abraxaslogs | [ OPEN ] i know some places and i've seen some faces

[ OPEN ] i know some places and i've seen some faces

WHO: sam wilson and anyone/everyone.
WHAT: captain america cookout.
WHERE: sam's horizon domain
WHEN: third saturday of september (aka, about 3 weeks after the jailbreak)
NOTES: see below!

HELLO ALL AND WELCOME TO SAM'S CAPTAIN AMERICA COOKOUT!!!!

Over the last week or so, Sam has been going out of his way to contact as many people as he knows to invite them to a cookout at his place in the Horizon. He knows that after the jailbreak, a lot of people were separated, and this was his first thought on how to bring people together. The purpose behind it is simply because Sam thinks that the one thing all of them have in common, opinion on the Singularity and their situations aside, is that they were all brought here and can actually access the Horizon. He sees merit and use in coming together when they can, especially in ways that don't involve the politics of the land they're now living in. So, what better way to do that than around food?

The long and short of it is - this is a peace meal. Leave your issues at the door. Sam has very few rules and there is very little he will give in terms of what this cookout will entail, but three things he will make very clear:

1.) There will be no fighting at his home. You want to duke it out? Take it somewhere else. There will not be warnings or second chances. Don't be an ass.
2.) There is no meeting or serious reason for this cookout. Literally, he just wants people to come together who may no longer be able to see each other due to the travel constraints. It's meant to be fun. Come have fun. (he knows y'all know what that is, even when some of you pretend you don't). Bring food if you want to! There is also a kitchen (if you know what that is) and places to crash. Hope you like seafood!
3.) Anyone who can come into the Horizon is welcome. He'd love it if everyone came, so spread the word.

The cookout itself is set up out front, with picnic tables and chairs and fire pits and lights abound. There are tables set up near grilles if anyone wants to do any actual cooking outside, and a table (probably multiple) set up with sides and napkins and utensils. There are a variety of different places to go and sit and hang out while you're eating. Anything and everything you can want is available - food, drinks, yard games, music playing from out in the trees that will remain consistent unless someone tries to find the speakers and hijack the playlists, etc. If you can't find something outside, you're more than welcome to check the house.

All throughout the party, too, there will be a new friend. Red, as Sam fondly calls him, is a blood-red hunting hawk with silver in between the feathers. He can be found circling around Sam quite often, or perched on his shoulders, but also if you are out and about you can often see him checking up on anyone and everyone. He's a very curious little bird, and also pretty sassy, if you want to interact with him.

If you haven't, or have, been to Sam's domain before, feel free to take a look around. Anywhere is open (save for one locked bedroom) so everyone has open access, but most of the cookout itself will be located in the front yard.

OOC: This is mean to be an OPEN LOG, so leave your TLs or closed threads below! This party will last basically as long as people want it to, but the idea is for it to be an afternoon into the evening. Y'all have free reign save for destroying Sam's home, but if you have any questions, hit me up on plurk (disarmingly or disco (dai#3757). Sam's TL is below, and he will be bouncing around like the good host he is, but lets get a little party started.

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Kylo's lips tic slightly, possibly indicating amusement— but it's far from easy to tell for certain. It's... generous, perhaps, to offer a helpful suggestion though, and while he isn't the type to openly acknowledge such things there is a subtle shift in the tension he carries across his broad, bared shoulders. His stare slides into a more companionable octave.

"If I sit by the fire, people will assume I haven't realised my robes have caught," he counters. Surprisingly amicably, really. "I'm not too concerned about being noticed."

Which might be obvious, considering the inbuilt drama Kylo carries with him wherever he goes. He assesses Geralt with the marked absence of a scowl.

"Free at last. He must be pleased."

His eyes flick across the gathering in Jaskier's direction in lieu of further explanation.

There's the faintest interest in his eyes when Kylo treats his remark with sincerity. Most would presume not. He makes a noise in response that seems to say, Fair enough.

No. Clearly not concerned. Though who here is? Someone's already made her entry on a fucking cow beast and Jaskier's winged miniature bear is guzzling wine off to the side. Geralt's found it easier to simply take things as they are, such as a man smoldering upon the grass and looking as if he belonged in an especially dramatic painting.

No wonder the bard was enamoured.

Speaking of. Geralt's gaze lands on Jaskier. Lute in hand, as always. If Kylo is assessing the Witcher, Geralt seems to pay little mind. Pleased is one way to put it. He knows Jaskier was—concerned. Back there. Not that they've especially solved anything after getting the hell out.

"Little less caged," he replies. "Lifts the mood. Food was better in there, though."

That is said dryly, even if there's truth to it, too.

"Castle Thorne does seem to have the best cooks," Kylo agrees easily enough, "And a lack of interest in having its prisoners starve. Not that there are any left in the dungeon now."

Kylo doesn't seem particularly displeased about it either. If anything, the attack on Thorne served to separate the wheat from the chaff. Resentful prisoners are a complication best lived without. Someone else's problem. If he'd been in Ambrose's position, he definitely would have handled the situation differently. Still, he is curious:

"I take it there wasn't much of a welcome waiting for you?"

None left? His gaze sharpens a hint at that, even as he continues to watch Jaskier. Hm. Hadn't seen that coming. So they'd freed all those who remained. Despite the concern he couldn't help feeling, the logical part of him had always presumed Yen would do just fine for herself, getting out of there. It's what she's been trained for her entire life. He hadn't imagined Thorne would simply release everyone, though.

Maybe Relena was right. Maybe they were desperate for something.

His eyes finally slide in Kylo's direction, the yellow of them unmistakable in the sunlight.

"Rarely is." There's no particular grudge in his voice, either. It's less that he'd not minded being locked up—no one enjoys being crammed in a cage for three fucking months—but more that he finds it neither unexpected nor a point to stew on now that it's done with. Besides. They weren't wrong to. Not that he believes he deserved to be imprisoned. (What he deserves or doesn't is another matter.) Just, in a practical sense, no kingdom wants a Witcher running loose.

"Too bad," he adds dryly. "Seems I missed out on quality time with the mountain king." Faint amusement hovers beneath that title. He gets it. Jaskier had dubbed him the White Wolf and he'd had zero say in it, too. "You were scarce."

In the dungeons, that is. Which is worth noting. Most of the other guests made appearances now and again. But him—Geralt can't recall having ever seen him.

Kylo meets those sharp golden eyes with the steady dark of his own, a similarly dry amusement tugging at his lips.

"Aside from supervising the excursion to the frostwurm burrows, I've had little reason to spend time with undesirables," he explains smoothly— though his mild over-emphasis of the last suggests he considers Ambrose's decision to categorise and imprison those of the summoned he viewed as a threat to Thorne foolish at best.

"... though I would have made special effort to seek you out if I had known you were eager to make my acquaintance. I've heard a lot about you. But no. I was asking after the welcome provided by your new hosts, disappointing cuisine aside."

His fingers slide idly over the neck of his bottle. The glass is still frosted, from the icy box, a concept that he's decided not to question.

He snorts, faintly. Undesirable. Apparently not that undesirable, if they'd been kept around. Knowing what he does of Relena, it's apparent they were all meant for similar trials. So that answers that. He's mulling it over—there's something to be said about a man who held little curiosity or interest in those imprisoned one way or the other—when Kylo clarifies.

Oh. Mm. That. Hosts might not be what he'd call it. They'd been dumped unceremoniously on desert soil and then no had looked twice. As far as Cadens is concerned, he's just another of thousands of faces.

There's a small pause when Kylo says heard a lot about you, but Geralt leaves that untouched for the moment. "Soundly ignored. About all I'd ask for."

Whether he's dead in the gutter or thriving in the gambling halls—those in power don't seem to give a fuck so long as no one makes any waves. For now, at least. He's little doubt that if the time comes, if they decide there's more they want from those who fled Thorne, they'll make their move.

Ignored, while definitely not how Kylo himself would have chosen to react had a group of refugees from an enemy's secret project turned up in his kingdom, seems to fit with Jolene's theory about Oliver's motivations. Kylo's lips press together thoughtfully.

"Strange," he comments. "Considering how intent Thorne was on keeping even its failures close at hand, when it would have been much more convenient to eliminate dangerous elements and try again."

His gaze slides over the gathering. There's no particular passion in his voice, or any indication he feels much beyond curiosity about the whole situation— a vague, lingering annoyance, perhaps, but that could be simple frustration with Ambrose's apparent incompetence, or just the way Kylo's tone leans when not pulled in any specific direction. One thing Kylo is definitely not, is concerned by the ethics of the situation or the plight of the imprisoned.

"If I were the leader of a nation at war with Thorne, I might imagine you and the other runaways represent a valuable resource. Powerful military assets, miraculously delivered to my hand."

Knowing what he does of Relena, of the way magic often works, he has his own suspicions of why Thorne had kept the prisoners on hand, allowed them up establish that connection to the Singularity. He considers bringing it up before deciding now is not the place, and not with a stranger. Too many mysteries. Investigating a problem of which he’s been made an active part is more complicated than coming in from the outside.

Kylo appears to have his own beliefs about how things should go, anyhow. Or should've gone. No surprises—Ambrose’s decisions were foolhardy at best, and the Queen appears to have shut him out of certain pet projects already. (Maybe. If Relena is correct.) It isn’t an attitude that bothers him, exactly—the utter lack of a shit given for those imprisoned; the remark about people serving as useful resources—but it does mean Geralt hasn’t much desire in involving himself too deeply in this line of conversation.

“Mm.” His eyes return to the center of the gathering. “Then it’s fortunate we weren’t delivered to your hands.”

As with nearly everything he says, it’s casual, with a wry edge. An impression that he doesn't actually believe anything that happens in and around this world can be considered fortunate. There's a reason he holds no grudge towards Thorne, and it isn't because he's got high opinions of them. More that he'd sooner meet another gold dragon than find those in power without closets full of skeletons. It is what it is. As far as he's concerned, Thorne simply got there first when it came to fucking with everyone's lives.

Kylo hums a wordless note of appreciation for a retort well-delivered, a twist of amusement pulling his mouth into a light curve.

"Fortunate," he agrees, more willing to be misunderstood than concerned with pushing Geralt to work with him on unpicking the tapestry. But... "Or unfortunate, if your new hosts simply haven't shown theirs yet."

There are a lot of hands to fall into here, after all, and Kylo certainly prefers to navigate sighted— though he supposes most people are more accustomed to working blind than he is.

Regardless, Geralt appears to operate on a kind of informed assumption about power and those touched by it that's led him much to the same conclusion as Kylo, if not at all the same course of action in response— and it's this underlying commonality that leads him to offer:

"Thorne doesn't seem in any hurry to get you back, in any case."

No. They haven't shown their hand. Geralt acknowledges that with a tip of his head. He expects they will, sooner or later. He's aware he's biding time more than anything until something happens. How it always goes. At least no one recognizes him on sight around these parts. It isn't an unwelcome change, but it leaves him unsure sometimes. He's existed so long with a certain understanding of how people see him. Now it's...

More nebulous.

When he looks back at Kylo, it's faintly scrutinizing: not purely curious, not purely suspicion. Thorne might've let them go for now, but it's hard to tell if that's due to shifting priorities or a lack of resource. Both. And who the fuck knows what those remaining behind intend, beyond making themselves cozy in court for their own agendas.

He hazards an assumption instead of asking the question direct—because he doesn't really know where Kylo stands. Perhaps it may not be important, either, in the end. "Neither do you."

Kylo isn't made uncomfortable by Geralt's scrutiny. If anything, once he recognises he's being weighed he makes himself more available— stance squared and solid, gaze steady. Here he is. Raised as he was with the presence of a telepathic tyrant as his constant companion, Kylo lost interest in concealing his motives a long time ago.

"No," he confirms. "I see no reason not to indulge anyone who wants to be ignored, and nothing to be gained by rounding up runaways. Nothing can be accomplished here with the unwilling."

Geralt keeps watching, because that's just what he does sometimes. The unwilling. He seems to consider that for a moment before he glances off again.

"I hadn't realized some of us volunteered to fuck off to another sphere."

They're all unwilling, are they not? But perhaps some have found reason to start believing otherwise. He already knows Estinien seems to have grasped his so-called purpose here with both hands. Geralt has equally sidestepped that, which has left the elf none too pleased and also isn't his problem.

Kylo, at least, does not appear to give a shit that Geralt wants nothing to do with anything. Points in his favour, maybe. He's content with being ignored.

That remark earns Geralt another smile pulled taut. Quite. Ambrose certainly didn't seek anyone's consent before summoning them here, which (from Kylo's perspective) is just another insult added to the growing list of injuries he's suffered, being buffeted about by the will of the Force. Destiny. Whatever the power determined to cast him in role after role wants to be called here.

"Did you choose to be born?"

It's intended as a rhetorical question, as it would automatically be in most scenarios— but for all Kylo knows, Geralt did. His lips twist wryly.

"We didn't choose to be brought to this world. No. But we still have choice here. We decide what's important to us. What we want. What we can do to achieve those goals. And if what you want is nothing, why would that be a problem for me?"

The lightest tension runs through him—though not, precisely, directed at Kylo. Matters of choice forever remain a complicated topic with Geralt. He's been shaped, a long time ago, into what he's never asked to be, and Geralt has coped by simply taking it for what it is. A fact, without any meaning attached. Sometimes small boys are dumped on a mountainside by their mothers, for no reason of worldly significance. That's all there is to it. If some Destiny exists to push things along—and perhaps, he's beginning to believe it may—then it's no more or less chaotic of a force than it's been from the start.

And whether Kylo intends it in this sense or not, he's always instinctively recoiled from the slightest implication he should be meant for more, or desire it. It's that belief which left him in the hands of mages who took him apart too many times as a child.

For awhile, Geralt is silent in that way he occasionally gets: unhurried, uninterested in filling it, while he absorbs what's being said. Which, to him, is good enough. He has no reason to clarify what it is he does want. If Kylo finds no problem here, then Geralt hasn't got a problem with him in return. For now, at least.

"And what choices have led you to smoulder about in the grass?" If it sounds flippant, it's meant to be—but there's room for a genuine answer, too.

Geralt's silence isn't as inscrutable as he imagines, to a creature like Kylo Ren— which might be part of why he isn't made uncomfortable by long pauses. Thankfully, however, Kylo also knows better than to drag another's secrets into the light without reason. He notes the familiar shape of Geralt's history rather than its details, the ripples of his past still travelling through his choices. Perhaps, through his reluctance to name them. Naming a desire, Kylo knows full well, makes it vulnerable in the way all things made real are.

"I didn't choose what I am," Kylo offers— an answer he rather suspects Geralt will have no trouble understanding. "I have no control over my nature. But I choose what I do with it. Which is why, until I am provoked, the grass smoulders at my feet rather than catching fire. Why my mountain grows upward rather than outward. I decide."

Interesting, how much or how little control one has in this place. There are those like Kay, and then there are apparently those like Kylo. Who is, he thinks, the most extreme case he's seen so far. The first he's met who's claimed he can't control the nature of his domain at all. Only its spread.

There's a reason for that, undoubtedly, but Geralt isn't here to pry. He has his own problems in the Horizon: not near as intense, but unwanted pieces here and there have cropped up.

No lost girl, though. So at least there's that.

He hums, noncommittal. "Choosing what you do makes a part of your nature."

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[ OPEN ] i know some places and i've seen some faces

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