1746/Dry at Last

Dry at Last
Date of Scene:	31 July 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Rainmaker, Mercy Thompson

---

Rainmaker has posed:
    It isn't the best part of town, but not the worst either, as you drive in through Little China in New Urecht up to the edge of the neighborhood. There's lots of signs of new apartment complexes going up and old ones being torn down, along with many older houses in the process.

    You are not going to any of the nice ones.

    Instead, you pull up on street parking in front of an older looking building. A large vertical sign reads 'HOTEL', with a smaller horizontal 'Fulham' underneath. Sarah waits for you to stow your bike, then takes you upstairs, to one of the end suites. This is apparently a long stay hotel...not pricey from the look of it either, but at least it's not renting by the hour. You're taken to 13F, then Sarah unlocks the door and heads inside, looking around. "Hmm...roomies aren't home, looks like."

    This suite has a larger central bedroom, with a pair of double beds with wooden headboards pushed back against the wall and a nightstand with a battered looking lamp between them. Above each bed is a picture, but only the frame, with nothing in it. There's a long dresser against the opposite wall with a simple but functional flatscreen TV and remote, and a small round table with a pair of chairs in the corner. There's a scattering of ash trays here and there. An old battered but comfortable looking couch is set in the corner opposite the TV.

    Right next to the front door when entering is an archway in a short wall that cordons off the kitchen, which consists of a fridge, a small cupboard, a microwave, and an old, battered electric stove, with a short counter separating it from the rest of the room. At the opposite side of the room from the front door is a sliding glass door that looks out on a small concrete balcony outside with iron railings, with slightly threadbare curtains that can be drawn. Someone has optimistically put a beach chair outside on it.

    To the right and left as you enter are a pair of short hallways. The right leads to another smaller bedroom with two more double beds and two small windows leading out onto the fire escape outside, while the left leads to a small bathroom with an actual (if ancient) ceramic tub, complete with shower and accompanying curtain, the obligatory toilet, and a door that can separate it from the long counter and mirror over the sink just outside, which is currently covered by a scattered collection of brushes, combs, nail polish, and other feminine products. A small wicker stand next to the tub hold a variety of shampoo, conditioners, and body wash.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Dripping. That's currently what Mercy Thompson is doing.

Wet foot prints lead from the parking lot, to the hotel, to the steps and finally to the door that reads 13F.

At least her dignity is saved by the fact that she's not squishing. Well, too much.

While everything is curiously looked at there's not much in the way of judging from the coyote. She's lived in tough times and if it weren't for her Garage, she'd likely have a similar apartment. Very low key, very low rent, and not on the best side of town. Though West Harlem is hardly considered 'ritzy', but it's home. Either way, Mercy will follow Sarah Rainmaker to her abode and once inside the mechanic automatically looks around. It's easy enough to tell there's more than Sarah who lives here; both from sight and from scent. There's a myriad of scents that assail the coyote's nose, the foremost are the scents of the people who live within the cramped confines. "How many roommates do you have?" Mercy asks, even as she stands near the door, trying so hard not to drip on too much of the rug, or anything else for that matter. "And do you possibly have a towel I could borrow? I'd rather not water-log anything."

Rainmaker has posed:
    "Sure, sec.." Sarah awkwardly tugs off her boots, setting them on the mat by the door, then padpads back towards the bathroom area. "I could lend you a shirt or something and toss your stuff in the dryer, if you'd like?" She emerges with a fluffy brown towel, one for each of you, though it's speckled with what looks like bleach stains. STill, dry, soft, and smells nice, so there's that. She tosses it to you. "I don't know that it'd actually hurt anything in here at this point if you dripped on it though..." she says dryly.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
When the towel is tossed at her Mercy gladly catches. Then she's pressing it to her hair to soak up the majority of rain from it. Her shirt and pants are patted down as well, but really, that's a lost cause. They've just been too saturated at this point. She'll stand there and consider whether she wants to drive back in severely squishy clothing, or have Sarah toss them in the dryer. "I wouldn't be adverse to having my clothes tossed in the dryer for a bit." Says the coyote, even as she pulls her shoes off. "To at least get the majority of the water out."

Then carefully, because she's still shedding water like a duck, Mercy will step further into the hotel room. Sure, Sarah's words about not hurting anything are heard, but Mercy still is avoiding any of the major things around. "So, you okay after all that? I know how it is when confronted with something you thought was nothing more than stories." And while there's amusement within her voice there's also something else. A tinge of bleakness, though with the two having just meat it might be neatly hidden by the humor from the coyote.

Rainmaker has posed:
    The other woman disappears into the other hall. "Sec..." she calls back, and you hear some rummaging and some wet sounds of fabric hitting floor, then a bit more rummaging. "....I'm not sure what to think...." Sarah says after a moment, coming back out. She's changed into dark grey sweat shorts and a dark blue tank top, but in her other hand she has another pair of shorts with a draw string and a shirt, which she shakes out for you. "Think this will fit?" The front depicts a woman in 1920s garb holding up a fist on a stand, with disembodied arms and fists raised in response, all with a red star and the old Soviet hammer and sickle in the background. At the top and bottom of the shirt it reads "My Marxist Dialectic Brings All the Girls To the Yard" in blocky black lettering.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
That outfit.

For some reason it causes a faint flash of ruefulness upon Mercy's features. "Ironic." She murmurs, even as she takes the shirt and the shorts. She'll hold the shirt up to her and when it seems like it'll fit relatively, she nods. "I think so."

"Mind if I use your bathroom?" Mercy asks, and she'll wait for the go ahead before she moves. Once given the coyote will quickly pad to the bathroom, change and return. The shorts and the shirt fit relatively well and they're dry - it's the dry part that's the best.

In one hand Mercy holds her neatly folded wet clothes, while her other holds her wallet and her ring of keys. "If you can lead the way I can toss them in." She offers, "I even have some quarters." She finishes with, assuming the dryer is a communal sort of thing here at the hotel.

Rainmaker has posed:
    SArah is waiting back in the main room, idly bouncing on her toes as she tries to wring out her long hair carefully against the towel, now sitting on the counter, then looks up. "Ooh...prepared...I was just trying to remember if I had any left.." She reaches under the sink, then snags some static towels. "Let me get 'em started, feel free to make yourself at home? There's water and diet soda in the fridge...I think." Unless Roxy drank them all again.

    "Be right back!" She slips out the front door, jogging over to the floor laundry room to start things up, before coming back a couple minutes later. "There we go. Should be right as rain in a half hour or so." she murmurs, eyes twinkling at you a bit.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The quarters will be freed from Mercy's wallet and offered to the other woman. And even if she doesn't take them the coyote will make sure to leave a small pile of coins somewhere discreet. Where it won't immediately be seen, not until hopefully she's out of the hotel room and back home. It's a small gesture, yes, but she remembers those days quite well. A few extra quarters always helped.

When Sarah returns she'll find Mercy hasn't moved too much from her previous spot. She's still standing, but now she at least has a diet soda in her hands. "Thanks." The mechanic says, the can of soda raised, "I'd have grabbed the water, but I'm pretty sure I got my fill earlier." And of course when Sarah offers her own words about rain, the coyote can't help but laugh. "I see we're both reaching for the rain puns tonight."

As for making herself at home, Mercy will take whatever lead Sarah does, when it comes to finding a place to sit. A chair, or even just a casual lean against the countertop can be neatly adopted by the dark-haired woman. "I don't know if I'll be around when the Spirit comes looking for you, so if I'm not just make sure to be firm. And use the threat of the Wind Eagle against it. There was definite fear from the little spirit at his name."

Rainmaker has posed:
    Sarah grins a bit at that. "Couldn't resist..." she admits, crossing over to snag a soda herself, popping it open with a hiss as she motions towards the couch. "Have a seat? Comfier than standing..." She walks over, then plops down herself, pulling up her legs to sit crosslegged on the right side. She frowns a bit as she meets your eyes. "...that was a little spirit?" she says, sounding vaguely nervous. "The Wind Eagle won't come looking for me if I use his name, will he?" For all she's trying to cover it up by joking a bit and staying cool, she's not doing a very good job as the events of the night sink in with her.

Mercy Thompson has posed:
The couch it is. Mercy sits only after Sarah does. Then she's settling upon it, with one foot tucked underneath herself. Mercy's careful to keep her braids away from the cushions behind her, as she considers Sarah's question.

"You know -" Begins the dark-haired woman, "- I don't know. I can't even say if the Wind Eagle is a true spirit like the one we saw. His name was the first name that popped in my head when the spirit was threatening us. I hadn't even considered that he might be a real spirit -"

A sigh almost leaves the elder woman's lips as she now shakes her head. "There should be a book that tells us what spirits are real and what aren't. It'd make it so much easier." Comes the sardonic humor from the woman, even as she looks over to Sarah. A flare of Mercy's nostrils will catch the scents from the woman and smelling that vague unease from her, Mercy says with some empathy and sympathy, "And you know it's completely okay to be freaked out by what you saw tonight. Realizing that spirits and gods are real isn't something that can be brushed quite so easily aside."

Rainmaker has posed:
    "There are, they're called mythology books." the other girl shoots out dryly. "It's figuring out which is which I guess..." She looks down at her lap a bit, a faint twitch running through her as she sets her can down on the arm of the chair, reaching up to start gathering up her hair over her right shoulder before she leans back, though her fingers linger, continuing to play with a few strands as she winds them around her finger. Back and forth, back and forth. Nervous habit, apparently.

    "Well...if he didn't show up there, hopefully he's off doing Eagle-y things...." She huffs, sighing. "...I shouldn't be making fun of this? This is..so...' She searches for the words. "....I don't know what to do, I've never been confronted with a....a being from my people's stories before. They were just...stories! Morals, lessons...not...." She flutters her free hand. "...real."

    She frowns a bit, then peers over at you. "...you barely blinked, though...that was really quick thinking."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
A snort can be heard from Mercy Thompson at the mention of mythology books. "Perhaps we can use it like a bird book? Initial the pages of all the creatures we've currently seen?" Her eyebrows raise upward as she looks over at the other woman. Amusement can still be seen within her gaze, upon her features, even as she settles back down to answer the questions the other woman has.

Her can of soda will be loosely held in both her hands, as she listens to the somewhat hesitant statements of Sarah. Again there might be a sense of empathy from the woman, as a half of a smile quirks a corner of her mouth upward. "I understand where you're coming from." Mercy says, even as the can within her hands is idly turned. Not necessarily a nervous habit, but a habit of constantly doing something, constantly on the move. "Personally, I find laughing about it helps me to get over the whole 'holy moly' aspect of it. That or a good night sleep. Perhaps a beer or two, as well. Pick whichever one appeals to you the most and try it. I promise it will get better."

As for that last question, Mercy allows a shrug to hitch her shoulders up slightly. "I'm sure you've figured out that wasn't my first spirit I encountered - so, it was easier for me to think of a way to handle it. Several years ago though? I'd definitely have had the same reaction as you. Shock, awe, disbelief." A second shoulder roll can be seen from Mercy, "But you - you redirected a bolt of lightening. Shifted the rain away from us ..." And while a question wasn't asked directly by Mercy, it's definitely there.

Rainmaker has posed:
    Her fingers pause where they twist in her hair absently, then lets the strands slide free of her hand completley as she sighs a bit, resting her hand in her lap as her other recaptures her drink, as she takes a moment to just sip from it, pondering, then lowering it again to meet your eyes directly. "...I did. And you want to know how?" she says softly, smiling weakly at her. "That's fair, I think. Um....well..."

    Sarah wiggles around so she can face you more, her expression getting a bit more sober as she organizes her thoughts. "...it's sort of a good news, bad news sort of thing for me." She raises a hand, wiggling her fingers. "Supah storm powah." She lowers it back to her lap. "Being hunted by people." She sips from her can again, then say softly. "...that's why I was ducking the whole college thing in the car. I can't. I can't go on the grid, none of us can, or they might find us again."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
"If you want to tell. By all means you can tell me to butt out." Mercy says with equal amounts of seriousness and humor now. She'll wait to see what the other woman decides and when she decides to tell her story Mercy shifts enough to show attentiveness.

She's a good listener.

It's only as Sarah explains her situation, that the coyote's dark eyebrows pinch toward the midline of her face. It's an explanation, if not a full one. Which Mercy understands. Both of them have their secrets. Heavy secrets.

"Who are they?" Probably a question that Sarah is anticipating and then that question is followed up with, "And why would are they hunting you?" Her head tilts to the side, the coyote clearly puzzling through things, "I know there are some out there who see powered individuals as dangerous, but to actively hunt? That's /terrible/."

And at that 'us' Mercy's gaze will take a quick turn around the room, before settling back upon Sara. "Your roommates too, then?"

Rainmaker has posed:
    There's a bitter twist to the smile that follows you telling her it's terrible. "Oh, it's worse than that in some ways." she admits quietly. "It's all of us, yes." She inhales, then sighs. "No, you deserve this much, at least, so you understand why I'm so...weird." She rests her can on her knee, leaning forward. "Story time then...once upon a time..."

    Her voice is dry, but there's bottled emotions behind it that she holds in check with what seems like long practice. "...there was this project. That wanted to have its own metahumans, for reasons, like most goverments tend to have. So they started trying to find a way to make them, by artificially messing with the same gene that creates mutants, when they evolve naturally."

    She holds up both hands, then two fingers. "There were 12 generations of testing...and it didn't go well. In that almost no one lived through them for very long." she says quietly. "Save for the last group. They were a trained military unit, and they knew what the project was. Maybe that was part of it, maybe they just hit the perfect combination." Her lips twist slightly, as she takes a sip from her drink. "...which meant about half of them survived without going insane or their powers going out of control and killing them."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Story time.

Again, Mercy takes on an attentive pose. It seems so many people in her life offer stories; whether true or not.

For this one, Mercy's quite sure it's true. All her senses tell her it's true, especially her nose. It also clues her into some of those repressed emotions that Sarah is holding in check. It's enough to cause the coyote to frown slightly, mostly with concern.

Only as Sarah reveals it was the government who did this, that Mercy's expression actually twists slightly. It goes from concern to anger, as the mechanic's hand tightens dangerously upon the can. Thankfully, before she can squeeze the can to death, she stops herself. It's a near thing, however.

"The government. Here I take it?" She asks, her voice dropping slightly from her own anger at the situation. And while she allows that anger to be seen for a few seconds more, eventually Mercy's expression returns to something close to concern. "I'm so sorry - I can only say it again, that's terrible. I can only image what it must have been like -" The coyote shakes her head, "- What made you and your friends leave?"

Rainmaker has posed:
    A finger is held up. "Oh wait. It gets BETTER." Same dry, humorless tone. "See, back then, they were volunteers but after that, the group was retired. Some testing, some check ups and medical stuff, but they were all decorated hero types, so they let them go. Shut down the project. For about, oh...ten years or so."

    Her eyes remain on yours as she sips from her cola, more for something to do while she hesistates, then says. "...long enough for them to have kids."

    "See...someone decided to restart it, and they figured...easier if they went with kids who had parents who had already had gone Gen-Active...that's what they called them. Gen-Factor instead of X-gene..."

    She shrugs a bit, resting the can on her knee again as her finger starts to circle the top quietly. "...I was ten the first time they came for me. Me and my mother. They waited until my dad was away. My mom...she lived out on the edge of the rez...marrying a white boy, so...wasn't too popular. They made it look like we were drown in a flash flood. Dead. Then they tried to take us away."

Mercy Thompson has posed:
Surprise now rests upon Mercy's features.

The twist about the group being their parents and they their children.

It's enough to cause the coyote to fall silent for a long minute. That minute allows Sarah to reveal more of her past and it only causes the coyote's expression to continue to show surprise. That surprise once more morphs into anger, disgust even. Those emotions don't color her voice, not when Mercy asks quietly, "But they didn't succeed? That's why you're running, right? Trying to make sure they don't capture you - so you don't become their guinea pigs?" Again, Mercy's gaze turns around the room. "And everyone here is one of their children."

"Is there nothing you can do to stop them from tracking you? What part of the government is this operation in? Though let me take a wild guess and say the blackops side of it."

Rainmaker has posed:
    There's a tiredness to the smile now. "...first time, my mom clocked the guard over the with a goddamned fire extinguisher. Knocked him cold, and we ran the hell away. Hid out for...well, till I was nearly 18. THEN they got me." she says softly, lowering her gaze again. Now there's...something else in it. Embarrassment? Or...humiliation. Whatever she's remembering.

    "They had this fake school called Project Genesis. That's how they got Caitlin and Roxy, brought them in on full scholarships, all expenses paid. Fed them drugs in their food to try and force them to go active. If they did, they ended up on the other side, with the..labs. Or...shipped to who the hell knows where. I never found out."

    There a faint crinkle of metal as her fingers tighten on the can. "Me, I got stuck on the other side, where the labs were. Punishment for evading so long. It was...bad."

    Her voice is flat for a moment, before she visibly gathers herself. "But, ah...Caitlin, my roomie, she found out what was going on, and...she went active at just the right time. Huge glamazon. CAn throw tanks. SHe led a breakout, found me on the way and took me with her."

    She shrugs a little. "...a lot of us got out though, and we ran into some of the guys from Gen 12...they'd found out what was happening. Helped us go undercover." She looks up. "I don't know, Mercy." she says honestly. "We're...not even sure what they wanted us for. If they wanted some kind of secret metahuman hit squad or..." She breathes out a bit. "Caitlin says she thinks there's a chance we were supposed to be just...toys. For whoever was behind it."