Recent Posts

Hiding a subtle smirk at Maya’s annoyance Simon drained the last of his tea as he followed her experiments with what he soon expected would become less a tea towel than a pile of rags. It was a pity really, he had so little from his ‘college’ days, he only wished he could have sacrificed something more appropriate, such as his nonexistent diploma.

Honestly with the way things were going these days, he wasn’t sure which would be greater the loss.

Putting aside his grievance with alma mater aside Simon shifted his attention back to his sister as he watched her weave the ethereal essence of the towel through her fingers like a streamer, twisting and folding its fogged form as she tested the limits of its bonds before purposefully separating a slim corner that near instantly wove itself back to solid fabric like iron filing with a magnet.

It was like watching a lava lamp, but in reverse.

"It's so weird, Simon. I can imagine this thing whole again. It can look whole again. But there's still that piece on the floor.""

And if that wasn’t a depressingly perfect summary of her condition he didn’t know what was.

Setting his cup and saucer down Simon leaned forward, watching her play with the larger wisp of fabric, searching for the snapped strands where the corner had been separated. It wasn’t a simple task by any means but, well, he’d had his fair share of practice, so it didn’t take him long to reach out and pinch a section of the cloud twirling around his sister’s fingers, purposefully feeding the transformation to prevent it being torn away like the corner before.

“Try and focus here, this is where the corner use to be, or most of it at least. For me it feels almost like an itch, it’s not entirely whole.”

"Could you stick something odd in there? Steal pieces of a teacup to make a towel?"

Raising his eyebrows, Simon brought his free hand to his chin as he pondered the question. “I suppose it possible, but it would be like putting glass in a loaf of bread, you wouldn’t change the nature of the glass itself, or if you can, I’ve not found out how.”

Here's hoping that weird family thing keeps you in her sights instead of me."

“You’re all heart Isabel, anyone ever tell you that?”

Sarcasm, it was just one of the many services he provided, and he wasn’t even charging her for it, truly he was too kind. “Still, if there’s one thing we can agree on it’s that the less time she has to meddle the better” He raised his glass to brunette, waiting for her to mirror the gesture. “To avoiding my sister, may we both have better luck than either of us deserve.”

How long had it been now? One hour? Two? It was oddly unsettling how the passage of time quickly became an abstract concept at best when stuck inside a windowless room. He’d originally kept a rough count based on the growing number of bottles, but with Duskmoor’s unexpected arrival the number was growing quicker than he expected.

Honestly, in other circumstances it might have been concerning, but as it was he couldn’t quite find it in himself to care if the girl proved to have something of a problem. If it was truly an issue it would have come up before… and now he was thinking about the last time they’d both been intoxicated.

Spiffing.

Leaving his glass on the upturned barrel he raised a hand to the bridge of his nose as he tried to clear his thoughts. Admittedly, he’d come down here for a distraction, but a hangover was one thing, a one night stand -and was it still called that if it happened twice?- with Isabel was quite another.

Thankfully before his treacherous thoughts could wander further down that path, the shapely soubrette in question indulged her usual jejune impulse and dropped her latest conquest on the concrete floor with an all too audible *Kernk* which left first him wincing and then glaring at the ingenue with mild annoyance.

“Do that again and the next cork is going to your head.”

The fact that he said just as he’d retrieved a new bottle and was uncorking it in her direction was in no way meant to be taken as a threat, for as a great man once said, calling something a threat implied it may not happen. No his words carried a simple promise.

Even if he had to walk around the table and plant it on her head by hand.

Duskmoor, perhaps sensing this thoughts, couldn’t keep a smirk off her lips as she treated his ultimatum with her usual aplomb as she finished her glass so he could return her earlier favour. "Looks like your coordination is suffering as much as your wit,"

Matching the buxom brunettes smirk with an unamused stare for several seconds the elemental finally rolled his eyes and poured his impromptu partner a glass of some ivory vintage whose label currently escaped him. “Yes yes, a great man brought low by drink, what a travesty.”

Lifting the bottle as he finished speaking he saw that he’d just managed to fill Isabel’s glass to the brim without it overflowing and the amusement which coloured his voice was less than subtle as he watched her debate how to bring the glass back into drinking range without spilling. “However will you cope?”

When the topic turned again to the Sanctuary’s past Simon found himself with a reminder of just how long Duskmoor had been with Order. Dorian King had been the founding father of the entire organization and he’d arrived in the city almost a decade ago, acquiring Sanctuary, obtaining contracts, licenses and other political agreements with the city and then vanishing after only a few years. There were few who even remembered his name these days.

“King had more money than he knew what to do with, I’m half convinced his fortune came from possessing dimwitted celebrities and having them write most of their fortunes to him.” It fit the man's personality too well and went a long way to explaining his arrogance and was far more comforting than the alternative which was that he’d been body hopping for generations and stockpiling resources throughout. “Still, some of these probably are from your efforts, given their age, funny though I don’t recall assaulting vineyards or warehouses, Fort Knox was more your thing if I recall.”

And hadn’t that been a media sensation at the time; the biggest gold vault in the country raided by less than a dozen mutants, maybe even half a dozen depending on how one counted certain members.

In the face of Duskmoors oh so grave concern that they’d soon run out ambrosia Simon merely quirked an eyebrow at before pointedly glancing at the rows of shelves that had yet to be touched. “If there is one thing I’ve found in life, it’s that there is always more wine, you just have to find it.”

”Now rum on the other hand, that’s a different story altogether.

The last was said with a wry grin as he again drained his glass and poured himself the same white wine he’d given the soubrette and in the slight silence that followed he found a quiet sense of curiosity surfacing as he recalled the Order exploits, and after ruminating on the question for a few moments he decided to voice it. “You were one of the founding members of the Order weren’t you Isabel?” At the slight nod of her head he continued. “You would have been 16 or so if I have the math right, quite an accomplishment really, how did you join them?”

"But I guess since you're staying here it's only gonna encourage her even more."

“Actions, meet consequences”,Lifting one hand Simon moved it from side of the table to the other as he spoke, adopting the manner of one making introductions. “Neither of you will like the other and there’s little you can do about it.”

Lowering his hand the elemental met Duskmoors eyes and gave a slight shrug. “Honestly though, I doubt it will get much worse; she has a kid to take care so her ‘torment’ time is limited. At worst she’ll end up focusing on one of us over the other.”

“And don’t you dare give her any ideas.”

“Given she already think we’re an item, I’m not sure how that’s possible; it’s not as though she can lock us in a closet… though now I think about it I wouldn’t put it past her to try. She can be oddly naive about that sort of thing.”

And if naive wasn’t the perfect word for Maya he wasn’t sure what was. Even having closed to three decades now the woman still seemed determined to see the best and ignore the worst in others, even in the face of all common sense. Yet somehow it ended up working for her, like an overeager puppy that no one wanted to kick, people found themselves not wanting to disappoint her.

Huh, maybe she was part empath.

As he entertained that train of thought Isabel proved gracious enough to share her libations and refill his drink, though not before chiding him on his utter indolence. “Guilty as charged.” He quipped with another shrug of his shoulders before knocking the drink back.

“Hmm, I hadn’t taken you for a fan of menage a trois, good choice.” The words were delivered with an honest tone of bemusement as he reconsidered his glass and it wasn’t until he glanced at Duskmoor again that he realized the prime opportunity he’d let slip by and he paused for a moment before slumping slightly and shaking his head.

“I can’t help but feel I missed a wonderful chance to be witty. The wine is clearly doing me no favours… may I have another?”

Isabel’s own explanation for her dislike of storms, while not quite as tangible as his own was no less poignant. He’d honestly forgotten that Sanctuary had been raided during the camp and to this day he still didn’t understand how government had managed it successfully. The Order had held a very real presence in those days, counting among its number nearly ten individuals who were essentially one man armies, Isabel included. The original Stalker machines truly had been monstrous engineering feats.

Fortunately they’d also been ridiculously cost prohibitive and with the abolishment of the camps the government funding for them had all but vanished. Even the new machines that existed now were only pale imitations.

The unexpected tangent Isabel introduced left a quizzical expression on Simon’s face but it soon shifted to one of faint amusement as she levelled her accusations at him without any real heat.

“Such hurtful words, you wound me Isabel. I thought we were friends.” He clapped a hand to his chest as he tried, and failed, to adopt an expression of sorrow. Noticing the brunettes own empty glass, he left his drink on the table to reach behind him as another bottle leapt into his palm, nearly fumbling it before he could grasp it properly and bring it into view.

“Could I tempt your forgiveness with a peace offering? Good drink is best enjoyed with company after all, and I’ve yet to be disappointed with what I’ve found here.”

A good cup of tea, it could be said, was like a work of art; it required time, care and dedication to concoct a truly tasteful blend that could be enjoyed, savoured and remembered.

Or at least, that’s what the overpriced charlatans wanted you to believe before they took an arm, leg and possibly soul. Personally Simon considered tea to be a beverage like any other, if one steeped in history, culture and taste and any who bothered to make an effort could have a good a cuppa.

He knew this with the certainty of one who had been boiling over priced leaf juice for almost half his life and would likely continue to do so for the rest of it. Yet, as he watched his sister’s expression fall he found himself unable to enjoy the cup in his hand.

“No. I- thank you for your help."

Masking a frown, Simon set his cup down and watched Maya as she seemed to curl around her own drink. In their previous sessions she had always been, well, not elated precisely but certainly cheered, which given that she was being put back together was understandable.

The fact that such enthusiasm was missing now was… notable.

“Why does everything about what we do make you hurt and make me feel less?"

Tilting his head Simon considered the question, it was something he wondered about over the years ever since he’d met Maya, even before he knew she was his sister. “I believe it comes down to how we think about our powers; you, from what I can tell treat your gift instinctively, like an extra limb you hardly have to think about it before it happens but it’s a limb without sensation so you don’t know when you strain it.”

“When I think about how I use my power, I see it more as an instrument, whose condition I always have to be conscious of to the point where sometimes I can’t focus on anything else, hence my medication.”

He paused for a moment, giving Maya a contemplative expression. “Have you ever tried to count every fiber in your shirt or every atom in your drink? No? Why don’t you try?”

Sanctuary hadn’t always been a housing shelter, over it’s less than pristine existence it had been many things, including a base of operations for mutant resistance groups during the time of the camps, all of which was a rather round about way of explaining why the place had not one but three basement levels and an identical number of elevators which worked, at best, a third of the time.

"You're here."

The cellar was on the second sublevel by virtue of it having sturdier doors and being one of the more inconvenient rooms to access given that, with mutants, inconvenience and anonymity were really the only effective safeguards if you didn’t want to restock too often.

"Of course you're here. That's just fantastic."

Apparently though it hadn’t been inconvenient enough.

Bugger.

Lifting his gaze from the upturned barrel he’d been using as a table Zephyr met the shapely soubrettes less than fond expression with one of his own before looking briefly towards the ceiling with a long suffering expression.

“And the night just keeps getting better” His words dripped with sarcasm as he spread his arms in a false gesture of enthusiasm before reaching back to pluck another wine bottle off the rack beside him.

Meeting the busty brunettes eyes again as he gripped the neck of the bottle just below the cork.
Isabel, it’s been too long I was starting to think you were avoiding me” The false cheer in his voice echoed the annoyance in his eyes, the irony of the situation not lost on him; the soubrette could be surprisingly elusive when she wanted to be.

“What brings you by?” He applied pressure. “Here to try and blow me" *PoP* “Up again? No? Probably for the best, you did leave such a mess last time.”[/font]

Spending a moment to refill his glass for the umpteenth time he barely gave the brunette a chance to respond before he continued. “Well? Don’t just hover, take a seat and have a drink, misery loves company after all.”

He used to enjoy thunderstorms, they’d somehow been calming to him when he’d been younger, the constant dull murmur of the rain sweeping the streets, the tension that gathered in the air and crept across the hairs on your arm and neck before lashing out in arcs across the sky in ln brilliant luminescence before being consumed into darkness once again as thunder rumbled in its wake.

With his mutation however, things changed. In order to direct an element you must first be able to perceive it and his power had granted him an awareness of every atom of air for over a mile and while he could focus on one area in an effort to ignore another he had no equivalent to closing his eyes or blocking his ears.His gift granted him dominion over the air and in return he felt everything that happened to it.

Pain could not begin to describe it.

No longer did he merely see and hear the effects of the storm, he could now feel the utter chaos that was cast through the sky. The lightning became a flare of iridescent agony that seared every aspect of his element it touched and drove into his mind like an icepick. The thunder became a deafening explosion with waves of aftershocks that echoed through the air each one striking a body blow to this thoughts.

It was because of this and other situations like it, that Zephyr had sought a means of dulling the pain. Who wouldn’t in his situation? Standard pain killers didn’t work, something that could be bought off the shelf simply wasn’t designed or intended for what he experienced, and while there were less legal narcotics available in back alleys, they were… unreliable, to say the least.

‘Prescribed analgesic’ that was apparently the label for the level of medication he required, Oxycodone, morphine… the names all began to merge together when his thoughts came under siege like this. He poured himself another glass. The key point was that he’d had a means of coping, he’d been prepared.

Murphy, though, smug bastard that he was, never really cared for plans and living in a mutant shelter was all but begging the welcome mat for him.

He drained the glass, barely even tasting the slight burn the liquid left in his throat.

He couldn’t recall the exact sequence of events that caused, those had escaped him after the second bottle, but half his room in Sanctuary had been disintegrated, literally reduced to its composite atoms until all that remained was a dune of dust and ash, including his medication.

With the storm directly overhead and with no immediate means of resupply the hessian had fallen back on a far less efficient, if still effective form of coping, and had promptly shut himself in what passed for the Sanctuary’s wine cellar as he worked to drink himself into a oblivion.

What could possibly go wrong?

Afternoon tea, a tradition older as time immemorial, specifically 1832, or 1189 if one wanted to be truly technical. Regardless it was a practice of reflection and contemplation as much as it was a social activity and though he had fallen out of the habit in recent years, he’d never abandoned it completely. It was something that needed to be shared, after all, it was solemn duty of the British to try and better those less fortunate than themselves.

Even if they did drink coffee, the wretches.

If you've got a teapot, I guess that means you're doing okay for yourself

“That’s.. one way of looking at it I suppose.” The words were accompanied by a quirked eyebrow before the elemental shook his head and lead his sister through the haphazard twists that were the halls of Sanctuary, quickly passing through the foyer and bypassing the kitchens as he made his way towards the dormitories.

"I mean, you seem to be settled in okay. Are you maybe thinking about staying?"

“Not in the long term no. The free lodging is nice but it tends to lack in… security, civility, reliability privacy.” It took him a moment to settle on the right word, he knew Maya was friendly with at least a handful of individuals who were permanent Sanctuary residents including Isabel and so implying anything untoward about their home could potentially set things off on the wrong foot and this meeting was meant to let them reconnect.

“That and the NYPD’s new toys are starting to become more common in the area and I’d rather not be around when they experience another glitch.” The NYPD had been gradually getting bolder about conducting raids in the area ever since they got their new toys and while they weren’t quite confident enough to try a direct assault on the Sanctuary yet it would probably happen eventually and Simon had no intention of being present when it happened.

It was also why he’d chosen a room as far as possible from Isabel’s while still keeping it in range of his abilities. If anything did ever happen at Sanctuary odds were that Duskmoor would be one of the first to start a fight if he didn’t put a leash on her, metaphorically or literally. That and there was a certain satisfaction in dumping her out of her own bed without lifting a finger when she ignored his 5:00am wake up calls.

He’d really come to the treasure the glares of impotent rage she gave him each morning.

Arriving at his own room he deftly opened the door and motioned for Ghost to follow him inside. The accommodations themselves were bland but functional, reminiscent of a university dorm or perhaps a motel room. Bathroom and bedroom hidden behind a living area that doubled as dining room and kitchen, if a microwave, mini fridge and sink could be called such.

Still it left enough room for a kettle and a teapot, even if the latter rested on a collection of cardboard boxes which had been used to extend the counter space. It took but a moment to get the kettle started and as he waited for it to boil he gestured Maya into one of the few chairs in the room while he leaned against the counter.

“So, where would you like to begin?”