Rᴏʙᴇʀᴛ Mᴏɴᴛᴀɢᴜᴇ Rᴇɴғɪᴇʟᴅ (insects) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-07-08 15:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, hank mccoy (beast), lena luthor |
Who: Lena Luthor & Hank McCoy
What: Drinks and dream talk
When: Before Lena got dumped :(
Where: A classy lounge on an actual ship, with lots of wine and other tasty adult beverages
Rating/Warnings: Besides nerdery, it's tame!
Status: Complete
Going to a cocktail lounge or wine bar was what Hank preferred, in those rare instances when he decided to have a drink or two (he really wasn’t one for the dive bar scene - maybe with some more practice) but with that particular ambiance came the possibility that the clientele would be drowning in a pool of elitism. At the lounge du jour, that wasn’t currently the case. He could feel free to get in touch the more Dionysian side of things without getting lost in a world of pure snoot, imagine that! There was a secret list of wines too, from the cellar, akin to how In-N-Out boasted a secret menu though just with...wine. Other spirits too, whiskey, vintage and premium and all sorts of things. The bar was onboard a literal ship, formerly the first-class lounge, and everything about it reflected the vintage glamour of the good old days when the Queen Mary actually set sail upon the wide open seas. A beautiful view, easily seen out the large windows, with lots of shiny chrome and etched glass and paintings from the Art Deco era. It would be a good place to have good conversations. Lena Luthor was very interesting, and he liked her - it was only after beginning to dream and change that he opened up more to the idea of finding ‘birds of a feather.’ In the past, he couldn’t say he had many friends and that likely wouldn’t shift - he would never be a popular social butterfly - but it was more about quality over quantity anyway. He also didn’t drink often, so deciding what to order was always an adventure in and of itself. A gin and tonic, though. It was a good time of year for those, considering the blazing heat. California may very well set itself on fire soon enough. “You’ve been doing well, amidst the onslaught of dreams?” he asked, once he received his adult beverage. “Or have you not had any new ones as of late?” It was not a secret at all that Lena did not get out much. Honestly, it was a frank fact of her life, and she didn’t at all mind telling people. Sure, some might see it as kind of sad, but she didn’t. Okay, maybe she did, just a little - barely, really - but for the most part, she found that it was just part of being the person she was: She didn’t make friends easily, she didn’t sing, and she didn’t get out much. But, she thought it important to note to herself, if she did? This would be the kind of place she’d frequent. Maybe she was a little entitled for a poor kid from Oregon, but she couldn’t help that she enjoyed the quiet privacy that this little lounge offered, sprinkled with real, deep elegance that was extremely hard to fake. It was easy to find gauche and gaudy places to visit in Southern California, places that tried so hard to make you feel wealthier than you were, but this was none of that. This was honest, simple class. Hank had excellent taste. She kept that to herself - it’d be a nice compliment for later - as she took a sip of her wine (it was either that or scotch for her, and meeting a friend for the first time did not seem like a scotch kind of occasion), mulling over his question. “No new dreams, no. Though my last batch were quite enough for anyone.” She’d come out as bisexual to her mother in her last one, and had been told, in no uncertain terms, that if she planned to remain a Luthor in public, she’d keep that fact very, very private. It was nearly exactly the opposite of what a seventeen-year-old needed to hear, but her dream self had taken it in stride. It wasn’t as if Lillian’s reaction had been a surprise. “I think I’m faring rather well. I have a few new friends, I’m in a new relationship. Sure, the dreams are like a teenage nightmare, but they’re not real, so I’m dealing.” She had no intention of allowing them to take over, just as she’d told Hank before, and if you asked her? She’d been doing a good job of living up to her word. “How about you? No new dreams unsettling you, I hope.” “I haven’t had any new ones, no,” Hank shook his head. “Not since the point where we’re on our way to Cairo to confront an overpowered mutant named Apocalypse, of all things. He is believed to be the first mutant, so, as you can imagine - he has more than a few talents to use against us.” Not to mention his brainwashed Horsemen - and naturally Erik, Magneto, was one of them. Hank couldn’t say he was surprised, nor did he care very much (he was simply determined to rescue the Professor, who had been a stalwart friend) since he and Erik didn’t have the best history shared between them. Anyway, he’d see what happened. The dreams certainly did like to end on cliffhangers, for some reason. He sipped on his drink (it was a little bittersweet, a little astringent - he liked it quite a bit, actually), contemplating where his adventures would go next. Hopefully they wouldn’t lose any more teammates or friends. Losing Alex had been difficult enough. “But oh, a relationship? That’s wonderful! What’s your partner like?” Male or female, he didn’t make assumptions. Lena rose her eyebrows, not expecting Hank to reveal something so… drastic. Granted, in her dreams, she lived in a world where men flew, but mutants - ones that seemed to come straight out of a comic book - seemed to be on a whole other level. Especially the ones Hank was describing. She couldn't help but be curious. “Wow. That sounds… daunting. Did you succeed?.” They hadn't had the opportunity to talk much about his dreams, nor his life in them. In retrospect, it seemed rather rude - she'd certainly made her feelings on the matter clear, all the while only hearing snippets of his thoughts or feelings. With a smile, she swirled her wine in its glass before taking a sip, giving herself some time to prepare her thoughts. “She's wonderful, Hank. Kind, brilliant, willful. Things have moved so fast that it should feel overwhelming, but instead it just feels natural. I've never felt like this before.” She knew that she was gushing - and to a man she'd just met, no less - but she couldn't help it. She was smitten. “I have yet to dream of the outcome, so we will see,” Hank smiled sheepishly. Honestly, at this point, ‘daunting’ was just another Tuesday when it came to his dreams. They were always battling something. There was always some crisis to deal with, on a global level. “But we have become adept at saving the world - literally. To save all of humankind from a power-hungry zealot is par the course. We will certainly give it our all - we fight to protect even the ones who hate us, I find.” Charles believed there could be peace, but Hank wasn’t so sure. Mutants had never been trusted, never been given a fair shot - it was an uphill battle to even earn an iota of trust but he kept fighting the good fight. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst? That was generally how it went. It was nice seeing Lena so ‘bit by the love bug’ though. Hank would never begrudge anyone their feelings, and if she thought she found her match then he was happy for her. “Sometimes these things just happen - the heart is a tricky muscle-organ, and it often wants what it wants despite our brains protesting,” he grinned. “Or so I hear, anyway. Congratulations though - she certainly sounds wonderful.” “Well, it likely won't do you any good, but I wish you and your friends in your dreams luck anyway.” Lena replied, raising her glass in a sort of toast. “And I promise you: she really is. I can't help but hope there's a future there.” So not only was Hank apparently a mutant of some kind in his dreams, it seemed he was also a hero. That was a lot to take in, and a lot to consider. And hadn't Kara, who seemed to be from her world, just revealed on the network that she too was some kind of hero? Did she have a type when it came to friends, or what? “So this dream world of yours,” she started, watching him carefully. “Tell me about it. Mutants and ancient villains aside, I just don't know very much about you.” Hear, hear! Hank clinked his glass against Lena’s, before taking a drink. He wasn’t always used to talking about himself so he tried not to be too flustered in response to her question. “Let’s see. There are a few parallels - in both worlds, I am from the great state of Illinois and graduated from Harvard at the age of fifteen. But it’s just in the dreams, I went to work for the CIA in their Division X and here I work for the Navy. Eventually I came across another mutant named Charles Xavier - or, actually, he sort of crashed into my life and from then it snowballed,” he grinned a bit. He was fond of his friend, and hoped that if Charles was out there - wherever he was - that he was doing well. “We recruited other mutants and became a team, when it came time to protect the world from harm,” he explained. “We have...abilities. Extra powers and such. Mine isn’t as visually benign as the others, however.” To just come out and say he didn’t really look like this, it was simply a result of suppressing the x-gene with a specially-designed serum? Well. He didn’t want to alarm a new friend. Lena smiled in gross fascination as Hank told his story, both the impressive reality and the movie-like dreams having an impact. For different reasons, certainly, but they had an impact nonetheless. For one, the implications of mutations of the nature that Hank described were frankly astounding. She badly wanted to talk science with him - to pick his brain on what he'd found out, how he (and science) had adapted, and, especially, what he meant by not “visually benign.” But, not wanting to turn her new friend into an experiment, she decided to start with what she found interesting about his life in this world. “Fifteen? Really? My brother would be so upset. He was seventeen when he graduated from MIT.” She laughed, picturing Lex’s petulant pout, before a thought struck her. “Actually, come to think of it, you may have heard of him. Lex Luthor? I know from experience that the child genius community is rather small; even if you haven't met him or heard of him, I guarantee that he's at least heard of you.” “Oh, of course!” Hank’s cornflower blue eyes widened a little at the mention. “I’ve heard of him, yes. We were probably neighbors when he was at MIT. You and him must have made your parents proud, I presume?” Lena was certainly no slouch in the academic department herself - she was scholarly and smart; he could probably go off for eons on a science tangent with a like-minded individual. That was something he appreciated. He sipped his drink some more, the alcohol flowing through him, warmth and that whole sloshy feeling it brought. It would take a lot more than usual to get him drunk these days, but he could enjoy the effects. “Growing up fast like that was...hm,” Hank paused, trying to think of how to describe it. “I look back now, and feel as if I missed quite a bit.” Like actually getting to be a kid. Imagine that. Lena pushed down the urge to scoff at Hank’s question, trying not to blur the lines too much between who her parents were here, and who they were in her dreams. Sure, her father was never around and her mother was… exacting, but they weren't entirely withdrawn with regards to their love and affection. They expressed it in their own way. “I would hope so,” she said honestly, without the smug self-assurance that phrase normally emitted. She really did hope. Although she, to an extent, knew exactly what Hank was saying, her heart still went out with him. She'd at least been able to drive when she went off to college, and she'd still been a pariah for her age. She couldn’t even imagine what it was like for Hank. “I can't say that I blame you,” she started, finishing her glass of wine, “but even so, you've managed to come out ahead. That's worth celebrating, is it not?” Pariah, yes, that was a good word to describe Hank’s overall collegiate experience. A thirteen-year-old really had no business at Harvard University, and his peers made him well aware of their thoughts. Friends were not something he’d had in large supply. Also a shame he’d missed ‘keggers’ and everything else that normal people did when they sowed wild oats away for those years. But it was true, he had little complaint about where he’d ended up now. Things had a way of falling into place. Most of the time. “But yes, lots to celebrate,” he agreed. “Lots of good to focus on, even amongst the...not so good.” And there was quite a bit of that too. “Would you like more wine, by the way?” “I would, thank you.” She said with a smile, two glasses down and only the slightest bit buzzed. It was a good feeling. A good feeling that she refused to crush by focusing on the not so good. She was sure they both could talk for another few hours just about those things, but that wasn't why they were here, was it? Feeling brave, she decided to broach the subject she'd avoided earlier. “Sorry to back track, but I have to ask about something you said: that your mutation is not visually benign. So, not all mutations are purely internal, then?” “Not all of them no,” Hank shook his head, pausing when a server came by to refill Lena’s wine glass and deliver another drink to him. He kept on with what he’d been consuming all night - gin and tonic. As if he could give up the mild astringent-like flavor now. “Some of them are what you might think of when you think of superpowers - reading thoughts, moving objects without touching them, shooting lasers from your eyes,” he smiled easily. The alcohol made talking about his mutation a lot more flexible. Plus, it could be that he was slowly coming to terms with it - accepting the beast within, making peace with the fact that it was there. And he was very much an animal in some ways. “I possess a number of superhuman attributes - strength, stamina, endurance. Things like that. But I don’t exactly look - “ Hm, how to describe this! He blinked large blue eyes behind his glasses. “I’ll show you sometime. I look particularly monstrous though - ah, fur and claws. Fangs. I suppress the physical aspects with a serum but there are instances when my animal instincts override the effects.” And if she could not run away in terror and disgust, that would be great. Lena was quiet for a moment, imagination running away from her as she tried to picture what Hank was describing. She didn't try very hard to picture him - her immediate thoughts had very horrendous results, and it felt wrong and invasive, somehow - and instead focused on the types of things that could be possible with such abilities and attributes. It was terrifying somewhat, that some human beings could possess that much power, while others had no such abilities. But, she supposed, that was why Hank worked as a hero in the world of his dreams: The balance was tenuous. “I’d say I'm impressed, but one can't help their genetics. Instead, I'll say that I'm intrigued.” She said, tilting her head at him, smiling mysteriously. “I look forward to the demonstration.” Intrigued. Well, that was a response he hadn’t been expecting. Most people weren’t - then again, she wasn’t exactly ‘most people,’ was she? “Next time,” Hank promised with a relieved sort of grin, clinking his glass against Lena’s again. He was glad that he had a friend who didn’t seem to mind his mutation - hopefully when she did actually see how he really looked, that opinion remained intact. They had to stick together around here, after all. Weathering the various storms alone was certainly not easy, but luckily, it didn’t have to be that way for either of them. |