18157/Closing In on Giles
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Closing In on Giles | |
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Date of Scene: | 02 June 2024 |
Location: | Long Night Bar |
Synopsis: | Not all close calls involve combat! Rachel and Domino meet up to discuss their next step in hunting an elusive mark when some other information manages to slip out into the wild. Whoops. |
Cast of Characters: | Neena Thurman, Rachel Summers
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- Neena Thurman has posed:
Have you ever had one of those meetings where you have to wonder 'couldn't this have been handled in a text?'
That's kind of the situation going on with Rachel and Domino today. Dom's really not a fan of having people in her head and the electronic route leaves a trail.
...Alright, she might have also wanted to have a drink or four with Rachel. Those are a lot harder to do through text messaging.
Thus, here the two end up in a tiny but cozy ilttle bar tucked away in Brooklyn. Somewhere nearby the albino's bike has been parked and one of the booths has been occupied with beers and a basket of fried onion rings.
There had been some sly eyeing up of the lone redhead upon first encounter but Dom had been quick to brush all of that aside in favor of business. Business which she really had no choice but to include Rachel in, though somehow she had a good feeling it would pay off in the long run.
"You found him." A statement, not a question. What else would prompt an exchange of info? It's not like Dom's about to share anything interesting. Willingly, anyway. But this, this is the main attraction ... this is the second main attraction of the day. Once they know where Giles in they can send in the artillery.
But that's a key which only Rachel Summers holds.
Goddamn psychics.
- Rachel Summers has posed:
Why couldn't this be handled in a text?
Rachel's reasoning is simple enough:
She prefers the human touch.
This, of course, could just be an excuse to have Domino around in brain-picking radius, but, well. Rachel's been pretty good at -not- prying into Domino's thoughts so far, at least. Besides.
Sometimes it's nice just to go out and get drunk with someone you find pretty interesting, if endlessly infuriating.
So, Rachel Summers is here with bells on. Not literally, of course, though who knows with her eclectic fashion sense; today's ensemble is for the Lazy Day Rachel, and even then, it lacks a certain amount of chill such a mood should ideally strike for: a red jumpsuit makes for the main piece of the outfit, unzipped all the way down to her navel to reveal the black tube top beneath.
Lest anyone worry she's forgetting her signature brand, though, be rest assured: the belt cinching the waist of that jumpsuit is well and proper spiked. So is the black choker she wears.
... And the black, heavy duty combat boots.
So don't fret! She's got her bases covered.
Smoky green eyes turn to regard Domino already by the time the albino merc is entering the bar; a lazy smirk tugs at dark red lips as Rachel sizes the other woman up, and then tips her head slightly to the right like a beckoning gesture to join her at her cozy little corner booth. She's already halfway through her first drink of the evening: a white russian, cradled between her hands.
She's wearing that dinky plastic planeteer ring still. Just to be a dick? The world may never know.
All the same -- Domino wastes no time getting to the meat of the meet, and Rachel's dark red brows lift in reply.
"What? No small talk?" she wonders dryly. "It's not that hard: 'my day's been wonderful, thanks. How's the bike? Good? Great. But don't you look fetching today, Red!'"
Rachel offers Domino the dispassionately amused look. "See, these are the kinds of things we need to work on, if we're gonna be teammates."
A second passes. Two. Three. Four. Fi--
"Yep, I found him," she finally confirms, four-point-five seconds into the silence.
And then promptly doesn't expand further than that, instead choosing to sip her cocktail.
- Neena Thurman has posed:
Nothing in life comes free...for everyone who doesn't happen to be Domino...but there are a select number of people who know how to keep the proverbial house from always winning. Case in point, a mutant who already knows how to get into Dom's head, and under her skin, and to properly get /in her head./ Which Rachel has certainly dressed the part for today.
By comparison Miss Allergic to Color looks about like she always does except the leathers are separated at waist level and the firearms are on the inside rather than the outside.
"Why is it I always feel under-dressed around you?" It's promptly followed by "Don't answer that."
Instead she's going to siiigh and slump back into the booth across from the psychic, arms loosely folded and head arrogantly lilting to one side as blue eyes stare down green.
"We're really gonna do this again, huh" she flatly remarks, though the hint of a smirk now slips into view. "You /do/ look fetching today. Could do without the ring, though. If you aren't careful someone's gonna think you're already called for" she teases.
Or maybe she's double-checking, and it has nothing at all to do with the idea of them being teammates.
"I still can't believe -- wait, no, it's Deadpool" she leans forward with some soft creaking of leather to momentarily hide her face within both hands. "I can believe it. I mean, you may as well be here. Right?" she flicks a hand upward before both flop back to the table. "Nate's been there for years and you sure seem to be following in his footsteps. Just replace the guns and pouches with leather and spikes and tone up the attitude /just/ a little" she squints and pinches a thumb and finger together.
(And the looks by a lot.)
Rachel DID find their mark, though. Excellent. This has the albino hooking two onion rings through one finger while the rest catch the nearest drink, hauling all of the goods to her side of the table.
"Let me guess. You're going to make me work for it." Because she KNOWS that cagey tone. It's a trick she's been using to great effect for more than a decade.
- Rachel Summers has posed:
Why is it I always feel under-dressed around you?
Red lips part.
Don't answer that.
Then obligingly shut.
Nevermind the coy look that manages to linger much longer than her helpful silence, of course. It's perfectly innocent. As is the long, loooong sip she takes of her white russian.
Eventually, though, Rachel leans back into the comfy-enough padding of her booth seat, her free hand ducking to slip into the pocket of her jumpsuit as Domino grouses. The time-lost vagabond's response is a slow transition of her pale features from coy to incredulous, lips pursing and eyes squinting before she just rolls her shoulders forward in a shrug.
"We're really gonna do this again," she echoes right back, just without the skeptical question implied. "I looked it up. It's called team-building and everybody hates it."
One eyebrow lifts as Rachel leans forward conspiratorially.
"So why shouldn't we get to have the same opportunity to hate it... -together-?"
Rachel Summers, coming in with the hard pitch.
It's not too long before Domino is calling attention to that gaudy plastic ring, though. Rachel blinks, as if not even realizing she was wearing it, and then abandons her drink for a few precious moments to lift her hand, stretch it forward, and splay her fingers so she can carefully inspect it like someone might eye the dazzling blood diamond on an overpriced engagement ring.
"Fetching as fuck, though," is her counter argument; she doesn't mean a single word of it. She peers at Domino between the gaps in her fingers; the monotone mercenary can catch the glimpse of a smile growing between the barrier of those digits.
"I guess I'm gonna have to trust that the worthwhile people will just take their chances anyway. I like a risk-taker."
She waits a solid second before adding:
"Even if I'm married to this whole Planeteer thing. Saving our planet's the thing to do, Spot."
Oh no. She did research!
It's a soft snort that follows in the wake of Domino's commentary about her and Nate; despite everything, despite that spiky exterior Rachel dourly wields against the world, there's actually a fond look as the other woman speaks about her brother, green eyes looking askance as her hand falls overtop the old fashioned rim of her glass.
"... Guess it's just those Grey-Summers genes," she muses, voice an off-handed murmur.
"We're all a huge pain in the ass."
Well. At least she's aware of it.
Domino pilfers snacks and drinks; Rachel shoots her a look as she drags those misbegotten spoils over to her side of the table, but she doesn't stop her. No -- instead, the prodigal dystopian is focused on what they're both here for -- what Domino wants. That single, simple location. The merc spots the tone quickly; the redhead doesn't bother hiding her appreciation of that fact. No -- she doesn't deny a single thing. She just leans back once again, hands lifting up to link behind the back of her head as she crosses one long leg over the other.
"Nope. I wouldn't do that to you, Spot," she assures. "You just have to say that magic word I love to hear."
Dark red lips move to mouth it. Slowly. It takes a little doing, what with it being one syllable and all, but she manages sublimely:
'P l e a s e .'
- Neena Thurman has posed:
'So why shouldn't we hate it together?'
"Ooo you are comin' on strooong" Domino softly replies, though now she's looking properly amused. Rachel's comment immediately prior about 'everybody hates it' likely scored a win with her.
Dom's remark only seems to hold more weight as Rachel mentions taking risks, now earning a subtle upward tick of both brows. Considering the risk-taker Rachel is now talking to, her comment is both innocently subtle and a slap upside the head.
Before Dom can follow up on any of this? Red mentions saving the planet. "Guh" the pale merc audibly pushes out a breath with an eye-roll. "Hey, I've been doing my part." What that might be, she's not saying. "You're obviously the 'Fire' part. Guessing I'm 'Earth' because I'm feelin' kinda grounded over here." Like 'face first in the dirt' grounded.
When Rachel mentions them all being a huge pain in the ass a pair of black capped white fingers snap and point across the table to the psychic, this time not saying a goddamn word in favor of utterly destroying an onion ring. Rach said it, no one else has to!
But, hang on. This time Domino's arching just one brow as Rachel promises she wouldn't put Spot on the spot. One word?
Oh.
Oh, hell.
"You..." she starts in, leaning forward on folded arms to stare at Rachel anew, "...are fucking impossible."
She could play right into it. One word, as simple as can be. But one which this killer /really/ does not enjoy throwing around, and that damn psychic knows it.
"You're never going to stop this pursuit until you've scored your win, so how's about we up the ante. I'll give you your word if the next time we share drinks it has nothing to do with business."
Like...a date. As much of one as either of these two are ever likely to call something a 'date,' anyway. One which is likely equally lacking in the typical degrees of commitments.
"What can I say" she says with a faint shrug. "You're a fun pain in the ass."
- Rachel Summers has posed:
I've been doing my part, Domino insists, and it inspires a blink from the green-eyed psychic sitting across from her. Rachel stares at her for a moment, as if expecting a follow up to expand on that assertion. When nothing comes save for a clever build up of her Captain Planet reference, the fiery Summers just watches Domino for a few seconds longer.
"Huh," she exhales. "Is that right?"
She chews on this for a moment, before she adds, off-handed,
"You're 'Air.' Definitely 'Air,'"
in a way that brooks no argument.
For now, though, Rachel tables her curiosity about Neena's heroic efforts on the part of the planet; the momentum of the conversation has already carried towards the reason for this meeting, and the redhead has to take her opportunity to make her play. She makes her request, that easy, simple thing she wants that she knows for a -fact- isn't even remotely simple or easy for Domino.
It's why she asks for it.
So she waits; an understated smile tugs at her lips as the pale soldier of fortune calls her impossible, as if it were a point of pride. But when Domino lays down that counteroffer, that smile fades. Rachel blinks, head canting curiously to the right to peer at the woman sitting across from her.
"That's one hell of a cocky move to spin as a bribe," is her first thought, as if to condemn Neena for the sheer arrogance of it. If only the tone managed to sell that, instead of a subtle undercurrent of interest.
You're a fun pain in the ass.
Rachel scoffs. Thick lashes partially obscure those bright green eyes as her lids hood and her gaze turns askance, staring at a particularly interesting corner of scuzzy bar floor. Fingers nudge around the rim of her drink as she leans in a little more despite herself.
"... First of all," she begins, "me getting drinks with you is a favor to you. I'm a fucking delight."
Still. Still, there's a smile dancing on her lips.
"... but fine. I'll graciously throw you a bone and accept your terms."
A very understated, very pleased smile.
Not that it'll probably make her next move any more agreeable to the other woman, but Rachel plows on regardless, because that's just how Summer-Greys do:
"He's in Canada," she supplies, serenely vague. She plucks up her glass, and brings it to her lips. This is, normally, where someone might offer a specific location. Rachel does not. Instead:
"Fortunately I know exactly where in that very large country we call our neighbor," she continues, "so it's a good thing I'll be going with you, and you won't have to cut me out of your little mission after getting the info you want out of me, huh?"
- Neena Thurman has posed:
Blink. 'Air?' Really? Domino looks curious but she doesn't puzzle over the 'correction' for long. Maybe it can be brought up later, in a different location with fancier drinks, because she already knows how things are going to play out here in the next few seconds.
True, it /is/ a cocky move to spin as a bribe. This merc is fully expecting to still have to drop the 'P' word with another outing of getting fucking trashed being a little something extra to sweeten the deal (mostly for her than for Rach,) but somewhere in the exchange Domino scores a critical win.
She gets her not-date. She doesn't have to say The Word. AND she gets some confirmation on Giles. Even if it's incredibly frickin' vague.
"A fucking delightful pain in the ass" she corrects Red this go around. But Neena wins, just as she knew she would. Rachel might cheat with being a psychic but Domino cheats by being bold.
"And if you don't know the exact location you can find your own ride home" she warns. "But if you're going to play hard to get--"
Then so is she? Oh please. Red here already has sway over the albino.
"--then Nate taught you well."
Yet there she sits with that idle matte black smile, looking like she just got away with murder. All because she didn't have to say 'please?' Wins will be taken wherever they can be gotten.
Just like drinks will be drank. Rach may favor her white russians. Dom's not so picky. Beer will get the job done, there's always times and places for the harder stuff.
"Now if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were starting to enjoy yourself on these little outings. After what we saw out of state I'd have expected you to want to keep your distance. Having a nose for trouble is good. I can work with that" suggests Trouble Incarnate.
Her voice pitches lower as she leans closer across the table. "Because when we pay our man a visit..?" Her eyes are purely on Rachel's as she hooks a half gloved finger in a 'come hither' motion.
The other half of her response comes as direct thoughts instead of words. An image of her putting a gun to Giles' head, of alarms and fires and explosions...
...but something's a little off with her thoughts. Some of it obviously hasn't happened, a foreshadowing of her intentions. But mixed into this mental scenario is a backdrop of scattered elements pulled directly from the past. Something which had already happened... And quite recently, judging by how fresh the memories which paint such a landscape seem to be.
- Rachel Summers has posed:
Everything's coming up Domhouse right now. Maybe it's those potent powers of fortune hard at work that make Rachel concede to her terms. Maybe Rachel's just giving up on ever getting a 'please' out of Neena (extremely unlikely).
Or maybe, just maybe, it's that she finds the counter-offer good enough to settle on. Maybe she thinks Domino is a delightful pain in the ass, too.
Also, maybe she's just -that confident- she's going to pry the dreaded P-word out of those black-stained lips one of these days, either way.
She certainly looks confident, in any case. But, well. When doesn't she?
Pearly white teeth flash in a grin at Domino's complimentary-yet-critical correction. The alabaster merc's brazen play seems to be winning, at least, if the delight in those usually detached green eyes are any indication.
"Please," she says, "Nate takes after me."
How does that even work? Rachel doesn't bother trying to explain the logistics of disparate timelines, or even how the two are, specifically, related. It's probably for the best. But she does seem -sure- of it.
"... Can't really explain to you where the obsession with pouches and shit comes from, though."
Says the woman frequently covered in spikes. Without even a hint of irony about it.
A soft snort flares past nostrils soon after as Dom offers up her scandalous suggestion. "Please," says Rachel, eyes rolling that perfect roll of hers. But it's surprisingly good natured. "I've just got a soft spot for people completely in over their heads. And that seems to be you every day that ends in a 'y'."
Dismissive, but charmed. It's clear in the way she lifts a brow as Domino lowers her voice. How Rachel leans across the table in turn as that finger crooks her forth, vinyl upholstery creaking gently with the forward pitch of her body weight. How her arms fold over the table, eyes shutting as she tilts her head to metaphorically offer Domino her ear with the softest, thoughtful, "hmmmm."
Or the pleased smile as she takes the freely offered opportunity to peer into the imagery bubbling to the surface of Domino's thoughts.
It's nothing she wasn't expecting. Nothing she hasn't seen before. The mayhem, the fire, the explosions -- they're all more than justified. But Giles' fate...
Right now, Rachel is content to let herself get lost in the moment, in that little scrap of trust the monochrome merc offers up to her, until...
...
Imagery from the past. Not daydreams of the future. Green eyes open with a fluttering blink. Brows knit toward a nose-wrinkling knot.
She peers past the fantasies, towards the memories, as two incredulous words fill the space between them.
"... What's this?"
- Neena Thurman has posed:
The banter between the two is proving to be immensely entertaining. In typical Domino fashion she should have quit while she was ahead. She even got /Rachel/ to say 'please.' Twice! Almost back to back! And it didn't even seem to be a deliberate move on Rachel's part to rib the palest one that little bit further.
It's an evening of wins, nevermind other conflicting matters buried far deeper within Dom's mind. The odd means by which these two have started hanging out, not to mention the desire to continue to do so under more pleasant guises, tosses some potentially quite unorthodox complications into the air.
But those are all problems for future Neena. Planning ahead is for people who don't regularly pull random shit out of their back pockets and consistently win by doing so. Which...also comes with the matter of being in over her head, it's true. So, so far in over her head.
Then sooner or later it all catches up to her.
Like right now.
A powerful and trained psychic against someone who can barely keep her own thoughts sorted. Seasoned by adrenaline and retribution, the fading afterglow of a similar but /different enough/ situation involving pure-bred mayhem. The only link which ties these past memories from the future daydreams being an underground facility, but not the one from Alaska. Those memories involved far more fear and revulsion.
There is only excitement here. The anticipation of the hunt, the fantasy of revenge served up hot. Fires which are fanned from the burning wreckage of a massive crater left in the jungles of Nicaragua following charges set upon its generators...
Charges set by familiar looking hands...
It's the only glimpse Rachel's going to get before the plug is abruptly pulled, as best as someone like Domino can manage. The usual heavy black curtain falls back into place, an endless void which Rachel had previously burned her way out of during their first visit following the Alaska gig.
Through all of this the mercenary manages to remain entirely stoic, wearing her very best poker face when she continues to look back to Rachel with a simple counter-question of "What's what?"
- Rachel Summers has posed:
Memories have a tendency to echo each other. It's like the effect of specific stimuli on the mind. It can't help but associate one thought with another.
It's something Rachel Summers has a lot of history with, scarred into her psyche. After all...
... the power of context was a very efficient tool, when you were hunting people desperate not to be found.
So for reasons she wish she never had, she grasps exactly what she's seeing when she sees it. It's what this, specifically, means that eludes her for a moment: her nose wrinkles, her jaw sets, as those psychic muscles instinctively flex. They feel around the context of that moment, tracing the contours of that memory. The red hot fire of bloody vengeance. A conflagration that shook the foundation of a country in Central America.
A set of hands, setting up an explosive charge with practiced ease.
Let's light this cand
and just like that the memory cuts off into a pitch black morass.
It's a trick Rachel's familiar with. The defensive expertise of a woman who hates people peering into her thoughts and catching something they're not supposed to.
Dropped down to hide something she didn't want to be seen.
"..."
The redhead draws back. Red lips press into a line. And that piercing gaze falls on Domino, pointedly, waiting for the answer to her question.
The neutrality of her expression devolves into the downward tug of a piqued frown when she gets it.
"... Yeah. We're not playing the coy game anymore," she says, slowly, tension lining her voice. "What the hell were you doing in Nicaragua, Spot?"
- Neena Thurman has posed:
...
Shit.
The air between the two changes with the swiftness and severity of an unexpected lightning strike. The spotted woman starts to frown and lean back, far back, straight to the furthest reaches the admittedly comfy booths will allow. Dom's not going to start wondering how or why, she let a fucking /psychic/ into her head and one of the doors leading to a closet full of recent skeletons was left open.
She has no one to blame here but herself, but her first impulsion is to direct all of that irritation toward psychics and /why/ she doesn't like people fucking about in her /head./
Way to go, Thurman. Your cockiness just led to a major fucking breach of security.
"Something which you are going to try /very fucking hard/ to forget" she about hisses, her voice pitched low with a threatening edge. A quick swipe of a hand immediately follows. "Look, if you know anything about me then you know I don't do shit without a damn good purpose."
Unless money is involved...
"Are you upset about the crater we all left up north? No? Then you shouldn't be upset by whatever it is you think you just saw."
There's only the hope of being able to calm the air keeping her butt in the booth. Rachel isn't the sort of person she can up and pick a fight with. She doesn't /want/ to, either. Which means the other avenue of escape would be to leave, but if she hits the eject button too soon Rach is only going to want to dig deeper. Welcome to damage control, don't screw this up too.
- Rachel Summers has posed:
Something which you are going to try /very fucking hard/ to forget.
"The fuck I am."
So. This is going great, so far.
An atmosphere that was once marked by enjoyment - however exasperated - takes a sudden turn. Tension lines the air between Rachel and Domino within a hair's breadth. Frustration marks the redhead's expression vividly, from the twist of her lips to the spark in her eyes.
Because she -is- frustrated. She let herself fall into the moment only to get a vivid reminder of who Neena Thurman is.
A reminder that hits so close to home it hurts in a way she can't properly articulate. And so Rachel can only fall back on one thing:
"Oh, yeah. Because everyone who thinks they have a good purpose do such -great- things for it."
Hypocrite, some part of her brain, deep down, admonishes her. What right does she have to judge any of this--?
"I -know- what we did up north," Rachel hisses between clenched teeth. Maybe it's a small mercy that she's at least keeping her voice hushed now. "I know -why- we did it. And I know I had to practically pull teeth just to get a straight fucking answer out of you about it. So why, exactly, am I supposed to -not- be upset about -this- one, when you managed to expertly piss me off about an actual, good cause already?"
Rachel pushes the remains of that white russian away from her; the time for drinks is done, apparently. She should just stay calm. This isn't her business. She had no business seeing that memory. She--
"That 'earthquake' in Nicaragua left a lot of bodies. So who was paying your fee on -that- one?"
- Neena Thurman has posed:
Super great.
Domino no longer has her hands on the table, which is an obvious but impossible to avoid tell for someone like her. The mercenary's guard is most certainly up, but if push came to shoot Rachel would hold the better hand...in more ways than one.
Though, something that Rachel says might prove to be an escape hatch for she who is now scrambling for a win on defense. They had been in this situation before and the way out had been shockingly simple.
Transparency.
Another one of those things the albino hates having to give in to, but at the time it had meant Rach went from resistance to actively supporting their last cause. And since asking her (or anyone) to take Dom at her word is asking an awful lot...
Alright. Neena likes Rachel, so she's going to own what she did and let the psychic in a little further. But like every exchange between these two, it doesn't come served up on a platter.
Red may have abandoned her drink. Neena goes back for hers, slamming back a healthy dose in the hopes of settling rattled nerves. Don't lose your cool here. Let Rachel glow in her irritation while awaiting the big reveal. Dom's counting on another checkmate to save her pale butt.
"Sentinels."
The single word is finally offered forth as the empty glass clunks against the table between them, though she's never once broken eye contact through the stunt.
"Secret manufacturing facility. Middle of nowhere. Scorched the fucking Earth. They won't be coming back."
With this said she makes a subtle show of spreading her palms apart as if to suggest she has nothing else to hide.
- Rachel Summers has posed:
There's few things more true than the fact that the people we like are often the best at getting under our skin. Maybe it says a lot that Domino can just flip Rachel's switch like this. And that's probably something she should chew on a bit.
But right now, she's not thinking of any of that, because she is just -so frustrated- with this woman right now.
It's all the premium ingredients of quality irritation, stewed to perfection in that damnable silence: Rachel's entire body threads with tension; she even gets a little spasm twitching at her right brow for a second there as that annoyance builds to a fever pitch.
"You're really not nearly as fucking cute as you think you are--"
And just as she begins to launch into a fiery tirade that would make her vibrant hair color proud--
Sentinels.
That single word cuts her off with surprising efficiency. Maybe it's not -that- surprising: Sentinels, after all, are all of their enemies. But there's something there in the way Rachel's eyes widen, in the way Domino manages to (mostly) diffuse the growing bomb that is her temper within three syllables. Her lips stay parted for a second as whatever verbal vitriol she was going to lob at Neena stalls.
"... Oh."
For a second, that's all there is. She still looks dissatisfied. It's easy to imagine why. She hesitates on that precipice for a few seconds later, before she remembers to breathe, pouring a lion's share of that tension away in an exasperated sigh.
"Okay. Okay, fine, I," she begins, fingers lifting to push short red bangs away from her eyes, "... fine." Something still doesn't feel right. She doesn't like all the mayhem, for one thing. But... how can she be mad at this? She struggles for a second, before she just shakes her head, all the hard work of combing fingers undone in an instant as the motion sends that red hair spilling over her left eye again.
"So what, this was some kind of X-Force mission?"
- Neena Thurman has posed:
Neena shouldn't be prolonging this. It's a volatile situation with two /incredibly volatile people/ and she's knowingly, deliberately, throwing fuel on the rapidly growing fire by sitting there with that 'I know something you don't know' attitude. In short: She's being an incredible bitch. But she had to work through a few decisions for herself so the time isn't /completely/ wasted.
At the way Rachel immediately deflates from that one word of excuse being provided, she legitimately feels a pang of regret for having unnecessarily toyed with the other mutant. Defiance, like luck, can cut both ways.
"Yeah" she says back, far more muted now and coming across sounding tired. "I ..."
Rachel may not be getting a 'please' out of the albino tonight, but she's still getting a second place prize:
"Sorry."
'Some kind of X-Force mission?'
"Something like that" she sort of confirms. Some of those people are a part of X-Force, even if the mission itself had an entirely different faction written all over it.
"Anyway, it's done." It's done and Dom shouldn't have let Rachel see any of it. "So now we can get back to focusing on our Mister G troubles."
And going out for drinks again which she is absolutely NOT going to mention at this moment.
A long breath passes through the alabaster mutant before she finds the nerve to look back to Rachel, having notably avoided her ever since her excuse had been fully delivered.
"We still good?"
- Rachel Summers has posed:
Sorry.
Not for the first time tonight, Rachel Summers blinks as she's given a rare offering from the woman sitting across from her. It's not what she was expecting. She lapses into silence for a moment as she watches Neena, watches the way the other woman seems to avoid her gaze -- the way she technically confirms her question.
Something gnaws at her still. She doesn't like the feeling. It reminds her of how impossible it is for her to just trust people. It makes those invisible marks on her face feel like they're burning because she could just do what they forced her to do so many years ago and claw the truth out if she wanted--
Rachel forces the reflex down with a disgusted feeling, wordlessly watching Domino for a few seconds more as the snow white merc finally meets her gaze.
Are they still good?
... No, she decides. That feeling inside of her... it's just that cynical reflex. She can't be like that.
"... Yeah," she says, after a long moment. "Yeah. We're still good, Spot. Listen, I..."
She needs to try to trust Neena.
"... I'm sorry. Even if I think part of you gets off on pushing my buttons."
That last part is offered with the wry edge of humor. Like an olive branch. Long fingers with their dark red lacquered nails take hold of her drink again.
"So I guess now we plan a nice, cozy vacation to Canada, huh?"
- Neena Thurman has posed:
A breath which Neena didn't realize she had been holding slowly releases.
This isn't easy. No one ever claimed it would be. Human lives are complicated. Mutant lives more so. Adding team dynamics into the mix? Sometimes it's a miracle /any/ of them are still breathing. But for now it's an experience these two continue to benefit from and she will damn well take that win.
When Rachel offers that joke attached to the end of an olive branch? "I was gonna say the same thing about you" she replies with a ghostly smile.
As Rach goes for her drink Neena picks up her empty (but not for long) beer to reach across the table and clink the two pieces of glass together.
"Nobody tell Logan."