Logs:In Progress

In Progress
Dramatis Personae DJ, Lily	2023-07-11 Heavenly Father wants us to be good, yes, but He wants us to be happy, too.
Location <PRV> Holland Farm - Hiawassee
One of many such family farms -- though fewer all the time -- in this little Appalachian town, the Hollands' 160-some rolling acres are divided about evenly between peach orchards and yearly rotations of crops. A burbling creek winds along one edge of the property, which extends up past the arable portions into steep, wooded mountainside. There are several acres of vegetable gardens nearest to the farmhouse, producing enough food to feed the family and often with excess to sell locally. The barn and pasture adjoining this are likewise mainly for the family's own use, with just a couple of dairy cows, a pair of horses, and plenty of chickens. The farmhouse itself is a big rambling white affair with a generous wraparound porch, full of rustic charm even in its no-nonsense practicality. The furniture is sturdy and plain and well-cared for, the walls adorned with handmade crafts, children's artwork, and some of Jackson Holland's more whimsical original paintings. The kitchen is vast and airy and superbly organized, always redolent of rich home cooking and of the herbs hanging in bundles to dry. In addition to the main house there are two smaller outbuildings, historically used to house farm hands during the harvest. It's a warm morning -- been warm out as this heat wave rolls across the American South, though at least there is a little bit of a breeze rolling under the porch eaves. The peach harvest is well underway, orchards bustling with farm hands for some hours already and some hours more to come. Lily has been left to her own devices back at the farmhouse, which mostly looks like swaying back and forth on a cushioned swinging porch bench. She's in a soft oversized shirt from a Ryan Black tour she's never seen, a couplet from 'See It Through' in faded print around each sleeve, worn shortalls, barefoot with a pair of slippers on the ground below the bench. In arms reach, a table so full that Lily might never need to go inside again -- a basket of peaches, a plate of other small homemade snacks from Sarabeth's kitchen, a smartphone (several years out of date but functional), a skein of yellow yarn with accompanying crochet hook and instruction book, a notebook that may or may not just be a small sketchpad, a pen, a large jug of sweet tea next to a glass still cold with ice, a bottle of extremely local peach brandy and accompanying snifter. In Lily's lap, a copy of Good Omens lays open on somewhere early on -- she's playing absently with the green ribbon serving as a bookmark, looking not at the Nice And accurate Prophecies within but out at the farm beyond, eyes unfocused. There's a flickering -- just at the edge of sight, that swiftly resolves into a much more solid presence on the porch. DJ is looking much the same as he was months ago, save that he's grown his neat-trimmed dark beard back. Same sturdy jeans and workboots, springtime flannel traded for a lighter summer short-sleeved workshirt. He is settling down in the porch swing beside Lily without a word, looking over the assortment of comforts laid out on the table. Then at the book. Then over at his not-quite-sister. Still says nothing, as his arm curls around her shoulders. Lily's eyes take a moment to focus on DJ's resolving shape -- maybe they don't actually manage it, since she looks away in short order. Down to the book, to uncoil the ribbon from around her fingers and slide it in to mark her early-still-page. Closes it. Leaves it in her lap. Looks at the title for a long time, as she very slowly begins to relax into DJ's arm. "-- You didn't walk here from New York, did you?" She leans away for just a quick moment, grabbing a peach and holding it out to her not-quite-brother. "You should eat some either way, I've never had peaches so good." "Didn't really walk at all. But from the airport it's not such a long hop." DJ takes the peach, careful of its soft flesh in his clumsier mechanical fingers. He doesn't eat it -- just looks down for a long moment where it's cradled in his stiff hand. "-- don't know if I'll be mad or happy if they're better than the ones at -- home." He stutters very briefly on this last word, his eyes turned out toward the farm now, too. "Used to live here, you know." It's a little offhand, but, more somber: "-- reassuring to know even across universes, they're a safe place when you're in need." "Huh. I didn't know." There is something faintly resigned in Lily's admission. "I didn't even know this place existed until -- after I showed up here, really. Apparently they've been hosting Prometheus escapees since Jax started this." Lily looks down at the peach in DJ's prosthetic hand. " -- Is that why you lived here? Came after you got out, never really left?" Her hands brush against the worn spine of the book. "I've been contemplating a career change, last couple days. I think I could be half-decent at farming." "I --" DJ pauses whatever he was going to say, a slow frown creasing his expression. He lifts the peach, takes a slow bite -- regardless of how careful he's trying to be, some of the juice still escapes to run down into his beard. "No," his frown hasn't left and there's something in his tone that suggests this is not the answer he was first going to give. "I didn't come here until the war. After I got out of Prometheus I went home -- I mean, our parents' home. But when Jax died, when war broke out --" He shakes his head, taking another bite of peach. "They'd teach you, I'm sure. If you really wanted. Think you've earned yourself some quiet." Lily nods her head slowly, brows faintly pinched as she takes in this information. "Not a bad place to run a civil war out of," is her eventual assessment. "Pretty. Plenty to feed your army with." She glances over at DJ. Opens her mouth to reply, but her eyes catch on the juice running down DJ's face. Looks away to dig a napkin out of the pocket of her borrowed shortalls. "-- You went home. Salt Lake?" Not so much a question as a confirmation. "Did they -- not kick you out, then?" "They did. It didn't take." DJ squeezes gently at Lily's shoulders and then withdraws his arm, plucking the napkin from her grasp. "Quiet, safe. Enough people around someone will have your back if you're in a bind, but not so many that you always have to remember how to be a people yourself." DJ's dabbing at his face, wiping at the juice before it turns dry and sticky. "Team's back in practice. Up in New York. Getting ready." He only turns very slightly, mostly still looking sidelong at Lily. "And that documentary coming, too. You've just been through some real ugly and it's only getting uglier, before it's over. If you need to forget the world for a while --" His eyes lower. He takes another bite of the peach, chewing it over slowly. "This is a good place to do it." Lily's brows pinch closer together, considering these new pieces of information. "They're going to die if they attack Lassiter." Lily's hands, empty of napkin, curl up against her thighs. "But they probably know that. It's going to be a bloodbath." She is looking very resolutely out at the farmland now. " -- probably they're going to need healers. Probably they're going to need information. Could make this raid a little less ugly." She sets the book on the table and reaches for her glass of tea -- changes course and pours herself a measure of brandy instead. "You're going." Another statement-question, looking for confirmation. "-- You think I shouldn't." She leans back against the swing, setting it into a slow, easy rock, swirling the liquor in its glass. "It's war," DJ answers simply, "people usually die in war." He is methodically working his way through the rest of the peach, wrapping the pit in a napkin once it is finished. "I've survived a lot of battles, though. Might just survive this one, too." He drops his hand, idly, to let the dog wander up and lick peach juice from his plastic fingers. "I think jumping right back into this could do you a lot of damage. I think a healer that doesn't take care of themselves first is going to be -- first, off their game, and second, dead. I think last time we were at war we were short on good healers a lot more often than we were short on strong fighters. And I think this war is going to long outlast Prometheus." "Might," Lily repeats. Her gaze drops to Skittles when the ancient dog ambles over, lifting up after a moment just to DJ's mechanical fingertips, her own pressing hard against the glass in her hand. "I think this is supposed to end at least part of the -- war. Maybe." She drinks deep, half-emptying the glass in one go. "-- I can't go back there," comes out all in a rush. "I'll fuck it up. Use the wrong powers. Be the wrong person." She leans forward, setting the glass down with a slight tremble in her hand before pressing her palms against her eyes. "I'm not a soldier. I'm barely a doctor." "Might," DJ says again, and it isn't casual, but it isn't particularly heavy, either. "I certainly intend to. But it's going to be bloody." He watches Lily in silence a moment, then rests a hand on her shoulder. Squeezes down, gentle. "Right now you don't have to be either. You just have to be Lily." "I don't know if I know who 'Lily' is anymore." Lily's shoulder presses up into the touch, even as she pulls her knees up to her chin, as she curls in around herself. "...who was -- I. She. Your sister. If this is eternal progression, am I --" She cuts herself off with a small shake of her head. "I don't think I am progressing, but -- I don't know." DJ exhales softly, and there's something of a laugh in it, heavy and tired though it is. "-- Oh. Oh. She --" He looks at Lily long and thoughtful, and then out at the farm. "She tried really hard to be kind in a world that wanted us to be hard. I don't think it came naturally but it was like -- the day our parents first threw me out she made up her mind she was going to fight that kind of attitude -- started at home and never stopped." His shoulders sink, brows knitting. "She was a soldier. Barely a doctor. War got in the way of that. She had this -- stubbornness to her. Like the moment someone doubted her she was going do twice as good out of spite. Think it kept her in the country, kept her fighting, long after she maybe should have fled, like, a big fudge you to all of America. Well, that and Hive --" His arm tightens around Lily, briefly, his weight settling a little more heavily against his side; whether for her comfort or his own it's hard to tell. "And here you are. Cross entire worlds to find you still fighting until it half kills you. And we'll keep fighting, of course we will, but -- but what I wouldn't give for a world where you didn't have to. We aren't meant to spend our lives dashing ourselves to bits against the world." There's a small tremor in his voice that is unusual for his typical quiet assurance. "Heavenly Father wants us to be good, yes, but He wants us to be happy, too. Maybe progress is occasionally taking the time to remember that part." Whether it's for her comfort or his, Lily is leaning into that weight -- slow, first, then all at once melting into DJ's side. "--Oh," she echoes softly. "She sounds -- good." Is this a good thing, a comforting thing, to this Lily? Her voice isn't trembling, but the pauses in her cadence are getting shorter at their ends. "-- It could be this one. Wars -- end, right? They have to. Eventually." There is hope and uncertainty in the question, Lily's eyes opening a touch wider when she looks up at her (not-quite, but almost) twin. "And if we will this battle -- that's some sort of, progress, isn't it? Towards happiness." "Wars end. It could be this one." There's a long stretch, after this, where DJ is silent. He holds his (not-quite, but almost) twin close, and when his grip eases it comes with a small hitch of breath that doesn't ever make it into an actual sob. His voice has steadied, at least -- soft and confident once more by the time he speaks again. "We could make it this one."