ArchivedLogs:Then
| Then | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2015-05-19 "Good luck." (Part of Future Past TP.) |
| Location
<NYC> Tessier Residence - Greenwich Village | |
Understated opulence claims this spacious and well-kept townhome, the decor throughout the whole of it of the highest quality and carefully chosen. The front door opens onto the entrance hall, a closet close at hand to receive coats and shoes -- the pale hardwood floors gleam underfoot, unsullied by tracked-in mess from outside. The living room beyond the entrance is all dark woods and pale earth tones, comfortable couches and armchairs and a thick soft rug laid down beneath. Two large and painstakingly aquascaped aquariums flank the entrance to the dining room, with several brightly coloured species of fish within. Most of the rest of the wall space, notably, is taken up with shelves -- shelves crammed with books of every subject and genre. A study branching off of the main hall is cozy, small, done in pale blues and lined with books as well around the large computer desk and smaller futon, though these rarer books are cased behind glass. Another securely locked door leads to the basement, and another to the full bathroom downstairs. The kitchen connects to the living room; in contrast, it is sleek and modern and well-appointed, stocked by someone who takes their cooking seriously. And takes their alcohol equally seriously -- to one side of the kitchen there is a fully-stocked bar. The back door to the kitchen looks out on a small well-kept garden. There's a constant humming in the study, at the moment. The whir of a computer fan, the buzz of /several/ active bug-drones perched or hovering in various spots around the room. Somewhere outside, city noises. The roll of tires along asphalt, sirens wailing in the distance, military choppers droning overhead. Past these things, though, in this room it is quiet. There is footage playing in holographic projection above the computer desk, glowing but silent. B's fingertips are scrolling slowly down through an output log in a second projection, hir eyes shifting between this and the video footage. Hir gills are fluttering, very fast. She says nothing, though. Dusk is crouched in the corner, his own tablet nearby and its display currently also open. Kind of a stack of documents. He isn't touching the holo-keyboard projected in front of him at the moment, though. He isn't touching anything; just watching the footage with a slow clench of teeth. Quietly, a low rumble of growl joins the rest of the background noises. He stands, slipping over beside B to press his hands lightly down against hir fluttering gills. Flicker is not helping, really. Not with the tech, anyway. At some earlier point he had brought in a plate of food -- and then mostly just gotten sidetracked by watching the footage. The food has -- probably largely been forgotten. It's a younger Flicker, here, (slightly) less scarred, his t-shirt hanging empty at one side where /this/ 'verse's incarnation of him should have a tentacle. "Yeah." Soft and quiet in response to the growling. "Well." He exhales heavily. "This should satisfy Lucien's request for something --" "Marketable?" Hive's voice (echoing faintly in their minds as well as their ears) is dry. "He'll know best how to market it, anyway. Still have to get this shit to someone who can get it out in the /open/. But that'll be his bag, too." There's a faint creaking, a slow grind of teeth. "Guess that means you all can take this shit and go home, then." B's teeth have clacked together. Hir gills still scrape up against Dusk's hands, trying to open for a moment before finally pressing closed. "Go home. Right." Hir eyes aren't leaving the video, now. "And do /what/ with this. There's people -- if they saw -- I just mean. What do we /do/ now." Dusk's lips twist to one side. The growl in his voice hasn't subsided. "Stop it." Flicker is looking away from the projection, now. His eyes have fixed on Hive -- though he's not so much seeing the gaunt bony angles of this Hive's face as he is the vacant glassy expression of another Hive, younger and far away. "We don't do anything, yet. First, home. Then --" His eyes lower. "Well. Then." "S'funny." There's a small discomfited shiver across their minds at Flicker's mental image. Hive's lips twist up, thin and crooked. "All this shit here, and I -- don't envy you guys leaving." He even sounds almost sincere when he wishes them, "Good luck." | |
