ArchivedLogs:The Hand You're Dealt

The Hand You're Dealt
Dramatis Personae Ash, Dusk	Tuesday, 24 March, 2015 Part of future past TP
Location <NYC> Guerrilla Garden - Lower East Side
Situated on the lot directly adjacent to the distinctive sleek form of the Mendel Clinic, this space was once abandoned. The chainlink fence around it is still rusty, dilapidated, and the signs affixed to it still unwelcoming -- rusty as well, reading KEEP OUT, and PRIVATE PROPERTY. For those who venture into the slitted gap cut out of the fence, though, the yard within tells a different story. Neat and cleaned of any garbage and weeds, the once-abandoned lot has been rebuilt. Packing crates have been broken down for their wood to create raised beds full of rich soil, each bed neatly tilled and tended. Stakes label the different plants growing -- a wealth of vegetables growing three seasons of the year in the carefully tended soil. Around the edges of the lot, smaller beds have had brightly coloured flowers planted, lending even more cheer to the little hidden garden. Very eclectically mismatched seating has been brought in; old packing crates, chairs scavenged from curbs, though it's all been brightly painted. The city is dark, but actually pleasantly warm, tonight, a balmy early-spring late-evening that finds the Lower East Side still fairly bustling. Still, it /is/ quite dark, and one small saving grace of winged travel is that vanishingly few people tend to look /up/. And even if they did there is, at first, very little to /see/ in the nighttime sky; Dusk's sable wings blend in with the nighttime around him, as do his dark hair, dark boots, dark jeans, dark denim jacket. It's only as he swoops low enough to be silhouetted more clearly against the ambient aura of city lights that he's even noticeable, a clearly identifiable patch of enormous bat-wings and human bodyshape, and even then it lasts only a brief moment before, /whump/, there's a soft thud of landing in the hard-packed earth of the garden lot, right /next/ to one of the recently worked garden beds. Dusk's wings fold in, draping against his back as he rests a hand against the bag strapped against his chest. He shifts back, into a shadow-darkened corner, quiet for the moment as he just listens to the city-noises. Watches the high fence around the yard. He blends in well, to the shadows, except for the catlike reflective shine to his eyes from the more distant store lights across the street. Daytime has been less than friendly to one of the city's construction workers, giving him impetus to spend a little more time doing the things he loves under cover of darkness. Despite the lateness of hour, he's slipping into the enclosure around the guerrilla garden near where he lives. He's dressed darker than his usual, some of his clothes stained gray by over-laundering, wear, and tear, but still covered in patches of dirt, coalescing around his joints. He looks around quietly when he hears noises, pausing near the gate, gripping it gently to keep it quiet as he listens, head tilting to one side. He shifts inside a little later, letting the fence close behind him. There's a quiet hiss as someone actually stops /by/ the fence to come /in/, a disgruntled note of exasperation. Dusk unfolds himself from his corner with a flutter-/snap/ of enormous wings; the breeze they stir up ruffles the crocuses at the edge of the garden that have only just peeked up their heads and considered blooming. It's a breeze that grows into a chill-strong draft as those wings beat, a sudden-reflexive SPOOK that is clearly intended for takeoff as Dusk starts to pull off the ground. "Dusk?" Ash asks quietly. He moves closer, a hand raise against the dust and dirt brought up by the movement of the other man's wings. "It's Ash. You don't have to go." /Whump/. Dusk's boots thump back down to earth, his wings snapping back inward as his eyes turn to /actually/ look at Ash properly, now. They shine bright-reflective in the low light and for a moment there's just the noises of rushing traffic beyond the lot, friendly yelling from someone in an apartment across the street to someone down on the sidewalk two floors below, Mendel Clinic guards next door chatting as they stand outside the Clinic's front door. Dusk's arm drapes across his knee where he's landed, his other braced in half gargoyle-crouch against the ground between his hunched knees. There's a moment where he still looks like he might bolt, but this passes in a ripple-shiver of wings, a sudden baring of fangs in a /fierce/ warm smile. "Holy /shit/." He sounds a little exhilarated, a little delighted. A little cautious-wary. "I mean, shit. /Ash/. How you /been/, man." He's extracting a pack of cigarettes from his bag, tap-tapping one out to slip between his lips, offering the pack to Ash, casual as though it hadn't been months since he'd been seen by -- anyone at all. In person at least. "I've been okay, man," Ash replies, stepping forward to take a cigarette, but he doesn't light it. He simply slips it behind one ear under some shaggy hair. "I mean, you know, given value and all that." He looks the other man over with a critical eye, harder to pull off in the darkness, but he manages. "Shit's been shitty, but you know, the garden's still good, and the earth is softer here, so I come by sometimes." There's a slight pause as he glances over his shoulder at some of the noise and keeps his voice hushed. "How about you?" Dusk does light his cigarette, tipping his head down to the flame off a matte black Zippo and flicking the lighter closed again. In appearance he looks -- well. Strong and healthy, at least, none of the typical corpse-pallor and emaciation that comes when he fails to feed enough. "Sucks, man." His head shakes, slightly. "Guess everyone around you's been getting all the /good/ cards, eh? Heard the pups were --" He shakes his head, exhaling a long smokey breath. "Well. You do what you can with the hand you're dealt, I guess." The last question earns a sharp sliver of teeth, more fierce /determination/ in his smile than joy. "Doing what I can," he answers, "with the hand I was dealt." "Well, most the rest of them were smart enough not to register, it seems." Ash gives a small shrug. "Those kids have good heads on their shoulders and smart parents too." He turns to the side, finding himself to sit, using a plastic lawn chair to rest his ass. "I'm glad you're doing okay. I mean, been kind of worried. Haven't had a chance to talk much with my buds. How's Ion, Kay? They all surviving? Doing good?" Dusk's wings quiver sharply, his breath exhaled in an /amused/-startled gasp. "Seriously, man? The most famous mutant in the country and you're going to blame your life being shitty and his family's being good on -- because -- some punks outed you? Trust me. Everyone knows he's a mutant, too. /And/ his kids as well." His wings stretch lazily out to the side, his head rolling back to tip his eyes up to the sky; when he swallows his unusually prominent adam's apple bobs in noticeable roll. "Like I said, it's how you /play/ -- So, okay, you're not really in the spirit of game analogies. S'okay. Guess it's been a long time since --" He lowers the cigarette from his mouth, jaw tightening. "Don't follow much news?" He rolls a wing in quick shrug. "They're doing excellent. Think they're kind of /duking/ it out to see who can be /most/ Most Wanted. Torched police station over in Sunset Park last week was Ion. Beat two mutant kids to death -- in custody, in handcuffs -- down there the week before. Not even /pretending/ like they were going to investigate the cops who did it. Sure you could see his huge-ass grin all over YouTube if you look." His head lowers, eyes levelling back on Ash as he lifts the cigarette back to his lips. "So," is rougher at its edges than it might once have been but not without Dusk's old warmth washing back in in a fierce-red tide of concern, "what shit have they been throwing at you?" "I must be doing it wrong then," Ash laughs dryly. "I kept trying to keep my head down, you know, work a normal job, portray a good mutant on the streets. Well, they started with threats at work. Saying they were going to protest any company that hired a mutant. It was really nice for a bit when the union was behind me, but then they started causing some industrial accidents. Little things here and there. No one got hurt at first, and half the time I could stop whatever they were doing with my powers, but then - it was kind of like they were trying to kill me. The accidents got expensive, so they let me go. Apologetically and all, but still shitty all over." He shrugs, reaching up to grab his cigarette and turns it over a couple times in his fingers before pulling out a lighter from his pocket. He places the smoke between his lips and stares at the lighter. "Don't got a phone anymore. So yeah, kind of missed out on the news. I mean, I heard about the fire, but didn't know if was them." "That's your problem, man," Dusk says around his cigarette, "fuck keeping your head /down/. Everyone keeps their heads down, we keep getting shit on. You need to keep your head way the hell /up/. Tall and proud and --" His eyes narrow slightly. He blows a stream of smoke out his nose, shifting back a little bit further into the shadows against the tall side of the Clinic as a group of pedestrians passes by the chainlink fencing at the other end of the garden. "So someone sort of tried to kill you?" He's quiet after this for a moment, the cherry of his cigarette glowing brighter with a long drag. "-- What are you going to do about it?" "Do about it?" Ash looks a little confused at first, then shakes his head, lighting the cigarette and taking a quick puff. "I'd have to figure out who did it first." He frowns at the glowing ember at the end of his cigarette. "Do we know who leaked it yet? Do we know how to stop some of this shit from going out after other people?" "We?" Dusk's eyebrows hike up at this, and a low chuckle sounds in his throat, undercut by a lower rumble of growl. "We." This next time it's just softly amused. His wings ripple at his back again. "Who knows. Someone who worked at Registration. High enough up to have full access to all the files, but nationwide that's still a long-ass list." He hitches a wing upwards. "That I have." "Ah. I apologize. I shouldn't have said we. I guess... I miss when we used to go in and do things together." Ash scuffs at the back of his head as he shrinks back, a little, sheepishly. "Hey, it's good you have a list. That must be helpful. You having any luck with that? I mean, you questioning them or following them and spying on them? Or are you, you know... actually, I don't know. I'm not good at this. I mostly just did what people told me when we were rescuing people." "S'a lot of things I miss." Dusk says this softer, eyes dropping down to the ground. "But things look nice out at the Commons, man. Peaceful. It's like a fucking /home/ there. I don't -- want it swarming with the goddamn feds up all your asses just because they saw me --" His wings twitch, and as he taps ash from his cigarette his teeth grind audibly. He takes a long drag of it afterwards. "Questioning." He says this with a small tired breath. "God, Ash --" For a moment his arm tightens around himself, a hard clench of half-hug that dispels into a quick shake of his head. "Yeah. Had a fair bit of luck tracking them down. You know," he sounds actually kind of amused at this, "they asked /both/ Jax /and/ Mayor Carruthers about sitting in on their committee for -- for choosing who to assign to what fucking. Ranks. After half their New York delegates got bumped off they had some, ah, vacancies to fill." His head shakes. "Getting harder to keep the safehouses safe, though." This is softer again, too. "Really half the battle's where it's always been. Just. Protecting our own goddamn people." "I could probably give you a hand with the safehouses, you know. I've got a knack throwing out stuff that is not easily trespassed or bombed. Granted, it draws a lot of attention most the time, so it's kind of hard to be low profile about it - and the more attention means the harder they try to mess with them, but ... I don't know. Maybe I could work on escape passages into service ways and sewers, just so people can get out in emergencies. I'm really good at digging." Ash chatters on for a while, his hopeful expression cooling after the initial burst of ideas. "I... wish you could come home, too. We all miss you." He gives a little sniff. "There I go saying 'we' again. Apologies." "Could use all the help there we can get," Dusk admits with a slow huff of breath. He looks down at his hands as the cigarette between his fingers burns low, its dying length seeming to put a small droop in his shoulders. Or maybe it's the not-/that/-distant call of police sirens. "Should talk to some people for you." He pulls a last breath from the smoke, crushing it between his fingers and curling his fist aroud the spent butt. "And meet up again -- fff. Far from the Commons, man. How's Friday for you?" And then, with a small frown, "/You/ gonna be safe till then?" "Yeah, yeah," Despite the fact that he's excited, Ash's voice actually gets quieter. "We should meet up again. Friday works. Maybe the Bronx? I don't really get out that way much. Should be safe." He gets to his feet, walking closer to Dusk as he preps to take off. "I'll be safe. You take care of yourself, okay?" He raises a fist to bump the other man. "Friday after dark. St. Mary's Park? That's a nice one." Dusk lifts his hand, stepping forward to tap knuckles with Ash. His wing curls out after this, wrapping around the other man in a brief tight squeeze of a hug. "{Stay safe,}" he agrees in quiet Spanish. "{You too.}" Ash repeats the words as he hugs Dusk back. He exhales sadly and pulls away. "Go on, get out of here. I got seeds to plant, okay?" He gives him a little grin and swats at his ass. Dusk flashes Ash a sharp-toothed smile. The siren-sounds are drawing closer, and he wraps his wings tightly around himself, eyes flicking up and down the street quickly before he slips out of the gate and hurries off to disappear down a side street and into the dark.