ArchivedLogs:Cages and Corners

Cages and Corners
Dramatis Personae Trib, Cage
In Absentia	2014-02-12 Cage calls Trib in a fit of confusion about snowmans
Location <NYC> East Harlem
With the highest violent crime rate in Manhattan and a failing educational system, it is easy to overlook the charms of El Barrio. Amidst its problems, East Harlem is a place thriving with culture. Salsa dancing has a rich history in the neighborhood, and in the open-air markets a wide assortment of goods can be bought from the West African community there. Cage texted Trib some time ago Wednesday morning, and it's getting on to 10am at this point. Luke is currently standing at the base of his front steps, hands on hips, regarding the five-foot tall snowman facing him on the sidewalk. Luke is quite still as he frowns at the thing, but the snowman seems impervious to his stare, and continues explaining what all he can help Luke with today. Out in the park across the street from his brownstone, Chelsea can be seen in a running shootout (snowball-style) with her own snowgirl, several other children, and their snowkids as well. It's not clear who's winning, or even who's on what /team/, but the screaming laughter and enjoyment is pure. Trib is dead. He's pretty sure of it. There's no other reason he could be experiencing this level of hell so continually. Truly, he has met his end. He can only hope it was quick, unlike the current misery, which seems interminable. At least, that's the idea his expression gives as he rounds the corner, oddly speedy for a Wednesday morning summons. Dressed against the cold in jeans and boots, with his heavy green jacket buttoned up tight. A knit cap is jammed down on his head, and around his neck is a scarf that he appears to be using to muffle the cheerful questions coming from the five foot tall snowman following him, its cheery red top hat decorated with a bright purple paisley band. "Can I get you some breakfast, sir?" "Do you require a newspaper, sir?" "Is there anything at /all/ I can do for you, sir?" It's /clearly/ Hell. Trib's expression is dark above his scarf as he nears the spot where Cage stands. He glances at the kids (meat and snow) playing in the street, and then back at Cage and his own attendant. "The fuck is going on with this fuckin' town?" "I can find out for you, sir!" his snowman offers helpfully. "What," Luke says, gesturing all around at everyone in the park and on the street. "The fuck. Is this?" Luke says as Trib get's closer. "I can find out for you, sir!" his snowman offers, mirroring Trib's helper almost exactly. Cage's snowman wears a bright yellow top hat with a black band and other little highlights. "Quiet a minute," Luke says to the snowman and plucks the hat off its head. The thing goes silent and lifeless immediately and Luke sighs. "Don't worry," he says, emphasizing the sarcasm, apparently sure Trib /wasn't/ worried. They come back to life when you put it back on. Found /that/ out when Chelsea nearly /murdered/ me this morning for... well." He just shrugs and gestures. "You want some coffee and eggs? I got some inside." "Fuck if I know," Trib rumbles in answer to Cage's question, pointedly ignoring the snowmen as they chime in. "Fuckin' snowmen /every/ fuckin' where, an' every goddamn one of 'em is chatty as /fuck/." He watches as Cage plucks the hat from the snowman, and his exhalation is relieved sounding. "Thank /fuck/," he says, reaching up for his own snowman's hat. "But I can help you si -- " The snowman's cheery protestation is silenced as Trib takes the hat and beats it against his thigh a couple of times. "Who's Chelsea?" he grunts, looking up at the house. "You ain't thrown Miss Blair over, have you? 'Cause Sharpe may be a pussy, but he's got a fuckin' temper." There's a crinkle of his eyes that might be attached to a smirk behind his scarf. "Eggs an' coffee sound good," he says, already heading for the stairs. "Let's leave the fuckin' Frosty twins outside, though." He turns to point at his own snowman. "Fucker followed me right on to the fuckin' train." Luke shakes his head and says, "Yeah I bet. If /everyone/ got one? I mean..." The mental calculations are too much for the man, but he just shakes his head again. He tosses the top hat back onto the snowman who comes back to life, cheerful as ever, and says to it, "Wait out here." "Of /course/, sir! Can I run any errands for you while you're inside?" Luke just turns and goes up the walk. He's opening the door and freezes at the question. "Holy shit, are you kidding me? Did I really... /Chelsea/ is that girl over there, with her hair in a... /mostly/ in a braid." He goes inside and waits for Trib to join him. Closing the door behind them in the warm house he says, "Shit man, I can't believe it's been this long, but... you remember that girlfriend I had before I went to prison? Well, turns out she kept more'n just memories." His expression seems suddenly sad, probably for a myriad of reasons, but he doesn't go any further into the house. He just leans back against the arm of the couch by the entryway, staring at his shoes. "{I'm sorry} I didn't tell you sooner man..." Trib is not so kind as to return his snowman's hat. He keeps it firmly in his grip as he mounts the stairs, grunting at Cage's revelation. Which actually stops him in his tracks, and he turns his head to look at the girl pointed out. "Huh," he says, and continues on his way into Cage's house. "So you fired your gun once, an' hit the fuckin' bullseye, huh?" The way he says it doesn't really sound like he's talking about a carnival game. "Your fuckin' /luck/, dude." Which sounds less bleak. Almost amused, even, and the boxer sheds his coat and scarf to reveal the deep green thermal henley he's wearing. His hat he leaves on, moving towards the kitchen like a cat making itself comfortable. Which is to say that he pauses every now and then on his path to examine new items, or maybe re-familiarize himself with old. He lifts his half-hand to wave off the apology with a lift of one side of his mouth. "You like bein' a dad?" Luke lets out a long, thoughtful breath through pursed lips. "/Brother/... that is a big question. I love being /Chelsea/'s dad. Hadn't ever even thought about parenthood before though, so it's pretty fucking weird, to be honest." Luke pushes away from the couch and claps Trib on the shoulder before leading the way into the kitchen. One one burner is a huge pan with the apparent remnants of preparing at least a dozen eggs. It looks like a giant bowl of pancake batter has been scraped clean as well. Gesturing at the pod-based coffee maker he says, "Pick your poison. Sorry about the pancakes. She... seriously eats more than I do. I don't see how that's possible." Apparently being a dad comes with a lot of head-shaking, because he does some more. "So anyway, her mom didn't make it through trying to be with my old pal. Turns out that's half the reason he framed me up so neat and tidy - to get with her. I mean, I was pissed when I found out she was in on it, but she didn't deserve that." He scoops eggs into two bowls and sets one out on the table next to bowls of salsa, sour cream, and shredded cheddar. He adds a little of each to his own eggs and digs in. "I fuckin' bet it is," Trib says of the weirdness of parenthood, although his tone indicates that the whole concept is pretty alien to him. He grunts when Cage claps him on the shoulder, lowering his shoulder to lessen the impact. "Fuckin' watch it with that shit," he rumbles as he follows Cage into the kitchen. "I got a card this weekend. I don't need you breakin' my fuckin' shoulder with your big-ass hands." There's no heat in his tone, though, and he helps himsefl to some coffee as Cage tells the story of Chelsea's mom. "So she ain't around, no more?" he says, his eyebrow knitting as he shovels sugar into his cup. "That's fuckin' rough. Poor kid." Which sounds exactly as sympathetic as it should. Maybe more so, as Trib drifts back to the kitchen door and looks out the front window for a long moment. When Cage scoops out eggs, the boxer returns to the kitchen table, dropping into a chair and sipping at his coffee before he sets it down. "You'll be a good dad," he predicts, liberally spooning salsa over his eggs. "You're already fuckin' better'n my pa ever was. You're at least...whatayacallit. Invested." "Well, my mom's over the moon," Cage says with a knowing grin. "I'll tell you that much. Which is fine, because I intend to spoil the shit out of that girl. She was bounced through the system for years, and homeless for months before we met up. She deserves a goddamn break if anyone does." Cage makes a coffee too when the machine is free, adding in way more cream and sugar than can possibly be healthy. "I just wanna do right by her, you know?" "Hah. Your mom will fuckin' beat you to spoilin' her," Trib says, stirring the salsa into his eggs slowly. "You wait an' see." He shovels egg into his mouth, then, pulling the fork free and chewing slowly at he regards the older man. "You'll be fine," he grunts at Cage's hopeful statement. "You got the stuff for bein' a dad." He pushes his tongue into his teeth, probing for bits of egg left behind as he thinks for a long moment. Then he chuffs a short, hard laugh. "This has been the weirdest fuckin' month." Luke nods and sets his coffee and eggs down on the table across from Trib, taking a seat as well. "I can't believe how long it's been though. How you been? Bones? And what's the fight? When is it?" "Ain't my fuckin' fault," Trib says at the length of time. "My fuckin' number ain't changed." His eyes crinkle, though, and the lift of his shoulder is loose and casual. "Pretty much same old shit," he grunts. "Got some fuckin' money from the lawyer who was handlin' all that money from the cages. Nice chunk of change, too." He shovels more egg into his mouth, and continues talking as he chews. "Bones quit one of his jobs, so he's been a lot more fuckin' relaxed. An' vice versa," he adds with another soft laugh and a sly sort of cast to his smile. The question about his match gets a wider sort of smile. "It's down at fuckin' Hogan's Gym, on the Lower East Side. Saturday night," he says, tipping his head. "I'm in the third bout, against a guy named Creel. Real fuckin' mook." He waggles fingers at Cage before reaching for his mug. "You should come," he says. "I could use a corner man. Gym'll give me a cut man, but not a corner." Luke's eyebrows go up as he listen, but he doesn't interrupt while Trib talks. "Damn, that's all good news. I'm happy for you man. For you /and/ Bones." He takes a sip of his coffee and leans back regarding the other man for a long moment. "I'm happy for you. I really am. But you don't want me as your corner man. They'll just give you shit for me being there. But I wouldn't miss it for the world. And you better know I'm putting money on you." He winks and says, "So, do you even need a job at Heroes? Sounds like you're pretty well set now." He grins, not discouraging Trib from staying on, but purely curious and happy for the young man. "I don't know how /good/ it is," Trib rumbles, rising from his chair to find a paper towel to use as a napkin. "We still live in New York. Still fuckin' expensive." He wrinkles his nose at Cage's refusal, and rolls his shoulders. "Shit. You know anyone you can fuckin' recommend?" he asks as he returns to his chair, sitting heavily. "I need someone in there, in case I get my bell rung too hard." He manages an actual grin, pulled to one side though it may be. The grin falters at the question, though, and despite Cage's overall cheer, a shadow passes over his face for a moment. Then he shrugs, bending back over his bowl of eggs. "Gotta do somethin' till I make it big," he grunts non-commitally. "And you don't suck as a boss." Luke seems relieved by Trib's answer but tries to hide it behind another sip of coffee. He's just too earnest to be even a half-decent liar. "Well good, we'll be glad to have you at the office. I still need someone to explain the fucking hole in the wall..." Luke shakes his head, giving Trib a look that seems to communicate volumes about his opinion about holes in the wall. "You could try Hector from my old boxing gym. He was a great coach, and he owes me a favor. He was a good mentor to me back in the day. Shoulda listened to him. Probably woulda stayed out of prison. But I pulled his ass outa the fire recently. I can make the call if you want?" "Get Franz to tell you," Trib rumbles, narrowing his eyes at Cage in response to that voluminous look. "An' next time, think for a fuckin' minute before you stick some screechin' bug guy on top of the fuckin' buildin'." He snorts. "He was fuckin' freezin' up there." And now /his/ look speaks bland volumes as he finishes up his eggs. "'Sides. We can put a proper fuckin' door on. Won't take an afternoon." He licks his fork, then, lovingly laving the salsa and bits from the tines. He pauses, tongue extended, when Cage offers up the name of his old coach, and his eyebrows lift. "Fuck, that would be fuckin' great," he says, dropping his fork into his bowl with a clatter. "I just need to look real on top of my fuckin' game," he says, rubbing at his neck. "I got a friend who's bringin' some agents an' guys to watch." Luke nods and sighs, just letting the issue of Noah's residence go for now. "Yeah man, you definitely want Hec then. You might wanna think about training with him a bit too, if you don't have a trainer already. The guy /knows/ his shit. No joke." Luke shovels in more of his own eggs, washing it down with some coffee. "He'll kick your ass though, in the workout. You half-ass it and he'll know." Trib nods. "Yeah, I could use a proper trainer," he says, leaning back in his chair and claiming his coffee to gulp at it. "At least until I get signed." He quirks a hard-edged grin at Cage at the warning, and his brow lowers. "You fuckin' train with me," he says. "You think I'm just half-assin' you with that shit?" The thought seems to actually offend him, and he folds his arms over his chest to glower at the older man. "Just 'cause you can't feel it don't mean it ain't full-on." Luke chuckles and shakes his head. "Nah man, I know you're all-out with me. Just warning you about Hec. He is old-boxing. Old school in every way. The kinda guy who watches Rocky once a year whether he needs it or not and /fuck/ the sequels." He shakes his head and sips more coffee. "It's just fair warning is all. Best coach I've ever known, but hard as nails." Trib frowns. "I watch Rocky once a month," he says, brow knitting as he juts out his lower lip. "So we ought to get on like fuckin' houses on fire." He nods firmly, then, and pushes to his feet. "C'mon, then. Introduce me to the fruit of your looms, or however the fuck you say it."