle fiber compress or --" Now Lily is flushing, one hand going to rub self-consciously at her neck and getting some sweat on her bingo card. "Sorry -- I just -- I'm a geneticist, the variation of mutations is endlessly fascinating to me." Lily's face lights up -- for a brief moment, her smile actually seems to reach her eyes. "I haven't needed a lot of -- extra back-up with my experiments so far. I'm trying to isolate the factors that actually activate the X-gene, so it's been a lot of cheek swabs and data crunching." The pause here is very slight, the furrow in Lily's brow faint. "Probably the most dangerous part so far has been working with Salinas, but he's been fairly cooperative." "Nah, don't get bigger -- I'm sure you could tell me things I don't even know yet about what's going on. Not," Ansel says with a rough bark of laugh, "that I'm signing up to be guinea pig any time soon." One of his eyes squints up skeptically. "Salinas? Nah, nah, nah, he was like this --" He's holding up his first two fingers crossed tight, "-- with your brother's crew. He keeps quiet but it's an act with that one. He's weaselly, probably pulling some trick under all your noses. I'm sure there's important science to do, but," Ansel is leaning a little closer to confide this to Lily, "-- I don't know why they didn't just put that dog down the second he came slinking back here. Better late than never, though, yeah? Least he'll be out of everyone's hair once his current job's through. We can all sleep a little easier then, huh?" "Sorry?" Maybe-maybe Lily was distracted by Ansel's non-answer about his mutation. Maybe-maybe she's distracted by the crossed fingers, or how much closer Ansel's head is to her own. Whatever it was, her eyes have gone wide, that brief flush of pink in her cheeks draining away. "I -- I am his current project lead, I have no such plans of, of -- terminating him any time soon." "Oh no no don't worry." Ansel claps a hand briefly to Lily's shoulder with what is probably meant to be an encouraging squeeze. "Nobody expects you all to take care of that. You just focus on your -- genetics. Experiment. Hope you're learning something good. Once you're all done," he drops his hand, offering in sincere reassurance: "our people will handle Salinas. Honestly," now his small twitch of smile is definitely a proper Smirk, "was probably a waiting list for that job the minute the bosses signed off on terminating him." "--Ah." Is Lily reassured? She's stuttering less, at any rate. Is only tensing a little under the weight of Ansel's hand. "I will try not to keep you all waiting too long for a resolution, there." She glances down at her bingo card, still pretty bare. "Oh, I should go find Sophie, but --" She pulls out the pencil and writes, carefully, ANSEL COVEY on the celebrity square. "Thank you for all your insight, Mr. Covey, and --" here with a glance to his bad leg, Lily's lips press thinly together for a moment, "-- your service. I hope you get the recognition you deserve." "Oooh -- think I'm being looked for, too." Ansel is turning an exaggerated wince off past Lily, where a middle-aged Korean woman who couldn't look more different than him -- petite, slender, elegantly done manicure and makeup, and perfectly trimmed blunt bob (the jeans-and-GUN-silhouette-America tee shirt are almost identical, though, save for her Gun America Outline being printed in baby pink where his is blue) --- is making a beeline towards them with two loaded plates of food. "But hey, thank you," Ansel answers. "Wouldn't have a job without you all. Nice to meet you," there's just a touch of satisfaction in the way he leans on, "Dr. Allred." | |
