Logs:Still Trying

Still Trying
Dramatis Personae DJ, Dusk	2021-11-02 "He gives us the chance to choose the right, too."
Location <NYC> Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge - Queens
It's quiet out here today, the grey and the damp driving most of the bird-enthusiasts who frequent this spot away to come at a more pleasant time. The bird enthusiasts, but not the birds, a cluster of laughing gulls gathered by some slippery rocks, a green-winged teal just dabbling at the marshy grasses edge, a group of American wigeons just coming in for a landing on the surface of the water and disturbing a bufflehead that had already been peaceably floating there. Perched on a fallen tree trunk overlooking all this, Dusk is hardly the kind of wildlife anyone comes here to see, although currently, wings folded neatly around him, still and quiet, he could half be doing an impression of one. The tatty old corduroys, Vans sneakers, denim jacket, thermos sitting at his side, don't really help much if he's trying to pass himself off as Bat, though. For a time, Dusk is left alone with the grey and damp and the birds. An egret stalks the marsh on its stilted legs. A pair of cormorants squabble over a fish. A flicker passes by in a streak of yellow. It's shortly after this that a brief -- familiar -- flutter blurs past as well, and then is gone. And then, soon after, returns, though more slowly. DJ is on foot, dressed in jeans, a warm lined flannel, boots, binoculars around his neck and his hands tucked in his pockets. He stops at some distance, watching Dusk with a considerable degree of caution. "I didn't know you were into birding." Dusk's eyes have tracked the flicker with interest -- it's hard to say if he notices the other blur. He definitely notices DJ when he returns, though, head bowing and his shoulders tightening. For a half-instant his wings start to flex outward, but then just pull back in, any thought of fleeing abortive. "I'm not, really. He was. It feels closer to him when --" He stops, shakes his head, "Anyway, I've liked the quiet, lately." His arms have been wrapped around his shins and he unwraps one now, dropping his hand to pluck at stray bark on the log beside him. "Are you --" he starts. Cuts that off. Frowns. Starts again, "Did you --" Stops again. Starts again: "I'm sorry." Dusk hasn't even finished the truncated question before DJ's snorting, sharp and quick: "I'm not." His arm wraps around himself as Dusk's falls; he takes a half-step back reflexively, then stops. His eyes have cut away to the water, in the direction of the dabbling ducks though his tight jaw, tight posture, suggests he's not really paying them any mind. "Good. Be sorry." There's a sharp edge to his voice, and his head bows after these words. "I'm sure I'm supposed to be forgiving. It wasn't you, it was the disease, but I just can't --" His fingers dig hard against his side. "The Dusk I knew was so gentle. I know it's stupid to think of you like him but it's hard to stop." Dusk's teeth clench. The growl that starts up in his chest is low, half-edged with a whine; it stops almost as soon as it's begun. His eyes close until DJ's finished speaking. "I don't think you're supposed to be anything. I'm just sorry. You don't have to do shit with that.It was the disease and it was me. I wish I could tell you something else." His wings start to unfurl, pull back in tighter again. "... why did you stop? Just now." One thumbclaw twitches toward the binoculars around DJ's neck. "Birds're probably much more -- relaxing." DJ's mouth twitches slightly to the side. "-- I wanted to hear that you were sorry. Wanted to see it." His shoulder drops, a weight settling heavily over his posture. "-- can't say it helped. Crud. -- The Danger Room's been throwing some kind of ravenous blood-eater at us in practice in the labs. Like what might have happened if Leo left you a little while longer." Dusk just splays a hand flat against the log he's perched on, looks down towards his toes, out toward the water. It's at a few seconds of delay that his eyes snap back to DJ with some confusion, some blossoming alarm: "Us?!" DJ's head tips just slightly to one side. "Man, you've really been staying out of the loop, haven't you? Think your team is getting a little desperate." Now he's looking away again, back toward the paddle of ducks with a small shrug. "Get the feeling they could really use your muscle but you've been MIA so --" Another shrug. "I just like to pitch in where I can." This time when the low growl starts up in Dusk's throat, it stays there, soft and unhappy. "How desperate?" comes his first quiet question; perhaps rhetorical given he almost immediately follows it with: "-- must be very if they're taking you. Shit. You really just volunteered to jump back into -- shit." He lifts a hand, runs it through his hair. "What kind of life did you actually -- want for yourself? Before..." He trails off, one wing unfurling to sweep out wide at the world around them. Only a little defensive: "I'm perfectly capable." DJ's eyes follow the sweep of Dusk's wing, and he lifts a hand to stifle the snort of laugh that follows. "Before? Before I yeeted myself into another whole world? Before the war that tore my world to pieces?" He settles himself down on a flat large rock, one leg pulled up toward his chest. His head shakes, slowly. "My life hasn't exactly gone to plan for a long while. I don't know. Or maybe it has. A wife I loved, amazing kids, a supportive ward, a community where I belonged and contributed something worthwhile -- those are the things I wanted. Just -- didn't quite look like... well." The smile that flits across his face is small and tight. "It's Heavenly Father's plans that matter in the end, not ours." "Oh, I wasn't doubting that at all." Dusk sounds slightly bitter, here. His wing folds neatly back around himself, and he starts to reach for the thermos beside him but then pulls his hand back, folding it against his knee instead. "You really think God planned all this? The hell would be the point of that, just flexing on you?" "I'm hardly the only person in these worlds to have suffered," DJ replies -- his eyes are narrowing ever-so-slightly on Dusk, here, "and most of that's come from the hands of other people. Would it be better if God came down and stopped you? How? Killed you? Cut off your free will? Exactly what does the world look like in your version of it where Heavenly Father's magically stopped you and everyone else from doing harm?" He glances to the thermos when Dusk starts to reach for it. Swallows, looks away. "The thing about getting to choose is," he's speaking more softly, now, "He gives us the chance to choose the right, too. Maybe you see all this as -- some kind of mockery. But every time there's places the world's falling short that's an opportunity for us to help set it on a better course. May not come to much, but doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying." Dusk's eyes pull back to DJ, a slow frown creasing his brow. He scrubs his knuckles against his scruff of beard, his thumbclaws flicking restlessly. "I don't know what that world would look like," he finally replies. "In this one I should probably --" His cheeks flush a little darker, head dipping, "-- not stop trying." A tightness crosses DJ's expression, flashing there and then gone a moment later. "That better mean I see you at practice tomorrow." And then he's gone, too, leaving Dusk alone with the birds once more.