Summary:Sarah Rainmaker is reunited with her friends Caitlin Fairchild and Roxanne Spaulding (Freefall). Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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TODAY'S OUTFIT: Black beret, aviator sunglasses, purple lipstick and a cigarette. Roxanne's wearing her best shirt (A vintage tee with a stylized marijuana leaf on it and the caption "THC IN '93"), cropped to expose the midsection, and a black skirt caught somewhere between flirty and mini. A black half-jacket, black shoes and knee-high white socks finish the look.
"Young Avengers? Barf. Why's Sarah think bein' on TV is the best way to keep us under wraps?" Roxanne's mid-conversation as she steps off of the bus at a nearby stop, and it sounds like she's been bitching about this for a while. Look! Everybody nearby's glaring at her like she's some kind of a broken record. Maybe they're mad that she was smoking inside of the bus. Maybe the bus shoulda had signs saying smoking wasn't allowed, or something.
Her pace is quick as she moves past passerby, hands in her pockets, a studied indifference painted over otherwise fey features. Yeah, just try and ask her what she's doing up here. She dares you. Right. The Baxter Building's staff are more receptive to her than they should be, which indicates that just *maybe*, somebody alerted them to her arrival.
They did point out the "no smoking" signs, which are literally everywhere.
Which brings us to now. Roxanne's standing in front of the Young Avengers' headquarters, rapidly attempting to fill the cigarette-shaped gulf in her mood by taking in the sights. "Maybe she just wanted to be able ta put her feet up on somethin' nice? She got in that argument with Bobby about how she found his boxers on the towel rack…" Snort. Heh. Gross.
"…Right. Well, Miss Rainmaker will be with you shortly. Please don't smoke inside of the Baxter Building." A guardsman wanders off. Roxanne flips him a choice digit.
Distantly: "I saw that." Her frown deepens.
Caitlin is, of course, dressed as anyone who knows her would expect her to dress: in a way that would be conservative and, in truth, quite modest if she were anyone /other/ than her.
That so many of the buttons on her simple, white blouse are left unfastened is not some coquettish gesture (she would never!) but merely a consequence of the fact that she simply cannot button them. It is the harsh reality of shopping as a Glamazon, and it is one of the many ways in which her life is relatable. (The sleeves are also fairly tight against her arms, but let's be honest - that isn't what anyone is going to notice.)
The jeans fit, at least.
Tightly.
But they fit.
(Her shoes are just shoes. She's never owned a pair that weren't flats or tennis shoes.)
"Roxy, be nice! She's trying to effect positive change in the world in one of the few means available to her as a post-human queer woman of color. We've talked about this! More prosaic avenues are closed off to her because of lingering elements of misogyny and homophobia in our culture, to say NOTHING of America's sordid legacy of colonialism. Vigilante justice might not be the most productive method of combating injustice, but she's pursuing it in a legitimized and legal fashion and she's our friend and we're GOING to SUPPORT her!"
There's the sound of running feet on the other side of the door before it slides open and Sarah almost skids out as she halts herself. A bit less dressed up than the others, it seems, or at least barefoot, with tight-fitting jean cutoffs and a midriff top in black that buttons over her chest, showing off a noticeable amount of coppery cleavage, with short sleeves that stop at mid-bicep. While she doesn't really need it, her shorts are cinched with a belt made of silvery circles with pieces of turquoise set in them, and she wears a dangling feather in gold from her right earring. "Caitlin! Roxy!" she says, excitedly. After all, she hasn't really SEEN either of them since their escape, other than a brief meeting of Cait. Who gets a firm hug.
Roxy, on the other hand, is small enough she gets a hug and a twirl to go with it. "You're here!"
Roxanne has located a WW2 uniform, complete with the camouflage, helmet, combat satchel, and its 'flair' - that unique bit of personality every solider tacks onto their uniform, typically strapping it to the helmet. In this case, the flair's a beaten-up box of cigarettes. A plaque beneath reads, "WW2 ERA US ARMY COMBAT GEAR - NEVER FORGET" - Captain America National Veterans' Foundation. Roxanne has read none of this. She's vaguely aware of Caitlin saying something distasteful. She's trying to figure out what's going on with these cigarettes.
"…should learn how to support YOURSELF first, you're like a Playtex disaster.." she mumbles, closer and closer to wandering off. Fairchild has this way of acting -exactly- like a mom. Of course she's interrupted by Rainmaker and the sprinting and the running and the jostling (god always, ALWAYS) and now she's being picked up and swung and…
"Sarah! It's been for-fuc-NNNPHFHH." Roxy's head is smashed against Sarah's chest while she's spun like a psychedelic pinwheel. She eventually extricates herself, landing on both feet and wandering, light-headed, back Fairchild's way. Her glasses and beret are both -askew-, which requires a correction of the outfit.
"…-fuckin' ever. How'd you wind up with the -YOUNG AVENGERS-? Cait doesn't know if she wants to be happy for you or write a strongly-worded article about the Sorbo state of feminism or something."
Distantly: "Language!" Roxy replies to this with a swiftly-upthrust digit.
Distantly: "I saw that!"
The towering and absurdly perfect redhead accepts and reciprocates the hug with all the naifish, what-a-good-friend energy that, more than simply being her trademark, is burned into the very fabric of her soul.
(She also extends a hand to steady her sister without any apparently conscious thought, as if preventing Roxy from tumbling over at any given moment has become a learned response.)
"Roxy!" begins Caitlin, tone chiding without being authoritarian, "That's - I…."
She snatches her sister's hand and forces it down to waist level.
"I really, honestly don't know what you're trying to say, and besides, I'm very happy that Sarah has found an outlet that she's happy with."
Sarah hmms, then waves the pair back through the door. "C'mon, I've got drinks and snacks, we can sit down in the living room." She turns to pad back inside. "And it's a combination of things. Partly from what happened after we split and I drew off some of Ivana's goons. Including, apparently, my half-siblings." She frowns a bit at the memory. "Anyway…I basically led them on a chase down into the Southwest near the Texas-New Mexico border and holed up in a ghost town there. Manages to, ah, borrow some goats and encourage them into an abandoned Church so there was enough of a heat signature that they couldn't tell that everyone else from the escape wasn't hiding out there with me."
Lavender spite burns in Roxy's eyes - she's gonna get that guard if it's the last thing she does. She swears it. She's remembered his name, his face, his stupid hat… and Cait's hand is on hers, and there's something about her sister's tone that has her settling right down. Cait's got that effect, really.
"Yeah… yeah. I dunno what I was trying to say either. You know me. Spacey." She follows Sarah and Caitlin into the YA quarters, stuffs hands into her back pockets. "…Think Sorbo's an actor, anyway. Yeah. That REALLY doesn't make sense." She's baffling herself. Her attention recovers in time for her to listen in as Sarah explains where she's been.
"You hid in a church with goats?" Disgust plays over her spritely features while Roxy appropriates the biggest couch. She'll sit on it upside-down, feet to the ceiling, head to the ground, feet tapping out a manic little beat between themselves. "Gawd, Sarah. Never thought I'd ever -FEEL BAD- for you, but… goats?"
"Wouldn't mind hunkering down with Grunge to hide my heat signature…" There's her happy place. Roxy bobs her head for a moment, content to let Sarah and Cait navigate the conversation to more salient topics.
There follows a long, and awkward, and uncomfortable stretch of silence in light of Roxy's comment, a look of terse discomfort on Caitlin's face as she sits down on Sarah's couch and does her absolute best both to not think of and to immediately guide the conversation away from the topic of her sister's romantic proclivities.
"S-So, you - ah, you said, you said a church, right?"
"I wasn't /in/ the Church. I just needed something to look like a large enough heat source that smelled like Grunge." Sarah says simply, heading over to the small kitchen to fetch sodas for both, bsaed on their preference, walking them back over. "Anyway, they sent a unit after me with my half-siblings, who are murder monkies who want to kill me, apparently, and then called in the Young Avengers to deal with a 'dangerous teenage radical metahuman' and her allies who had killed students and teachers at a private school."
She shrugs, plopping down in an arm chair next to the couch, she pops her own can of ginger ale and sips from it.
"The YA types figured something was screwy and decided to talk to me instead of trying to take me down, then when they found out what was going on we kinda joined forces and fought off the thugs and escaped, long enough for me to turn eighteen, where I was officially no longer a government ward and they didn't have any claim on me. Then they invited me to come here…" she adds, waving around the base. "Which seemed smart. On my own - since I didn't know where you gals were - they'd have just sent another covert ops team or something to nab me. But here…I'm a semi-public figure known ot be a Young Avenger, I live in the freaking Baxter Building, and I'm associated with the AVengers and SHIELD. Black ops teams don't like publicity, and they'd get a LOT of it if they went after me now."
She wrinkles her nose. "Come to think of it, good that you didn't bring Grunge, I don't think him meeting Kori would go well."
Roxy's staring at the ceiling while Cait and Sarah converse, a perfect smile identifying her as, yes, still blissed out. "We KNOW how turning 18 works, Sarah, you can save us the explanations…" She tries to start in with the objections, but Rainmaker's on a roll. Roxy isn't really able to stop the Apache from continuing. As such, she folds hands over her tummy, continues listening, yeah-yeah-yeah, smart idea (although she does look askance at Caitlin - is it really smart?).
Whatever answer she had for Sarah's plan is wiped away utterly when Rainmaker mentions Koriandr.
"What? Who's Kori? What's going on?" Roxy flips over onto her belly, near falls off of the couch, and props her head up in her hands, blows an errant forelock from her face.
"I've got -enough- trouble sitting in the room with me right now. Is she in this Young Avengers group? Just gimme like one more reason not to wanna be on the team."
"We haven't encountered any difficulty with them in a substantial length of time," interjects Caitlin, her tone not at all making it seem that there is subterfuge involved, and certainly giving no implication that some manner of duplicitous arrangement was made that resulted in the cessation of all attacks on her particular group.
"I think she means Starfire, Roxy. The one with the fire hair? She's from space."
"That just means they're biding thier time or lost track of us. And yes. Imagine Caitlin, but a warrior Amazon princess from space. With gold skin and green eyes and flaming hair who can fly and punch things and blow holes in stuff with starbolts." Sarah confirms. "She's out at the moment. She's nice, but kinda quiet and not really good at Earth social stuff yet."
Roxy frowns, but more thoughtfully than abysmally. Her day isn't ruined YET. She pushes her tongue into her cheek while she considers. "Starfire's a REALLY BIG DEAL, though. And Kori doesn't sound like Starfire at all. AND her hair lights on fire, and I don't think even Grunge is dumb enough to wanna be…"
Roxanne's face falls. She's suddenly very, very interested in the floor.
"Roxy, it's -
"Well, Spider-Man's real name isn't 'Spider-Man,' you know?
"It's - actually, I don't know what it is, but it isn't Spider-Man. Most people don't just, use their names as their nom du cape. Really, that's ….
She clears her throat.
"Actually, that's really just… me, who does that."
Sarah raises a hand. "Me too. I didn't see the point of wearin ga mask or making up a name, Rainmaker works fine." She frowns at Roxy a bit, then pats her shoulder. "She's not right now, anyway. I did meet a nice guy who joined up you might like named Gar? He's a shapeshifter, can turn into any animal. He's always green though." She glances between the two. "…so…what have you two been doing then? You're living in New York?"
Roxy props her chin up in a hand, and makes a game out of twirling a forelock between her fingers. Her focus is evenly split between Rainmaker and Fairchild's words, and the bowl of chips sitting out on the table before the trio. Two float upwards, their trajectory hardly defined but certainly non-groundwards. Lavender eyes sparkle while she focuses.
"Tryna finish school. Mr. Reynolds can suck down some pipe. He keeps givin' me extra homework just 'cuz I don't remember what he lectures about. Not like I'm gonna go to college - why does a girl like *me* gotta focus on nerdy shit when I can fly? You two do all my thinking for me, anyway." She lets herself steal a little smile.
The chips have begin to swirl around each other, awkwardly, shakily, but definitely in a counter-clockwise motion. "Otherwise, Cait and I've been stayin' low. Cait's all panicky about the feds, which is why she's super-pissed about you bein' out here, Sorbo Feminism aside."
She shakes her head in a way that's just barely noticeable, and she breathes out an exasperated sigh that entirely lacks the substrata of passive-aggressiveness that would otherwise make such a thing less than endearing.
"Roxy," she says, in that way that she so very often says 'Roxy,' "That's not what I was saying at all."
She turns her attention to Sarah.
"But she's right, we're doing well. We're living with - " noise from the hall suddenly roars up, as if the universe itself intends to censor his name - "in, well… in his penthouse, on Park Avenue West. It's, ah - well, it's… well, really, it's the entire floor.
"I finished my Masters a while back. Lately I've been focusing on my social media presence - lots of commentary on feminism in the post-human community and issues specifically impacting post-human women, lots of videos on science, and on Insta I focus on being a fitness presence. I've got a really great, really engaged following."
And as for Roxy…
"Oh! Roxy got a B-Minus a while back! That was great!"
"You're a Youtbuer influencer now?" Sarah says, raising a brow at Caitlin, then peers at Roxy. "That nerdy shit is the baseline for knowing stuff. Passing high school. You don't have to go to college afterwards if you don't want." she says simply, sipping from her drink. "But it's nice to have the diploma. Or, you know, an idea what you're going to do next. You could be a pretty good fashionista I think?" She grins at Caitlin's comment. "Congrats, a B minues is pretty cool."
Roxy rolls her eyes. UGH. "She's ALWAYS on YouTube. Hasn't figured it out yet! Thinks everybody's into her Wilma Nye schtick." Roxy implies Cait's bust with her gaze, and then gives Sarah a measured, portentful look. "Next time she broadcasts, I'm just gonna read all the comments from the ticker as they roll in. I wanna see if she can keep lecturing despite alla THAT." Roxy snickers, and promptly readjusts in her seat, stretching long legs out to drop heels atop the table before her.
She rests her hands behind her head, puffs out a breath, and the chips both clatter back into the bowl.
"College is for squares. Never seen anything good come outta it. I got BIG plans after I graduate high school… gonna move back to California and open a nightclub with my soulmate. He'll look *so* dreamy in a silk suit…" Roxanne's little chest heaves with the thought, and she emits a thoroughly boy-saturated sigh.
"We ain't been doin' much ELSE, though. It's been… I dunno. I kinda… Uh." She bites at her bottom lip, casts another look to Caitlin, seeking approval.
"…I kinda miss it?"
Her comment elicits a huff from Caitlin, and the way that her shoulders square and that her arms fold across her chest are both nakedly defensive.
"It's a popular channel. I have almost one and a half million subscribers, and the metrics for my feminism videos skew heavily female. And - and yes, okay, I do get some, some SALLACIOUS comments from time to time, especially on my Instagram, but that's - you know, that's the, the unfortunate reality of the mob, of the shroud of, of anonymity and the way it allows for socially frowned upon ideals to be expressed in ways that, that can at times be, you know, destructive and ill-advised."
A pause.
"And - and yes, all right, I admit that there are times when I miss 'IT,' even if I do not particularly miss being shot at, falling out of airplanes, or reliably ending up mostly nude in front of large crowds of people."
Sarah mmms, nodding slightly. "…one of the nice things about being here, I can use my powers to help people. Not something we could do as much, when we were on the run. But…I've certainly missed all of you." she admits softly. "I'm glad you're alright…I've worried about what might have happened, after we were separated."
Roxy's smile is fiendish and opportunistic. She has to get her hits in where she can, and seeing Caitlin get defensive is, to her, spiting a celebrity and getting a personal response. Unlikely and totally, totally worth it. "Well. You got us on your phone still, yeah? Give us a call if you wanna look inta somethin' you don't want your NEW FRIENDS to find out about." Roxanne pushes her finger into her cheek, pops her mouth open in a feign-innocent expression.
"You remember that time you found that hot girl on… whatever Tinder app you were usin'? Hadda get a new outfit in the middle of the night…" Roxanne is deliberately misrepresenting the story, and utterly neglecting to explain that Sarah was in fact furious with her about something neither of them can remember. Roxy broke into a store to get her a dress for her date. It worked, if you count 'getting almost-arrested' a success.
Roxanne's all smiles.
"All I'm sayin' is we're still your friends! Give us a call, Ms. Big Leagues. Besides, I gotta scope out Starfire and make sure Grunge doesn't think he's an Avenger too, alla a sudden."
"She's right," adds Caitlin. "Any time you need our, ah, 'assistance,' we'd of course we willing to provide it without a moment's hesitation."
Sarah eyes Roxy at the reminder. "I don't remember it that way, but just because I have some new friends doesn't mean I'm going to forget any of you. And likewise, if you ever need help, you have only to ask." She smiles faintly. "And seriously I don't know if you want Grunge by here…I mean, if it isn't Kori, it's going to be Mirage or Dazzler….though if you're interested in bad boys, maybe Robbie would be more your speed." She grins. "He's got a hot rod…"
Roxy's chin lifts! She's not taking well to the attempt at matchmaking. "Hey! Just 'cuz he has a problem keepin' his eyes on the prize doesn't mean I'm gonna drop him like THAT! He and me are, like, star-crossed! I think!" She doesn't quite remember but the term means, but it sounds right. Of course…
"Wait. Who's Robbie?" Roxy leans forward, hand on chin, eyes riveted to Sarah. "What kinda bike does he drive?"
As always Sarah is pretty good with ignoring Grunge in favor of tossing other guys at Roxy! She likes Grunge, but she'll also be the first to admit he is a garbage fire of testosterone and poor boyfriendness. (it's a word now!) "He doesn't." Sarah murmurs at Roxy's poorly hidden interest. "He drives a vintage restored 1969 Dodge Charger. All black."
Oh, right. Roxy's face falls flat. "Damn. Sorry. Dunno why I had bikes on the brain. When you said 'hot rod' I, uh." Roxanne doesn't finish that thought. In any case, she's soon caught up in her own thoughts, face twisting to exhibit - expertly! - the oscillations of her emotions. She's undecided by the time she stands up and glances between Cait and Sarah.
"Well- I got stuff I'm gonna go do, and this is, uh…" She pulls her hat down over her face. Maybe… probably… almost CERTAINLY… she doesn't really want to talk about cheating on her guy much longer.
"…Anyway, Sarah. Call us, yeah? We miss you! I prolly need to scope out your friends anyway, make sure they're not lame. Can't have you gettin' caught up in all that idealistic stuff."
"Sure, you're welcome to come by. We do Taco Tuesdays where I make dinner for everyone, feel free to stop by?" Sarah says, getting to her feet. And getting her phone so she can exchange numbers and all that fun stuff. "Yeah, I know, I feel…weird sometimes, doing the idealistic thing. But I figure I fucking deserve some time doing stuff that makes me feel good about what I can do, you know?" She gives Roxy a one armd squeeze around her shoulders. "And let me know if you just want to hang out, or do a bit of thrift shopping or whatever?"
Roxy's standoffish and defensive, but the one-armed hug seems to be precisely as much hugging as she's willing to go for right now. She snakes an arm around Sarah's waist and pulls her in for a fleeting moment of intimacy — and on second thought, doubles that, pulls the Apache in for a full-bodied hug.
"…Really missed you," she mutters into Sarah's shoulder. There's a second, framed and beautiful, where Roxy's just really happy to have found an old friend. Even if she's hanging out with dorky new friends.
But then she's breaking away! Things to do. Boys to chase down. Hot rods to consider.