Open Log

[scarabwings]

Who: Layla and OPEN
What: Mini-missions and downtime
When: Throughout the month
Where: Around the Witch's Camp
Content Warnings: Possible violence, illness


I. Propaganda: Media
In one of the small parks in the Magitech district, there is a pack of children, ages ranging from four to eight, chasing a stuffed ragdoll that skitters and scampers with a stumbling gait, weaving around its pursuers, ducking between the taller ones' legs, and occasionally bouncing harmlessly off some obstacle, living or otherwise.

Mostly, it avoids passers by. Mostly.

The source of the thing's motion is, presumably, the slim dark-haired woman sat on a nearby bench, gaze unfocused, video camera set up next to her and trained on the spectacle.

It isn't until, through concerted effort, four of the children simultaneously tackle the doll with a gleeful and only slightly bloodthirsty cheer that she snaps back to attention, wincing slightly and rubbing her temples, then pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand. It's only then that she seems to notice she's gained an audience, and flashes a weary smile.

"That wasn't you at the end, was it?" she asks. Maybe it was. Maybe it was a tree. Navigating the world without proper sensory organs isn't the easiest feat, after all.

II. The Weather Wizards
Today, it's freezing rain. Layla stands just outside the zone of hostile weather, frowning at the ice-slicked street. She hadn't actually intended to go chasing trouble today, but her destination is on the other side of the chaos, and she's tired enough - head pounding and stomach sour - that she has no desire to detour several blocks because some idiot has decided they need to get alien internet famous.

She glances sidelong, and maybe you're out visiting the markets with her, or maybe she just recognizes you from a briefing, or around the barracks, or those early raids on the Sylphid's facilities, but regardless, she smiles, though there's an exasperated edge to it, and it doesn't quite touch her eyes.

"Any bets on how long it will take us to sort this one out?"

III. Around the Camp
Layla isn't usually difficult to find - she has coffee at Cyborg most mornings, teaches a self-defense course at a small studio several afternoons a week, and spends much of her free time training, in the library, or making a circuit of various markets, window-shopping and listening to gossip.

Usually being the operative word. The first couple weeks of the month, she's less in sight, harder to pin down. And when she can be, she looks pinched and tired, like she hasn't been sleeping well, or is fighting some illness.

Whatever it is, she seems to throw it off towards the end of the month, sliding back into what passes for her usual routine. If she occasionally looks a little distant, attention caught by something not immediately apparent - what of it? That can't be so uncommon here.

Wildcard
If you have an idea for something else, go for it, or shoot me a PM to plot!

Comments

Decision time - closed to Steven/Marc

[scarabwings]

It's early afternoon, and Layla's supposed to be meeting one of the locals for a training session, learning how to handle the backlash from controlling something that's been damaged. That means the apartment's supposed to be empty - they don't exactly coordinate their schedules, but she's fairly certain Steven's off experimenting with magic, which sounds a great deal more pleasant than what she's supposed to be doing, and better by far than what she's actually doing.

To wit: when he arrives back, much earlier than she'd expected, she's there at the kitchen table, stripped down to a sports bra above her waist, bag of ice held awkwardly against her shoulder blade, an ugly welt wrapping from her midback around her ribs below it.

"Shit," she says, looking a little chagrined. "Thought you'd be at least another hour or two."

Else she would have - well, warned him, at least. Caution: exhausted half-dressed archaeologist within. Enter at your own risk.

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

Steven's magic tutor has been more and more disapproving of his lack of a tether. Steven can't give him an explanation as to why not, since at this point it's Marc holding out not Steven and his teachers don't know about Marc, but at least today he can kind of understand where she's coming from. He feels kind of terrible, and his ability to focus his magic today was dismal, so she'd sent him home with yet another admonishon to deal with his situation before he gets even sicker.

He's been having a heated argument with Marc about it in his head for the whole walk home, but stepping inside and seeing one, fluffy hair, then two, bare shoulders, then three, ice in a pack and a pained expression, all manage to derail his train of thought. He stares for a beat, then shakes himself, hurries over to take over the ice, and exclaims, "Layla! What happened?"

[scarabwings]

She winces a little as the volume of his exclamation sends a spike of pain through her temples that she can't at all blame on her injuries, but relinquishes the ice pack without protest. It's tempting - so tempting - to lean against him, because she feels like she's been hit by a truck and her head weighs about a thousand pounds, but this is Steven, not Marc, and that would be too intimate. A long step beyond the playful affection that has, so far, formed a safe boundary.

So she props her elbows against the table, and drops her forehead into her hands instead. The one that had been holding the ice is pleasantly cool, and for a moment, she contemplates the merits of sticking her head in the freezer. With or without the rest of her body attached.

"Weather wizard," she says. "Or - I think this one was Heba, actually. Cyclones without much variance. Hit me with a very large branch, or a very small tree."

Because she was off her game, already tired and out of sorts, and the blinding headache that had risen up when she'd tried to use her powers to pin the woman down and still the hand motions she seemed to need to direct her particular brand of atmospheric chaos had nearly been enough to flatten her on its own.

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

"That's not like you, you're usually good at dodging things like that," Steven comments, laying the ice pack back in place and holding it there, himself, since the angle is easier. He doesn't usually get this close to Layla, himself, without having Marc between them-- he's not always all the way gone when they hug or Marc touches her in passing, or just hovers close, though he always makes sure to flee to the best of his ability for anything more.

It's... nice, though. Even if holding the ice is actually uncomfortable on his aching hands.

[scarabwings]

"Cyclones?" Layla replies with a soft exhalation of amusement. The line of her shoulders eases slightly, like she's shedding a layer of vigilance.

"Don't tell anyone, but I'm not actually flawless. Just, oh, let's call it ninety percent."

She's quiet for a moment, and then, because it's Steven, who is always so painfully honest with her even when the results are directly contrary to what he might want at the time, she admits, "I couldn't get through the windwall to restrain her physically without getting shredded, so I tried to do it remotely. Apparently getting experimental when my reserves are already low is inadvisable."

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

"And your reserves are low because?" He knows why, and his tone of voice suggests he knows why, but he wants to hear her say it out loud. He's already echoing inside his head to Marc. (See? You see? You see why we need to do this?) All he gets back is silence, but it's the kind of silence that he knows means Marc knows he's right and is distressed about it.

"I bet it's the same reason my tutor sent me home early," he adds, to give her an in. He feels it, too: it's safe to admit it. Marc needs things like that, sometimes.

[scarabwings]

"God," she says. "You missed your calling as a lower school teacher, Steven. You know why my reserves are low."

She shifts her hands enough to dig the heels of her palms into the lower rim of her eye sockets. "This tether bullshit is getting bad." It's quiet, and carries the faintest note of defeat.

ii

[stargazed]

Mikumo, on the other hand, is quite fine with seeing the rain - her Heba power is far more useful in dealing with the particular cases here that involve rain. That said, she rarely doesn't look fine with confronting whatever mission she gets presented with here, a faint, almost amused smile playing around her mouth as if she's been offered something novel.

It's difficult to miss that air of exasperation in the other woman's expression, though, and Mikumo curls a hand under her chin, eyes moving from Layla's face back to the pouring rain for a moment.

"Rain should be easier to deal with. If I had to guess, I'd say this isn't the first squall you've been caught up in?"

[scarabwings]

That spurs a low huff of amusement, though the edge of weary exasperation hasn't faded. "Not even close," she says.

Her hand dips almost absently into one of her pockets, producing a tie with which to bind her hair back. Between the wind and the wet, it'll only prove an impediment if she leaves it loose.

"The ice is a bigger problem than the rain. That, and whatever else they can throw at us." She nods to a figure standing on a fourth-storey balcony further down the rainswept block. The distance and the weather itself make it hard to pick out any details, but the dramatic pose is difficult to miss.

[stargazed]

Mikumo's colossal hair is in a ponytail already, since it's much more convenient to do that at home for her, but she scans over the area in the interim, checking for any damage that's occurred already, things in the area they might be able to take advantage of, and the culprit themselves. The silhouette is definitely difficult to miss, and the mention of ice reminds Mikumo that when this is a two-person job, she might actually have to let the other person in on what she's bringing to the table.

"The ability I was given here lets me control water, just not create it, so I can potentially form us shields of sorts out of the rain to help deal with projectiles like ice. But whether I do that from the outset or whether we keep it as a surprise for later depends on how you prefer to approach things."

While she does tend to lone wolf it back home, she is at least aware that going off with no idea of what suits the person she's working with is likely to end poorly.

[scarabwings]

Layla perks up a little at that, shaking off some of her exhaustion. "That's a stroke of luck," she says. "Can you control it in all phases, or just as a liquid?"

Useful either way, given just how heavily the rain is falling just inside the perimeter.

[stargazed]

"Just liquid, as far as I know," Mikumo replies. She's admittedly not had as much chance to test with ice, but while she seems to be able to adjust the density of water to make it into actual objects, she hasn't been able to change its phase. "This doesn't strike me as the situation I'd want to be testing if I can control ice for the first time in, but they're giving me more than enough rain to work with, if nothing else."

She does carry water with her as well - there are two large metal canteens attached to the back of her belt at the moment, which is about as much as she likes to carry without a vehicle being involved - but she can do a lot more with a larger supply. When it's being practically handed to her on a silver platter, she's not going to fail to take advantage of it.

[scarabwings]

"Probably not the best time," Layla agrees, with the faintest hint of something rueful in her voice, like she has some experience with attempting unfamiliar use of power on the fly.

She considers the distant figure again. "Let's keep it under wraps for now, so they'll have less time to adjust if we do need to be aggressive. How good are you at talking people around?"

iii

[purplexing]

Having nothing but free time for now and an entire place to figure out, Donatello has been trying to see what he can. With so many new and interesting things to explore, it's been more than enough to keep him preoccupied for the time being. Part of him is still uncertain as to whether this is still some kind of dream, but at least it's a lot more fascinating than dealing with fungus-people. Yuck.

The market areas are like a treasure trove and almost as good as poking through a salvage yard- save for the having to spend money part. It doesn't keep Donnie from gawking at things and making mental calculations for what bit of his initial stipend he has to spare. Still somewhat self-conscious about being out and about in the open, he feels better going around in disguise, or at least fully clothed, not that a hood and baggy jacket and pants really hide the green skin. Nor does a distracted teenager help for avoiding people who have their own attention drifting.

"-oh, sorry!"

[scarabwings]

Normally, Layla wouldn't have any trouble dodging a stray teenager. Normally, she's actually focused on, at bare minimum, the actual block she's on.

The impact when they collide isn't exactly hard, but it startles her enough that she stumbles back, tripping and landing flat on her ass. "Shit!"

She blinks up at...green. That's definitely a green person. And she's definitely staring after walking straight into him like a complete asshole. Layla scrubs a hand over her face, like she can rub away the faint, embarrassed flush that darkens her cheeks. Get it together, El-Faouly.

"Sorry. You all right?"

[purplexing]

The staring is more or less expected but it still prompts a grimace from him. Or maybe it's because this poor lady just got knocked down. Bit of both, really.

"Huh? O-oh yeah, cool, everything's cool. Um, here." Donnie holds out a hand to her to help her up, pausing as he wonders how bad one thumb and two fingers reaching for her will weird her out when she was staring not two second ago. "-mutant turtle, not alien. Not at all common back home either so yeah, thank you for not screaming." Yeah, that's not awkward at all. He clears his throat.

"You okay? Rough landing there. Sorry, I was just kinda busy taking things in."

[scarabwings]

"I don't think I bruised much more than my pride," she says. "And I should've been watching where I was going."

She musters a small smile, and takes his hand after only the barest moment of hesitation, letting him help her climb back to her feet.

"For the record, I was thinking Hulk, not alien." She says it without thinking - she hasn't quite yet worked out which aspects might be common between various realities, and which are unique to her own.

[purplexing]

"Well, to be fair I probably should have too," he admits with a bit of a grimace. "I don't usually go rubbing elbows with the local populace on account of...this whole situation. But we're probably as far from New York as we can get."

The namedrop clearly doesn't strike him as familiar as Donnie tilts his head at her. "My brother's more the hulking one. Now he would be difficult to miss in a crowd, about six feet tall, spikey shell, snaggletooth, tendency to wear red- I take it you haven't seen any other mutant turtles around have you?"

[scarabwings]

"I'm afraid not," she says, and there's a note of genuine regret in her voice. Being stuck here, worlds away from home, is bad enough. Being stuck here alone?

She'd had just a taste of that, before she'd found Steven during the orientation briefing, and it was enough to last her a lifetime.

"Unless they've learned to change their appearance. It's one of the tricks people who wind up learning magic can do."

III

[scienceofthearcane]

Viktor had spent a bit of time looking for a place that would be good for continuing his work on himself even without having the Hex-Core. He had found a good place for it among the magitech area, and he matched right along with the mingling of magic and technology.

And caffeine-addict that he was, he had also found Cyborg. Today he was there picking up his preferred coffee order. There were a few people that were grumbling about someone being in the way but when Viktor saw that it was a woman that was apparently staring off into space as she held her coffee order. He had been the last person in the queue so he paused after he had picked up his order..

"Uh, excuse me? Are you alright miss?"

[scarabwings]

"Hmm?"

It takes a moment for the words to process, even after Layla realizes she's the one being addressed. She blinks a few times before her attention orients on Viktor, and she notices the grumbling queue that's formed while her attentions was...elsewhere. She steps quickly out of the way, and gives him a small chagrined smile.

"Sorry. Yeah, I'm fine. Just a million miles away, apparently."

[scienceofthearcane]

Yeah, Viktor isn't buying it. He steps to the side along with Layla in order to stay out of the way of others but he's still focused on her.

"Not a place where others would usually be lost in their thoughts. Is there already something on your mind?"

[scarabwings]

"Really?" Her smile widens, turning slightly lopsided. "I'm honestly surprised it doesn't happen more often. The space between getting the coffee and the caffeine actually kicking in is the perfect time to go into a trance."

[scienceofthearcane]

Viktor smirks a bit at that.

"While I'll grant you that's often zombie time, people don't usually completely zone out while they have coffee in hand but don't take a drink."

[scarabwings]

"What can I say?" she replies, tone light. "I'm an overachiever. Honestly, though - I'm fine. Just been working on a bit of a mental puzzle."