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The thing about being Fox is that sometimes you have to try out being lots of different things...
... but some days, the best thing you can be is yourself, working on a project. That, too, is An Experience.
Fox has gotten two large earthenware pots full of dirt and has them sitting out under the July Philadelphia sun, and is currently sitting straddling one of them, chin sitting on the edge of the pot as her green-gold eyes fix on the earth, and -- like watching a time-lapse photograph in real life -- a green little shoot works its way up out of the earth. Her smile is subtle, her expression content.
Vasha enters the perceptions of those present. He doesn't arrive. Red Guards are like that. In and out of time and place and being. He's in his lounge chair and has a large fruit filled fluted glass with some form of liquor in it. His sunglasses, of course, and his swim trunks again. No robe this time. "You make me tempted to reenact that scene from Ghost. The one that made horny housewives take up pottery in the 80s." Vasha eyes the process with fondness, watching the plant with interest, "What are you doing this time, Naika?"
Leta spends a ridiculous amount of time both being herself, and working on projects - so in lieu of poisoning Fox's plants with her uncaring, black thumbs - she's actually doing some sunbathing. Y'know, like you do when you're a member of a Cadre full of obscenely rich Russian oligarchs (plus one very cute Fox) and it's the dead of summer in your shared Philadelphia penthouse apartment. The twiggy little Mastigos is currently wearing a black two-piece swimsuit, a wide brimmed sun hat, sunglasses, and transparent-ish sarong with bright golden sunflowers. She pauses mid-bong rip to fix Vasha with a concerned (or possibly curious? It's hard to tell behind sunglasses) look before finishing the breath, and setting her bubbler to the side of the lounge chair.(edited)
"Ohhh, myyyy loooove," Fox answers, singing back the beginning of That Song from That Movie. "Was it the 80s or the 90s?" she asks thoughtfully. "And you know I wouldn't mind." She continues watching the plant as it struggles out of the soil with the same sort of rapidity and awkward-child motions as a bird wriggling free from its egg. "Lux brought me home some seeds from Hawai'i. I wasn't sure how they'd do in this climate, so I wanted to make sure I was monitoring the soil and also the growth until they were established, and I could get a better idea of if I'm going to have to convert a room in this ridiculous space into being a greenhouse. I probably will, but it's summer here, so I can get these seeds started without a greenhouse." She squints up at both of them and hugs the planter like she's hugging a big stuffed teddy bear. Look at her planty baby!
"Yes, that's the one. Might have been the 90s. I don't know. Not my country. Probably the 90s, since Demi and Patrick cut their teeth in the 80s, and it was a big blockbuster from the offing." Vasha takes a sip of his fruity cocktail and glances up at the roof. "Is there a pool up there? We should ask Zoya if there's a pool. If the roof is ours, we can set up a greenhouse up there, too. If you like. You should have what you need here." Vasha swings his legs over the side and sits up on his chair, watching the pair by turns. "I think I'd like a pool, if there isn't one. Certainly if this weather is going to be the norm."
"What movie was this again? How did I miss a movie with housewife hypnofetish shit in it?" Beat. "Or am I maybe just placing undue emphasis on the word made." Leta's voice is hoarse as she says all this in just a single breath, coughing and sputtering as she exhales. Curse her weak constitution. "There's no fucking way this palace of Zoya's doesn't have a pool, right? Hell, it probably has an infinity pool. Or infinity pools." She rights her own chair, shifting to offer the bong to the rest of the balcony. "We could always go check for ourselves..."(edited)
"Mmhmm," Fox agrees, and once she's satisfied that the plant is started and doing well, the little Thyrsus hops up to her feet and pads over -- pap pap pap -- to lean down and kiss Leta hello, before padding over -- pap pap pap -- to sit down on Vasha's lap and lean over to kiss him and then steal a sip of his fruity liquor. Spicy little Fox. "Hi." And now is the time when we lounge on Vasha and play with our new ring, if we are Fox. "There is a pool. It's on the other side of the upstairs. A pool and a hot tub. Zoya threw me into it the first time that I explored the place with her. And then we smooched." The smooching is probably why Fox blushed just then. Did you know that a lounging Ukranian in the sun is like having your own heat rock? It is.
"It's Ghost that we're talking about. Where there is a weird scene with Whoopi acting like a medium and ... you have to watch it. And we can go swim! Let's go swim!"
Vasha returns the smooch and wraps his free arm around Fox's waist to offer her up a sip of the cocktail. There's a curly straw. Because of course there's a curly straw. "Smooched. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Vasha gives Fox's backside a swat to encourage her to stand up. Can't very well go to the pool and hot tub sitting down, can they? "Lead the way, then. I'm dying to see this pool. It's indoors? Fascinating." Once Fox is back n her feet, Vasha stands up himself and beckons to Leta. "Come, come. You are invited, too. Obviously. But. I am trying a new version of me where I am not a vicious asshole to everyone that tries to know me. You should take advantage."
"Enh," Leta offers a dismissive little wave as she pulls herself up from the chair. Once standing - since nobody took her up on her offer - she takes another rip before setting the pipe aside. "I'd much rather take advantage of a vicious asshole," exhales smoke at the ceiling - punctuating the act by sticking out her pierced tongue and wriggling it. "... but I would fucking hope I'm invited, I live here - and I suggested that we go look for the pool!" Her catterwalling is, of course, an act - and she tips her sunglasses down to fix Fox with a wink before following after Vasha.
Going on an adventure! It's pool time!
"Well, we did other things as well, but also, we smooched," Fox answers primly. "Someone once told me that technically correct is the best kind of correct." She takes another sip of the cocktail from said curly straw, equally faux-primly, and adds, "It's on the other balcony, kinda? It's enclosed, but you can open it? And. It's a salt-water pool." She hops up to her feet, tugging her tank top back down as it got all fussed when she flopped onto Vasha, and pads off into the house, leading the way. "I like salt-water pools better, they are so much nicer and don't fuck up your skin! I mean I can fix it but... eurgh, chlorine."
There's another balcony? There's... another balcony. On the other side of the penthouse. With a pool. And a hot tub. With a glass enclosure that can be opened to the sky or closed over in the winter.
What is this fucking Oligarch bullshit?
But, you know, it doesn't seem to faze Fox in the least. She has no concept of money.
"Sorry to disappoint. I suppose I can go back to being a vicious asshole to you, but that's not really taking advantage at that point, it's just respecting someone's kink. But I digress." Vasha once more offers Fox's backside a smack as they step out onto the other balcony. What on earth. "How many balconies does this place have?" He searches around for the controls so that the canopy can be drawn back and the sky let in. No point in swimming if you can't see the sky! Or so goes Vasha's logic, anyway. He takes another protracted gulp of his drink and sets it down, perhaps preparing to dive in. "I feel like I should fetch my cigars for this. After a bit of swimming, a cigar might be just the thing. In fact, I'll go get them from my humidor. Leta? Naika? Would you care for one?"
Leta fucking cackles at Vasha's response - and her laughter devolves into a little coughing fit as she follows the pair through the house and out to the second balcony. Which is, I guess, a thing. Fuckin' rich people. "This house is ridiculous, I swear to God. I'd say nobody should have this much money, but it'd be rude to talk shit something I clearly aim to benefit from." She quirks an eyebrow at the offer, mid-way through untying her sarong as she blinks at the Acanthus. "Uhh. Yeah, actually. It's been a while since I had one - I'll smoke a cigar with you."
"You all have more money than I've ever seen," Fox points out mildly, and she turns her face up to the fading afternoon sun as Vasha operates the little mechanism that opens up the roof to the sky. "I might want one by the time I'm done swimming," she agrees. "But I might not. I don't know. Having another one is probably not bad? I'm not a cigar person. I have no idea." She shoots an amused look over at Leta's coughing fit and cackling, and then raises an eyebrow at Vasha, her lips pressed together in an affectionate smile.
She strips off her shorts and tank top and stretches her arms up over her head, chucking both pieces of clothing over onto a deck chair. Nudity is nothing to Fox, and usually unremarkable for that, save that apparently earlier today she went to go get her old tattoo fixed, and healed it up proper already, because Life Master, that's why. The Yaroslav the Wise coin has been covered over by a circular emblem in which a woman in a WWII Soviet sniper uniform aims her rifle across a background of a Ukranian flag.
You know, nbd. Not even worth mentioning.
"It's not technically my money. It belongs to my masque. And it only exists while I'm wearing it. It's magic money. But. Magic money spends the same way as real money, and it gets us nice toys. Flame throwers. Rocket launchers. And so on. I have a twin engine beachcraft. It can do water landings if we need it to. I don't have it set with floats, though. Landing gear at present. A nice complement to Zoya's jet." Vasha then notes over to Leta, "Oh, and a yacht. Apparently we have two of those, now, too."
The disrobing is watched with his usual appreciation for such things, particularly where Fox is concerned. But the redone ink has him blinking twice. "Oh, that's quite lovely. Is that? Lyudmila?" Vasha steps closer to Naika, bending down to get a closer look. "Quite the excellent job, my dear. That's... that's quite lovely. Thank you." He straightens up, bestows a kiss on her cheek, then on her lips, and steps away again to fetch the cigars. He's not gone for terribly long. He thought to bring the good cognac, too. And some glasses. The cigar cutter, and a box of matches. Everything they need for proper decadence. It's all set down poolside for when everyone is interested.
"What the fuck?" They can't really see where Leta's eyes are - on account of the sunglasses she's wearing - but one can probably assume where her gaze is based on the not-so-subtle way she draws her lower lip between her teeth. Then -- completely unceremoniously -- without even waiting for an answer, she tosses her hat onto a nearby deck chair like a frisbee, and fucking cannonballs into the pool.
When she surfaces, she shakes her head - her soaking wet hair flying every which way - and when she notices Vasha has returned, are paddles over to the edge. "We wouldn't happen to have a mini gun that I don't know about, do we? I'm asking for a friend..."
"We have two yachts?" That manages to even punch through Fox's lack of understanding of money, and she laughs aloud, something like gekkering, hands propped on her hips. "And two planes?" She throws her head back, laughing aloud. "Wow." The hands on her hips are accompanied with a briefly puffed-up chest when Vasha steps over to get a closer look at her new tattoo. "It is. I needed to cover up the old coin, and I wanted to preserve the symbolism of the old one, so... " So she replaced Yaroslav with Pavlichenko, as Vasha himself did. "I'm glad you like it." She turns her face up for the kisses, blushing brightly, and then when he walks away, she dives into the water, smooth as an otter.
Which she might be in a minute, you never know.
"The cost per minute of a minigun is ridiculous, you realize. Spray and pray is no way to live. Clean, precise, deliberate shots. They make spotting your location much more difficult. And when you're like us, a second round is typically not necessary." Vasha settles down onto the edge of the pool and dangles his legs into the water before admitting with a grin, "But they are fun. No. I don't have a line on that level of hardware. I'm trying to see if I can find us a decent crew serviced mortar, though. And perhaps some crew serviced machine guns, for that matter. They're harder to come by on the black market, however. And those that are easier to come by tend to be rather dated Vietnam War era stuff. M-60s and the like. Impractical. Noisy. Garish. The scrap with the beshilu makes me believe such things would be good to have locked away, however." Vasha nudges the tray away a bit to ensure his precious Cubans don't get wet, and then he drops down into the water with a sploosh to begin a lazy backstroke towards the opposite end of the pool.
"Okay, but if we have two fucking yachts, I think we -- as a collective -- can probably afford to let Leta joyride on a chain gun for a half-hour." She tips her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, and thrusts out her lower lip like a pouty little puppy. "Come on, I want to have fun, too! Do it for the spankbank - and the tremendous amount of fun I will surely have turning something into swiss cheese. Be a pal..." Beat. "... but I guess a mortar would be pretty fucking cool, too. If we have to settle." She leans backwards with a shrug, hooking her elbows over the edge of the pool while gently kicking her legs to keep afloat.
This might be the bougiest conversation the game's ever seen!(edited)
Guess who does not care about how much a minigun costs per minute to operate? If you guessed 'Fox,' you are right. She dives under the water, and comes back up not as a small dark-haired Thyrsus, but as a sleek-furred sea otter. There's a blossoming of Naika's Nimbus -- the petrichor plays nicely with the salt water smell of the pool, as does the cut-greenery smell of said Nimbus -- and she comments, rolling over onto her back, "Fun is fun." It's a chittering otter sound, but understandable, if, in fact, her cadremates consented to the working. "It is fun to make things blow up, that is true."
"I am grumbly that there are more rats to kill. I thought we were done. But I don't want to be grumbly. I want to be an otter."
"I'm a mind Adept. My spank bank is dynamic and limitless. It contains multitudes. Plus, I can just excite my pleasure centers whenever I care to and leave them that way for a solid half an hour, so. Really." Vasha ceases his backstroke and bobs back upright in the water, see-sawing his hand. As though to suggest vanilla things such as twiggy women with chain guns isn't enough to rev his engine these days.
"Now. Strap into an aerobatic flight suit with me and go up in a stunt plane, and we're talking some excitement. Put the hard back into hard Gs." Vasha dives under the water and swims towards Naika, grasping her hips while under the water and surfacing along with her, catapulting her up and out of the water and then off and away towards the deep end. He's not strong enough to toss her particularly far, but it's a fun way to dive back under the water, as such things go.
"Well yeah. I could just give myself the memory of having done it, or replicate the rush of endorphins and adrenaline if I wanted, but there're certain things one should experience." She says this pointedly, pausing for a moment to stick out her pierced tongue again. "... and it's bold of you to suggest a ride in a stunt plane -- like I'm some kind of fuckin' test pilot from the forties -- like I wouldn't instantly acceept that offer," the Mastigos snickers - pushing off from the wall, and diving to the bottom of the pool to see where Otter!Fox (who is probably closer to a twink, when presentating masculine, but that's a dumb joke, and beside the point) ended up after being tossed. "Give me a when and where, you crusty motherfucker."(edited)
Flinging an otter is a little like flinging a big, heavy, wet sack of fur. But Fox enjoys that, apparently, and goes chittering across the water, flung into the deep end. She dives down into the deep end of the pool and swims in circles for a little bit before surfacing and chittering, "Experiences should be experienced with your whole body, not just your brain." Thank you, otter!Fox, for your very valid commentary.
"I want to do that flying too." Because of course she does. E X P E R I E N C E S.
"I literally just flung you out of the water as an otter, and now you want to fly in a stunt plane. Fine. We can all go up sometime. They're only two seaters, so we'll have to take turns. Or, I suppose, you could shape shift into a cat or the like and ride in Leta's lap." He returns to his back stroke, contentedly swimming along the surface of the water in long and lazy strokes. "Whenever you like. We can hit the airfield any day, really. We'll want to fly west, away from the city for aerobatics. But that's not a problem. Have you ever flown a plane before?" Vasha's history in the military had many surprises to it, apparently. He paddles back over to his tray and plucks up one of the cigars, clipping it and sliding off its ring before lighting it up with a match and pouring himself a small glass of cognac.
"I'm going to hold you to that," a feral little grin spreads across Leta's features when she comes up from beneath the water - not unlike the one she sported while wielding the flamethrower - only growing wider as Vasha explains further. "... and while I haven't technically flown a plane before, before two weeks ago, I hadn't fired a gun since I was fourteen. The things I'm capable of when applying my Mind are, how did you say it? Dynamic and limitless?" She wiggles her fingers all mockingly mystical. "... and thank you for backing my play, Fox. I knew you'd agree."
There's a wink, and she paddles over to play with Otter!Fox in the pool. 'Cause honestly? Who could resist?
Otter laughter is not dissimilar from fox laughter. They're both chittery high-pitched things that bounce off the glass. Or maybe it's just that it's always Fox's laughter. "Smaller bodies don't take that sort of body force well without being designed for it. We can take turns," philosophizes the otter. "I like taking turns." Fox flips over in the water, backstroking around with her little otter paws on her stomach. Now all she needs is a rock and an abalone and the look is complete.
"We can go tomorrow? Let's go tomorrow!" Someone else will arrange it and make it work. Fox just has ideas. They're an ideas person. Or otter. She holds out her little paw to Leta. Let us raft.
Vasha coughs suddenly at the 'I like taking turns' comment. Perhaps he made the mistake of inhaling his cigar smoke, who knows. He resumes his aristocratic puffing as he stretches out poolside, one arm on the filter rim, the other holding his cigar. "Tomorrow is fine, yes. I'd be happy to help you all unwind a little. It's quite fun. If perhaps slightly nauseating. More fun in a jet, of course. But. They're a little more difficult to get permission to fly in, especially here in the states." He reaches back for his glass of cognac and takes a sip, watching the pair play with an amused smile. "Otters are adorable. It should be criminal precisely how adorable, frankly."
"Yeah, otters are cute - but I'm way more into bears." Leta manages this terrible joke (which I'm using a second time, because I'm a one-trick pony) with a complete deadpan - continuing to play with Fox's little otter paws. She then tips her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose again, wiggling an amused brow at Vasha before turning back to the task at hand. Sorry, Vasha, but you become fair game for lecherous commendary when you make sexist comments about Leta's cupsize over text messages. "I'd take off work tomorrow for the opportunity to unwind a little. Just saying."(edited)
Otters are innocent! They are so innocent. They can't even think the kind of thoughts that would make Vasha choke on their cigar smoke. Look how innocent an otter looks. There's practically a halo over her head. She blinks her big black eyes twice. "Tomorrow, yes. I can't wait! It will be fun." Fox chitters a laugh at Leta's joke. "I can be a bear, too. My mentor for the Orphans was a bear. I liked her very much. Bear was the first form I learned after fox." Of course Fox knows what Leta's talking about, but she's being silly. Her little paws pat pat pat at Leta's hands, and she flips over onto her tummy, giving Vasha the winningest little look. "I'm cute and I get what I want. It's great!"
"Take tomorrow off work, we go tomorrow, someone make the thing happen!"
The thing about Fox and Vasha is that she has been every adorable thing under the sun around him over the years, and the adorable and innocent act wears pretty thin when up against a Guardian's cynicism and mental gaming. He just rolls his eyes theatrically at the pair of them and resumes puffing on his cigar.
"My job is hunting and killing Seers of the Throne. It's more of an avocation, really. We can go tomorrow. It's fine." He turns again to tap some ash carefully into the tray, then turns back to continue puffing. Another slow sip of the cognac follows. "Never liked bears much," a likely story from a guy with a masque named Medvedev, "too grouchy and territorial." Ha.
"Yes," Leta confirms with a curt little nod - an amused smile flickering across her features as she slides the sunglasses back up. "I've yet to experience territorial, but they are quite grouchy." Leta isn't near strong enough to hurl three feet of water fox otter across a pool, so rather than try and embarrass herself, she just wraps her arms around Fox - pulling the li'l Thyrsus onto her stomach as she maneuvers onto her back to float there with her hands linked behind her head. "I wouldn't mind cuddling with a bear, I don't think." This, she says to Fox. "Not right now, obviously, but..."
Fox will stop trying the adorable and innocent act on Vasha when she dies. It works, in its own way. He rolls his eyes at her, and she chitters happy laughter. That eye-roll feeds her little trolling-Vasha soul. And he knows it. She raises her little paw and waves it at Vasha. Yeah, of course she resized her ring to fit her paw. You wanted this, forever, is the inherent meaning of that gesture.
"Pffff," and Fox is pulled up onto Leta's belly and floats there, very content to be babied. Why be an otter if you don't want to raft? THAT is the question. And obviously Fox has answered it. "We had the worst ex who was a bear," she explains to Leta. "Every so often, I almost forget he existed." And then they wander off mentally. "I can be a bear later! Not when I'm wet though. I want to dry off for bear snuggles."
"I think we'd prefer you dry off, too, come to that," Vasha observes around his cigar, "but I do think a lazy evening flopped out on the floor with a bear to cuddle with could be entertaining. Perhaps with the addition of Leta's chemical alterations. I haven't had much occasion to be chemically altered in the past few years. I have a lot to catch up on. And weed beats alcohol, as far as long term health effects are concerned." He takes another slow sip of his cognac and smacks his lips appreciatively before dipping his cigar into it and resuming his puffing.
"As for territorial, Leta. You have. You just haven't had it aimed at you, yet. I daresay the beshilu hive received a face first introduction into one of my less than generous moods. I don't generally throw hand grenades at people I'm ambivalent about. Particularly when the pin isn't in them any longer." He smiles sunnily at the memory of shrapnel and rat flesh. Mmm. Cordite. "Good times."
"Ambivalence? That's how you feel about me?" The Mastigos's brow furrows behind the rim of her sunglasses, and she thrusts out her lower lip at Vasha again - this time in mock hurt. "That's probably the worst thing you've ever said to me, and I'm not sure how I feel about it." Though, she's probably not too broken up about it, considering she's still maintaining her relaxed lounging position, and immediately returns to making faces at the otter nestled on her tum.
"Yes, well, I can destroy the water when I'm done with it. Easier than trying to dry off fur. Or I could become a person again and then dry off, but whatever." Far be it from Fox not to take the magical solution whenever one presents itself. "I do think that's a good way to spend an evening! Put it on our calendar." Because Fox keeps a calendar. Or any sort of static plans. Sure.
When Leta starts pouting, Fox looks briefly alarmed in her little otter way, and starts wiggling to get out from between the two of them. But it doesn't last long, and so she flops back across the Mastigo's noodly tummy.
"I didn't say I was ambivalent about you. You did." Vasha points this out mildly before taking another puff off his cigar. "For someone as gifted in Mind magic as you are, Leta, your lack of insight into a simple little enigma such as myself is disappointing. Aren't your lot supposed to scrute at a glance all the facets and flaws in every unique little gem that is a person?" His smile returns slowly now as he once more reaches for his cognac and has a small sip.
"I'm curious about you. Perhaps even intrigued. But not ambivalent. I would never have agreed to let you into my cadre of all these years if I were something so little as ambivalent about you. Besides. You make Fox happy." He gestures with his glass as the pair of them, clearly enjoying themselves. "For that alone I owe you at least polite interest. Wouldn't you agree?" His grin is a little wider now. "It pleases me to know my opinion of you weighs on you, however lightly. Because I agree. Ambivalence would be disappointing."
Leta opens her mouth, and offers a disgruntled little noise before a dismissive hand comes up out of the pool -- the waving of which brings with it a little splash of water -- and her teeth click closed. There's an exasperated little gasp, and she goes right ahead with what she was going to say anyway. "While I might be gifted in Mind, I am actually not very good with people - though I do know a good deal about them from an academic standpoint. I just don't consider it very polite, or ethical to read everyone I meet -- least of all the important ones -- for a psychological profile." A beat, and she thrusts her tongue out at him. "Though yours would surely form the basis of a prize-winning dissertation."
She slides her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose again, looking the Acanthus in the eyes. "Perhaps - and it does weight." Beat. "... but I will definitely take curious, or intrigued over polite interest." Her eyes disappear behind the shades again. "Either love me or hate me, but I am not one to be merely tolerated."
Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, Fox caaaasually slides off of Leta's stomach and paddles off on her own, swimming slowly off to one side. This seems like the kind of conversation that a Fox is not in the middle of, thankyouverymuch. So she just sort of paddles off on her back and absently pats her little otter hands on her little otter tummy. It's a fun thing to do, so she does it. Doot doot Doot.
"Curious that you place so much weight on the opinion of others. That's rare in a Guardian. We tend to know our right from our wrong in our own minds, and view those who cannot comprehend their ethics as the problem. But. It's also entirely possible you're just pulling on chains to see what rattles. You do seem the type." He turns again to very gently roll the ash off his cigar so as to spare the water filters and then resumes his recline and his careful puffing.
"Naika has me figured out. She's no psychoanalyst. I'm just your usual amalgamation of an emotionally unavailable father with high expectations, an emotionally stunted mother whose approval I craved, the rigorous discipline of a Soviet upbringing, followed by the uncertain flux of post-soviet service in the armed forces and intelligence services. Throw in a trip to Arcadia and a lifetime spent in a cat and mouse game with the Iron Pyramid, and I'm fairly easy to understand. I learned to be an island unto myself. I thrive in adversity. I dislike meddling in my chosen course. I don't require outside validation. I choose my causes on their merits not on my personal tastes. Abuse tends to roll off my back. Cruelty is second nature to me; it's what I know. My love language is my time spent with people. I have unlimited patience for people that I feel deserve it. And I am interested in people who manage to still hold desperately and deliberately to radical love and compassion in the face of the world I knew." He gestures towards Fox in indication. "She is what I could never be. What I never had a chance to become. That's one of the reasons I love her."
With the absence of Otter standing atop her soft middle bits, Leta rolls over onto her stomach, and paddles towards the edge of the pool. The slender Mastigos has an oddly shaped build - like at one point she may have been an athlete, but the muscle has long since atrophied in every place besides her legs - leaving Leta to carry a lanky, 80-pounds-while-wet type of look. She fetches the sunflower sarong, wrapping it around her slender waist to spare herself the indignity of a public brush with wet, clinging swimwear. Then her lighter is grabbed, a cigar is procured, and Leta doctors the end with a clean cut before adopting a perch on the edge of the pool.
"In my defense, Naika is a great deal more empathetic than I am," she says after a few moments of silence. "... but I already figured out most of that. These are just details I try to avoid learning, because at a certain point I have to make a decision between being emotionally close to someone - and trying to give them help." Beat. "Obviously," she puffs at the cigar. "One of those is made a great deal more difficult by the feeling of obligation I feel to do the other. Which, unfortunately makes the choice rather easy."(edited)
At a certain point, it becomes sort of awkward to be an otter in the middle of this conversation. "I've just seen too many people die for trying to be who they are," comes Fox's human voice from the other side of the pool. "I can't help but love the people who I have with me as long as I have them with me, because I know it all ends." And that's Fox's explanation of... a lot, actually. She swims lazily across the pool, naked but for a necklace and a ring, and leans on the edge of the pool, reaching for her cigar, and setting herself up with a brandy, too. The rest of the conversation? That's between Leta and Vasha. She seems content with it, though. These are the kinds of conversations Foxes actually really like.
"You don't help people you're emotionally close to? Isn't that what you're supposed to do with those you're emotionally close to? Or have I been doing it wrong all this time." Vasha glances aside to the now human Fox. He wasn't even really cognizant of the switch between human and otter at first. It takes a momentary double-take, a symptom of having voices in your head translating for you.
Vasha strikes a match to light up Fox's cigar for her, shaking it out and tossing it into the tray before resuming his own recline. Another dip of the cigar in the cognac, and another series of quick puffs to get the thing glowing good and bright. "Are you suggesting you might psychoanalyze me? Therapeutically? That would be an interesting proposition. A more novel approach than plucking out the bad thoughts with a pair of magical tweezers, in any case." The way he says it implies he's done it to himself before.
"I'm a firm believer in the benefits of cognitive behavioral therapy over psycholoanalysis from a theory standpoint. I don't need to know the root of your trauma - I just need to be able to teach you the therapeutic techniques that help you manage it." She puffs at her cigar, leaning over to the ashtray and tapping the tip. "... but simply trimming away bad thoughts isn't going to lead to good mental health. Trauma forms in response to intense emotional stress - fear, grief, rage - and learning to manage those things without magic is, in my opinion, the better course of action. Otherwise you'll just keep forming soft spots, and needing to make extensive corrections to the way you experienced the world." Beat. "Which is bad."
She continues to puff the cigar - becuase that's a darkly comedic backdrop for a trans woman having conversation with a handsome older man. Fuck off, Sigmund! It's just a cigar, and no one has daddy issues! "... but the problem is, at that point, I'm not just helping someone I'm emotionally close to. I'm acting in a professional capacity with a subject that presents a conflict of interest. I cannot live in the same home as you, I cannot be a member of your Cadre, I cannot respond by flirting when you make untoward comments about my tits."(edited)
She puffs on her cigar, and makes a strange face for a moment as the smoke fills her mouth. It turns, in a moment, into a 'not bad' expression, and she leans to kiss Vasha in thanks before leaning again to dip the butt end of her cigar in his cognac. She doesn't say anything right now, because this conversation is not, in fact, about her. She smokes her cigar. She floats on her back near the two of them. Salt water pools are amazing to float in, actually, and she's content to do that. Just a naked floating Thyrsus with a cigar. Fuck you, Sigmund.
"That's a bit cookie-cutter, isn't it? One size fits all solutions to mental trauma? No artifice to it. Count down from ten, look for things of a certain color, recite your address and birthdate. It's all well and good. It even helps sometimes. I've always found it empty. In the end. If you want to experience some true existential dread? Receive Russian military psych counseling for post traumatic stress. They didn't even have the good graces to clean the cookie cutters between stampings." A few more puffs from his cigar follow.
"The real issue I've come across is that now, in some cases, I have responses whose triggers I can't remember. The nightmares are gone, the cyclic trauma of revisiting the moment. That's all done away with. Right as rain. But you can't fool the lizard brain. That little bastard remembers." Vasha taps his temple. Not that that's where his brainstem is, but tapping there would look rather deranged. "Now. Here's what's really going to make you all lose sleep. Did I take them out, did we take them out, or did they take them out. Maybe I'm a Manchurian Candidate! You don't know. It's been years since you all saw me last. Or. First, in your case. How much of me do you really remember? Maybe I'm not Vasha at all." He sips his cognac, waiting for them to decide where to mark the hash between sincerity and yanking their chains.
"Don't be such a fuckin' dildo," Leta says in that raspy tone of voice on often has when their lungs are full of smoke. She exhales -- which is technically not how you're supposed to smoke a cigar, but she gives zero fucks -- upwards.
"That doesn't sound like treatment, it sounds unethical - and very much like existential dread - but you're not selling me on the picture of mentally healthy individual by explaining the slapdash nonsense science a brutal foreign regime used to make your traumatic experience worse by treating you like a puzzle to be dissected." There's a beat. "If those are legitimate fears you have - and not vague fuckery designed to deflect the shit I'm trying to give about you - I'll happily act as an observer, and help you to explore those things with Mind."
She swishes her legs back and forth through the water. "We can even make it a trade if you're uncomfortable with a one-sided exchange. I need someone skilled with Fate to help me untangle some of my own bullshit."
There! Now that Vasha sees she's getting something out of it too, he doesn't have to take it on faith that she gives a fuck. There's a reward at the end of the tunnel for her, too!(edited)
See, now that actually gets a response out of Fox. She rights herself in the water and stares at Vasha for a moment, and just says, "No." A single word in response to the statement that 'maybe I'm not Vasha at all.' And that's all she says for a minute, floating there in the water. "No." She repeats that with all the solid assurance of Toph Beifong asserting that this is, in fact, earth underneath her feet. "There is no world in which the Iron Pyramid could make a version of you that could fool me, and even if they could, they couldn't make a Vasha who would fool me and Zoya. I will not lose one moment of sleep over that, Vasha My Heart, because I know you. And I don't mean just that I know your body down to the DNA and molecular level. I know you. And maybe you can look at me and say 'ah, that is Fox, she is so reckless, she believes so well,' but honestly, at a certain point, I just have to know that I can know you, if I know anyone at all."
And then she makes a grumpy little noise in the back of her throat, sticks her cigar in the corner of her mouth, folds her arms across her chest, and puffs on said cigar like she's about to demand pictures of Spider-Man.
Vasha squints over at Fox as she inserts herself back into the conversation. "Here I was just talking up your empathic qualities and you missed where the joke line was. Mmm." He rolls his cigar in the tray to clear the ash and resumes puffing at it. "Fox, my darling, I don't think they'd bother with all that if they ever could. The risk of deprogramming is too great. Especially with a legacy of mind mages. No, they'd just kill me." He toasts Fox with his cognac, because she's quite right.
"What Fate work do you need done, exactly?" Vasha dodges deftly around the suggestion of poking at his brainmeat with Mind by focusing on Leta's stated issue. Because of course he does. "Because as it happens, I know a guy. He's a bit of a prick, but his aim's real good."
Leta just stares at Vasha, puffing her cigar. Who knows what lurks in the hearts of man? The Mastigos knows, and she's not going to let you dodge her very pointed questions.(edited)
"Well, it upset me," Fox answers quietly, looking down at the water and uncrossing her arms. "You could tell me where the joke line is, because ... I missed it. Unless that was the joke." She slowly swims back across to where Vasha is and loops her arms around his neck, hanging loosely off of him as the water supports most of her weight. Her cigar still pokes out of the corner of her mouth as she hangs on him and puffs on it. Again, fuck you, Sigmund.
"You take all the joy out of being terrible to people, Naika," Vasha complains with a sigh. It's impossible to keep up his airs with Fox there popping his ego balloons with her plain dealing and sincerity. He turns towards her and deposits a kiss on her lips. "I am sorry. I was being unkind. Leta brings out the best in me which, unfortunately, shares a lot of neighboring real estate with the worst in me. And has picked up some language." He gives her arm a gentle squeeze before attempting one last time to reach an appropriate level of apologetic. "I am sorry. Perhaps Leta and I should save our cat fights for when you aren't about to catch a stray claw in the ear."
An apology which also sidestepped the staring he received for sidestepping the question posed.
The thing is, Leta Abbot has withering stares for days. You might sidestep one, but you'll never sidestep them all. Fortunately, she spots another opportunity. After waiting a respectable amount of post-apology time, she jumps back in with another catty comment. "Alternatively, you could just check your fire when you're screwing around with me." Leta makes finger pistols, miming firing them off into the air like a rowdy cowboy. "Spray and pray is no way to live. Clean, precise, deliberate shots," comes Leta's very bad eastern european accent - quoting Vasha's earlier words back to him in a twice-as-surly impression.(edited)
"Well, I should hope so," mumbles Fox under her breath as she hangs on Vasha. "I'm supposed to make you be better. Isn't that part of the point of... " and she trails off, wiggling the fingers of her left hand, on which, indeed, there is the new ring made from a coin which was not there before. He kisses her, though, which goes quite a long way toward soothing her. Also, there's the actual apology, which unruffles many feathers. "Hmm," she agrees gently. "Apology accepted." Another kiss for good measure.
And then Leta fingerguns and quotes Vasha back to himself, and Fox splutters in sudden joy, choking a bit on the smoke from her cigar. "Oh no," she laughs aloud. "She got you!"
"No, no. She parrotted me. And like a parrot she has the forms correct but lacks the understanding to have it count as conversation." Vasha's grin is wicked at this point, though he quickly hides it in his cognac glass. "You will find I engage in verbal suppressing fire during most engagements with other people. Vis-a-vis driving everyone away so as not to have to suffer the mortifying ordeal of being known." He speaks that last word long and rounded, ending it all with a theatric puff of his cigar.
"I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm just trying to engage with you on my terms. Which is petty, I suppose, but there you have it. You're new. My world is upside down. I barely have it in me to trust Naika and Zoya, and I'm supposed to trust you now, too. You who are so curious about my frailties. It rankles me. As it would you, I imagine, if rolls were reversed."
"Yes, It would." Leta confirms with a little nod. "... but most of the things I've grown to enjoy recently began as frustrations, at least initially. I'm not asking you to trust me implicitly. Not immediately, anyway. Right now, what I'm asking you to do is make a trade with me. I trust you with something, you trust me with something - and we can move forward from there at a later date if we're both feeling comfortable with that course of action."
She, of course, has an uncanny ability to make everything sound like a negotiation. Well, maybe it's just the cigar hanging from the corner of her mouth that just screams: ... and how does that make you feel?
When Vasha hides his grin in his cognac, Fox laughs aloud again, still hanging from his neck. She lets go of him and pushes off to float again, contented, nearby, on her back, smoking a cigar. This is good. "I learned a thick skin in more than one fashion over the last ten years," they agree lazily with Vasha's statements about suppressing fire. Because Life magic can give people literal thick skins. He stays out of the rest of the conversation vis a vis negotiations, just starts blowing smoke rings into the air. Puff, puff!
"An Acanthus trusts a Mastigos with his mind. And the Mastigos trusts the Acanthus with her fate." Vasha swirls his cognac and sucks on his tongue for a moment or seven, eyes shifting over to watch Naika float on her back in a rather preoccupied manner. "Fine," he finally relents with a gusty, world weary sigh. "If it will make you feel better. Fine." He tosses back the last bit of cognac and sets the glass aside, rolling his cigar about to lose the ash on it before returning it to his mouth for puffing. He, too, rolls over onto his back to float on over towards Fox, careful to keep his cigar out of the water. He begins aiming his own smoke rings at hers, trying to shoot through them.
"It will make me feel better," Leta confirms with a nod. "Just as I assume it makes you feel better, even though you're dragging your feet and trying to pretend otherwise." Her cigar is raised in toast in lieu of a glass of cognac, because she doesn't drink. It's returned to the corner of her mouth, and she leans back - propping herself with an outstretched arm. "... and now that we've agreed to help one another, I'm willing to talk about what I need you for." She expels a puff of smoke with a little cough. "It can wait for later, though. I imagine Real Talk is beginning to grow stale."
Floating on her back, cigar in her mouth like, yes, she is about to demand pictures of Spider-Man, Fox reaches out one of her hands to take Vasha's, because rafting is in vogue right now. She laughs a little bit in the back of her throat -- that low gekkering that is part and parcel of Fox -- when Vasha starts shooting his smoke rings through hers, and that laughter only redoubles. "Well, she just has all your numbers, My Heart," Fox giggles. She kicks her feet absently, making little waves on the water's surface. "I like Real Talk. But if we're worn out on it, I can do some Silly Talk."
"The prospect of discussing what I've been through with someone doesn't appeal to me at all, honestly. I haven't even really discussed it with Naika as yet." Vasha doesn't seem keen to argue that point overmuch, simply pointing out Leta has overstated the point again. But he goes on floating, puffing on his cigar and rafting along with Fox lazily. Really the only way you can raft is lazily, to be fair. "I don't mind real talk. I am getting weary of antagonism, however."
"I think that she meant she wants to talk about her issues, not yours," interjects the Thyrsus, lazily floating.
"That's not what I was trying to say," she delicately places her cigar on the edge of the ashtray - clearly finished smoking. "Nobody is ever eager to revisit their trauma - I'm not ribbing you about that. I meant the exchange of one secret for another -- trading leverage." She nods to Fox. "... but yes, I meant my issue. The thing I need an Acanthus for." She crosses one leg over the opposite knee, and frowns.(edited)
Fox's hand knits its fingers in with Vasha's, thus enhancing the rafting. "Is it about the reason you left Texas?" she queries, absently kicking her feet for more waves. It's fun! Kick kick kick. She blows big lazy smoke rings, all the better for a very lucky Acanthus to fire smaller smoke rings through.
Vasha, just because he can, fires off two smoke rings. Shooting the second through his first and through Fox's. Some Gandalf the Grey style shenanigans are afoot here at the Circle K. "As long as it doesn't become antagonistic, then I won't be unwilling to discuss it. So if you want to discuss the matters of Fate, feel free. I'm listening." He plops his cigar in his mouth again and wiggles a finger in his ear. "Well. I am now, anyway."
"Well," Leta begins rather dramatically. "I am not the crusty, military psych fuckjob who poked and prodded you last time. I may not have much of a bedside manner, but I will be kind, and respectful because it's the right thing to do." Beat. "... and also because I am trying very hard to give a shit." The Mastigos tosses another little nod of recognition in Fox's direction. 'Cause they're great about keeping things on track. Thank you, Good Communication Fox!
"Supposedly, I have a great Destiny hanging over my head - and I was shuffled to Philadelphia when a brush with tragedy proved more than my previous Consilium cared to deal with." Beat. "I want to know what it is - and avoid whatever is trying to kill me. Especially if that whatever would see me driven from this Consilium, too."(edited)
Big lazy smoke rings and idle kicking of her feet to make fun little waves: this is all that a naked Thyrsus requires when lazing about in the incredibly expensive salt water pool at the top of the world. A bird swooshes overhead, and it makes Fox smile, flashing her little sharp teeth briefly. Simple joys, which, in this case, happen to cost an awful lot. "Didn't it -- like -- not to talk over you -- but it had stuff to do with Seers also?"
"Yes. Investigating a Pylon was the thing I had been doing -- or at least what I was told I had been doing -- when I lost my memories."
"Oh. That's a remarkably simple matter, actually. One moment." There's a flare of Vasha's nimbus which has the unfortunate side-effect of having him appear several different moments at once. It's disorienting. And due to the nature and reach of the spell? It's disorienting longer than usual. It takes about ten seconds for the disorientation to subside, if one is susceptible to it.
He chants quietly in High Speech as he works, staring at Leta as his hands make the motions of unveiling and fate. A short time later, the nimbus quiets and Vasha is left puffing on his cigar and squinting at Leta with a small and pronounced frown. "Your doom is tied to the Seers of the Throne. That's true. But not just the Seers. It's tied to the Martyr's Tree as well. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were set to die in its defense. Which implies they're gunning for it. We knew that, of course, but this is... some hamfisted confirmation that even consensual reality is conspiring towards it." He gestures towards the cognac, "You may want some of that."
"I don't drink, but I appreciate the offer." Leta wiggles her fingers before gently brushing the glass aside in Vasha's hands. Fortunately, Leta's composure is something of legend, so all she really has in the way of a reaction is to simply pursue this thread of the investigation. "Die in defense of the Martyr's Tree? That's the Destiny?" She rises from poolside, and fetches her bong from where she left it. Hey, she never said anything about weed. "What else do you see?"
Surprising no one more than the Fox herself, she keeps a peaceful, thoughtful sort of face. What the fuck is this stiff upper lip nonsense coming from Fox? She slowly blinks, turning her attention to Vasha, first, and then to Leta, pushing herself upright and watching the Mastigos as she goes to get her bong. Her attention stays focused on Leta -- who just got some hella bad news -- but she continues to hold Vasha's hand. The news that your cadremate and lover is going to die in defense of the Giant Mystery you're all responsible for as a community is certainly... some news.
"Well. Not precisely. Fate is a funny thing. You're destined to defend the tree and your doom is... related to the Seers. A seer? A pylon? These things are imprecise. But what I am inferring here is that your and the Tree's fate are entangled somehow, and that the Seers are going to attempt to disentangle you. Murderously. At a guess." Vasha's shoulders shrug somewhat, not particularly thrown by this. "You can play with these things, you know. At sufficient levels of Fate. And just because events will conspire to bring these events to pass, that doesn't mean you are certain to succumb to it. If anything, you have a leg up on all the rest of humanity. You know what has your name on it and can start working to counteract that." Vasha leans over to smooch Fox quickly so that he can extricate his hand from hers and swim back with a kick of his feet to drop more ash into the tray. He sets his cigar down at last, having smoked it to the point of it being no longer practical in the current setting.
"Define play with these things, please." Leta takes a massive bong rip -- which may be more about her current state of mind than her expressionless face -- before continuing in a rasp. "I assume you mean alter it?" She exhales upwards, watching the cloud of smoke gently waft over her head - pulled by the slight breeze. "My purpose - or it's associated Doom - to something different, or more favorable?" Though, she does actually laugh - that annoying little chitter of hers. "I suppose it's good that I fell in with a crowd of people who kill Seers, then." Beat. "Is that all you can see? Is there anything more concrete than just entangled with the tree, somehow?"(edited)
When Vasha lets go of her hand, Fox -- holding her cigar up in one hand -- fox-paddles (far superior and sexier than dogpaddles) over to the side of the pool; she sets her cigar down in the ashtray and then pulls herself down the side of the pool, clambering out of it so that she can pap pap pap barefooted (well, bare-everything'd, really) over toward Leta. Silently, she sits down cross-legged next to the Mastigos, and rests her head on Leta's shoulder. Lea may have Vasha's number, but Fox has Leta's. Nice try, miss. You can't fool one (1) Fox.
"Did you imagine that dooms are nice things? Of course they're not. They're awful things, but they're not set in stone. They're gravity wells, certainly, but they're not black holes. There's no event horizon to them. The potency and importance of one's destiny corresponds to the nature and intensity of your doom. Yin and Yang. The world balances itself in natural equilibrium where fate and destiny are concerned. If you push power down one end, the power of your doom increases to compensate." Vasha pulls himself out of the water, too, turning about to settle down pool side in his trunks.
"I'm not certain how much more clear I can be for you, Leta. Your destiny is to protect the tree. You want more specific than the object you are to keep safe and the fact that you are to keep it safe?" His eyebrow lifts speculatively. "Time and Fate don't work the way your present state of existential dread want them to operate. I'm sorry. I can't give you a date and a time. I can't give you a cast list, even. The world is still conspiring to weave your tapestry together. I'm just pointing at two threads for you, not telling you where they'll wind up. Or you, for that matter. Which is, again, more than most people ever get."
"No, but- Ugh. I was hoping for more," Leta makes a face as though food had turned to ash in her mouth. Which, y'know, is funny because she's been smoking a ridiculous amount. So. Lots of shit that should taste like burning. She leans her head against Fox's, drawing herself into a cross-legged sitting position so she can rest her elbows on her knees. "I don't even know where to fucking begin with this." She tilts the bong towards Fox in offering. "This could apply to nearly everything I do in Philadelphia which makes trying to delve further..." She trails off, making a wishy-washy gesture with her hand. "Hard."
Yes, that is very much an understatement. Leta Abbott does not do well with "wait and see," does she?
All that Fox can really do right now is be a soothing presence. Good thing for Leta that she's very good at that, nu? "It's true, though. We're always facing doom. You just ... kind of have a heads up on what you have to be looking for, I guess." She wraps both of her damp arms around Leta's stomach, head on her shoulder. "But, like, you came here because you needed to be here, and then you found us, and what better group to find than ... us? If your doom is Seers? I'm here to keep your insides inside, Vasha is here to help you kill Seers extra dead and splatty, Mei is great overwatch, and Zoya makes it all happen, and she has some amazing watching-things going on, so... "
"Zoya is more than a pretty face by far," Vasha confirms, "she may not be a Red Guard, but her dedication to combatting the Seers is akin to my own. That's for her to discuss with you, of course, but literally no one here is going to shy away from confronting Seers for you or making ourselves unpopular by shielding you from them, if you are indeed a target. On some level you've probably always known. That's why you came here. Why you gravitated to us. Events are already conspiring, you see?" Vasha remains unconcerned, indeed.
"And, yes. We can toy with your destiny using Fate magic, if you truly desire it. But from what I can tell, you've already settled into this one to your benefit. I'll leave that to you, however. We all make our own destinies in the end, and some of us more literally than others." Vasha then notes, "I should probably eat something more than tobacco flakes and cognac, hmm?"
"I mean, you're not wrong. It's hard not to see everything that's happened as just another step along the track in retrospect," she grumbles. The physical comfort is appreciated, and Leta brings a hand up to pet Fox's hair - just a little scritch of the space behind their ear as a treat - just as she might if they were currently housed in the form of an animal, rather than a human. "It'll probably turn out fine," she grumbles - dropping her hand back to the pipe so she can set it aside. "... and if it isn't, then it won't be. Not much point in worrying until I can do something about it."
At the mention of food, though, she perks up again. "I could fuckin' eat," she offers hurriedly. 'Cause of course she could. "I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I've been smoked up for hours." Her stomach growls as if to punctuate this fact - or perhaps it's Destiny - and she reluctantly wriggles free of Fox's weight in anticipation of going to search for food.
"I didn't mean to sell Zoya short," Fox adds quietly. "I was just talking about -- like -- the things that she is open about being good at." She keeps her arms wrapped around Leta. Vasha may not be concerned, because he sees the lines of Fate. He's also not the Hearthmaster. Fox knows what she is about. See? She's getting ear scritches as a reward. Or possibly to also soothe Leta. Both can be true.
"Food sounds amazing," she agrees, letting go of Leta to push herself up to her feet. "Do we want to go out for food, or order in, or... like, cook or something? I can cook." And she can. She's not going to be winning Great British Bake-Off anytime soon, but not everyone can be the GotV Cupcake Queen, after all.
"That's my motto. It will probably work out fine." Of course Vasha has ways of ensuring that's the case. He pushes up to his feet, then, and steps closer to Leta. Borderline getting into her personal space, in point of fact. He doesn't have the temperament to loom, so it's nothing like that. He seems to just be studying her. Perhaps her destiny. Her lines of fate. He had to bring up the effect, after all, might as well use it. There's an inscrutable twitch at the corner of his mouth there for a moment. "Probably I should protect you from having your destiny tampered with from here on out. Along with some other safeguards." A slight twitch between his eyebrows follows that. "I will think up a set of effects. They'll make you feel safer." Then he's turning about to head back inside via the drink and cigar tray. "Order in. People are awful."
Leta stands, smoothing out her sarong, and then bending over to grab the bong. Can't leave that very important yantra sitting by the pool. "I trust you to set up those protections and safeguards as you see fit," she pauses to adjust her sunglasses - pushing them back up the bridge of her nose. Then her hands moves to Fox's - clearly, Stress Time isn't quite over. "Honestly, I kinda want to go out," her stomach growls again. "...but I'm not picky at all. Pizza would be fuckin' sweet."
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