17839/What About Alaska

What About Alaska
Date of Scene:	03 May 2024
Location:	Chinatown
Synopsis:	Rachel tracks down Domino to finish discussing what went on in Alaska. Verbal gambling ensues.
Cast of Characters:	Neena Thurman, Rachel Summers

---

Neena Thurman has posed:
It's been about a week since the (disgusting) outing to the middle of nowhere in Alaska. It should have been a one and done operation, a facility cleared and destroyed with paychecks waiting for all. Nothing ever goes to plan though, does it.

The operation was a (disgusting) mess and Domino let on that she knew a bit more than she had let the others in on. Not that any answers on the matter were forthcoming. It was all any of the four mutants could do to forget about those horrors and try to keep down a lunch.

Much like the facility, nothing stays buried forever. It's an evening out in New York's Chinatown and a certain albino is out on her sport bike in black leather biker gear. There had been a few brief social stops, a cash payment for one of her safe houses in the area, take-out for dinner at one of her favorite little places which managed to cram both a koi pond and a kitchen cat who didn't harass the fish inside.

As far as evenings go Domino's been having a good one, which with her usually means one thing.

It's time to stop tempting fate.

Rachel Summers has posed:
Disgusting. Messy. Rachel Summers is used to both those things. TOO used to them, by any sane measure.

Unresolved, though?

Rachel Summers hates things that go unresolved.

Chinatown is never not a lively location in New York City. The streets are bustling, teaming with tourists and residents and passersby alike in equal measure. The liveliness matches the vibrancy of the neighborhood itself, the color of the surrounding buildings only enhanced as throngs of paper lanterns illuminate the streets and byways in a striking orange haze.

Tonight's as busy as ever. So many people, it's easy for certain ones to get lost, like trying to find a needle in less a stack and more an ocean of hay. Domino, even in all that leather, is criminally easy to miss as she goes about her evening.

< What's up, Spot. >

Unless you happen to be a powerful psychic who had tracking mutants literally beaten into you, anyway.

It's that familiar crackle, as astral markings like burning-bright, orange slash marks glow harmlessly at Neena's cheeks. That familiar heat, as Rachel's psychic voice snap-crackle-pops to life like struck kindling at the back of Neena's thoughts. Unobtrusive, but just abruptly -there-.

< I thought maybe we could have a chat. Good time? >

For right now, it's not exactly clear where -Rachel- is, except very likely nearby. It's a busy night, after all.

But she is certainly -here-. Waiting for an answer to what is very likely a rhetorical question.

Maybe Neena stopped tempting fate a little too late.

Neena Thurman has posed:
The words come abruptly. Not Domino's words but words in her head. It's so out of nowhere that she jumps slightly, the keys for her bike hitting the ground. Her face feels like it's flushing, differently from the last time she had encountered this particular psychic and her choice thoughts. It's enough to leave the albino rubbing at her cheeks as though the feeling could simply brushed away.

It cannot.

"So close. So /fucking close/ to a perfect evening" she quietly seethes as she swipes her keys from the ground.

The psychic's here, though not necessarily /here./ Still, Dom gives the area a slow and careful examination in case she catches any unexpected glimpses of red lurking in the shadows.

< We aren't in a mission, Summers. Get the hell out of my head. >

Oh no no, things are never so simple with this merc. Neena may not have any real psychic training but she's quite skilled at utterly burying her own memories and living within an empty black void. As she's hopping onto her bike there's a focused effort to shut the psychic out, to bury her under that inescapable dark pit where every last memory she doesn't want to be haunted by remains in perpetuity, like a thick sticky tar of negativity.

It's such an immediate reaction from the albino that she never stops to consider /who/ she's trying to shut out, or that she's grossly out-classed. The action itself though, that comes as naturally to her as dodging a bullet.

Rachel Summers has posed:
< Nah. Call this the After Action Report if it makes you feel better. >

Domino tries to bury Rachel's presence through sheer, stubborn will. It's not a bad strategy -- especially for someone like the albino mercenary who has a tragic amount of experience with such a thing. Neena tries to bury her under all that bleak, black mental tar.

But unfortunately other people's minds are the one place that Rachel's ever really felt comfortable with herself.

There's the feeling of a spark. And even in the figurative ink-black dark of Neena's abyss, there's a sudden feeling of light and heat, like two great, flaming bird wings spreading -past- and -around- the entirety of that dark, dank pit.

< You can be an incredible pain in the ass, you know that right? >

No sign or sight of Rachel on the streets. Maybe she hasn't physically caught up to Domino yet. Maybe she's still got a chance to get out of there, and out of range.

But it at least doesn't stop that voice from continuing, carrying a warning undercurrent beneath it:

< Last chance before I stop asking nice like a mature, proper adult: Let's. Talk. >

Neena Thurman has posed:
< This is MY time Red, and you're not invited. >

Domino's had plenty of psychic communication links over the years. She's not a fan but they're a necessary evil, always an advantage for those on the mission. She hasn't had a lot of experience with push-back or outright mental attacks, though. As the sea of darkness meets a spark, a flash of light and heat, and something far more dramatic than an unexpected 'what's up,' the pale killer winces enough to pinch eyes closed and briefly show some teeth. Ouch.

And Rachel says /she's/ a pain in the ass!

Not that she's /wrong/, but...

< Take a look in a damn mirror on your way out. >

How exactly CAN Neena punt this mindwalker out? Irritation and foul language isn't doing the trick, Red's hanging on like a damn infection. Her solution, one which is regrettably telegraphed on account of Rachel already being in her head and all, is to try and overload the psychic. How to do this? With sheer random mental /noise./

It's been theorized by some that Domino's gift has psi elements to it, more of the telekinetic variety but the two schools of literal thought run parallel enough. She can try to push her luck and turn it into an ejection seat for the mutant in her mind, and the way to do that...

...starts with speed.

Her mind is made up in a New York Second. < We're done here. > The keys dart for the ignition, her plan clear to crank the engine and immediately hammer down in crowded city traffic.

But there's something which moves even faster than a thoroughly motivated merc, and it both starts and ends with nothing more than a thought.

Rachel Summers has posed:
< For fuck's /sake/-- >

What's faster than the reflexes of a very willful merc on a very fast bike?

A thought. An idea. Like...

'Maybe that motorcycle shouldn't be going -that- way.'

That last thought from Rachel is like a burst of frustrated flames, hot with annoyance and anger. It's also the -last- thing that Neena hears from the fiery psychic as the impulse to hit the road seizes her. Surprisingly, there's nothing to stop her from making the choice. Nothing that stops her from revving that engine, nothing stopping her from slamming the gas.

Neena's free and clear to take off into the crowded city streets.

Which is EXACTLY when she might notice --

Her bike's tires are on fire.

< -Fine-. Great! Since you're such a fucking masochist, let's do this the hard way then. >

Maybe it's cold comfort that the fire isn't REAL fire and thus Neena's ride is NOT in fact being melted down to slag: it's psychokinetic force with a flair for the dramatic that's seizing those wheels and tilting the entire bike into an UPWARDS slant until it's literally riding on air. The bike's grips start to glow as mental force looks to drive the bike -for- Neena straight through the skies on flaming wheels, up, up, and up...

... towards the roof of her favorite little place for takeout.

And if Neena hasn't just abandoned the bike to take her chances falling through the skies, she'll find one very irate-looking Rachel Summers waiting for her, dressed in a thigh-length bodycon of red leather, its halter neck studded with a ring of gold spikes, a trend that continues with the shoulders of the short red leather jacket she wears over it, and the heels of those knee-high boots she wears.

Rachel Summers and trash fashion, there is no greater pairing.

Which really just serves to enhance how pissed she looks, really.

Neena Thurman has posed:
'Prestige' is with those X-Men. She wouldn't dare do anything to endanger the lives of anyone! If she isn't going to somehow halt Domino from firing up the engine and hitting it like a bat out of hell then Dom's feeling pretty good about getting out of this encounter.

< We're not playing this game! >

No less than three horns blare as she tears out into traffic with a high pitched whine but she doesn't get far before the orange glow of the Chinatown lights start to seem ... distracting. Somehow. But not half as distracting as the moment where she risks a glance down and realizes the engine isn't the only thing to have been fired up.

Understandably, she swears. Loudly. Not at all in her mind.

The only sane option is to try and pull over, to get off the thing which is /on fire/ and put some distance between her and it. But the handlebars? Those aren't responding as they should. Nor are the brakes. Nor is gravity. What an experience it is to suddenly find one's self on a flying burning bike which is breaking far more laws than the speed limit.

Then she's suddenly landing on a rooftop. Diving off of her bike. Swearing some more. Looking up to see a ticked off looking Rachel. ... A ticked off looking Rachel in a nice outfit. Kudos where due.

"The /Hell?/" she growls, unable to shake the surprise of these events out of her voice. "You damn psychics, think you can do whatever you want?" she presses while getting both feet back under herself where they belong.

If it was anyone else she'd probably already have a weapon in hand.

She's honestly not sure why she doesn't have one ready when it's Rachel on the other end.

Rachel Summers has posed:
"Oh, yeah, sure; let's talk about people who think they can do whatever they want," Rachel Summers flatlines out; the telekinetic flex of her mind relaxes, tongues of flame licking at the ends of her short red hair guttering out as she stares down Domino. Slash marks glow bright crimson around her face, seem to cool into what looks like simplistic black tattoos... and then just fade away entirely, leaving her face - seemingly - unblemished.

"Let's talk about the merc who thinks she can just luck her way into -dodging me-."

Arms folding over her chest, Rachel at least only -looks- angry instead of looking, well... imminently violent. Not that that's saying much, when someone's able to carry motorcycles around with their mind -- but it's not like she's wielding that motorcycle at Domino like the world's most stylish bludgeon or anything, so.

There's that.

"You wanted to enjoy your free time? Too bad. Next time maybe be upfront about what the hell we're doing on a mission and I won't ruin your boring humdrum day of solo takeout." Rachel walks forward. And not that she doesn't trust Domino - because surely she absolutely trusts Domino -not- to try anything insane like diving off the roof and making her chase after her --

Rachel rights that motorcycle and then sits her ass down right on top of the seat as if staking claim to collateral in case those completely wild thoughts cross the albino merc's mind.

"You knew more than you were letting on. So now you're going to clue me in. Simple, right?"

Neena Thurman has posed:
It's interesting (read: freaky) how Rachel...doesn't look so much like Rachel at first until those facial markings 'cool' then vanish. What was up with THAT craziness?

Rachel doesn't look like she wants to talk about it at the moment.

"Hey now!" the albino quickly intervenes. "I dodge a lot of people! Don't think /you're/ somehow special."

How tall is this building, anyway? Tall enough. Although gravity alone isn't enough to save Domino one way or another, what with someone who can float an entire motorcycle AND her up to the roofline.

"Really, you're going to ride my ass over /that?/" Both hands are brought up, fingers snapping as she points toward the sky while her head's dipped forward in thought. It doesn't take her long to come to a decision.

"No. The last thing I need is to have my perfectly depressingly solo night on the town be screwed over by some stuck-up Xavier's poster child. Though feel free to tell Nate I said h--"

Rachel sits on Domino's bike. Right here in front of her. Like it suddenly belongs to someone OTHER than Neena.

Dom's always been an intensely private sort. Defensive. Territorial. And now with an extra serving of ornery. She's also spent her entire life pushing her luck and applying force as necessary to get her way, something which she really quite prefers to have, thank you very much.

Which is why she's now gotten over that momentary mental hang-up and has a nine millimeter aimed at Rachel.

"Here's a clue. Stop touching my shit. Thoughts included."

Rachel Summers has posed:
Don't think /you're/ somehow special.

Despite her annoyance, the laziest kind of smug smile tugs at Rachel's lips as she makes herself nice and comfy.

"I dunno," she muses, scratching her cheek with her index finger.

"You didn't -really- manage to dodge me so I think I'm gonna go ahead and keep feeling somehow special."

She's aggravated and given to an acerbic personality; she takes her cathartic jabs where she can.

Domino, understandably exasperated herself, expresses disbelief. Rachel tilts her head, red bangs half-spilling over one vibrant-if-disaffected eye. "What, you would rather I ride your ass over something else?"

She leaves the question to linger like a fun thought -- but it's mostly because of Neena's follow up. Rachel's green gaze narrows. Her lips thin into a line of neutrality as Neena calls her a poster child. But she's silent...

... right up until the point Domino catches her perched on that Bike like she owns it.

Domino draws down on her. Rachel's jaw sets. Pupils dilate. Her gaze instinctively trains onto that barrel.

But she doesn't. Move. A single. Inch.

In fact -- she just leisurely crosses one leg over the other as she stares Neena down like she were all but -goading- the other woman.

"You don't know a damn thing about me, Spot," she says, her voice taut with warning. "... So stop pretending like you do. I want you to appreciate the fact that I haven't just flayed those stupid answers from your stupid head myself because -I have too much respect for your frustrating, albino ass-. So either -shoot- me... or answer my questions.

"Or you could keep trying to dodge me, and I can crush your bike into a tiny ball of steel and regrets with my mind. It's your choice."

Neena Thurman has posed:
'You would rather I--'

Words always come from somewhere. Even if the mind is playing coy with their source. When Rachel throws that question right back at Domino it's enough to make her brain slip the clutch. It's hardly a unique saying. She picked it up from other mercs who picked it up from the military. But out of /all of the other things she could have said/...

She mentally stumbles, and she immediately hates herself for it. Blame it on Rachel's outfit. Or her confidence. Or both. Whatever. Such a bitch. Get over it already.

Like by drawing a gun. Because sometimes a pasty-assed self-destructive mutant mercenary can't have nice things because she doesn't allow herself to.

And then Rachel blindsides her yet again...by claiming she has too much /respect/ for--

This redhead is related to Cable. A guy who manages to bring out the professionalism in Neena. They're also /both/ psychics.

And this one happens to look really fucking good sitting on Dom's bike.

Neena just about flinches, furiously scrubbing the thought out of her mind while the source material remains constantly present. Not fucking fair... -Dom- is the one who twists shit around to her benefit, not the other way around! Now get this shit back under control--

"Crush my bike and you won't be able to pose on it anymore."

(Brilliant, Thurman. Way to fucking go.)

On one hand, there's no longer a gun pointing at Rachel. The top of the slide is resting vertically across Domino's forehead as she closes her eyes and takes a calming breath, which...has mixed results. "/FUCK/" she rages, the word forced out through her teeth as she turns away from the other mutant. Before anything else she walks to the edge of the roof, hands and gun resting across the partial wall as she leans forward and watches the Chinatown nightlife marching on without a care.

"'Richie'" is all she says at first. "There's a client. There's a fixer. There's a merc. Only the middle man knows the other two...except this one slipped a nickname when we were talking details. 'Richard Giles.' The piece of shit who kept those samples is the same piece of shit who brought the job."

Turning, leaning against the half wall with arms folding together, she eyes the psychic once more. Because she wants to enjoy the view some more.

"He had mutants hired to clean up his mess of fucking around with mutants. Happy now?"

"Also you're a damn psychic, nobody can dodge you." Just to get one more parting shot in there.

Rachel Summers has posed:
Words.

They have a powerful effect when you know how to wield the mighty superpowers known as emphasis and context.

Rachel Summers wields them to devastating effect today, it seems. Throwing Neena off her game might -just- help prevent her from getting shot once or twice (she hates getting shot once, let alone twice); it -also- inspires some interesting ideas to bubble up to Neena's surface thoughts like a flash in the pan; the typically dispassionate-looking redhead actually manages a full blown grin, -perfectly- timed to when that thought first crops up in Domino's mind.

Coincidence? Maybe. It might also be coincidence how her brows climb just so. Or how she breathes out an amused little,

"Hah."

right after. Or how her only words to Neena's brilliant warning is wry and pointed:

"Wouldn't want that. Right?"

It could all be coincidence.

But who are we kidding?

It all fades away to the backburner of Ray's thoughts, however, when she no longer has the fatally abiding attention of that gun trained on her. Hands planting behind her on the bike to prop herself up, she watches with a muted expression as Neena grapples with her anger, as she fails to assuage it. Her head tilts, red brows furrowing faintly at the sight.

Her gaze lingers on Neena as the monochrome merc leans against that half-a-wall. As she explains the situation.

Is she happy now?

"... Not really," she admits after a long moment. Her gaze shifts out toward China Town, watching the sights -- hearing the white noise of surface thoughts she had to train so long to filter out to the back of her mind. "It really pisses me off when people try to keep things from me, Spot. I don't like prying with people I know. It's their minds. I wanna respect that. ... It's really important to respect that."

Her brows furrow. "So people keeping crap from me..."

She shakes her head. Maybe she just doesn't expect Domino to understand. Maybe it's just a line of thought she doesn't want to go down. Either way--

"You're right. I'm a goddamn, pain in the ass psychic," she remarks oh-so-dryly. She leans back into that motorcycle, and arches a brow.

"Which means 'Richard Giles' can't dodge me either. Can he?"

Neena Thurman has posed:
Rachel's taunting doesn't help. Domino can't even look at the other mutant as a hand angrily snaps upright in a clear declaration of 'shut your mouth before I shut it for you.'

No. Just...just no. Fold. Hard pass. Never. No.

After all of this, running herself through the wringer and being teased by someone who's also managing to extract information from the albino with far too great of ease? Rachel's still not content.

'When people try to keep things from me...'

"Well look at that, we have something in common."

A respect for the minds of others, huh. Neena's /just/ about to say 'coulda fooled me' but it wouldn't have required telepathy to have read her thoughts a moment ago. Another point for Rachel, who seems to be racking them up FAR too quickly.

More concerning, Red here is leading up to something and she's making it sound like the fault lay solely at the mercenary's feet. Yeah, sure. Dom 'kept crap' from people. Even if she didn't realize it herself until the very end of their mission, only making the connection on their way out the proverbial door. But it still happened.

And she's not the target. This time.

Domino quickly pulls air into her lungs, ready to fire back with another interception about how this is none of Rachel's business and it's being handled and to get her annoying leather-wrapped ass back to her happy little gated community of classrooms and pacifists...

...Then it hits her.

It hits her with a subtle narrowing of eyes. An even more subtle hook of black lips.

'Nobody can dodge you.' What was that about words and their source?

"No" she thinks aloud, gradually standing herself upright to then wander closer to Rachel as if she has all the time in the world. Which she does. She doesn't have to wake up early for class tomorrow. "No, he can't. And you're going to lead me right to him" she states all matter-of-fact-like as she comes to stand all of a foot away from the psychic.

(Nice eyes, too.)

"But before we track his ass down and deliver what's coming to him, I have someone else to find. How'd you like to help me out?"

Yep. After threatening to shoot this lady, now Dom's attempting to make her play ball. Straight back to pushing her luck she goes.

Rachel Summers has posed:
Really, Rachel looks like she could just take a nap on that bike, the way she's lounging on it.

It's very striking. But also probably true.

When you live in a hellhole most of your life and find yourself in a much (relatively) safer place, anywhere becomes a fantastic nap spot.

Rachel Summers: dystopian, psychic cat.

The redhead doesn't pull her punches, for similar reasons. It's the same, combative personality that led them both to this rooftop situation. Maybe they're just too alike in that way.

But at least it leads interesting places, doesn't it?

Interesting places, like the way Neena approaches the redheaded psychic as she puts two and two together. Bright green eyes watch as the albino mercenary approaches; Rachel shifts on her perch, pushing with her palms until she's sitting a little bit straighter, a little less lazily, a little more square-shouldered.

You're going to lead me right to him.

A red brow lifts as Domino comes to a stop, with little more than a foot's space between them. Neena tempts fate.

And Rachel s l o w l y y y  leans forward, brow still quirked, as she lays out her own her own terms. What'll it cost, to look for not one, but -two- people for Neena? After making her run around tracking her pale ass all the way to China Town? After having to stare down the barrel of a gun pointed at her head?

Oh, the very worst thing:

"Say please. Like you mean it."

Neena Thurman has posed:
Rachel wants to keep playing this game, does she. Of course Domino's going to ante up, which may very well be Rachel's intention since she already knows how this killer works. Always push, always raise the bar, always reach for the impossible, and very often leave victorious.

Although sometimes the price of victory can be painfully high, though the way she's tucking her sidearm away she's at least not prepared to open fire over it.

Half gloved hands come to rest upon Rachel's shoulders, fingers artfully avoiding the spiky metal bits. Pale blue eyes stare at bright green eyes. And then, leaning in close with her voice coming all soft and gentle-like...

"I don't actually need you for this."

She wrestles to regain control.

"But you want to see this through now, don't you. Truth, justice, all wrongs righted, all of that karmic bullshit. If you want to do this properly there's an important piece being left out /and don't you fucking dig it out of my head or I will end you./"

"No, Red" she says again as those pale fingers with blacked out nails dig into Rachel's shoulders some for emphasis. "You play your part. I'll play mine. That's how this works. Get me my man and I'll make sure you have a front row seat while the universe rights itself."

There's a brief pause as Lady Luck stares down the fiery mindwalker.

"The spikes suit you."

(Because you're a prickly bitch.)

Rachel Summers has posed:
Oh, Rachel would never stop playing this game, if she could help it.

Domino is frustrating. Annoying. Fucking maddening sometimes. Rachel's still not very happy with her.

But she does love this.

So she leans in. So she doesn't shy away from the grip of pale fingers deftly darting between those sharp, gold spikes. So she doesn't so much as blink as she stares at those icy blues.

So she leisurely snags one of the zippers of Domino's biker gear between forefinger and thumb, using it like the most laughable lead to help draw the monochrome mercenary ever-closer with tiny little forward tugs...

I don't actually need you for this.

And so she narrows her eyes, and yet smiles a sharp little smile, as Domino ups the ante.

Neena plays out the scenario. Spins it in Rachel's benefit. She's not even wrong in her assessment -- there is an overwhelming part of Rachel that wants this slight righted and wants to see the man responsible -pay- for the obscenities he accomplished in that lab. She feels those black nailed fingers clench into her shoulders until it stings like a promise.

As a reward, Domino can feel Rachel's shoulders tense in irritation as she talks about how she's leaving out something -else-, critically important.

And yet all the same, Rachel's flat-faced stare says that she thinks everything Neena just superbly spun out is bullshit.

Is Domino bluffing? Is Rachel just putting on her best poker face?

There's a long moment of silence after that final compliment before dark red lips part.

"I know," she says, first and foremost about the spikes, because -- of /course./

She eyes Domino for a long time after that. And then:

"... Ugh. -Fine-," she concedes. "I'll help. Whatever. It's fine."

And here, she gives that zipper one more forward tug, to get Neena close enough that Rachel can leeean up and whisper in her ear,

"I'll get you to say please eventually, anyway."

And with that, she releases her hold, and starts to push her way up out of her claimed (and -rightful-) spot on that motorcycle, remarking as she goes,

"The black suits you."

(Because you're a black-hearted bitch.)

Neena Thurman has posed:
It seems they have one more thing in common. Domino's not used to standing toe to toe with other powerful mutants. Not like this. Making the encounter extra spicy, she's also not used to someone standing their ground against her with so much confidence as to be downright arrogant about it. For a lady who historically gets the best deals, it's a challenge. It's unpredictable. And it is turning out to be shockingly rewarding. The sort of high stakes game you don't get with a deck of cards, or even when the bullets start flying.

Don't get her wrong, she wants /so badly/ to throttle the hell out of Rachel and wipe that smug look clean off of her reddish features. And Dom's BIKE! She can't park it here! What the pigeons alone would do to the thing...

But it's hard to keep thinking wonderfully malicious thoughts when the redhead is tugging her closer by that enticing steel zipper, the two finding yet another way to have a stand-off. What is this, their fourth one tonight? At this rate they'll be setting new records in no time.

Still, it seems worthwhile that Lady Luck has a wildcard she's holding out on. Just how /good/ of one is anyone's guess but whichever it is she's playing it like a fucking champ. The wiles of a professional gambler. She can turn the smallest of details into the most critical of matters or the most important details into insignificant nothings. Half of the game is trying to figure out which hand she's playing at any given moment.

This time, whether by a full house or a hidden fold, she takes the pot. And a promise, or a threat, from Rach.

"Don't hold your breath" Domino teases back with a toothy grin, now too close for Red to see it beyond hearing it in the mercenary's words.

Aaand /scene./ The two release their respective holds. One steps back. The other relinquishes the motorcycle. A compliment given, a wink received. But how to end their twisted encounter with skill and grace?

"...Can you put my bike back on the road now?"

Rachel may not be holding her breath for long, after all.