Logs:Old Age

Old Age
Dramatis Personae Akihiro, Erik	2022-05-29 I could always just be getting paranoid in my old age though.
Location '<BOM> Beachfront - Ascension Island'
Largely rocky and desolate, the majority of the waterfront on this small island is an unwelcoming place. Craggy and forbidding, lined with jagged black rocks, the coast here can take a fair bit of scrambling to navigate. Here and there, though, the coastline levels out to narrow sweeps of pebbly beaches littered with shells and seaweed carried in on the frigid tide. Occasional old trunks of fallen trees dot the narrow beach, victims of the storms that frequently plague the island. One small stretch of the western shore holds a small dock, a few boats usually moored there. Tucked off the mainland coast in Jamaica Bay, the buildings and lights of the city can be seen far across the water. It's early, the dim of astronomical twilight just beginning to fade into something lighter, when Erik lands on the pebbled shores of Ascension Island. The tips of his boots are dark with seaspray from his low approach, the salt in the wind sticking in already tousled hair. The breeze is not enough the remove the smell of sex, whiskey, and just-laundered linens from his skin. One arm cradles a bottle of Hakushu single malt, sitting in the upturned bowl of his iconic helmet. There is a sense, when he lands, of vulnerable tiredness, giving the impression that Erik does not expect to be observed at this hour. There’s a small flash of light near the ground as Akihiro strikes a match and brings it up to the cigar say between his teeth. “Looks like you’ve been enjoying yourself Magnus.” the barest hint of a smirk in his voice. “I take it that wasn’t a random tryst?” he asks as he pulls himself up, taking a moment to dust himself off with one hand, the other motioning towards the expensive Osakan whiskey nestled in the (slightly) older man’s helmet. It’s clear from the moisture clinging to his shirtless form that he was already out training, likewise not counting on running into anyone else quite yet. “How was he?” A slight pause, “doing, that is.” It takes heightened senses to catch the flutter of tension in Erik's body that betrays his surprise. It's fleeting, already resolving into a tired, wry smile as he turns to Akihiro. "I suppose it also looks like I'm in need of a bath. Has his smell really changed so little?" There's no surprise in his expression at the (ever so slightly) younger man's deductions, nor is there offence or warning in his expression. "Well enough. I would say he sends his regards, but --" a small shrug. The helmet floats out to Akihiro's free hand, the bottle's cap working itself free. "Is it too early to offer you a drink, my friend?" “Never.” Akihiro says with a grin, graciously taking the offered bottle and taking a swig from it before setting it back into the helmet. “I’ve been in New York for a while, every now and again I’ll catch a whiff of him on one of his X-Men or students.” The curse finds itself back between his teeth and he puffs on it. A look crosses his face for a moment, but it’s quickly forgotten as he takes the helmet and walks over to Erik. “A lot has changed around here, but I suppose it’s somewhat comforting some things are the same.” “That strongly, hm? Maybe it’s you I should be asking for the new list of his followers, not Wyngarde.” Erik doesn’t sound that serious about the proposition. Takes the helmet back to his hands, resealing the bottle with the tiniest flex of power. “Some things. Few things, really. Not all of us can keep age at bay as well as you do — everywhere else I see where time moved in my absence.” His gaze lifts to the island’s tiny dock, hanging a little long on Cletus’ boat. “What do you think of our new brothers? What kind of soldiers are they?” There’s a slightly too long pause as Akihiro thinks on how to answer that, brows furrowing slightly. “They’re enthusiastic, but I’m worried they may be more loyal to Reagan than you, but that’s because they’ve served under her longer. Some aren’t as eager to outright murder the fascists that roam the streets, and despite my best efforts the Purifiers and Swords of Tyr keep growing. If I’m being entirely honest, most of the newer members don’t seem to like me much, think I’m too violent, and it doesn’t help that I don’t know how to interact with them” He shrugs slightly and takes a deep drag from his cigar, letting the smoke fill his mouth. “I trust them though, we’ve only had one deserter, I knew she was lying about something but couldn’t put my finger on what exactly. If I ever see her again I’ll take her head.” Erik nods with each point, gaze tracking now up the path from the dock to the rest of the island. "Loyalty will come with time, as will the strong stomach needed to defend our people. Camaraderie, too, I suspect." The smallest furrow of brows as he considers the biker gangs. "It will be more difficult to cut down their ranks when they have already taken root. Harder still to eliminate them in a way that sends --" He pauses, blinking, as deserter finally worms its way to the front of his sleep-deprived thoughts. Slowly, in a low and treacherously calm tone -- "'We only had one what?'" “They haven’t told you?” Akihiro’s eyebrow raises. “Natalie. I doubt that was her real name. I think they were dating Scramble so it might be best to ask around there, the trail can’t have went completely cold.” “… how interesting.” Erik’s tone and expression don’t so much relax as they stretch out. “Perhaps I should be proud that there has only been one failure of judgement.” He does not sound proud — the glance down to the whiskey in his hand is exasperated, tired. ”Perhaps she, too, didn’t have the stomach for our work. Still. This irks me.” “Maybe.” Akihiro concedes. “If I’m being honest though she felt dangerous. There aren’t many people that raise my hackles.” His gaze moved past Erik to the water and he takes the cigar from his mouth. “I could always just be getting paranoid in my old age though.” At that Erik snorts. "Old age seems to never come for you, friend, and paranoia is hardly a fault." He turns, considering Akihiro for a long moment. "Paranoia can be from long periods of inaction, can it not? When was the last time you felt -- alive, doing our work?" “Well, that’s hardly my fault. You’ve met my father.” Akihiro offers a playful grin before his expression sobers and he falls into thought. “When that powered squad showed up when rescuing you I thought I might finally have some fun, but all it took to stop that big guy was a little ground glass and capsaicin. I’ve mostly had to entertain myself since Liberty Island. I guess they trust me less than you did.” A flicker of annoyance. "And I could do without meeting him again this century." There's something else behind Erik's expression -- a slight discomfort, not easily discerned from annoyance or guilt. "I have been curious about those men. What dangers they pose to their fellow mutant. Who pulls their strings. When those strings can be cut." When he looks back to Akihiro, Erik's expression is curious. "You are at your best when you have a mission. Can I put this one in your hands? Find their origins for me?" “Of course.” Akihiro nods. “I have a few contacts left, I’ll start later today when everyone else is awake. I have a hard time believing they’d employee natural mutants, but they may surprise me.” “Good man.” Erik claps a friendly, surprisingly strong hand to Akihito’s shoulder. “Nothing like a purpose, a goal, to rid ourselves of elderly malaise. I expect you to be an example to the youth — do not fail me, or them.” The sun is beginning to spill over the horizon — in the light, the bags under Erik’s eyes are more pronounced. “As ever, I am counting on you.”