|
    |
(For the log) Pom's: it's the place you go when you have fifty cents to your name and hope for an actual meal. It's a diner in name only, one of those cavernous buildings in East Village repurposed by the Save The World sorts. The bright mural being painted on the wall is currently incomplete, and involves all sorts of bold black outlines on a white background painted over the bricks. Pots of paint and brushes of all sizes and shapes stand off to the side for anyone to try their hand at beautifying the dark place. The rolling doors are stuck in their upright position on a track, and the dining area stands on poured concrete because the floors are torn out further back, revealing what looks like some kind of turn of the century tile work that people are hastily chipping around to preserve it from the very ugly bricks laid on top. It's one part art space, one part cafeteria.
The cafeteria bit isn't much to speak of: banquet tables, the kind with cheap folding legs, line the dining 'room' in the middle. Every kind of cheap chair imaginable is present. The food is good though. For less than a buck, someone can swill coffee or tea or water, munch on a changing variety of fruits and veg, sandwiches, and maybe even some exotic fare depending on who happens to be around. There's as often Indian food as spiced chicken.
*
A balmy midday in East Village. Here people are busy with their lives, going about work or play as the mood takes them. A few hundred miles away, a mass protest under the banner of a certain Dr. King, Jr., congregates on Washington. The excitement of the moment is not lost on the civil rights activists here, and to celebrate, they're working joyously while singing their freedom songs and dishing out an extra special helping of foods ranging from fried chicken to heaps of lentils done up dal style, omnomnom. The doors to Pom's are wide open and the festival atmosphere beckons. A few balloons in the air signal where to go, if the pile of hopeful young things painting the murals on the wall or diligently chipping away old bricks from the floor to reveal a lovely, and very bright, tile mosaic keep it hopping. Two guys play guitar pretty well, and they've got great vocal chops. All in all, the place has an air of welcome.
It's very clearly intended to feed the people too. The kitchens at the back keep streams of food coming. Fifty cents for one plate, a buck for a plate, dessert, and a drink, with free helpings of any fruit or veggie dish, keep a good number of people tucking in for an early lunch. Lots of young men and women in yellow t-shirts man the long line of tables where food can be had, greeting and smiling upon everyone. Even if they're bright blue.
On the other side, a splendidly paint splattered woman of about 30, a dead ringer for Janis Joplin if there ever was one, excitedly directs artists to pick up a brush and try their hand colouring a mural as big as they are. "Go ahead! Whatever inspires you, whatever moves you, do it. We're all one community here, and we want the walls to sing with the harmony of so many good ideas. Just like here!"
The final note: the place has a definite floral theme. Not old fashioned Victorian widows' weeds and baby's breath, but the swirls of colour and the occasional actual painted flower, the round chairs.
*
Nightcrawler has been trying his best not to feel a little down of late, and stumbling across this place may be just the cure for that! He does step in cautiously, looking about at the bright colors and the beatnik atmosphere…not unknown to him from Europe…one hand reaching to idly scratch at a healing cut on the opposite arm. The cut may be in one of the swirly shapes that decorate much of his skin already. Coincidence? Probably not. Yellow eyes take in the mural and the singing and the people dishing out the food even as he sort of stands off to the side.
*
She doesn't always go out en fur, but the world is so much more alive when she does, thanks to her sharpened senses. And on this occasion, in this setting, Tigra feels it's entirely appropriate to be out in her true self. Granted, she's wearing a little more than her typical bikini to avoid making too great a stir, being a pair of loose blue jeans, a loose purple blouse, and sandals. Nostrils flare at the smells coming from the cafeteria as she approaches, and on seeing Nightcrawler, she realizes she made the right choice.
*
"You don't gotta stand over there, mister!" calls one of the younger beatniks to Kurt. The busy crew painting the mural don't give those around them much of a second look, unless it's to laugh over drops of the runny concoction splattering on their clothes. He comes up holding a bucket of brushes and holds it out like an olive branch. "Come on, you know you wanna. Lena don't bite." A friendly tone together with raw exuberance makes the guy read patient, and he flaps an arm at the mural. "If clothes are a problem, we got this great big smocks. I mean, they make you look like an escapee from a film set, but they're gonna keep you tight and dry if your threads gotta stay chip."
*
He wields a brush, hands first, towards the furry orange lady. "You too! Promise, it'll be fun."
*
Nightcrawler looks at the brushes as they're offered but then he breaks out into a grin, "I do not know how to paint, but all right!" Maybe it was the friendly offer or the lack of staring. Maybe they're all stoned, but he needs something like this. Kurt is a social creature, despite his appearance, and it's been hard without his Circus Family. He will take them up on the offer of the smock, however, as he doesn't have very many clothes and would like to keep them mostly paint-free.
*
"I'm good for the moment," Tigra says with a smile and friendly wave. "I just wanted to look around first, maybe get some coffee and something to eat." She looks over the growing mural. "Kind of puts a lie to the old saying about too many cooks," she says in approval.
*
The smocks are dumped in a cardboard box and they really have no style to them. Imagine big canvas rectangles tied together like a hospital gown, or some buttoned up, they're clearly intended for messy activities. A toss in the wash and they'll be decent again. The lab coat style or the medical victim style, take one's pick. Painting is easy enough. Pick a pot of colour and go to town wherever within the black lines thickly applied to the wall. "Lena's really friendly," insists beatnik youth, and he grins. "You can ask her any questions! But just take a brush and go slop slop, and stroke stroke. That's it!"
Lena, the mural maiden with a look of a certain folk star on the rise, twitters as she wanders back and forth along the line of painters. Encouragement is given freely. She turns to the two newcomers, and expensively opens her arms. "Take a spot wherever you like. We've room for everyone! You're free to sit and watch, but we'd love to help you tap into your creativity."
*
Nightcrawler grabs one of the lab-coat styles and takes two of the paintbrushes, one for a hand and one for his tail. He might be swapping back and forth, depending. He smiles at they beatnik volunteer, his demeanor brightening as this seemed to be -just- what he needed! Maybe his 'art' is performance and acrobatic based, but he's still a creative creature and he's missed that outlet.
Since Lena does seem so open…so does everyone here, actually, Kurt may show off just a little. He climbs, with paintbrushes and a can of paint in hand, to get to one of the parts of the mural that isn't easily reached without a ladder. He, however, will happily perch easily in some precarious location, to start painting in that spot.
*
The open design of the warehouse makes that easy: there's beams across the roof done in metal that Kurt can hang from if he wants to.
*
"Never been much of a visual artist," Tigra says, partly in apology, partly in explanation, or perhaps excuse making, truth be told. Her tail sweeps back and forth slowly as she considers the mural, and then grins at how easily Nightcrawler gets to an awkward location. "Well, I have to contribute -something-," she says, stepping over to the smocks, going labcoat style. "Orange paint?" she asks with a knowing grin.
*
The mural and the mosaics are aspects of art, and there's still all that food to nosh on. Lena claps her hands together excitedly as Kurt takes up -two- paints and she deftly raises her hand in tribute. "That's the very spirit of it! Oh, I think that's perfect, that will do just right. Go have some fun." She turns then to assure Tigra, "Yes, we've got orange. Let me find—"
No need. Her teenaged companion there must have hearing like a bat, or knows where the current lonely mixed up powder paints of orange and black are. He carries one over and grins. "This one's mine! I think I got the best mix, but you test it out and tell me if it's right. See, it's a bit more poppy orange but I've got one that's buttery orange marigold."
*
Having arrived some time ago and already in the throes of mural painting, Kitty Pryde taps at her chin with the paintbrush — colouring it with streaks of purple paint as she wonders at her own efforts to create. Her lips purse and she looks at the daisy she's just painted uncertainly; art is not her forte. Not that it matters terribly, this is still better than sitting and staring at the ceiling in the MedBay. Absently, her hand trails up to her forehead, the throbbing having eased, she's still not wholly herself, but thankful to be vertical and out and about.
The smock covering her regular clothes has been streaked in various paints already, and her hand instinctively wipes against the fabric. Of course, she's already wearing paint. Absently, a hand trails to her loose ponytail, discovering a glop of dried paint therein. She can't help but smile at the discovery. Curiously, her gaze drifts towards the other painters, and her gaze lingers for a moment to watch what they opt to create.
*
Tigra
*
Nightcrawler has found an exposed metal beam and has turned upside-down to hang off of it and paint. Maybe he gets some funny looks, but the feeling in this place is just so freeing! He can feel his tension beginning to slip away as he dips the paintbrush in one of the cans of paint and begins filling in some of the spaces. He's not trying to create anything figurative…just abstract.
*
Well, Tigra can't reject the enthusiasm of the teenager, and takes the offered orange. "Well, let's see how it looks, then," she agrees, taking a brush and stepping to a patch of the wall. "I'll need some black, too," she asks, before beginning to cover an area, roughly four foot square, in orange paint. She's just going for even coverage right now, nothing fancy. She glances upward, seeing Nightcrawler's unorthodox painting position. "Michelangelo would be jealous."
*
The purple flower looks velvety enough with that paint that Kitty could reach out and pet it, and expect the texture to be soft. The thick white coat over the bricks helps with this. Beside her, other painters laugh and exchange brushes when they want smaller ones or big rollers. Buckets filled by water are regularly exchanged by the blue t-shirt brigade. Their yellow counterparts are the food people, and the green team is tearing up the old floor.
Kurt's paint goes on wet and bright, thanks to the backdrop. Up there, the metal beam gives a great space for him to paint in the twisted trees and boldly drawn leaves that open to a sun. There are even flowers there, too, playfully penned in.
Meanwhile Tigra is a freaking Rothko, before there was Rothko. Her orange on orange goes on easy, even if it has a Creamsicle effect with the white background. The strokes of the brush or the roller, if she picks one, make for an easy, calming sensation. Poppy squares are good.
Lena wanders behind with her beatnik assistant, clapping her hands. "That looks fantastic. We're so thankful you're helping us turn up this old place. It needs the love."
"And chicken. Dr. King's making me inspired!" calls another volunteer.
*
"Forget Michelangelo, I'm jealous!" a bright, very dimpled smile reflects back towards Kurt and Tigra in turn. An easy smile tugs Kitty's lips higher — turning into a joyous, very toothy grin. And as she's studying her daisy, she can't help but want to have that tactile connection with what she's created. Her fingers touch the paint on the wall, making more of a mess of her daisy than before, and causing the colours to run together with the tactile, altogether juvenile, motion. Regardless, the childhood feeling of paint between her fingers just urges her on more.
"So lovely~" she virtually sings as her neck cranes in a futile effort to admire everyone's work without having to step back and take in the entire picture. "It doesn't need the love, it gives the love," she observes helpfully back towards Lena without lifting her fingers from the wall.
*
Nightcrawler closes his eyes for a moment he takes in the feel of the place, the feel of being able to create and be around other creative individuals who don't care what he looks like…they only care that he's helping them to make something beautiful with them. When he opens his eyes, there's a moment of surprise as the mural seems to have changed. Or rather, it doesn't seem to be there anymore! Instead, he's on the mast of a ship, looking out at the lush island drawing nearer as the ship moves to anchor. There's a moment as he looks around to see if the others are seeing what he's seeing or if they're even there. It's then that he looks down and he's not wearing jeans and a smock, but he's wearing a colorful, embroidered waistcoat and seems to be perched in a Crow's Nest.
Best Trip Ever!
*
For easy, even coverage, Tigra went with the roller, tip of her tail moving with the rhythm of her rolling strokes. Appropriately enough, she's wearing a poppy-orange tabard, a black cat embroidered in outline on the back. If anyone were to see her eyes, they might notice her focus going odd, as she seems to look past the wall she paints. She holds the roller strangely, trying to apply paint to a surface that seems further away. "I really want to see where this leads," she says of what she's seeing, trying to step into the wall. She's pretty focused on it, not noticing Kurt the arrrrtist.
*
The poppy hallway spills out onto the poppy field, a staggered terrace just above the 'beach' where white sand and flowing rock of gypsum or white granite tumble together against the blue shores. Kurt's boat that he paints from floats in that bay. Adjacent to the mirror rippled water is a broad black strip, and beyond that, a garden where one can find the Violet Knight, tending to her brightly hued flowers. Organic structures are presented, and the trinity is presented with a pair of three figures wearing effectively colours corresponding to them — orange, blue, purple — and standing in a happy huddle. They hold a branch each, and a shining staff terminating in what looks conspicuously like a root cluster. Maybe it's not a staff. Maybe it's a big stem, like an iris.
*
A swirl of fingers in the paint prompts a curious, and silky, feeling along Kitty's fingertips. The silky texture of petals relays underneath her fingers, earning another more subdued quirk of her lips. Her gaze flits to the others for a moment, only to catch sight of her now-transforming wardrobe. The plum tabard, complete with slashed sleeves earns a vague lift of her eyebrows, but the smile remains. Her fingers move from the blossoms to inspect her shirt — running across a series of daisies embroidered along the tunic, and peeking at the lilac one, matching the exact hue she'd been painting with, beneath it. "Amazing," comes the very eloquent response.
The Violet Knight, glances up from the flowers, plucks one, and then straightens as she treads towards the beach. Her lips hitch up on one side as her hazel eyes admire each of the figures. A strange delight sweeps over her as she lingers at the purple one. "And what are you all growing?" she murmurs softly towards the figures, almost expecting them to respond in kind.
*
Three figures are dressed each in a separate colour: orange, purple, blue. They stand together on the beach, stark for being colourful when the sand is nearly white. They're conversing with one another, and look more or less human, though their heads are together the way people eagerly discussing things tend to be. They each hold what looks like a large staff or stalk, terminating in roots, and a branch. Whatever they're talking about, it's clearly not an argument.
*
This is amusing! And fun! He's certainly more than happy to play 'swashbuckler' — it's a game he's often pretended, even into adulthood. It didn't hurt that it was only enhanced when he actually learned to use a sword. Kurt notes the figures on the beach and, glancing about at his ship for a moment, he then teleports in a puff of blackish smoke only to reappear near the others on the beach. That's sand between his toes!
This day is just getting better and better! "Hallo!" is called to the trio on the beach and the Violet-clad one who is also approaching.
*
Her tail sweeps over the poppies as Tigra steps out into the field, and she inhales deeply, sampling the scent of all the flowers. She catches hints of the sea under the smell, she looks around more fully. She doesn't react to the strangeness of the situation, taking it in stride, and heading towards the trio, head tilted a bit to try to listen to their conversation, and answer to the Violet Knight. She does pause, briefly, at Nightcrawler's sudden appearance, and offers a wave to him and the others.
*
The landscape of gardens is set up like a triangle, if one wants to imagine it that way. Kurt's ship is in the lower left corner, and he can easily leap to the shore if he wishes. Kitty's garden is the upper point. Tigra has a terrace on the lower right corner. Or turn the equilateral triangle around to serve a personal perspective, the effect is still the same. The beach is in the middle with the trio happily in conversation.
Kitty's approach marks a turn in the purple figure, who indeed smiles in her direction. The creature looks mostly human, with lilac skin and overly large eyes, no nose to speak of, only a smooth ridge. Hair looks like eiderdown or dandelion fluff, fair enough to be white blond. A gesture of greetings is made, kindly.
"This is excellent. Be welcome, champion," says Violet.
"Accord," agree the other two in unison, speaking to Tigra and Kurt respectively.
"A champion for each nation," says Indigo. 'He' is similar to the first, skin a soft Robin's egg, eyes like bluebells.
"Accord," repeat the other two.
"The victor among them will settle the conflict," says Poppy. 'She' is different, hair long and darkening to scarlet at the tips, which are fine and fronded like serrated poppy leaves. She smells wonderful, too.
There is a pause and the three of them seem to… Vibrate. Like they're caught in a gentle breeze, they repeat in unison: "Accord."
"The colony is pleased. Let them each take their places as the champions in the Battle of the Flowers," Indigo says.
"We have been at war too long, to great loss," explain Poppy and Violet together. The stereo effect must be odd. "Our colonies have decreed that the conflict will end upon this shore, as our champions will stand for each place. No more loss, no more harvest of life. It is as the colonies will, and the Earth Mother desires. You mortals of the Middle Garden are our champions and you will create upon the bones of destruction."
"The Battle of the Flowers," Indigo repeats. He sounds very happy of this. "Make life."
Flower children are all about free love in another year or two. But what if the Flower Children tried to free love? Congratulations, here you are.
*
"Battle?" Kurt looks to the others…he surely noticed the tiger-woman from the building, but the other? Maybe not, but he smiles and waves at her. "But I do not want to hurt them!" as if that could be an issue. Does he have a sword on him? (Or is it a flower as well?) Although the mention of Making Life has him grinning…he always thought that was done a different way. Cough.
"What are the rules for the battle?" Maybe that will clarify things.
*
It feels like a drum should play a quiet roll as they approach the trio, whom Tigra looks over with obvious curiosity. Nostrils flare at Poppy's scent, drinking it in. "Trial by combat by proxy?" she asks, looking at Kitty and then Nightcrawler. Maybe it's the rich smells, but she doesn't feel as opposed to this as she should be. "We who are about to die…pollinate you? No, I got nothing. Especially if there's dying involved."
*
Kitty's lips part only to close again. Her eyes flit between the figures, attempting to discern the nature of this particular challenge. The trio seem friendly enough, but even then, the word War needles at her. "The Champions(?)," it's almost a question, "do not know the nature of your…" her eyebrows draw together and she attempts to find an effective word, "…disagreement?" she shrugs. With a small nearly-too-telling curve of her lips, sheepish, and just a little bashful, her eyes cut downwards, "Besides, I am no champion," recent events have proven that much as it continues to be a wonder that she can even walk without tripping on her own feet. "And I'm not convinced you really want a battle…" it would only taint the beauty.
Her cheeks flush a faint pink and her eyes turn towards the other champions issuing them a small nod acknowledging them both.
*
"No killing. No death. No injury," says Violet. The others nod and repeat, "Accord." They will do that for nearly every statement.
"The colonies must grow. But the growth causes conflict. We harvested invasive shoots to our land. They cut us down in the disputed territories. Many were lost, their lives snipped short, and High Garden suffers," says Indigo. "We must find another resolution before all is lost, and the kingdoms laid waste. So the hosts have declared a test, a last battle, to resolve the conflict."
"Three kingdoms, three champions, asked to make life. The finest display will claim the west marches."
Poppy adds, "The Earth Mother favours the children of Middle Garden. We brought you here with Her blessing. Three to make life, and restore the wounds."
The white sand is pointed to. The black line. The brick earth, a hue of lifeless stillness.
Indigo says, "With the staff, you raise your creations. Imagine, and will them come alive."
Poppy says, "With the branch, you defend your creations. Strike, and cast away the invaders."
Violet says, "They are very charming, are they not? Earthborn, cat spirit, and wind sprite." She smiles. "You will not harm one another. The colonies will not allow it. The best display of life at the end is the victor. What is best? You will imagine and we will see!"
*
Nightcrawler looks between the other three before looking to the flowers. He hasn't done many drugs in his past, but this is, by far, the best Trip or Daydream he's had in a long, long while! "So, you want us to show how we define life? Or talk about life? Or have experienced life?" He still looks a little confused. "Do we have to grow something? Because that will take time, unless things grow very fast here…" wherever they are.
*
Indigo says, "You will find this is a realm responsive to your wishes." He holds out the staff to Kurt. The roots are skimming along the sand, leaving a very small line of, surprise, cornflower blue. "You imagine strongly what you would create. Then make it be."
*
Tigra's tail flicks at being called 'charming.' "I think I understand." She offers Kitty a quick smile. "It's about expression, not combat, it sounds like. Let's give this a go, then," she says, reaching out for her implement, hoping her ideas settle down into something useful and, most of all, interesting.
*
A quirky smirk pulls over Kitty's features. "That's fantastic!" she enthuses as she looks towards her fellow champions. Her hands rub together and she reaches out for a staff and a branch. Her eyes clamp shut and she begins to think about what she would love to see grow and sprout, but doesn't yet take to expressing her inner flower child, it would be cheating starting before the others.
*
Poppy hastens to Tigra, and holds out the stalk. It's nearly as tall as the strange vegetal woman she is, and warm to the touch. The scent rising from her skin is vaguely intoxicating up close, and somehow it smells warm. She gives over the branch with her other hand. "It is as my enemy says. You may imagine something in your mind. Hold it well. The more depth and detail you apply, the stronger the life you make will be."
*
Nightcrawler takes the stalk offered to him, "The best Display of Life," is repeated as he takes Indigo's stalk. Yellow eyes look to the others so that they can all go at the same time…no advantages here!
*
To the violet knight, Violet hands the last of the staves and the branches. "The defense is a simple matter. Use the branch to guard by moving it against threats that appear. Sweep it and they will be swept aside. Drop it and they will drop. Lift it and they will rise. My enemies forget the value of strong roots and supple trunks."
Indigo snorts and hands over his branch to Kurt. "Accord."
*
Tigra takes hold of her staff and begins to create with it, letting her thoughts work through it. She closes her eyes to envision a small castle taking shape, small in scale only. If it were real, it'd be a large and impressive one, with tall, round towers, an outer wall beyond the main wall to keep attackers at bay. Instead of simple, grey stone it is, of course, orange in color, with lines of black tracing through it, as marble is sometimes streaked with color.The tail twitches more, now as she focuses her thoughts, trying to populate the castle with small people. They're cat like, more so than she is, in truth, with paws instead of feet, and muzzles for faces. A flag flutters proudly from the highest tower, orange field with black cat's head silhouetted upon it. In the courtyard, a double file of soldiers are being inspected, this time by a cat person who looks much closer to Tigra, though wearing somewhat fanciful plate armor instead of her bikini.
*
A display of Life. It doesn't take him long to figure out what that means to him. Holding onto the floral staff, given to him, he closes his eyes and pictures it:
It's a clearing in a forest in Bavaria. Cars and Wagons have been parked in a circle and the animals have been set free to roam around and graze. Someone set up a small campfire while another cooks some food to share. The Roma clan isn't running, they aren't hiding — there is music and laughter and dancing and stories. It's a young child's memory, the adults are bigger and brighter, the music is louder and happier, and the laughter is often and infectious.
These are the people, so full of life and love for a young, unwanted child. These are the people who lived and died, protecting him.
*
The yellow eyes meet hazel ones and a broad grin. She holds the staff in her right hand and the branch in her left, already imagining what she wishes to create. Once the trio all makes eye contact, Kitty issues, "Annnnnd go!" As she says the words, she's already turning on her heel to the sand. Her standard ballet flats are abandoned, with feet stepping outside of them, and making purchase with the white sand to feel more grounded in place.
Her fingers clasp the staff a stitch tighter, and she carefully lifts it, using it like a maestro would his conductor's baton. But then, Kitty has never been a musician or an artist, she's a dancer. Her toe points downward, and she twirls in a tight pirouette, much like the sand itself that sprouts the picture from the ground below. The figures in all shapes and sizes reflect idyllic people she's come to love and respect over the years, and all doing much the same as herself. The unorthodox image demonstrates children — many children — dancing in various forms and functions. The children themselves aren't particularly conventional. Much like the other Champions they are splashes of unconventional colours. Smiles play upon their faces.
A familiar-to-Kitty garden sprouts around them, complete with the pond that she's so come to love at Xavier's Institute. While she doesn't summon the institute itself, the gardens, complete with their brush, hydrangeas, daisies, and tulips are writ over her memory — albeit somewhat faultily as these are never in season all at once.
*
It begins softly enough. A shower tumbles over the encampment. It pours down from the sky, darkening out the brightness that even the darkest night holds when the moon and stars come. Cold, wet rain, the sort that spits and sets off plumes of smoke to rise from the not so cheery fire. Thunder crackles to drum out the sound of the lively conversation, the charming music. The ground turns somewhat mucky.
It begins modestly enough. A shiny bug creeps up an orange wall. He has a friend. They have a family. Bugs that buzz about in little clouds find their way around the cat people, and another creeps over the parapets. The shiny bugs have long legs and many segments, at least on the wall. The flying ones have long probosces, and thin, flirty wings that drone. Lots of feet and shiny carapaces for the crawlers give them a bit of distinction in a sea of orange. And then there are more, loitering about as they please.
With pretty flowers around a pretty pond come… Weeds. Little weeds that poke up and stake themselves a spot in the sun, peeping around the flowers. Sometimes they get browner and bigger than the leaves, peeping out the soil. Another crawls around the ground and coils a few little tendrils this way and that, getting a firm footing. Kitty's garden is sprouting some things she didn't plant.
*
Where there's live, there's something to try to feed upon it. Tigra knows this, it's the way of the jungle. That doesn't mean you lie back and let it happen. She uses the branch, now to try to sweep the bugs away, to brush them off the walls and to clear the clouds that threaten the suck the blood of the castle's inhabitants. It's a one kitten war against the forces of malaria.
*
Wind blows away the bugs in a fluttery miasma. Orange wind that smells like poppies swirls around and buffets the fuzzy inhabitants.
*
The rain can't stop the joy of freedom, the verve of the open road and good companionship. The one with the largest wagon beckons everyone inside. There may be less dancing now, but there is singing and talking and laughing while hot coffee and tea is passed around. It's a lot of people in one place, but it's cozy and no one is upset at being seated next to, or in some cases, on top of their neighbor. Kurt uses the flower staff to expand the memory of the wagon so that there is breathing room. The scent of fresh rain washes away dirt and dust of travel. It makes the forest smell new and green. It provides water to drink and cook and bathe in. A couple of the children run out of the wagon to play in the rain and puddles. Mud castles are made.
*
The weeds are met with a vague arch of Kitty's eyebrows. She's not about to let weeds consume her family's garden. She lifts the branch and one at a time plucks the weeds from the garden. It's not a quick solution, but in her mind, it continues to be the most effective against weeds of all sorts.
*
Every touch of Kitty's branch withers a weed, or at least brings to a point of winter dormancy. She gardens in her flowery abode, one by one. The seed pods open and send a drift of seeds waving over the water and sticking to the children.
*
Meanwhile, the children play in the puddles as the rain keeps falling on them in steady showers. Plinking melodies make it hard to hear as the thunder builds up, but mud castles wobble like jelly, swollen with weight and water made by heavily caked hands.
*
The trio, for their point, stand by the beach in a triangle. They are all separate, peering up at the shore, the black line, the brown brick. Or what was each, for as the designers work their arts, they have coloured in a fair detail.
"The champions make much," says Poppy.
"They have not destroyed, but moved," says Indigo.
"No death!" chirps Violet, the one most likely to chew bubblegum and wish she had a foamy coffee.
"Accord," say the other two.
They pause for a moment, and the vibration runs through the air again around them, and they resolve to silence to watch what transpires in reaction to the reaction of the world to them.
*
Bugs that had gotten into the castle are faced with the branch being shoved in front of them, as Tigra tries to offer it to them as an alternative. Here, hang on to this, she thinks, and if they do, she'll fling them away and out of the castle. Ones gathering outside she'll use the branch upon to brush them back and away, trying to discourage them.
*
Eventually, the Roma children are joined by the adults, fetching them to bring inside. Maybe there is thunder, but they are safe. They are in their own world where nothing can touch them. Animals find shelter beneath the trees or under the wagons themselves and while the fire is now out, there is warmth still. Thunder can be loud and scary, but it is also exciting! Someone starts to tell a ghost story in the Roma language, using the thunderstrikes and lightning flashes to enhance the story! But it isn't such a scary ending as the whole wagon erupts into laughter — a sound that nothing can drown out.
*
ROLL: Tigra +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 19
*
ROLL: Rogue +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 46
*
The seed pods are met with a touch of the staff instead of the branch. She chuckles as the seeds are encouraged to grow atop the surfaces they find, planting flowers of various sorts over those she considers family. One particular one flowers out of Xavier's head, causing her to drop the branch and press her fingers to her lips at the ridiculous imagination rendition of her teacher. "A good look," she mutters behind a splay of fingers.
*
ROLL: Kitty +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 34
*
ROLL: Nightcrawler +rolls 1d100 for a result of: 25
*
"It is decided," says Indigo.
"Accord," mutters Poppy.
"Accord," says Violet.
They clap their hands together in a simultaneous burst. Flowers spring open on each of the colourful tableaux, bright campanulas and bachelor's buttons crowding along the ground, proud spikes of delphiniums and a wave of irises washing over the formerly white sand.
*
Kitty's floral abundance on the mural adds a colourful spell. She is trying to pull her own hair out of the violet paint, and the careful extraction of each strand to avoid streaking each piece through the drying surface laid over the brick bodes well for keeping the image intact.
Tigra has her orange paint to worry about and a fine splatter of drops are laid on her smock. Several drops from the painter way above her, who is working in green and yellow, are close to her square but she's managed to keep any of them from getting onto her meticulous gradient.
Kurt is still up there on the beam, and his brush and can are stable despite that tickling, nose wrinkling urge to sneeze. His nose wants to twitch and the tickle of his breath begs to be released, which might be a disaster to the careful strokes he's made. If he were to sneeze, he'd probably spray himself in the face with the paint can if he depresses the nozzle.
*
Tigra takes a sudden step back, looking around with surprise and confusion. "What the…" she says, before getting her bearings. She gives herself a brief shake, uses a corner of the smock to dab at a few green and yellow drops, then takes a step back to look for the others.
*
Everyone is still there at Pom's, painting the mural or noshing on food at the tables. In fact, they're more or less where they started along the wall, painting, though the light is much stronger than it was when they started, attesting to the advance of the hours.
*
Nightcrawler also blinks and looks around when all of a sudden the urge to sneeze hits him. There's a couple of attempts at trying to stop the sneeze before he quickly transfers the paint-can to his tail so that he can turn his head and sneeze into his arm. Only then does he realize that they're not on the beach, he isn't wearing the doublet, and the memory of the vision he created is facing. A paint-spattered, three-fingered hand reaches up to wipe a couple of tears from his eyes (from the sneezing. Yeah) before he looks back at the mural.
Huh.
*
Blink. Blink. Blink.
Kitty finds the return to reality dizzying, and in typical Kitty-fashion, she reaches her hand to the painted flowers and attempts to pluck it from the wall. Wasn't she touching petals earlier? Her nose wrinkles and she looks to the other painters for a few beats. Was any of that real? Her chin drops and inspects her shirt. Her shoulders slump and she emits a soft sigh.
*
Tigra carefully sets the paint and brush down, then looks up at Kurt's sneeze. Then looking around, she finds Kitty. Both of them have an out of sorts look to them, which she finds a little reassuring. She moves closer to Kitty and speaks in a soft voice, "I'm not the only one who saw all that, then, am I?"
*
Violets? Check. Garden of hydrangeas, tulips and more? Check. A happy wagon with a fire? Check, though it's mostly in blue tones. A kitten peering around a flag down by the square? Check.
Lena is still talking to the beatnik, guiding others towards their own spots on the mural. She then says, "We should get water and coffee handed out. Some people are working very hard. We wouldn't want them to fall over asleep after the fact!"
The scent of poppies flows in her wake.
*
Nightcrawler deftly makes his way down to the building floor, careful not to spill any more of the paint. He then sets the cans down so someone else can use them and puts the brushes in some of the water to be cleaned. The mural is looked at for a moment before he finds the other two 'Knights' he just 'fought' and offers them a wave and a somewhat sheepish smile.
He doesn't know what that was, but the feeling of it was bittersweet and wonderful. A three-fingered hand reaches out to try and pause Lena as she makes her supervising rounds. When he can, he offers her a quiet, heartfelt, "Thank you."
*
Nose wrinkling still, Kitty shakes her head slightly. "No… it was real." Her teeth play at her bottom lip, "Somehow." She peers over her shoulder at Lena, her gaze lingering on the woman a few beats as poppies enters her senses. She takes a small step backwards, looking at the painting in turn before relinquishing her paintbrush to another person at the wall.
"That was…" her eyes flicker towards Tigra and then back towards Lena, "..interesting." She manages a tight-lipped smile, not entirely sure that she should've pushed herself out of the MedBay today. She takes note not to talk too much about it should she get pushed back in.
As an afterthought, with a smile, she notes towards Tigra with a shrug, "Real or not, I like your picture."
*
On smelling the poppies, Tigra turns to see Lena, and see Nightcrawler offering her gratitude. She offers a wave of her own to extend the sentiment, then looks to Kitty again. "Thank you. I was inspired by some friends I used to know. I think the work you and he did," she says with a nod towards Nightcrawler, "were much more alive, though. More profound, to defend them with themselves, then brushing at bugs with a branch."
*
Lena laughs, warm as the day is long. "It's a special day. Dr. King has taught us all a few things about hope and dreaming, you know. Now, go eat something if you would. The food is good, and all the people working hard here deserve our thanks. The yellow crew will be happy to help you out!" She beams that effervescent joy, and turns back to the others still painting their additions to the wall.