dualislogs | Forget about the dirty looks

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Forget about the dirty looks

WHO: Lorna + Drifter

be_notorious
WHAT: Power parkour
WHERE: Random parts of the city because they're cool
WHEN: Night, 11/23
WARNINGS: Probably nothing?

One of the constants in Lorna's turbulent life was the fact that she had always embraced her powers. Maybe that came from the fact that she'd been the village freak before her powers manifested. A little green haired girl with a lot of issues just didn't fit in a rural farming town that didn't even have high speed internet. Imagine that? Growing up without high speed internet in this day in age. Basically torture. That's sure as hell how she'd seen it: pure torture. And she'd let herself wallow in the whole torture of it all like any teen that'd just gotten their first My Chemical Romance CD. Damn it was embarrassing to look back on.

Still, small town had never left her with much freedom when it came to her powers. That didn't mean she didn't use them. She sure as hell did, but she had dear old Dad to get her out of police shit back then. As an adult, she hadn't had that connection. Fact was, the connection actually worked the opposite now. Being known as a terrorists daughter in an age where one more little push would send mutants and humans into all out war, well, it didn't tick off any bonus points in her Sentinel Forces file. Which was fine by her, the file was big enough now without adding to it. End result was the same though: little chance to be too showy with her powers. Gotta keep a low profile when you're on the run.

Sucked. Really sucked actually. And it meant she never got the chance to really let loose. Or do one of the thing she loved the most: fly. It was different here though. Here it seemed almost like people just didn't care about the people that were different. Maybe it was because everybody was sort of different here. Or maybe it was just meant to give them a false sense of safety. The reason didn't matter much to her. Never did.

The new found freedom hadn't completely sunk in yet with her though so she kept most of her practice contained to night. That's when she put on her steel toed boots and metal bracelets and went out to play around. Which was exactly what she was doing tonight. There's a green mist snaking around her wrists and ankles as she glides from building to building. She slows down on one particular high building and then starts descending down, touching the side of a building with one foot to push her towards the other. She does a spin as she touches down on the ground and then looks back up, idly wondering how fast she could make it back up.

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Drifter's never considered himself free, even if his own boundaries are by his own design. He's not even constrained to a 'class' like most of his kind. Titan? A tank that can barrel through obstacles. Warlock? A heavy hitting canon, but relatively frail. Hunter? Stealthy, slippery. And Drifter? All of the above, and yet none with how rarely he uses his abilities. It's the resentment that he never asked for this, a discomfort in knowing he's committed to a body that should be rightfully be dead.

He can't find himself to find freedom here, either. The real freedom for him had been roaming. Travelling those wide-open spaces. Scraping by, scavenging, living the life that so many of the straggling invaders to their solar system. Drifter scrounged to get by and owed his existence to nobody.

He's scrounging today, in fact. Looking for supplies to build with, more weapons to protect himself with, more violence to escape restraint. He damn well hopes the Heart can follow through with their mission and that he's not making these things in vain.

He's in a rush so he doesn't notice her as he runs across the roof of some buildings across the street. He jumps and rises to the next, a good three stories up, leaving what looks like a huff of glowing smoke behind him (it disappates into the air). It's when he's up there that he manages to note that there's another person on top of a building. Why the hell wouldn't there be? Half the people he knows are compelled to see how high they can climb.

Wait, that's the girl with green hair. The one he met before... Not that colorful hair is a rare look in this place, but combined with the fashion sense? Even at this distance he thinks that's her.

It's strange, but somehow the thought of encountering someone else never even touched Lorna's mind. It's a city. A big one filled with a lot of weird people. Really should have occurred to her that someone else might be out on rooftops at night. Seems like half this place has a preference for nightlife. Somehow it's still unexpected to her to see someone else not too far away. She could have sworn nobody had been there the last time she looked over and that wasn't that long ago.

Not just any someone either. She's pretty sure she recognizes him. Lorna's not anti-social by nature, but in this place she hasn't exactly been rushing to make new acquaintances. Trust issues make a dangerous cocktail when they're mixed with bitterness and she's got both to spare. Makes it easier for her to remember the people she had run into though. Curiosity gets the best of her before she can think (not that she ever fully thinks things through) and she takes off.

There's a mix of green around her wrists again and flicks of it can be seen near her black boots. Then she's up in the air and moving towards the roof he's on.

"Nice night?" There's still some building and distance between them so she almost has to shout.

Right. Cat's out of the bag. Not that he ever did much to keep it in there, and any disguises he was using were paper-thin, disinterest to keep the robots at bay during those introductions.

"Yeah. Figured I'd take in some fresh air."

Unlike Lorna, he has to back up a few steps and take a running sprint forward. He drifts through the air again, a fine, whispy trail of light behind him as he takes off that again vanishes like a breath in cold air. He sinks down to the roof she's on.

"Sometimes ya see people swingin' by on cords or whatever. Forgot how easy cities are to get around in." He never goes into the Last City properly.

"Fresh air, hm?" There's an edge of both skeptism and curiosity to her tone. Something makes her wonder if he's really out here just for some fresh air. Though those thoughts immediately leave when she actually watches him move. It's not like how she does it and different peaks her interest. There's something exciting about seeing someone else move like she does. Ever since she was a kid and had discovered her ability to fly she'd always had a hidden fascination with it. Almost like it just triggers some childlike wonder in regards to just how amazing different abilities could be.

She moves her hands and levitates herself straight up and then back down. "Can't imagine having to rely on cords. Would seem unfortunate for the people that have to." She gives a little smirk, one that borders on being just a bit cocky. "Looks like you don't need to bother with it either. Impressive."

"Yeah, uh... Can't keep it goin' for too long, though. I get a runnin' start and I can go further. I stay still with it, an' I can go higher. But it only lasts for about four seconds or so."

He straightens out his sleeves to his absurd normal clothes. Leather jacket. Brocade vest. Things to go with the persona.

"That metal thing, that's what's keepin' you up?"

"Got a lot of rules there," she says with a hint of a smirk. She jingles her wrist causing the metal bracelets to clank together and gives a nod.

"Yeah. Steel toed boots and metal bracelets. First time I've really gotten to play around with it in a long time." She levitates now and then back home but big flashy shows? Actual almost flying? That's out of the question when the whole world's out to get mutants.

"Where'd you pick up how to do it?"

He hesitates a beat too long. Like he's contemplating just how to say what's going on. Then holds up his arms, dropping the ominous contemplation like a weight to throw on his usual showmanship.

"Sister, you're lookin' at the bonafide undead. I'm one of those extra talented zombies I told you about. But trust me, human brains are pretty low on the long list of things I'll chow down on."

He hops up and does a little whirl in the air, drifting down like one of those spinning seeds. His coat flares out for added effect, and his heavy boots thud softly on the rooftop. "Ta-da."

"Well, that's new. Looks like the media lied to me about zombies. Somehow not surprised," she watches him with an expression of both surprise and intrigue. "They never mentioned zombies being able to talk. Or being show-offs." Maybe the fake news media was just too focused on brain eating propaganda to get the story right.

"You look good for undead. Spry." It's definitely weird as fuck to think about someone getting powers from being undead. Weird but interesting. Definitely manages to peak her curiosity about him even further.

"Thank ya, Sister. I'll be honest, though. We Risen usually don't remember what it was like bein' alive. I met a few exos- robot types -that were lucky enough to hold on to a bit of what they were because of programmin'. But for the most part, once you're dead, even if you're brought back everything about who you was stays dead."

He's got a heartbeat now. Doesn't mean he feels much more alive.

"Anyway, I was out lookin' for something useful. What's been goin' on with the Head's been givin' me a bad vibe so I figured I'd start stockin' up again, workin' on ways to better defend myself. Some new armor, some good weapons. That kinda deal."

"You come back as a blank slate?" Sounds more than a bit fucked up but he seems fine with it all. More than fine. What a weird collection of people this place was gathering up. She moved her hand and the green mist swirled around absentmindedly as he spoke.

"This entire place is a bad vibe." But she was appreciative of hearing someone else voice how uneasy the shit with the Head seemed. "I was out here for a similar thing. Felt like I needed to train some. Especially after that shit with the robots."

Oh, he hates it. He's resentful, angry, bitter in every way imaginable. He's an inhuman thing who struggled to pretend he knew how to live, despite knowing he'd never die. He's a person who refused a name for this new self.

Because when Drifter woke up, he was dressed for his own funeral. Someone had put him down properly. That man that came before? He had a name. Drifter had no business being alive. That said, though? Drifter also wouldn't let just anyone or anything kill him, he didn't enjoy the feeling of pain, and he didn't have any particular death wishes.

So here he be, 'living' it up.

"Yeah. I heard some things. Not a lot I'm clear on yet, though. I know the Head's got surveillance all over the place; I reckon a good portion of it's at ground level, though. Sure, a lot of us can get around on rooftops but people that care more about gravity's gotta be keepin' most of its attention."

He thumbs towards himself. "I'm also the kinda undead that gets sick. I can't be killed from violence, but starvin'? Viruses? Things that go real slow can kill me. And then I'll be right as rain again. I don't really want that thing takin' a notion to a reusable test subject." And his ability to heal? Had not been dampened in the slightest.

"There's still a lot of shit I'm not clear on either. Like why exactly there were robot clones of us." There's a sharpness in her voice, almost a defensive edge. Not trusting people easily came with a double edged sword, on one hand it makes someone less likely to get screwed over, but on the other side it makes it harder to a grasp on what's going on. Everything was so much more complicated without any of her own people here. Though, it's definitely serving to illustrate to her just how much she's divided herself with the us or them mentality. It's probably something she should be trying to change, but the cynical part of her isn't ready to branch out fully.

"I'm trying not to assume too much about what the Head is watching us do. Feels like it's safer to just assume it's always capable of watching." Is that a bit paranoid? Definitely. She arches an eyebrow at his mention of what could kill him.

"You worried about that plague that's been mentioned then? Supposedly the thing the Head's researching?" Not that she bought that at all. Nothing that's happened since she got here fits with the idea that someone's just doing some good samaritan research.

"I definitely don't think that's all of it, but I heard enough to know that disease is real. So it's just one of many issues."

He goes to the edge and looks down at the street.

"Back home we got somethin' called a 'warmind'. His name is Rasputin. He was made by humanity to protect the system. A lotta people donated their greatest minds, best soldiers, to become robot duplicates. They're called 'exos'. You'd think all that sounds pretty dubious? But the warmind; when he knew the enemy was too much? He pretty much turned the exos loose from their programming and went to take care of himself.

"Funny thing is? The exos were all people that donated their minds. The warmind let 'em go. Maybe 'cause he was thinkin' like a general, a military leader type that knew when to withdraw. And the Head? ...He's a scientist, made by scientists. Not no protector! Just a researcher. And we all know how cruel curiosity makes the world, don't we?"

He looks back at Lorna.

"Next to money, blind curiosity can be the damndest thing."

Edited 2019-12-11 23:13 (UTC)

"What makes you so sure it's real and not just an excuse?" She believes it's real, but at the same time, just like Drifter, she thinks there's a lot more issues to be uncovered. She's just not entirely sure what they are.

She looks over at him as he speaks and shakes her head. "Sounds familiar to what the Head said about this place." Oddly familiar in a slightly disturbing way. How could anyone think handing themselves over to something like that. The mention of scientists makes her visibly recoil though. Lorna's always worn her emotions on her sleeve.

"In my world researchers usually don't consider their research subjects anything more than tools. If they even give them that much consideration. Feels like we're ants in one of those fucking ant farms. Being watched and having notes taken on what we do and how we do it. Question is, why? What's it really want with us?"

"Because some people got some weird invasive memories from the Head. Rememberin' stuff from the plague. And nah, from what I know of the exos? And this place? Rasputin' ain't nothin' like the Head. Cares in a different sorta stubborn way. Like I said, difference between a protector and a scientist. Or a politician, in this bastards case. He got that goin' for him, too." Rasputin is just fine being left alone. And the exos? Well, people knowing their planet is about to encounter an apocalypse will go to great lengths to protect it.

At least Rasputin gave people a choice. The Traveller didn't give anyone the option when it started raising dead.

"We're tools to the Head. All of us. I mean... Hell if I know. Maybe it wants to practice makin' us all sick and then be able to crank out new versions to replace what it kills off. That's its big cure."

"Could still be implanted memories." Or she's just next level paranoid. That's a valid option too. One she's actually investing a lot of value into right now. "I know someone that could do that back home. She could just put in a memory. Or take one out. Feelings and everything." Because she's shit at hiding her emotions a bit of sadness and bitterness leaks into her tone. "Knew someone." She corrects herself before moving on quickly from that. "But maybe I'm just too damn paranoid anymore. Probably no reason to not believe the plague angle, people go to too much trouble to memorialize it."

She pushes a foot off a wall and uses her abilities to glide along it absentmindedly as she thinks about the last little bit he said. The little paranoid cogs in her head start turning and she pushes her feet back and forth faster against the wall. The movements are odd and almost like she's making herself into a human yo-yo going back and forth.

"Wouldn't that be hilarious if that was it?" She let out a dark sounding chuckle. "That maybe the Head brought us all here to make perfect robot clones with us and that's the big cure: replacing us with robot clones."

"Nah, 'cause everyone was getting everyone else's. So I don't think they were implanted, I think they were misplaced. Glad I wasn't around for it." He wouldn't want anyone having access to any of those sensitive thoughts, thanks.

It's worse than it being paranoia, when it's true.

"My philosophy is? Whatever can be wrong? Probably is wrong. So we gotta be ready for it all."

He actually doesn't even doubt that's it. But he's only investigated by so much.

"So, Sister? How do you feel about someone lookin' for a way to protect themselves and others, powers or no. Because if your ability lets you key in on some high quality metals? I could use your help."

He drifts after her, but he has to skip once to keep up the momentum.

"Makes two of us. Never been too comfortable with people seeing my memories without my permission." Not only did she not want anyone else to see some of the shit she's done, but mind-reading in general makes her uneasy. She always felt uncomfortable around people that could go into her mind. Private things are meant to be private.

She chuckles at his statement. "Good philosophy to have. Some people call that paranoia though." Not that she's a stranger to being called paranoid. It's pretty common actually.

"Everyone needs to be ready to protect themselves here." And anyone that didn't agree with that sentiment is probably doomed to die anyway. "Lucky enough, my ability does just that. I can detect different metals, usually can figure out what they are, and can get a map of the area it's located in." Map isn't the right word exactly, but it's close enough to what she can do. Gets the point across. "Can also detect trace elements in people usually. And pull things out of them." But that's a bit messy sometimes.

Drifter looks immediately interested.

"If my ghost was workin' right, I'd stand a better chance. For some reason, it's like neither one of us can get our heads around it."

But hell, if someone else can help him out with it? That'd make things infinitely easier. And at least he was smart enough not to spout the sentiment on the network.

"Alright. I need somethin' real sturdy. We're talkin' rocket launcher sturdy. Believe me, I can reforge it, I gotta just get my hands on the raw frame materials. Step one, anyway. I uh... got a backlog," he chuckles.

He's got enough for smaller stuff. Scrap's doing fine. It's that bigger stuff he's running into trouble with.

"I've heard people talk about powers being screwed up here." She shakes her head. "Guess we should be grateful it's not collars." Just the idea of having a collar put on her again is enough to send a shiver down her spine.

"Big plans." She quirks and eyebrow and gives a flash of a smirk. "Sturdy shouldn't be hard to identify. Got any idea where to start looking though?"

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Forget about the dirty looks

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