ArchivedLogs:The Next Time

The Next Time
Dramatis Personae Deltressa, Gwen	2016-01-12 (Takes place shortly after this.)
Location <MOR> The Widow's Walk
Two long-abandoned subway cars from a bygone era have been pulled down from one of the unused tracks and set aside for the Morlock's use as a sort of post-apocalyptic medical trailer. It gets its name from the sad looking metal ladder that rests not a foot away from the first car's main door, which leads to the space's narrow roof-deck. Bordered by a sharp, hand-soldered, metal railing straight out of Mad Max, an assortment of old folding chairs and a portable card table are set out along with whatever else anyone has dragged up there. Although the view leaves much to be desired, the sensation of being even slightly elevated can be very satisfying for a people that live primarily underground. With most of its original seating having been looted long ago, the main car has been refitted with found materials to facilitate its capacity as a makeshift medical facility. To ease transporting the sick and injured, the entire right side of the car has been left completely open. The left side however, has been built up with upcycled shipping pallets. Deep benches function as sick beds or seating with cabinetry both above and below. Farther along in the car, counter-space of similar design is capable of serving the same purpose but instead is littered with various medical instruments, pill bottles, and sterile packages. The second car, like the first, has been gutted. Converted into living quarters, it has a smaller center isle with four long bunks built from scavenged wood on either side. The benches, fitted with individual bedding, are shallower than the previous car to accommodate the space. Built at varying heights and obscured further by curtains to give the illusion of one's own space, each bunk has private own storage either above or below and is littered with personal effects of its occupant. There is no sliver of light from the rising sun or bustling city sounds to mark the passing of time into the morning hours. The tunnels and those that dwell within run on their own clocks. Well into the afternoon, it's the sound of a wailing baby disturbs the peace. The second car is where Deltressa, her daughters, and their guest slept the night before. Now, it appears to have been quietly vacated as each of the arachnid women saw fit to go about their regular duties. In the first car, it is the spidery matriarch that lifts up and swaddles the crying infant. The compartments being open to each other, her tall shadow can be seen as she slowly paces the cabin and rocks the baby. Gwen slept rather peaceful through the night, perhaps the lack of time or sounds of the city did her some good. The relative safety compared to the streets above likely helped, too. Still, she wakes up rather easily at the sound of a crying baby. It takes her a fair amount of time to connect her surroundings, looking around the empty cable car in confusion but when she does, she carefully kicks her blanket off makes her way barefoot down the car, following the sounds off the crying baby. When the arachnid woman is in sight, Gwen pauses, watching her tend to the child. She doesn't speak immediately, not wanting to disturb the sweet moment, admiring the maternal skills of the other woman. "Is it, the baby, is it yours?" she asks curiously, still keeping to just by the doorway. There is no hiding down below, at least not a face like Deltressa’s. It’s Gwen’s pretty face that would attract unwanted attention, here. “She is not,” Del answers in her husky female voice, bending to touch noses with the little babe. Her pedipalps dance at the infant’s sides, tickling it. “Her mother died of a flu months ago. She is no one’s.” Even in her own home, Deltressa must hunch over to fit, “How did you sleep, dear? I didn’t see any reason to wake you, I hope you don’t mind.” She turns and fixes all of her eight black, soulless eyes on the young woman. Gwen can't help but stare a bit as Deltressa turns to face her. One doesn't really get adjusted to a spiderwoman all that quickly. She's not trying to be rude though and she quickly looks away, focusing on the child. "Poor thing," Gwen says softly, frowning as she watches the child. "What will happen with her?" The question of her own state gets a brief look up in surprise, as if she's not used to someone concerned about her own needs. "Great. Best sleep in...well, a long time," she admits, smiling faintly. "Probably not going to sleep like that again for just as long." “I’m unsure,” Deltressa looks away when Gwen does. She directs her attention back to the child, “She is very human looking as you can see. Many of us manifest at puberty, so she may very well appear that way for some time. I often regret having my own children down here. It’s no place to grow up. ...but when faced with the dilemma of relinquishing custody of her, and trusting a world such as ours to her welfare. I hesitate.” She flicks her eyes towards Gwen, mostly checking to see if any of the other woman’s skin is exposed, “Hold her for a moment?” "Right. I didn't always ruin everything I touch," Gwen says in agreement, though she looks back up to Deltressa, much more thoughtfully than before. "I...guess you really didn't have a lot of options. I can't imagine raising a child above especially when they look like...well, when they are..." Apparently, she can't really think of a delicate way to put it so she just drifts off. "But there is that school that everyone talks about now. Maybe they can help?" Any state of comfort she was starting to have with the woman is gone in a flash at the offer to hold the child. Her hands are well protected by her gloves but judging by Gwen's suddenly wide eyes and pale face, even she doesn't trust herself. "I-I've never...you know what I....what?" she stammers, at a loss for words being a severe understatement. "If it makes you feel more comfortable, you can sit and hold her," Deltressa says smoothly, not appearing to indulge Gwen's skittishness even slightly. "Yes, I've been there." Her tone, in reference to the school, is not one of great esteem, "A lot of flowery rhetoric, for sure." Gwen pulls on her gloves, perhaps to soothe her own nerves as she reluctantly makes her way forward. "I don't even like holding animals," she mumbles under her breath though it would be rude to argue with her host. So she finds a chair and sits down, looking up at the child with the same fear as if it were a vicious animal. "I had never even heard of the school until they announced themselves. Sometimes I wish I could have gone. Maybe things would have been different." "Maybe," Deltressa dips her head in a nod as she hands the baby over with almost no concern at all, moving further down the cabin. Cabinets slap open and closed, "Or maybe they would have simply put off the inevitable." Silverware clinks as she prepares a small breakfast for her guest, "You aren't one of those vegetarians now, are you?" "What is the inevitable?" Gwen asks curiously, her fears temporarily forgotten, even as she holds the fussy baby like an explosive package rather than a child. "Oh, no. You don't have to make anything, you've already done more than enough." For all they know, that could be the baby’s power! “The rejection from human society, dear,” Deltressa returns with a little bagel and… some kind of meat ...sandwich. She sets the flimsy plastic picnic-ware plate down off to the side and out of the baby’s reach, “I have some instant coffee heating up on a hotplate. It’s nothing extravagant. We have acquired tastes down here.” She looks Gwen down and up, “And don’t be silly. My home is yours.” "Ah. I don't know if I've been formally rejected. My leaving society was more preemptive," Gwen says, gently bouncing the baby in her arms as she slowly grows more comfortable. She doesn't bother arguing any more regarding the food and, with a gloved hand, takes a rather large bite of the sandwich. Guess she was hungry after all. Which might not have been the best plan, considering she has to try to not choke at Deltressa's last sentence. "I'm sorry...what?" she finally manages to say after she swallows the mouthful of sandwich. Deltressa turns to regard Gwen with the same alarm a housecat might show the girl. Her pedipalps tap like the fingers of a hand drumming together, "Don't talk while you're chewing if I can't trust you not to choke." Gwen is momentarily mesmerized by the tapping pedipalps before she quickly blinks and shakes her head as she sets the sandwich down safely. "Sorry, I just. Don't understand. Are you...inviting me back here again?" The arachnid pouts, blinking, “Why, of course you’re welcome back.” She gestures slowly around them, making her way back towards where her hotplate rests. She turns it off, brings over the mug, and offers to take back the baby with both hands, “What did you take this place for?” She almost lets out a little chuckle, “I ...can’t stress enough to keep your face covered outside of this structure.” Deltressa is momentarily mesmerized by Gwen’s lack of pedipalps. She tsks and shakes her head, “But I don’t consider you any less hindered by your gifts than anyone else down here.” Gwen seems all to happy to pass the baby back. "I just thought, after what happened, I was just visiting. Or something. Someplace safe, away from those guys." The comment about keeping her face covered as her worried again. "Why...what would happen if I didn't?" she asks nervously, taking the coffee mug and sipping it slowly. “And what happens the next time? When something like that happens again? Hm?” Deltressa cradles the baby to her bosom, blowing a few kisses to it in the air, “We’re…” She begins, pausing to collect her thoughts, “Just as the human world has persecuted us, many of the people that live down below in the tunnels have learned to do the same.” She bounces the baby, causing it to giggle, “There is no system. Mutants come and go as they please. Everyone helps as they see fit, and everyone is welcome to what we have. But… this is a place for mutants so far gone from traditional human standards that there is no going back. Often, no alternative.” Suddenly, Gwen isn't so enamoured with the idea of living here. "So, I'm too human for the mutants and I'm too mutant to be human," she says, setting down her coffee and rising from her chair. "Thank you for welcoming here but I should be going," she says, her voice stiff and distant, the mental defenses of someone who spends a lot of time protecting and guarding themselves going back up incredibly easily. "Good luck with the child, with everything." “You, too,” Deltressa answers sincerely. Unvexed by the response, the tall woman offers only a sagely nod of her head.