7062/Drunk Text ON!

Drunk Text ON!
Date of Scene:	24 July 2021
Location:	Josie's Bar
Synopsis:	The drinks are drunk, the food is 'et. I wonder where Clarice and Rahne is?
Cast of Characters:	Rahne Sinclair, Clarice Ferguson

---

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Clarice gets a text. It goes along the lines of this:

Am at bar. Come they think I am five

She follows it with a picture, of an outside of a bar, the name clear enough to recognize. Then another text, less clear.

Inside now. Making me drink coke. send help.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice arrives - still via one of Ritz's portals, which means she has to pause with her hand on the side of the alleyway for a moment as her stomach settles. Fuck, she wants her own portals back. After a few deep breaths to calm her stomach, she makes her way out onto the street, and down the half block or so to the bar. Ritz got her close this time - good on her. She shoulders the door open, her gaze going to the back table where those troublesome drunks were last time.
    Thankfully, there's no sign of them - but she does spot Rahne, who she flashes a smile. Approaching the bar she says simply, "Two glasses of scotch - neat - and a basket of fries, thank you." She slides her credit card over to open a tab, takes the two glasses that are poured for her, and goes to join Rahne without a word, setting one of the glasses of scotch down in front of her, before sitting in a seat across from her.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
A lady waitress glances at the event, then frowns. She comes over immediately, as Rahne is taking her glass of whiskey. The little redhead glowers up at her.

"She's too you.." she starts to say, but Rahne interrupts with, "I"M SHORT! Not a child, god damn it!" Wow, she's cussing. Must be really ticked about this.

The lady frowns, then looks to Clarice. Blinks at the purple skin. Then looks at Rahne, clearly rethinking her choices. Mutants? Possibly? Do I want this kind of trouble?

Well, it depends on what Clarice says.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    Clarice simply stares at the woman with a 'do we have a problem?' look for a long moment. "I think you managed to anger the Scottish brogue out of her, which is pretty impressive. We'll have two more glasses of scotch - and some water, if you don't mind."
    Will the woman recognize her from the news? Will that work in their favor - or against it? She stares at the woman until she departs, then turns her attention to Rahne before adding, "You know - the Asteroid is outside of any country's borders. We don't have to bow to anyone's rules about the consumption of alcohol."
    Or Clarice could just buy them a bottle of liquor at a liquor store and they could go find a park somewhere.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
"Asteroid?" Rahne's voice is confused, but as she watches the waitress turn away like a dog with tail between her legs, she takes the win with a frown. Looking back to Clarice she shifts on her seat, then looks at the whiskey in her hand. She sips it with a pause, and the sigh that comes out after is delicious.

"Even MY papa would nae deny me whiskey. Es water, back home." She somehow manages to put some real disgust into anything mentioning her dad, but that's a Rahne thing. It was always a touchy subject. "Thank ye, ah dinnee e'en like coke."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "I'm not a fan of it, either," Clarice answers with amusement. "And - yes. The Asteroid. Asteroid M, the Brotherhood's main base of operations," she explains simply. "It's where I live these days since- well. Since Magneto's return." She takes a sip of her own glass, letting out a satisfied sigh. "Didn't realize you'd made it this far south. I'd thought you were planning on staying upstate. Those kids didn't give you anymore trouble, then?" Clarice asks with some concern.
    There was nothing to be gained out of beating the snot out of them - other than a little satisfaction.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne gives a shrug; the kids referred to were youths on bikes, not mutant-killers or enemies with powers. She'd outrun them on four paws, something she felt a need to do so she wouldn't hurt them. "Ah would nae hurt anyone. But was jus' wee kids." Enough perhaps to hurt her, if she'd been caught. But that would be stupid. Stupid, stupid.

Then she leans back and swirls the glass, while the fries arrive on the table by a mysterious vanishing waitress. It makes Rahne grin, and she doesn't make the lady's day any harder. "Wondered," she says. "I maybe meet them, d'ye think?" She isn't pushy, she's never pushy. She's changing already. "They be people. Did never agree w' th' idea at they be enemies, forever and aday."

She's got some really odd speech choices, but at least it means she's relaxing a bit.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "They were biggots," Clarice mutters with quiet venom, frowning down at her drink for a moment, then letting out a sigh. "But, I'm just glad they didn't give you any trouble. I don't like any of us being without back-up."
    She sips her drink again before asking, "Meet them? Meet who - members of the Brotherhood? 'cuz you're sitting with one right now. I'm one of Mystique's Lieutenants, in fact," she remarks - with a little pride in her voice. She's worked hard to change from the frightened and confused girl she'd been when she'd been rescued, to the more confident and independent woman she is now.
    Even if there are still some struggles.
    Reaching out, she claims one of the fries while they're still scaldingly hot, and munches at it contentedly.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
For all her training and all the fighting, Rahne hasn't changed so much. She came to the mansion believing in something greater, a good that is all people. As she reaches for Clarice's hand over the table, that light in her heart still shines.

"They be people. Th' kids, you, Mystique. All." She is herself, with a gift that nobody has taken away. Hope. "Et be nice tae meet ye, Left'nt." She pauses, then tries the word in her mouth a few more times. It gets no easier to mangle.

"No, pure true, ah like tae meet 'em sometime. Wi'out bein shot at."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "You won't be shot at - we're not like that," Clarice answers with amusement, turning her hand in Rahne's so she can give it a squeeze, as she flashes the other girl a smile. "Things are changing in the Brotherhood. Mystique's changed. Lorna and I have managed to bring her around, to see that the more violent and revolutionary we are - the more frightened and angry our opponents become. That our actions have been feeding this war, not winning it or stopping it."
    She takes another sip of her drink before adding, "We're working with the X-Men, now. Saving mutants in trouble and getting them the help they need - stuff we can all agree on. Yeah?"

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
The redhead slips her hand from Clarice's, not because of distaste but because she needs the hand in order to feed her face. Fries are decent food, and she's not been eating enough since she left the mansion. Actually she delays her response a moment when she realizes how hungry she really is; that whiskey was hitting her hard, and it was only one glass.

"Thaf gmd," she mumbles around a mouthful, blushing redly while she engages with foodstuffs in a nonstandard attack pattern. "Have t.." She chokes a little, coughing into her hand, then proceeds with manners that aren't from a kennel. "Ah meant tae say, d'ye mind if, maybe, ah were tae stick my nose in a li'l? No promises."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "I don't mind," Clarice answers easily. "I can have Ritz bring us both up to the Asteroid. Her portals are a bit more jarring to the stomach than mine, unfortunately. But it's still better than any other way of getting there at the moment." She takes another sip of her scotch before adding, "And I can introduce you around. Some of them are bit rough - not used to the new way of things yet. But most of 'em are good enough sorts."
    She steals another fry for herself - but seems content enough to leave the lion's share to Rahne, a mix of amusement with just a dash of concern managing to color her features as she watches Rahne eat.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne shrugs, mouth full again as Clarice talks. She seems content to allow her to talk, but when the other girl seems to be done she looks up, almost embarrased. And wipes her hands on a napkin. Not her shorts, never her shorts. Ew.

After a cough, she nods. "Could maybe help. Ah be their enemy, y'know. An...honestly, thaur be th' opportunity there. Could maybe," she's uncertain, "try tae answer some o' their questions. Or, you know. Takeconfession." She mumbles that last bit, mumbles it hard.

She isn't qualified, but...who else would offer, to the Brotherhood?

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Take... confession?" Clarice repeats - sounding a bit baffled. "Are you offering to be the Brotherhood's spiritual counsel?" she asks. She can't help it - she smiles broadly at that - amusement evident on her features, before she quickly tries to suppress the expression. "I'm not sure how many of them actually feel guilty for their actions. I mean, the ones I've killed, they all deserved it," she says rather matter of factly.
    "Whether it was for crimes against their own kind - or crimes against ours."
    She reaches for a fry - hesitating as memories of the fight in the Sphere, and on the beach on that island raise unbidden in her mind. The memories of enslaved and brainwashed mutants on the attack - mutants she helped stop, and kill. "...well. Most of them anyways," she murmurs, before taking a bite.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
"They, should have...th' chance," Rahne says, her eyes looking up at Clarice. There's a slight golden glow in them, something that comes out when she's near to changing. It's an emotional reaction, something she believes in dearly. Not always under her own control, not always right. But there, all the same.

She sighs, then reaches for her second glass of whiskey. She looks at it quietly for a moment, then sips some of it down. When she sticks her tongue out at it, she mumbles, "'s not th' good stuff." Then she licks her lips a bit, just a tiny bit of tongue. "People dinnae always know what they want. I pure do nae, es truth."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "I suppose they should," Clarice agrees after a moment. "Maybe they should." She does silent and thoughtful for a time, sipping her drink and staring off to the side, unseeing. There are things she regrets - but she tries not to think about them, tries to keep them tucked to the back of her mind. Was that healthy or not? She wasn't really sure.
    She focuses her attention back on Rahne as she adds, "There's some things I'm so sure of - things I //know//, things I'm passionate about. And then there's so many other things where- I just feel lost, and uncertain."

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne spreads her hands, just a little bit. She doesn't open her lips to answer that last point, a confused shrug the only answer that seems fitting. Her eyes are dark now, less upset but as full as ever. There might even be a hint of dampness in her eyes.

Until she tilts her glass back, almost falling over as it tilts her chair in the process of drinking. She empties it, then a sudden scramble for balance leaves her wobbling and alert. "Fuh," she says, eloquent and awesome. Shut up, I'm awesome.

"Um. Do ye hae enough tae buy a burger? Please and I'm ...I mean.." Pause. Her lips tilt upward awkwardly, and she almost looks like she's begging. Did she learn that as a puppers? Does it matter?

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "More than enough for burgers," Clarice answers with a laugh, as she's the one to reach out and capture Rahne's hand this time - a broad, warm smile on her features. "Don't you go fainting with hunger on me, now. I barely spend my stipend as it is." Eating on the Asteroid most of the time as she does, and barely spending any money outside of simple clothes. She gives Rahne's hand a tight squeeze, before releasing it, and living her arm to get the attention of a server
    "Can we get two burgers - cheeseburgers?" she asks, looking to Rahne for confirmation. "With grilled onions, and toasted buns."
    Dropping her hand to her glass, she picks it up for another sip, waiting until the waitress has moved away before she adds, "And I wish you would tell me more about what's going on with you - what all's driven you away from Xavier's. Is it just- just to try to get away from having to do harm? Because I'm not sure moving towards the Brotherhood, even if we are reforming our methods, helps with that?"

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Nods from the wuff, nods all over the place. She definitely is good with cheeseburgers, a taste she picked up back home after being ...the history is unimportant. The taste, of a burger on your lips. So, much, yum.

She pauses in her quest for a new way to drool over incoming food (Pavlov would be proud) to blink at the questions, not what she was expecting so she isn't prepared with an answer.

"Clary, hae ye ever thought, maybe ah jus want to?" She looks at Clarice, the pet name no issue to her. "Sure an et was stiflin, more'n a bit, but ah love th' professor still. Love a lot o th' people there. Am nae runnin -away- from Xavier's. I'm, y'know. Walkin."

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Oh," Clarice answers - there's puzzlement and confusion on her features at this response, and she sinks back into her seat as she tries to turn it over in her mind. Everything - just about every word Rahne just spoke to her - was completely foreign to her, from the way she works herself to the bone, to the way she insists on keeping the few people she cares about just as close as she dared. The thought of walking away from everything, just to take a break?
    "I think I see?" But it's unclear if she really does. "The Professor is an admirable man," she offers instead. "I mean, I've only met with him a few times. But I do admire what he's created, the things he does for the people in his care. And the people at the school are all good people." Except maybe that one- ...rather annoying teenaged know-nothing.
    "Anyways. I'll let Mystique know that I'll be bringing you up to see the place, just for a visit. You'll like the Asteroid too, I bet. It's beautiful."

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne sits quietly. She has this odd smile on her face, something akin to patience and halfway to lunacy. She lean forward, interrupting just a little, to capture Clarice's hands. No? Stop her.

"I love them, Clary. I love them all. I love you, even. Probably will love Mystique, when ah meet her." She grins then, her eyes crinkling and she grins like it's forever. "Ye, cannee, stop, me."

Because Rahne. Because Rahne Bloody Sinclair, forever.

Clarice Ferguson has posed:
    "Well. I hope you do love Mystique," Clarice says warmly, and sincerely. "So few do. So few see her - they see her past. They see her reputation. They don't see her. She cares, so much, about us. About all of us - about all of mutant kind. She wants so badly to create a better world for us that it's driven her to lunacy at times. She's done awful things - but she's not an awful person, not really." And Clarice believes that - completely, and fervently. It shows her in tone, in the set of her jaw, and the determination in her gaze.
    "And maybe you can help me convince the people at Xavier's that she's changed - that she really is mending her ways. That this moment is an opportunity to change the future of mutant kind and our world if we cease it, instead of driving her and the Brotherhood back to the way things used to be. We can make the world better."

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
Rahne knows better, sadly. She looks at Clarice's passion, and inside of herself she sighs. She holds the young woman's hand, and keeps her answer inside.

You can't change other people. You can't convince them that someone else has changed. Beliefs are firm, beliefs can not be uprooted by anything...but time, and trauma, and pain.

You can only change yourself, and how you see the world. And hope that changing yourself...helps.

The awful thing is, that food arrives at that point and Rahne is lost before she can express...anything. Because like a million other times in history, a rumbling tummy overpowers sense. And a cheeseburger...well.

Nom.