18996/Teleport in Paradise

Teleport in Paradise
Date of Scene:	04 September 2024
Location:	Somewhere off the coast of Maui
Synopsis:	Bad decisions aplenty as a vacationing Domino gets a surprise visit by Rachel. Against all odds they manage to have a more meaningful visit without the usual battery of verbal threats.
Cast of Characters:	Neena Thurman, Rachel Summers

---

Neena Thurman has posed:
The weather is perfect. Enough clouds overhead for some relief from an otherwise warm tropical sun, the lapping of island-calmed Pacific waves against the hull of a small yacht, and -oh dear gods the glow of all white skin- stretched out on a deck chair.

Somewhere off the shores of Maui resides a relaxing albino, dunked in a vat of sunscreen then left to rest with a chilled pina colada close at hand. It's still a few weeks before whale season so the area is extra peaceful, ideal for the kind of lady who enjoys some indulgence without the attention of people. Combined with great diving locations and enough booze on board to send a small town into a weekend stupor, Domino seems ready for the long haul.

What can she say? Getting a free ride on Pyro's yacht had put her back in the mood. Then with all of this crazy Juggernaut stuff adding to her ever-changing collection of various physical traumas, this time is now her time to enjoy.

Rachel Summers has posed:
Domino doesn't deserve being jerked around by you,
    she's better than that.

Lorna never really voiced the whole thought.

But she certainly thought it.

Surface thoughts to a psychic are like speaking out loud; telling someone not to hear them would be like telling a normal person to turn their ears off. For the most part, Rachel Summers does a good job of separating those surface thoughts from what is spoken, because one is a impulse, and one is a deliberate choice to act on that impulse. She's seen all sorts of bizarre, ugly thoughts and wants bubble up to the surface, even from very good people. But it's not them until they -act- on it.

Sometimes, though...

Sometimes, a thought just sticks with her, like an itch you can't scratch.

Like the Queen of Genosha trying to tell her what she can do.

Like...

Domino doesn't deserve being jerked around by you,
    she's better than that.

Which brings us to today, where a monochrome merc luxuriates in the tropical sun of Maui, the ocean breeze brushing is relaxing warmth across the beachfront with every lazy lap of salt-frothed waves upon the shore. A perfect, peaceful day of perfect, peaceful solitude. Just Domino, and her well-chilled pina colada, currently floating in the air.

... Wait. What?

In fact, yes: the second that Domino moves to take her pina colada and enjoy its refreshing, pineapple-y goodness, she'll find it's not there. Instead? Instead, it's currently floating in the air -just- in front of her eyeline, -just- out of reach. Up it goes, up, and up, and up...

... until it lands in the waiting palm of Rachel Summers, floating about ten feet up and casting her literal-and-figurative-shadow on Domino's bright and sunny day.

She's dressed for the ambiance, at least, in her way: it's a red one-piece bathing suit that decorates the pale redhead today, a laced-up opening plunging down the front to a bit below her navel, darker red fishnet covering her arms on up to her neck (where a customary spiked collar dominates), and a pair of canny little cutouts at her waist.

It doesn't -really- fit the tropical paradise mood but, hey, it's a bathing suit -- that has to count for something.

Lifting that pina colada to her lips, she takes a long, savoring sip, maintaining eye contact the entire time.

"Sup, Spot."

She says.

As casual as can be.

Neena Thurman has posed:
The idle rocking of the boat easily lulls one into a sense of calm serenity, swept away from all of life's problems big and little. It is perhaps by sheer luck Rachel isn't kept waiting before the ever-present call for smooth chilled boozy goodness takes over, one white hand with its gloss black fingernails reaching to the side to find...nothing. There's some blind poking and prodding and tapping until she realizes something which should very much be there very much is -not- there.

Behind her shades the truth of the migrating glass becomes clear. Out of reach but always in sight, drifting, drifting...
...up to the hottest thing in the daytime sky. Move over, sun.

"I was told the view out this way couldn't be beat" she stoically replies with an expression which refuses to match the notes. How can she be upset when something like a dressed up Rachel Summers decides to drop on by? "Pullin' out all the stops today, I see." Including blocking Dom's sun, prompting the albino to hook a finger and tug her shades down enough to peer over them.

A decision is swiftly made as bare feet sweep onto the deck, bringing the black leather bikini-clad killer to her feet and inside toward the shade of the bar. Probably to make herself a fresh drink, seeing as her last one has unexpectedly been called for.

"The least you could do is land for a while" she idly calls back. "Goddamn flyers, always flaunting about."

Does she know why Rachel is here?

Not at all. Nor is she going to ask. Rachel can handle that part for her.

Does she care?

Also not at all. Though now, like their other few encounters, there is the included sideplot that is her having to exercise some self-control which is not at all helped by the way the redhead has decided to present herself.

"Still love that collar though" she leans back outside with a toothy grin.

Off to another great start, Thurman.

Rachel Summers has posed:
Pullin' out all the stops today, I see.

The typically disaffected Rachel Summers lifts her brows with a guilelessness so sublime that it just must be enacted with maximum guile.

"Dunno what you're talking about. This is my default."

She says, in what also must be teasing. ... Except for how that last statement is perfectly plausible, coming from someone like Rachel.

Domino swings back onto her feet. Rachel watches the whole process intently, the soft 's l u r r r p' of her lips 'round that straw filling the seasalty air as she does. That green gaze lingers on that leather bikini, and despite herself, that pristine poker face is compromised with the slightest, wryest smile.

Leather bikini; really, it's something precious few people could have the audacity to pull off. It just reminds her of how perfectly frustrating Domino is, and how hard it is to keep those frustrations burning as anything more than flashes in the pan.

"Here I thought you liked my flaunting," Rachel remarks instead of actually -landing- as Neena disappears into the boat interior. "You really know how to make a girl feel confused, Spot."

Her tone is that effortlessly flat thing it always is as she eases into that back and forth that's become so familiar so fast; eventually, by the time the monochrome merc has settled inside, Rachel finally lands on the boat's deck, bare feed touching ground and toes flexing to feel the material beneath them.

By the time Neena pokes her head out, Rachel is stretching her arms over her head in a very deliberately luxurious way that somehow, -someway- makes the sun glint off the spikes of that collar as if to just -draw- the eye to them (psychics; they cheat so bad) --

just before she eases back to steal Neena's chair, as easy as can be.

"Yeah?" she asks after Neena's grinning comment. "How much?"

It's a loaded comment, which is why, naturally, she almost immediately pivots, barely providing a window of response before she continues: "I seemed to remember you talking about promising me a drink sometime so I thought I'd make good on it." This is at least /half/-true. The truth is, it's -more- than half.

"It'd been so long I thought you might be avoiding me. What with how you and your Brotherhood buddies tried to fuck me over, and all."

Rachel just can't help herself from poking the bear, though.

Neena Thurman has posed:
"It's a nice default" Domino has to add. Because it really is. Coincidentally, this is probably the least complicated interaction these two are going to have today.

"Different kind of flaunting, Red" she suggest as, infuriatingly, Rach decides to continue levitating. "Glad to know I can make you feel light on your feet, at least." Very, very light. Confused, though? Well...

Tough.

Once Rach finds the sun-warmed wooden deck proper she'll easily hear the sounds of ice being scooped from a bin into an awaiting blender, the albino working through the motions in a way which suggests she's had a lot of time to practice over the last 48-odd hours. Which of course pauses with another bit of commentary, which also happens to result in an extended stare with Rachel putting on a performance to -somehow- manage to draw -more- attention to herself goddammit.

How much?

There's no time to respond but Rach might pick up the mental coalescing of thoughts which all point to a response of 'I'd tug on it.' If the redhead isn't quick on the pickup she'll miss the thought forever (until five minutes from now) as she shifts the narrative again.

"And now you have one" Dom teases, her grin back to occupying its favorite corner of her mouth.

A few more ingredients get poured into the blender, right in time for Rachel to make the Brotherhood jab--
--which happens to be perfectly timed with the mercenary leeeeaning on the blend button to oh so nonchalantly drown out the 'fuck me over, and all' part of Rach's comment. The action is complete with a deadpan stare from the gun for hire, letting the mixture blend for longer than is probably necessary.

"Is that how you feel" she asks when the blender cuts out, turning back to her work to pour the mixed contents into a fresh tall glass with a short stem. The glass has been made to look like a pineapple, naturally.

"The way I see it, we found some common ground to bring us together. We got our guy. And let's be honest, Red" she says with a dramatic cocking of hips as she leans sidelong against the bar counter while fully turned toward the psychic. With crossed ankles and everything. "You weren't going to do anything with him that we weren't going to."

A slight shrug as she neatly flicks a wide straw into the freshly made drink. "I don't much care who gets the goods from him, either. All I want is accurate information to act on."

Rachel Summers has posed:
Domino works through a well-practiced rote of magic with that blender; Rachel curiously tilts the condensation-dewed glass of her cocktail in her hand and wonders just what number pina colada this actually is.

For her? It's her first. Literally. Not a lot of opportunities for pina coladas in the hellish future -- not much more when you're struggling to cope in a strange time where nothing you had done before actually mattered.

She takes another sip, testing the taste on the buds of her tongue. The mix of sweet and sour, the hint of rum...

"Huh."

Rachel grins a little, teeth-flashing grin. She can see how Domino's gotten so practiced with that blender.

She speaks; she pivots. Domino has no chance to answer; she just has that little impulse bubbling up to the forefront of her mind. Surface thoughts. Rachel can't -not- hear them. She just filters them out, divorces them from reality...

... again: most of the time.

Instead, just as she airs casually airs her frustration--

WHHRRRRRKRRRRSSHHHHHHWWHRRRRRRRR

Every single syllable just so happens to get drowned out by the impeccable timing of Domino's blender.

The redhead isn't the -only- expert on the subject of timing here.

Deadpan stare meets a narrowed one.

Rachel very lovingly (in her way) flips Domino off. And if that wasn't clear enough:

< Ha ha. Fuck you. >

broadcasts helpfully into Domino's skull.

"I guess we'll never know now," Rachel starts in when the blending blitz finally breaks and Domino says her piece. Annoyance creeps into her tone. "Your royal highness did a great job muscling me out once she was done with me. Maybe I could have gotten better intel from him. Maybe I could have done something -more- for you, but you keep screwing with--"

It's the start of what is assuredly going to be another fiery argument, but Rachel suddenly stops before she can truly start. She draws in a breath, closing her eyes. Memories of her conversation drift to the forefront of her mind.

Dom's -told- you what this means to her, -hasn't- she?

Armageddon. An unfamiliar word, with a very particular connotation. What does it mean to Domino?

Is Domino like her? ...

"..."

Green eyes crack open, staring at that glass of pina colada.

"... Forget it," Rachel breathes. "I don't want to fight." And slowly, she stretches back out into a stand, glass in hand, and walks - /prowls/, really - towards that bar that Domino leans against in all her hip-cocked, distracting glory.

"You promised me drinks without business. That's what I want to collect on. No bullshit. Just you and me."

A date.

And she just keeps on walking until she's stepping into Domino's personal space, -leaning- inward so that she may guilelessly place her cocktail on the bar counter just beside Domino's hip. Close enough that the lowered pitch of her tone can just barely be heard.

"Want to tug on it, huh?"

-Usually- she filters out the surface thoughts. -Usually-.

Neena Thurman has posed:
That lone 'huh' from Rachel only tugs at Domino's amusement, her expression wanting to say 'good, right?' When she isn't giving the redhead a totally flat stare, of course. Dom didn't even overload it on the rum! She's here to relax, not get shit-faced. There aren't any pressing memories to oppress.

The extended middle finger juuust might get an upward twitch of shapely black brows but she does a remarkable job of keeping emotions out of her level expression. Rach is allowed to speak the words into her mind without retaliation.

There's a lot more on the psychic's mind, it seems. Things which she's far more likely to speak than think. At first the albino lets her vent, feeling the tension in the room rise, though her response is merely to take a slow, lingering drink through the straw as she watches Rachel. Unmoving. Unblinking. Not solely to be sarcastic about it all, but absorbing.

Before she can respond Rachel cuts herself off, changing the subject so abruptly that Dom looks ...shit, is that -concern?- No, probably more like disappointment. But still.

Whether disappointment or concern they can fucking well wait as Rachel steps closer and sets her glass down. Getting into Dom's personal space. Voice turning lower. Intimate.

Without breaking eye contact Domino quietly sets her drink aside, the same hand reaching forward to carefully play with that spiky leather band around the redhead's neck. Fingertips graze across the pointy chrome details then slip under the band, hooking into place. Using it to gradually reel Rachel in those last few inches until they're cheek to cheek. Prime whispering range.

"There's a lot on your mind, Red. We can do this angry if you'd like."

She pauses long enough to brush matte black lips across the psychic's ear. "Or we can try to work it out. Dealer's choice."

Sideplot failed.

It's a rare invitation from the pale killer to let someone ask their questions and speak their mind. She's in a good mood. Mellow. Interested. Fully prepared to completely fuck up the interior of this yacht if it comes to something feral, but also offering to smooth things over before they advance on this forbidden interest any further.

Either way, she's got a hold on Rachel's collar now and that's damn well good enough of a starting point for her.

Rachel Summers has posed:
Like the threat of a storm brewing only to break, Rachel changes the tenor of their talk with a few forward steps and a well-placed drink.

There's still tension in the air now, but it's a different sort now. A mix. Between anger and intimacy. Annoyance and interest.

All mixed to perfection like a well-blended cocktail.

She feels those snowy white fingers hook into the leather hugging her neck, and Rachel's burning green gaze hoods and tempers into something a bit less fiery; a bit more smoldering. She leans in to the draw of their touch like a sailor drawn to the jagged rocks by a siren song, until the warmth of her is sinking in against Domino. Until her cheek brushes Neena's. Until the mercenary can feel the particular and peculiar heat from that stretch of skin, like something that should indicate flushing skin, if there was even a trace of warm pink on those pale cheeks.

There's a lot on your mind, Red.

Rachel can't help it; she snorts a brief 'pfft' of dry amusement, because she hasn't heard anything quite so profoundly understated all day.

They can do this angry, or...

Rachel shivers as lips drag across the sensitive stretch of her ear to pour that offer directly into its drum. Idle hands are the devil's plaything, and so she keeps them occupied by settling them on Domino's hips and letting her feel the sharp contrast of ice-cooled fingers dragging against her sun-warmed skin.

"... I've done angry all my life," she admits quietly, a sincere confession that might be jarring for the moment, or for their dynamic.

"I want to do this right, Spot. ... I don't... I'm not just jerking you around."

She says it.

But her fingers curl inward until even her clipped nails are biting into the pallid flesh of Domino's hip enough to sting so sweet.

"... But every time I think we're finally on the same page you completely flip the script. You're just so..."

Her head tilts. And deep dark red lips brush against matte black ones as she utters words that become an increasing murmur.

"... fucking -frustrating-..."

Until a brush becomes an embrace.

Neena Thurman has posed:
Whoever said 'the chase is better than the catch' was wrong. Domino finds both to be equally full of promise. There's a definite divide between these two, often with very unclear lines, yet somehow they've managed to bridge it. How long it might last before one or both of them decide to torch said bridge is anyone's guess, but for the moment... Well. Live for the moment.

The boat around them lazily rolls and sways, the calm waters gently bumping against the hull. The wind outside tugs at the flags and furnishings. Inside it's a different mix. Warmth and cold, smooth and sharp. A complexity which threatens to wage war against itself at any moment.

This is probably a bad idea. A terrible idea. But Domino's entire life has been built up on terrible ideas, building up to a sort of perpetual motion machine of crazy bad stupid things which somehow leaves her in a better place in the end. ..Usually. Eventually. Sometimes it's a lengthy toll road to get there.

As for what to say in the moment the road is, if nothing else, windy and steep. Rachel throws a blind hairpin Dom's way with several honest admissions, one in particular being quite the surprise.

'I'm not just jerking you around.'

Before she can think up a response those nails catch white skin, leading to a sharper intake of breath. Then Rachel takes a turn at flipping the script. For a few lingering seconds neither of them have a speaking role to play.

Then...

"It wasn't my idea to shut you out, Red." Another quiet admission. "Lorna wants to run her ship her own way. I'm more along for the ride. The only reason I'd want you sitting one out is so you don't have to see the monster I can be."

Rachel Summers has posed:
Who knows what the future might hold?

This is a bad idea. Probably a doomed one, destined for a relationship that someone might generously call 'rocky.' People like them don't often compromise and don't often half-live their lives; it's a recipe for disaster. Somewhere deep inside, if Rachel was looking into the future with clear eyes, she'd know this.

But she spent most of her life trying to look towards a better future. Right now...

Right now she just wants to think about -right now-.

And right now is good. Right now is contrasts, and heat, and the way Domino's voice vibrates at her lips in a way that just makes the hairs at the back of the redheaded vagabond's neck stand on end and chase goosebumps all up her arms. Their kiss breaks; Rachel's lips hover barely an inch from Neena's.

The only reason I'd want you sitting out...

Rachel hesitates on the precipice of that confession. That earnest admission. It once again drags that question to the forefront of her mind: what is Armageddon?

There is a point there where silence reigns, where Neena might rightly begin to think that her honesty in this moment has pushed Rachel away.

And then fingers hook firmly at the back of her thighs.

"It's okay." How much of a monster can Neena be?

There's something more in Rachel's eyes as they open to stare at Neena. Something like understanding.

"I can handle monsters."

Maybe even kinship.

She doesn't mind a monster.

It just means she's in good company.

And Rachel uses that grip on Domino's thighs to help push her up onto the bartop, knocking at least -one- of their drinks aside as she goes in for another kiss. She wants to do this right.

But some wrong never hurt, either, right?