Logs:How to Hero
| How to Hero | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-09-12 "This why Mr. Summers be writing so many damn checklists." |
| Location
<???> (team name tbd)'s super secret hidden bunker base (name also tbd) | |
(assuredly it looks extremely badass and cool down here if you are a teenage superhero but the desc is also, tbd.) Currently skidding into this underground hideout (don't worry, he has not iced up the entryway ramp, it's his own sneakers that have temporarily become ice skates) is Avi, dressed comfortable and practical in sturdy workboots and tactical cargo pants and a lightweight blue and black jacket (still soaking wet for some reason, as he peels it off and drapes it over the back of a spare chair), the stray beads that dot the ends of his short locks occasionally clacking together as he slides into a chair with a whumph. "-- We got to get Sriyani past this Spence beef or my gas budget gonna be like --" His cheeks puff out, eyes wide. "I'on got time for another job on top this nonsense." Roscoe is making a rather less cool-as-ice entrance, just clomping down the ramp with an squelchy squeak of wet sneakers, his hair -- streakily dishwater brownish when it's this wet -- still dripping where he's tucked it behind his ears. He's trying also to remove his jacket but the zipper is stuck on some loose thread, and his voice comes sort of gritted out as a result. "What are they even fighting about? Couldn't they just do some kind of hippie healing and forgiving ceremony and move on?" Now he's just pulling the jacket off over his head like a sweatshirt, wringing out a small puddle of liquid. Nahida is ducking, quickly, into the bathroom; she emerges surprisingly quickly with her hair wrapped in a fresh set of layered and neatly wrapped grey and green scarves. She's wringing water out of the scarves she'd been wearing, somewhat distastefully. "Spencer thinks his perfect family has the only correct way to do heroing," she offers in entirely unbiased interpretation of the situation. "Please, I have my hands full with Quentin wanting to be dictator here I do not need to be also peacekeeping little Prince Lassiter preaching while he tries dictating the anarchy." "Boy a legacy superhero," Avi is saying with an easygoing laugh and a click of his tongue, "I mean his dad the OG, 'fore the Avengers even, guess that kinda thing got to go to your head a lil. He good folk, though, he ain't gonna stay big 'bout it. Probably real rough right now with Mr. Jax gone missing and all." He's squeezing lightly at some of his damper locs, and wiping his cheek against his shoulder. "'sides, we don't know where all our cases gonna pop up, be good to have all the flexibility we can do. What happens if that kid was in Texas? Or England or sum'n?" "Orrr maybe if we had two mini-dictators, they would balance each other out," Roscoe proposes this like it's totally feasible. "Or destroy each other. Either way." He flumphs down at a desk, wiping his hand kind-of-dry against his soggy joggers before he picks up one of the phones. "I mean, we also don't have hundreds of thousands of dollars. I think we have to accept a smaller scope." "We could recruit our own shady billionaire to finance us." Nahida is giving up on her bedraggled headscarves and setting them aside with Avi's jacket. "I'm sure I could get Natsumi on board. I have no idea her action chops actually but she could probably get us a jet." She is pursing her lips after this, though, very critical. "If anyone is in trouble in England, though, I think they can perish." "Mini... dictators. Shady... billionaire..." Avi is saying this with the slow diction of someone who is taking assiduous notes, even though he is definitely not taking down a single note, "England... perish. Got it. Can you fly a jet, I didn't sign up for the jet classes yet." He's swivelling in his chair to face Roscoe, his forefinger and thumb twirling absently at one of the beads in his hair. "I'on want to get us in over our heads, it just -- feel kinda weird to get my brain around what scope is when sometimes we can open a door and hop from study hall to a pirate ship halfway 'round the world." Roscoe is swivelling his chair too, in a slow side-to-side rock, absentmindedly scrolling through the phone. "Natsumi can kick some serious ass," he says. "Dunno she wants to though." He tilts his head, eyes darting up from the screen, the back-and-forth motion slowing. "I mean... maybe it's just, what's the worst that can happen if this goes wrong, and how can we get out of it, and what happens if we can't..." this is trailing into a vague pinchy frown; he starts rocking the chair again. "The worst that can happen is we get people killed, or shut away some very horrible places to be tortured." Nahida's tone is oddly matter-of-fact, here. Her hands have folded in her lap, and she isn't swivelling, just looking at the other two steadily. "The thing is that, before Lassiter we thought we had seen a lot of weird and terrible things. Opened doors to some baffling situations we were not at all prepared for and gotten out of them with luck and cleverness. That isn't always enough, no? Maybe the X-Men had plans for all this, too. Maybe somewhere they're also learning, what happens if they can't..." She breaks off and shrugs a shoulder. "I think Spencer is arrogant, but not because he was exactly wrong. We messed up. His dad also has messed up, I'm sure, many times. And the X-Men. And we'll be more careful, now, and we'll mess up again, probably. I think probably the only heroes who don't are the ones who never try to help anyone." "Worst that can happen..." Avi is starting to say, but he quiets as Nahida speaks. "Yeah. Yeah." His expression has sobered, and he plants a foot against the floor to stop the spin of his chair. "Damn, though, I just imagined, like, twenty worse things, this why Mr. Summers be writing so many damn checklists." Roscoe lets his head loll sideways against his shoulder, eyes half-closed to regard the floor with sudden fervent interest -- "Yeah," he echoes after Avi, though his eyebrows are scrunched down low. When he peeks back up it is with a tiny if doubtful grin -- "Shoot, write that down," he says, "gotta be prepared." | |
