multiversallogs | i understand how riots start. i just don't understand why they ever stop.

Who: Ilde, Remy and Erik
What: Erik needs 'reading material', and also a beer. Remy and Ilde are here to help.
Where: A riverside restaurant and bar of Remy's choosing.
When: After this log and this post.
Notes: I'M SORRY I'M ALL OVER THE LOG COMM >_>
Warnings: Mentions of blood and sex.

While Ivan may ordinarily be a light sleeper, the intoxicating nature of Ilde's blood tends to knock him out like the dead (so to speak--) and when she disentangles herself to pack up her sealed bag for the water, he doesn't stir. The folders go into the bag first, followed by clothes she won't have trouble pulling on by the river, a pair of shoes and her purse. She leaves it open, sitting on the end of her bed in Ivan's shirt to call Remy and Erik both before she leaves (letting Erik know she's on her way, letting Remy know she had copies handy and she'll bring Erik to the bar) and before she drops the CiD in with everything else and seals the bag. There's something extremely useful about having something she can take into the water with her, and knowing her luck one of these days it's going to get broken, but until then...

Ivan- I've got something to do tonight. I'll be back before morning. If Angus gets in again, just put him out.

Once she's refastened the bracelet she was wearing earlier, she slings the strap of her bag across her body so it'll rest against the back of her hip when she hits the water and lets herself out of the villa to go down to the river. It's familiar territory, by now, and she changes form mid-motion, diving deep down where she knows it best. She has her own landmarks to follow - rivermarks, if you will - and getting to Brock Marsh isn't terribly complicated.

Surfacing when she reaches the bridge, she lingers in the water for a short while, just watching.

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For a brief moment, Remy looks over at Erik. Opinions indeed. Strange - but very interesting - ones coming from a man who will someday attempt with all the powers of an earthborn god to remove autonomy from not one, but two entire species. Go to war, Children of the Atom. Whether you like it or not. His look is difficult to read; maybe he just finds Erik interesting.

(Sometimes when he's speaking with Raven, he reminds himself of New Sun. He doesn't now.)

Briefly, he signs something to Ilde, hand barely lifting off the table. «Different sense.»

"There's danger in everything." He tilts his head back, exhales smoke, speaks as he stares up at the sky and the too-bright specks of constellations he doesn't recognize. "Watch your step, no?" It's not an instruction; a reflection.

As if by luck—if that's what you want to call it—Erik meets Remy's gaze when it flits his way, and is effectively caught in the midst of snapping his smoke. Hi. That trick wasn't for you specifically, sir, don't be alarmed.

In any case, that ever so serendipitous moment passes with a sedate blink and a breath of similar character. He then swallows the last of this second beer and, once his glass is down, reaches for the pitcher again, offering to share the last of it before pouring for himself. Whatever's preoccupying him, it refuses to let go of that crease in his brow. ...It doesn't seem to be a particularly verbally inspiring preoccupation, either, for he does all this quietly.

«You come up with a word,» Ilde signs back, harkening back to their first meeting and the monkey receptacle animal thing. She lets the curious quiet sit a bit, though, letting some of her thoughts settle- Baedal is a different world, yes, but in its way Massachusetts prepared her for it. She can't imagine she'd be sitting here if she hadn't ever met Sonja, only that way lies thoughts like because I'd be dead or in a cage and even in the privacy of her own mind she never speculates on what her life would've been like if not. (Not anything, that's too direct, just a generalized sense of not.)

It isn't. It's this, here; it's the enclave, and New York, and blood running in the rain and somebody's coat and all this rage that needs a target, that Sonja gave direction. All roads lead back to, eventually. To New York, or Sonja, or just that quiet dark behind her eyes when she smiles.

It would be fair to say that she can use the reminder to watch her step, mainly because she doesn't especially want to.

«Okay.»

Now what, Ilde.

In the quiet dark, Remy is struck with the desire to laugh; a beautiful gilded cage and all the encouragement in the world to live in the open, but they can't even have that. People are clawing at it at all the edges, desperate to hate and desperate to use, but fuck - if anyone ever makes a Sentinel, at least they've got Magneto.

When he sits forward again he's smiling, pleasant and a bit like there's some private joke been handed out where only he can hear.

"I think this has been productive," he observes.

"It has," he agrees, with the renewed energy one uses when wishing to make a decent impression despite not actually feeling it. He will finish this last half-a-glass shortly, looks like, and afterward it's likely he'll depart. "It seems there's plenty to consider. Thank you for this. And these," he continues, indicating the folders still sitting down in Ilde's bag, the movement of his hand smooth but vague. He then interrupts himself with another drag and speaks through the exhaust. "I'll have a look at them straightaway."

(Yes. At least you've all got him.)

i understand how riots start. i just don't understand why they ever stop.

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