Logs:Hard Bargains
| Hard Bargains | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-07-02 "I look forward to toasting your success." |
| 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. It's a mild and pleasant dusk, and the shadows are growing long in the courtyard. It would be quiet out here right now, if not for the thumping of paws and quiet huffing and growling coming from a tumblerolling ball of fur. Buttercup is (quite ferociously, Malthus would be so proud) engaged in a vicious attack on one of the residents here -- teeth bared, low growl in his throat. The ferret he is menacing doesn't seem overly concerned; Alanna is bounding back and forth JUST out of reach of his air-chomps, until, POUNCE, she launches an attack directly to the side of the dog's face. He folds, immediately, dropping to the ground as if slain -- maybe his previous owner wouldn't be so proud after all. The dog's mouth is open comically large as he rolls over onto his back, attempting futilely to try and nom the wiggly ferret now hanging off his scruff. A short distance away, Mystique is observing this war with an air of great solemnity. She's tucked on a bench at the side of the courtyard, in long flowing white dress, her skin a somewhat more pallid shade of blue than is usual, which makes her scales stand out in stark relief. There's a glass of lilikoi lemonade near to hand and an eReader tablet in her lap that she's ignoring in favor of watching the ongoing battle. She tsks softly when Buttercup falls: "What would your noble ancestors think," she is chiding the dog fondly, "to see the mighty wolf laid low by this boneless jester." Isra stalks out into the courtyard in a wrap dress of midnight blue silk dusted with silver stars, a B-approved tablet tucked at her side. She watches Alanna savage Buttercup for a moment before tipping her head back to study the darkening sky. It's another moment's hesitation before she skirts the edge of the courtyard to reach Mystique's bench without disrupting the epic battle underway. Perhaps chastened by the criticism, Buttercup has righted himself and shaken Alanna off, but his counter-attack is a highly undignified flailing pounce. "His ancestors," she says, slow and deliberate, "maybe disappointed he got domesticated to begin with." "Some of his progenitors were responsible. He is here because one of those curs thought their dignity and freedom a fine trade for humans' table scraps." Mystique's head is tilting slightly to the side, her eyes faintly glowing in the dim light as she watches the animals at play. "A disappointing many of our kind, too, would make the same bargain." Isra sinks down to sit, waking her tablet to scribble something across its screen. "In some ways, dogs got a better bargain," says her AAC app. "Humans do not want coevolution. Not with us. Only subjugation." She lowers the stylus and resumes speaking for herself. "Are you unwell. Or, just trying out a new shade." "The two might go hand in hand. I can all too easily picture some future taxonomist's dissertation on the new more docile breed of freaks developing in Genosha if our interventions fail." Mystique's lip has curled in distaste. Her next sip of lemonade does not assuage this, but she does ease her grip on the glass, head rolling to the side so she can look at Isra directly. "I am trying out a lot. Leo has been working on perfecting a recipe of his." Isra growls from somewhere deep down in her massive ribcage. "Might evolve independently here, too." The voice from her tablet is flat and dispassionate. "If the American government decides to stop beating around the bush. If they do not see and fear the consequences of doing so." While the app finishes speaking what she's already written, she's staring off into the middle distance before mustering her own voice again. "You are trying out. For HAMMER." Her tone is softer but little more expressive than the simulated one, and strikes a strange but compelling contrast with the growl that continues beneath it unabated. "For us." "If," Mystique replies with a dry huff of laughter, "as if this government is not eagerly broadcasting its charge into fascism." She sounds less concerned about this than maybe she should be; she might as well be commenting on the weather, a stormfront rolling in. She rolls one bare foot languidly at the ankle, and her yellow eyes narrow just faintly on the dog. "For our fallen Brothers," she agrees, "and the ones still fighting. Those pigs will see our vengeance painted in blood." Her lips compress, the glow of her eyes briefly muted as her gaze lowers; her tone, though, is not noticeably heavier than before. "And soon, I hope. I am not sure how long much longer Leo can withstand the rigors of his craft." Isra processes this slowly, ears pressed back and tail lashing restlessly. The growl has subsided to a low rumble in her chest. "He never gets sick, normally. I did not know he needed to get sick. To do this." Her hand tightens on the stylus, but she does not use it. With her own voice she asks, one painstaking word at a time, "You intend to return." "He does tend to be private, about his gifts, and from the expressions of those few Brothers who have been to his room lately I can see why." Mystique turns her head, and regards Isra thoughtfully. "I intend to bring HAMMER to its knees. And, if I take care with the job, live to toast its downfall as well. I am not fool enough to think that everything always goes according to plan, but I have a better chance at returning than most." "He has many reasons. Good reasons." Isra is kind of staring past where Buttercup and Alanna have called a truce by way of mutual exhaustion, sprawled out together in the grass. "I should visit him. My expression will not change. Probably." Maybe someone else would be smiling ruefully now. "You also have many reasons. To come back." She looks up again. "The Blaze Star will erupt soon." "Perhaps. I am not sure how keen he's been on company." Mystique drains her lemonade. Her eyes tip up toward the sky. "Mmm." She rises, fluid, and clicks her tongue, eyes narrowing in a mild irritation when Buttercup rises to come and Alanna does not. With a very small sigh she goes to scoop the ferret up herself. "That's one thing, I suppose. You wouldn't have nearly as clear a view from the island." Isra nods, more times than most people would, in all likelihood. "I will ask Ion, first." Her ears press back, and she starts to look up again but aborts the motion. She writes and her tablet says, "I would trade any view for the Brothers and Sisters they took from us." Her wings fold loosely down around her, and she looks at Mystique, or more properly, at the tired sack of ferret under her arm. "You and Leo. Risk a lot more. I look forward to toasting your success." | |
