RP: JP and Kelly Do Genosha
RP with the right reverend tm_northstar. Set on Saturday around noon.
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Welcome to Genosha! (Bienvenido a Genosha!)
This island paradise offers all modern amenities to the discerning vacationer: colorful locals, fascinating reconstruction efforts, and eye-catching mass graves that are a perfect afternoon trip for the entire family. The beach, however, is a genuine slice of tropical decadence (as long as no one dives too far out). Its yellow-white, pristine sands are dotted with children playing ball, weary workers, and the very occasional tourist, as the relentless Genoshan sun beats down.
One of these unlikely tourists had appeared mid-morning, using the port key Mike had given him months before. He had spread out his beach towel, dumped his pack and shoes on it to weigh it down, and then gone swimming. After mildly scaring a couple of toddlers on the beach in Madagascar, he had decided to head back. He really didn't want to be late.
Jean-Paul had found Kelly's towel, mostly because the damn thing looked like it had been made out of Kelly's old Cosby sweaters. He set up shop beside it, stripping out of his flight suit and smearing on the sunblock so he could stretch out on a towel of his own (which was basic black, thank you) and wait. Eventually something that mostly resembled his boss materialized out of the water, and at the sight Jean-Paul grinned.
"Horror on Party Beach," he intoned with mock seriousness. "And me without my bikini."
Kelly's gills folded back into his back, and his skin regained some kind of solidity. He glanced meaningfully at Jean-Paul's crotch. "You could've fooled me."
He sat down on his own towel, a little uncomfortable in the sun, even though he won't burn. "Glad you could make it. I hope I can bring the kids out here sometime soon when Dylan's learning to swim. Oh. Which reminds me..." He fished in his bag and pulled out a sheaf of photos. "I am obligated, as a new father, to show you these before we discuss anything remotely serious."
JP scooted closer to Kelly so he could look at the pictures, of which there were indeed many. He wasn't sure what was more amusing: the photos themselves, or Kelly's reactions to them. He was all but gushing. (Thankfully not literally.)
"He is a cute kid," Jean-Paul remarked once Kelly seemed to be finished. "I like the one of him and Beth together. You should totally frame that, put it on your desk or whatever."
He sighed and stretched. "So. Business? Uh, do I have to put on clothes for that?"
"No. We might go swimming later..." Kelly looked around, and sat up, his legs crossed. "Do you remember the reception we went to at the White House? And I was called away to see the President? Well - and I didn't tell you this - Trask was there, too. They're thinking about resurrecting the Sentinel program as a method of policing mutants." He sighed. "I suppose it's heartening that they even asked my opinion, but, frankly I'm not sure they put much weight in what I say. I'm irrevocably biased, after all."
Jean-Paul stared.
"No." he shook his head. "That's... Don't they remember what happened last time? I mean... Have they SEEN Genosha? And. I mean." He looked out at the surf, feeling a terrible fear rise in his heart.
"We cannot let that happen," he said softly. "Oh my God. Rober', no."
Kelly shrugged. "Genosha is a very, very long way away from the White House and the minds of the American people. Terrorism, and particularly mutant terrorism, is on everyone's thoughts. Our regular law enforcement agencies might have a chance against a regular guy with a bomb, but the Brotherhood? Any one of the people we know could unleash huge amounts of suffering using their abilities, JP. That scares the public. What do we do if there's a mutant attack on one of our cities? We've got nothing. No alternative. And that's what we need to have."
"What about dorks like the Order? The Avengers? Isn't that why they exist?" He kept thinking about Peter. He promised Peter no mutant death camps, no giant robots. "Government sanctioned superteams? That's what they're FOR. Not... no. Nononono."
"The feeling is that the metahuman teams have their hands full dealing with meta and, I'm told, often alien threats. Have you ever heard of the Avengers or Justice League having a quiet day? Even teenagers like Kon and his friends are needed to combat these threats. And the mutant 'problem', as most people in Washington insist on calling it, is only likely to expand. You tell me, JP, if Lehnsherr tried his Statue of Liberty trick again, who would stop him? And, if they did, how would we hold him? That plastic prison didn't last, and it was violating habeas corpus daily as it was. The existence of mutants throws up huge legal issues, and no one has any answers. At least," Kelly amended, "none that fall between 'giant robots' and 'if we ignore them, maybe they'll go away'."
He sighed. "Regardless of what we'd like to believe, mutants are just not analogous to other minority groups, at least as far as law and order goes. Could a regular prison hold either of us, Jean-Paul? Could we even be caught?"
Jean-Paul looked down at the sand, which was dazzlingly white. "Yes," he said quietly. "We could."
He sat silently for a moment, hearing the ocean crash endlessly against the beach. Bodies hidden under water, and now what?
"What do we do?" he asked. He felt young, and stupid, and very, very frightened.
Kelly was drawing diagrams with a wet finger in the sand. "I'm not sure," he said. "But I think he's afraid. Afraid that he won't be re-elected in the Fall. He wants to execute the program now - get Sentinels on the streets before the election. Which I'm sure would bring a huge number of lawsuits. Voter intimidation. Public disturbance, if nothing else. But these things take time."
"Building and programming giant robots takes time, too. They probably want to roll them out onto the streets in a few months. Which means, they must have already started. Somewhere, there's a Sentinel factory."
He looked sidelong at Jean-Paul. "God knows I'm not getting re-elected anyway."
Kelly was drawing diagrams with a wet finger in the sand. "I'm not sure," he said. "But I think he's afraid. Afraid that he won't be re-elected in the Fall. He wants to execute the program now - get Sentinels on the streets before the election. Which I'm sure would bring a huge number of lawsuits. Voter intimidation. Public disturbance, if nothing else. But these things take time."
"Building and programming giant robots takes time, too. They probably want to roll them out onto the streets in a few months. Which means, they must have already started. Somewhere, there's a Sentinel factory."
He looked sidelong at Jean-Paul. "God knows I'm not getting re-elected anyway."
Jean-Paul nodded slowly. "Doug," he said. "I bet he could find it." He chewed one of his fingernails absently. "If we can push back the production... they might miss their chance. Doug. We HAVE to talk to Doug. As impressive as it is to have like, Peter throw the Wolverine through one of those things? Doug could wipe them all out in the early stages I bet."
He sighed. "We're very possibly all going to get killed. Again."
"I see two problems with that," Kelly said. "Which may, in fact, be one and the same. If Sentinel production is shut down for any reason, we can expect it to be blamed on mutants, and the shutdown to be used as justification for the Sentinels themselves. And don't forget that Trask told me about this. It may be that he regards me as his pet mutant, and certainly the program would be a bigger success with mutant endorsement, but it may equally be a trap of the highest order."
He squeezed Jean-Paul's arm. "None of us are getting killed. I've got a wife and kids to go home to, and your sister would kill me if anything happened to you."
"Then what do we DO?!" JP was up and on his feet in a second, pacing in the sand. He wished he had a smoke. "I mean. Can we say anything? Leak this knowledge to the press? Cause a huge public outcry against it? Or do we just hunker down and pray or run away to Canada?! GOD I hate your stupid country!" He kicked the beach savagely, sending sand flying uselessly at the ocean
Kelly stayed where he was, watching Jean-Paul for a moment, and then checking to see if anyone is looking at them. "We don't panic, for one thing. Sit the hell down, kid. We can look into this. We can talk to Doug. We can see where we stand. And you might be right. Maybe one article in the press would quash the entire thing if it can generate enough outrage. Maybe we can claim that the Sentinels are to be used to police a larger section of the population, or its entirety. That's the 'not in my backyard' mentality we might have to rely on."
Jean-Paul stood there, breathing quickly, but trying to calm down. "Okay," he muttered finally, resuming his seat beside Kelly. "Okay. Just. Tabernac."
He ran a hand through his hair. "It's hard to believe that they would try this again," he said. " I mean. The world is changing. Slowly, sure, but." He shook his head slowly, unable to articulate his confusion and fear. "Sometimes I get really sick of being hated by everyone else," he said quietly. "I don't like to admit it, but it gets hard, sometimes." He leaned over and put his head on Kelly's shoulder.
"I'm with you on this. Whatever this turns out to be."
Kelly carefully put his arm around the younger man, and hugged him gently. "It'll be okay. And not everyone hates us - just a few people who know how to shout very loudly and make things difficult. Well, I know we can shout loudly too."
He stared out at the waves lapping against the beach. "Want to go for a swim? I'm evaporating here."
Jean-Paul nodded. "Yeah. I do." He looked up at Kelly with somber eyes. "I believe you," he said. "It'll be okay. We'll MAKE it okay."
The water was warm, and relaxing, and neither of them swam out too far, or too deep.
-----
Welcome to Genosha! (Bienvenido a Genosha!)
This island paradise offers all modern amenities to the discerning vacationer: colorful locals, fascinating reconstruction efforts, and eye-catching mass graves that are a perfect afternoon trip for the entire family. The beach, however, is a genuine slice of tropical decadence (as long as no one dives too far out). Its yellow-white, pristine sands are dotted with children playing ball, weary workers, and the very occasional tourist, as the relentless Genoshan sun beats down.
One of these unlikely tourists had appeared mid-morning, using the port key Mike had given him months before. He had spread out his beach towel, dumped his pack and shoes on it to weigh it down, and then gone swimming. After mildly scaring a couple of toddlers on the beach in Madagascar, he had decided to head back. He really didn't want to be late.
Jean-Paul had found Kelly's towel, mostly because the damn thing looked like it had been made out of Kelly's old Cosby sweaters. He set up shop beside it, stripping out of his flight suit and smearing on the sunblock so he could stretch out on a towel of his own (which was basic black, thank you) and wait. Eventually something that mostly resembled his boss materialized out of the water, and at the sight Jean-Paul grinned.
"Horror on Party Beach," he intoned with mock seriousness. "And me without my bikini."
Kelly's gills folded back into his back, and his skin regained some kind of solidity. He glanced meaningfully at Jean-Paul's crotch. "You could've fooled me."
He sat down on his own towel, a little uncomfortable in the sun, even though he won't burn. "Glad you could make it. I hope I can bring the kids out here sometime soon when Dylan's learning to swim. Oh. Which reminds me..." He fished in his bag and pulled out a sheaf of photos. "I am obligated, as a new father, to show you these before we discuss anything remotely serious."
JP scooted closer to Kelly so he could look at the pictures, of which there were indeed many. He wasn't sure what was more amusing: the photos themselves, or Kelly's reactions to them. He was all but gushing. (Thankfully not literally.)
"He is a cute kid," Jean-Paul remarked once Kelly seemed to be finished. "I like the one of him and Beth together. You should totally frame that, put it on your desk or whatever."
He sighed and stretched. "So. Business? Uh, do I have to put on clothes for that?"
"No. We might go swimming later..." Kelly looked around, and sat up, his legs crossed. "Do you remember the reception we went to at the White House? And I was called away to see the President? Well - and I didn't tell you this - Trask was there, too. They're thinking about resurrecting the Sentinel program as a method of policing mutants." He sighed. "I suppose it's heartening that they even asked my opinion, but, frankly I'm not sure they put much weight in what I say. I'm irrevocably biased, after all."
Jean-Paul stared.
"No." he shook his head. "That's... Don't they remember what happened last time? I mean... Have they SEEN Genosha? And. I mean." He looked out at the surf, feeling a terrible fear rise in his heart.
"We cannot let that happen," he said softly. "Oh my God. Rober', no."
Kelly shrugged. "Genosha is a very, very long way away from the White House and the minds of the American people. Terrorism, and particularly mutant terrorism, is on everyone's thoughts. Our regular law enforcement agencies might have a chance against a regular guy with a bomb, but the Brotherhood? Any one of the people we know could unleash huge amounts of suffering using their abilities, JP. That scares the public. What do we do if there's a mutant attack on one of our cities? We've got nothing. No alternative. And that's what we need to have."
"What about dorks like the Order? The Avengers? Isn't that why they exist?" He kept thinking about Peter. He promised Peter no mutant death camps, no giant robots. "Government sanctioned superteams? That's what they're FOR. Not... no. Nononono."
"The feeling is that the metahuman teams have their hands full dealing with meta and, I'm told, often alien threats. Have you ever heard of the Avengers or Justice League having a quiet day? Even teenagers like Kon and his friends are needed to combat these threats. And the mutant 'problem', as most people in Washington insist on calling it, is only likely to expand. You tell me, JP, if Lehnsherr tried his Statue of Liberty trick again, who would stop him? And, if they did, how would we hold him? That plastic prison didn't last, and it was violating habeas corpus daily as it was. The existence of mutants throws up huge legal issues, and no one has any answers. At least," Kelly amended, "none that fall between 'giant robots' and 'if we ignore them, maybe they'll go away'."
He sighed. "Regardless of what we'd like to believe, mutants are just not analogous to other minority groups, at least as far as law and order goes. Could a regular prison hold either of us, Jean-Paul? Could we even be caught?"
Jean-Paul looked down at the sand, which was dazzlingly white. "Yes," he said quietly. "We could."
He sat silently for a moment, hearing the ocean crash endlessly against the beach. Bodies hidden under water, and now what?
"What do we do?" he asked. He felt young, and stupid, and very, very frightened.
Kelly was drawing diagrams with a wet finger in the sand. "I'm not sure," he said. "But I think he's afraid. Afraid that he won't be re-elected in the Fall. He wants to execute the program now - get Sentinels on the streets before the election. Which I'm sure would bring a huge number of lawsuits. Voter intimidation. Public disturbance, if nothing else. But these things take time."
"Building and programming giant robots takes time, too. They probably want to roll them out onto the streets in a few months. Which means, they must have already started. Somewhere, there's a Sentinel factory."
He looked sidelong at Jean-Paul. "God knows I'm not getting re-elected anyway."
Kelly was drawing diagrams with a wet finger in the sand. "I'm not sure," he said. "But I think he's afraid. Afraid that he won't be re-elected in the Fall. He wants to execute the program now - get Sentinels on the streets before the election. Which I'm sure would bring a huge number of lawsuits. Voter intimidation. Public disturbance, if nothing else. But these things take time."
"Building and programming giant robots takes time, too. They probably want to roll them out onto the streets in a few months. Which means, they must have already started. Somewhere, there's a Sentinel factory."
He looked sidelong at Jean-Paul. "God knows I'm not getting re-elected anyway."
Jean-Paul nodded slowly. "Doug," he said. "I bet he could find it." He chewed one of his fingernails absently. "If we can push back the production... they might miss their chance. Doug. We HAVE to talk to Doug. As impressive as it is to have like, Peter throw the Wolverine through one of those things? Doug could wipe them all out in the early stages I bet."
He sighed. "We're very possibly all going to get killed. Again."
"I see two problems with that," Kelly said. "Which may, in fact, be one and the same. If Sentinel production is shut down for any reason, we can expect it to be blamed on mutants, and the shutdown to be used as justification for the Sentinels themselves. And don't forget that Trask told me about this. It may be that he regards me as his pet mutant, and certainly the program would be a bigger success with mutant endorsement, but it may equally be a trap of the highest order."
He squeezed Jean-Paul's arm. "None of us are getting killed. I've got a wife and kids to go home to, and your sister would kill me if anything happened to you."
"Then what do we DO?!" JP was up and on his feet in a second, pacing in the sand. He wished he had a smoke. "I mean. Can we say anything? Leak this knowledge to the press? Cause a huge public outcry against it? Or do we just hunker down and pray or run away to Canada?! GOD I hate your stupid country!" He kicked the beach savagely, sending sand flying uselessly at the ocean
Kelly stayed where he was, watching Jean-Paul for a moment, and then checking to see if anyone is looking at them. "We don't panic, for one thing. Sit the hell down, kid. We can look into this. We can talk to Doug. We can see where we stand. And you might be right. Maybe one article in the press would quash the entire thing if it can generate enough outrage. Maybe we can claim that the Sentinels are to be used to police a larger section of the population, or its entirety. That's the 'not in my backyard' mentality we might have to rely on."
Jean-Paul stood there, breathing quickly, but trying to calm down. "Okay," he muttered finally, resuming his seat beside Kelly. "Okay. Just. Tabernac."
He ran a hand through his hair. "It's hard to believe that they would try this again," he said. " I mean. The world is changing. Slowly, sure, but." He shook his head slowly, unable to articulate his confusion and fear. "Sometimes I get really sick of being hated by everyone else," he said quietly. "I don't like to admit it, but it gets hard, sometimes." He leaned over and put his head on Kelly's shoulder.
"I'm with you on this. Whatever this turns out to be."
Kelly carefully put his arm around the younger man, and hugged him gently. "It'll be okay. And not everyone hates us - just a few people who know how to shout very loudly and make things difficult. Well, I know we can shout loudly too."
He stared out at the waves lapping against the beach. "Want to go for a swim? I'm evaporating here."
Jean-Paul nodded. "Yeah. I do." He looked up at Kelly with somber eyes. "I believe you," he said. "It'll be okay. We'll MAKE it okay."
The water was warm, and relaxing, and neither of them swam out too far, or too deep.