Logs:Warning Bells
| Warning Bells | |
|---|---|
CN brief violence (firebombing), references to medical/institutional abuse | |
| Dramatis Personae | 2020-10-28 "They do seem kind of more focused than your average fash." |
| Location
<NYC> BoM Safehouse - Riverdale | |
It's nowhere near homey in here, not yet; the cavernous Tudor has, at least, had plumbing and electricity, gas and internet either turned on or stolen, but it's very lacking in much furniture yet. That hasn't stopped a small crowd of displaced and stressed mutants from taking up residence in its bedrooms, making do at the moment with scavenged mattresses and blankets that are, if old and threadbare, at least free of bedbugs. Down on the first floor, maybe this room was once a living room, maybe a dining room, maybe some kind of study -- who knows. It's spacious, large bay windows and expansive floor space only serving to accentuate the emptiness. Dusk, currently dressed in old Vans sneakers, faded brown corduroys, a soft blue long-sleeve shirt with a darker blue band across its chest, has sprawled out on the floor with his laptop, enormous black-and-crimson wings draped over him like his own built-in blanket. His head is currently propped in one hand; he's scrolling more lazily down his screen, just now. "-- not like it's all that unusual these days, fascists find all kinds of dumbasses to carry water for them." He's rolling his head slowly on his neck, glancing over to Skye. "You'd think this name would set of some sort of warning bells. Self-preservation if nothing else." His mouth twists to one side as he stops his scrolling. "Huh. They do seem kind of more focused than your average fash. Lotta doctors up in here." The large claws atop his wings twitch, brief. Skye is sitting cross-legged with her biggest laptop not actually in her lap but on the floor in front of her and beside it a cup of bubble tea drained down to the dark tapioca balls. She's wearing a black Shelter tour t-shirt and comfortable boot cut blue jeans, her black-and-yellow striped socks dotted with adorable big-eyed cartoon bees. Her hair is twisted up carelessly out of the way and secured with a stylus. "Yeeeeeeah, I don't like that. I mean this Okorie is a psychiatrist and she specializes in mutant shit, but that doesn't prove anything." She rolls her trackball thoughtfully. "Let's see if any of the medical types who run with American Revival have like, professional connections to her, maybe?" "Specializes in mutant shit -- at a rehab center founded by an antimutant fascist." Dusk is scooting closer to Skye, dragging his laptop over where she can better see it as he scrolls. "And these people seem to really seek out doctors and shrinks and shit -- that's," his wings are quivering, now, before he presses them tighter to his shoulders; a very soft rumble has started up underneath his words, "not shady as fuck." His thumbclaw twitches toward his screen. "Worked with these clowns, they're definitely American Revival people." Skye bites her lower lip hard as leans over to read Dusk's screen. "Yeah no, that's shady as an entire cluster of fucks." She switches to another window, "And this rehab itself is...kinda light on the electronic records, and they have a history of patient abuse allegations. That'd be mad suspicious even if it weren't run by a fascist." She frowns, glances between the two computers, and shakes her head. "I don't know how conclusive the connection needs to be, but I think this is pretty damning. If he needs more, we can go after her personal devices and accounts, I guess?" "More than kind of suspicious," Dusk agrees, the soft rumble underlying his voice growing. "I'll let Jax know and we can -- see what else he needs." His brows knit as he pulls out his phone. (Dusk --> Jax, Skye): The 'rehab' she works for targets mutants, has a history of abuse allegations, and is trying real hard to cover their tracks. Their founder is a large supporter of American Revival. Okorie herself worked with several AmRev affiliated doctors on a mutant health study. The group themselves are definitely a hate group -- bunch of fash ideology, bunch of hate crimes. Seem to have a high interest in recruiting medical professionals. (Dusk --> Jax, Skye): Let us know if you need something more. He flops over onto his back after these texts are sent, wings unfurling slightly against the floor. "You think these people are involved with Prometheus at all? The M.O. is..." His mouth thins. "Well."
Even knowing it was Dusk who just pinged her phone, Skye reflexively checks her Signal window. "I got no idea, but it would not surprise me. Not sure it's possible for us to determine that what with their records being so scarce, but..." She sighs, looking up at Jax's reply to the text, reacts to it with a little red heart. "Well. Even if they don't go out of their way to get involved, just about any medical facility or group that specializes in mutants is likely to attract Prometheus's interest, and sooner or later they're bound to encounter powers they can't manage or contain." "Feel like I should be having some sympathy. Like how fucked in the head do you have to be to be a Black mutant and decide to work with these fascists? And it's not like," a little more subdued, the soft growl in Dusk's words fading, "we don't have experience with -- collaborators before. Turning alright in the end." He exhales heavily, his wing stretching a little wider to butt lightly up against one of Skye's arms. "... I don't know what we're gonna do. Now. About the labs, without..." He trails off, eyes fixing on the ceiling. "Shit. Still haven't told them what we found about the Iowa lab. The fuck are we gonna do now?" Skye's shoulders hunch in tighter. "I dunno. But people will do a lot for safety, if they feel like they got nowhere else to turn to..." She shakes her head hard, presses back up against Dusk's wing. Then a moment later just tuck herself into its curve. "It was always gonna have to be different, right? I mean, from the way you were doing it before. Maybe bring in more folks, maybe just -- I dunno." She curls closer to him. "But we gotta tell 'em, sooner or later." "Sooner or later." Dusk's wing tightens snug around Skye's shoulders. "Everyone's just been so --" His words are cut off with an abrupt shattering sound, a heavy THUD soon followed by a whoosh-crackle. Behind them a window has just shattered -- there's a figure outside rapidly running from the house -- but the broken glass scattered across the floor is likely not solely from the window, judging by the spreading alcohol on the floor, the burning rag in its center. "-- who the fuck --" Dusk's wing spreads over Skye reflexively at the flying projectile, but in the next moment he's on his feet -- first looking to the window before, with a low growl, turning aside from it to lay an enormous wing wholly over the just-igniting flames. Despite his quiet hiss, he doesn't pull back. "-- really fucking need fire extinguishers on our priority list." Skye yelps quietly at the crash, shrinking reflexively against Dusk's side. The entire room and especially the unbroken glass that remains in the other panels of the window, rattle ominously for a moment. She rolls to her feet as soon as Dusk releases her, reaching for her backpack, but he's already extinguishing the flame. "Jesus," she murmurs, the air around her humming pre-emptively as she creep over to peer out the window. Then shakes her head, disgusted. "If it isn't one thing it's another." "Do you keep a fire extinguisher in there?" Dusk's eyes widen; his voice is too strained to sound impressed, though it's reflected in his expression. He sucks air in through his teeth as he pulls his wing away, the soft nap singed off its inside and the skin rawer. "They still out there? Fuck. You steal one goddamn house --" He hesitates, reconsiders with a lopsided smile. "Guess it hasn't just been one. But there's way too many empty ones for people to be sleeping in doorways." "Not yet," Skye replies shakily, "but I got a first aid kit if that'd help." She shakes her head. "I don't see anyone, guess they were driving by or something? Fuckers been getting organized." She returns to Dusk, reaching for his wing and laying her fingers gingerly on the bone spar, her lips pulling tighter as she surveys the injury. "Steal one house, steal a hundred houses. You're taking care of people." Her hand follows the wing up, up to where it joins his shoulder. "Any way I can help with that, you got it." | |
