ArchivedLogs:Supervised Visitation
| Supervised Visitation | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
|
2013-03-19 ' |
| Location
Somewhere In Staten Island/<NYC> Baohaus - Chinatown | |
It's a townhouse in Staten Island, one brickface among many brickfaces. Probably red once, long since stained sooty-dark with years of traffic and city-pollution. The neighborhood is a quiet one, at least Tuesday morning. There's not much /here/; a run-down convenience store on the corner, a check cashing place sandwiched between a liquor store and what was once a taqueria but has now been boarded up. In the front yard a bicycle frame has rusted, too broken-crumbling to even bother stealing, although its tires have long since been removed. Stepping down the block, Eric glances at the scrap of paper in his hand and then at the row of brick buildings. He frowns down at the paper and stuffs into the pocket of his black jeans - as close to formal clothing out of his uniform that he gets. He steps up the stairs to the door and straightens the navy blue dress shirt he has neatly tucked into his pants. Withdrawing a badge from his pocket, he knocks on the door once, twice, with his knuckles, and holds it up in front of the peephole. There's approaching footsteps, then a long hesitation. It's a chubby short teenager who answers the door, frowning at the badge, though she's soon gently guided out of the way by a taller woman, thin and frowning at the badge as well, her hair pulled back into a bun. "Can I help you, Officer?" Her tone's at least polite, despite the frown. "Hello ma'am." Eric says, brightly, pocketing the badge as soon as it has been seen. "I'm awful sorry to bother you. I interviewed two of your children as witnesses a couple days ago, and I misplaced some of my notes on the case. Would I be able to speak with them? Shane and Sebastian were their names - twins." he says, friendly smile hanging loosely off of his lips. "Are the f--" starts the girl still standing and staring wide-eyed, but she is shushed by a /look/ from the woman and continues, "-- are the twins in /trouble/?" She sounds almost gleeful. "I -- don't think they're in trouble," the woman answers, with a press of lips and brief frown that suggests she would be Not Surprised if they /were/. "They aren't in any kind of trouble, are they?" "No, no, not at all, ma'am." Eric reassures, one hand raising as if to wave off her concerns quite literally. "They were witnesses to a theft. No crime in that; quite the contrary." He gives the teenager a look with a little shrug to go with his smile. "No trouble. I couldn't interview them if they were." Her expression relaxes, but only slightly. Nodding, she pulls the door open wider, waving Eric inside. The house is something of a mess, fast food wrappers and beer bottles on the rickety living room table in front of the television (currently tuned in loudly to Law & Order), drifts of dog fur accumulating along the walls, a lingering stale smell of cigarette smoke and uncleaned cat box. She leads Eric through the messy living room and down a short hall, rapping three times on a closed door. "Boys. You got company." Her eyes drift over Eric with a return of her small frown. "Anything you need from me?" "I'm all right, thank you ma'am." Eric's southern accent makes his voice sound brighter as he waits outside the closed door. "I promise, I'll be out of your hair fast as I can." If the smells of the house bother him, it does not show on his face, which still has that same warm, friendly smile on it. "Fuck company," comes from inside the door, as the woman turns to head off, but the door opens regardless. The huge black eyes that peer out are a little wary. No /less/ wary upon seeing Eric. "-- Are we arrested?" This oddly does not sound particularly /upset/ about the possibility. Just curious. The door is pulled open wider; it's a small bedroom, starkly uncluttered in contrast to the rest of the house. The shabby carpeting is bare of much past a matching pair of duffel bags 'Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters' patches on them in black and blue. There are two twin beds pushed into a space not really meant to hold two; one small nightstand. A closet, lacking a door and bare of anything except one old wedding dress wrapped in dry-cleaner plastic. The window looks out on a small alley behind the rowhomes. Sebastian is dressed rather uncolorfully, for once. Plain blue jeans, a plain grey t-shirt, a black hoodie (that reads, untruthfully, 'herbivore' written into a small yellow cross over the breast.) Shane is similarly uncolourful. He's dressed identically, today. Jeans. Grey t-shirt. No sweatshirt, though. He's sitting on the bed, back against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. His thin arms curl around his shins, his chin resting on his knees, and his skin looks kind of dry; chapped, a little. He doesn't look at Eric, just sort of glares at the wall. Eric steps into the room and gently pushes the door shut before he answers. "Nah. D' I look like I'm on duty? Badge works either way, though." he says, voice much softer than it was before, and the smile dropping off of his face. "Just wante' to give you guys an update and see how you'all were doing. Jax's got some lawyers workin' on suing to get custody n' keep it." he explains, eyes flicking between the two of them. He steps over to sit down on the edge of the bed that Shane is sitting on. Sebastian closes the door behind Eric, moving the very short distance between door and beds (they've been shoved up next to each other like one larger bed) to climb back on, settling down beside Shane. "Doing okay," he says, after a long look at Shane; it's light if a little strained. "You seen Pa? Is he okay?" His brow creases and, almost guiltily, he adds to Eric softer: "They put Spence somewhere /else/. Brooklyn." Shane doesn't say anything at all. He shifts, when Eric sits down -- first just a hair towards the officer but then he just slumps back. His weight shifts to lean up against Sebastian, eyes a little glazed with one clear pair of lids closed. His gills flex, open and closed slowly. Eric watches the two of them carefully, watching the gills on Shane's sides for a moment. "I' seen him the day you were taken away. He was... awful frantic." he says, in that same soft voice, as he briefly looks to Sebastian. "Yeah? Well... I imagine he's havin' an easier time of it than the two of you." he says, bluntly. "You been OK?" The slight bit of concern in his voice is echoed in his feelings, along with his usual batch of attraction and arousal. "I don't know, he's had a rough time of things before Pa," Sebastian says, worried. His arm is snaking quietly around Shane's shoulders, squeezing a little closer. His fingers uncurl, absently brushing down against Shane's fluttering gills. "It's not -- /bad/ here." His tone is slow and doesn't exactly ring /sincere/. "I just --" He shrugs a shoulder uncomfortably. "Do the lawyers think he's got a chance of --" He trails off, eyes dropping as his fingers pick restlessly at the bedsheets. Which are starting to unravel, in no small part due to /claws/. Shane still doesn't speak. He does nestle closer against Sebastian, gills closing at the touch, his posture slowly relaxing. Or wilting. It's hard to tell. Eric does not answer Sebastian's question directly; instead, he says, "Well, the one I recommended is good." A faint smile. "She used to be a prosecutor before she decided she wanted money and went into private work, and the other lawyer is some... ACLU hippy, so, she'll get along great with Jax." The police officer shrugs his shoulders, eyes flicking between the two blue twins. "I don't think he'll give up so easy, an' the state loves takin' the easy way out." he reaches over and grabs Shane's shoulder in a gentle grip, squeezing it once and smiling reassuringly. "What about the others?" Sebastian lifts his eyes again to fix on Eric. His fingers still brush down against Shane's gills, his frown slowly deepening at the shift in posture. "I mean, we weren't the only -- is Ryan going to jail? Is Hive --" /Frown/. "What's going to happen to all of them?" OK, definitely wilting. Boneless-tired against Sebastian's side, and the squeeze to his shoulder doesn't change that. Shane's reaction is kind of delayed; a few more moments of dull silence, and then he lifts his hand, curling it around Eric's wrist. It's like he's going to move the older man's hand away from him -- but then he doesn't. He just holds on, his eyes closing. Eric blinks and gives a shrug and a bemused little smile. "I dunno. I mean, that guy across the hall got busted with a bunch of drugs, but he's famous, so I'm sure he'll be fine. Hive..." he chuckles and shakes his head. "Tease that he is, I'm sure he'll manage somehow. The lawyers are working with both of them, too, I'm sure." Eric's thumb skims back and forth over Shane's shoulder, not budging his wrist from the other man's shoulder. "Is he alri'?" he asks, Sebastian, concern increasing. "A drug rap will probably make Ryan /more/ popular," Sebastian says with a brief twitch of amusement. It fades, quickly, and his arm around Shane tenses with a spike of protectiveness. "Yes," he answers, prompt and emphatic, and then, smaller, "-- no." But it's firm again when he says: "But he /will/ be, because we're going to /go/ home/ and then it'll be fine again." "I can't breathe," Shane finally says, with a continued glare at the wall. "It smells in here." Rather more /acutely/ to the twins than to most humans. Beneath Sebastian's fingers his gills flutter again. His fingers tighten against Eric's wrist, and then slide down a little farther to curl his hand into Eric's. "Quite possibly." Eric says, softly. He squeezes Shane's shoulder once more, firmer, this time. "I think your Pa will get you home through hook or crook." he gives the twins a smile and a little shrug of his shoulders. "And... I'll see. Maybe there are some other things I can do to help." He pauses, glancing between the twins. "Would it help to get you guys out of here for an hour or so? Probably all I can do, if she's not lettin' you out." His fingers wrap through Shane's, squeezing gently. "She, um, doesn't really want any of her neighbors to know we're here," Sebastian admits, with a slight frown. "I don't think she was really /happy/ with her new assignment. It's -- it might not last long. She doesn't -- really understand about --" He shrugs, uncomfortably, and leans a little bit back into Shane, now. "/Please/." That's all Shane says. He tightens his grip on Eric's hand, and pulls it along /with/ him as he nestles against Sebastian's side. His head bows, pressing Eric's knuckles against his lips as his eyes close, squeezing tight. His gills flutter more rapidly. Eric's thumb briefly runs over Shane's cheek for a moment, two, that sense of concern - and, to be sure, arousal - rising sharply in him. He gently extracts his hand from the other man's grip and stands up. "Al'ight. Why don't you two grab your jackets and come with me. I'll let her know that I'm taking you to the station." He stands up and heads for the door, waiting for the twins to follow. He leads them out to find their mother, where he smiles. "I'm awful sorry, ma'am, but I need to take them to the scene where the robbery happened to have them check out a coupl' thin's. Is that alright? I'll ge' them dinner, on the City, and bring them right back home as quick as I can." Sebastian is up in a /hurry/, at this, but once standing he doesn't head out immediately. He waits for Eric to head off for their foster mother, and then offers Shane a hand to his feet. "{We're /going/ to go home,}" he tells Shane, quiet and firm. Shane is slower to move. He curls his hand tight into Eric's, his cheek pressing into that touch before he drops the other man's hand. Once Eric is out of the room he uncurls, stiff enough that it's likely he hasn't really moved from this position for a /while/. He takes Sebastian's hand, getting to his feet and then just leaning against his brother, face pressed into Sebastian's shoulder. "{We don't have a home,}" he answers, muffled against Sebastian's sweatshirt. Outside, their foster mother is on the couch, watching Law and Order and petting a large tabby cat curled up in her lap. Her frown returns when Eric arrives. "If you have to," she agrees, not particularly pleased about the idea. "You're feeding them?" "If I don't get them back in time, yeah, I'll make sure they get fed." Eric says, brightly. "I'm quite sorry fo' the problems. Appreciate the help you're offerin, ma'am." he says, brightly. "I'll bring them back as quick as I can." he says, with a nod of his head. Once he has gotten the foster parent's permission, he leads the trio outside and around the block to a waiting car. It is perhaps a good thing that it is around the block, since Eric hardly looks official taking them into a zipcar. He pulls away from the curb and begins crossing the city, quickly, radio turned up as they head away from the brownstones. Always the model driver, he is texting at red lights.
It's probably not entirely /polite/ to treat Eric like the /chauffeur/ but the twins both sit in the back. Maybe it's ingrained because, COP. But probably it's mostly for the sake of not being separated; Shane is none too safe in his driving habits either, eschewing seatbelt to lie on the backseat with his head in Sebastian's lap. He's still quiet. It's kind of a change! He doesn't curse at all the whole trip. Sebastian doesn't either, but that's less surprising. His fingers trace absently against Shane's gills, but mostly he's looking out of the window, forehead against the glass, tired. "She doesn't feed us much," he finally does speak up, "are we /really/ getting food cuz --" Cuz /please/. He doesn't say pleeeease but his tone does. "Yes, we are. Chinese, I think." Eric says - and, indeed, as they pull into Chinatown, that seems the likely option. He parks in front of a parking spot and tosses an 'NYPD Official' plate on the dash. Parking meters are for suckers. Then he opens the door and walks around to the back to open the door for Shane and Sebastian. "Baohaus. Have you ever been? Delicious buns - and they have an all you can eat menu, so I don't go broke feeding you." "Nope. Never been. Um, are you, uh, sure they're going to let us in? Most -- places don't," Sebastian says apologetically. He gets out first, tugging at Shane's arm after. He is practically salivating looking at restaurants around them, though. "Buffet, oh thank goodness, I -- I don't think she really /gets/ the whole -- well, anything," he admits, with a wrinkle of his nose. "We're hard to feed." Shane is still quiet as they get out, slow and reluctant to move but finally actually sliding out of the car. He doesn't stray far from his brother's side. "Yeah," he does volunteer, a little subdued. "We kind of are." But this thought seems to trouble him, judging by the frown on his face. "That's why I came to Chinatown. They're less likely to care, and I doubt this place will. I've brought shadier people than you here before," Eric teases gently, as he leads them into the restaurant and asked for a table in the back. The back, as it turns out, is another large room right off of the kitchen that has tables and chairs around it in an odd little fashion - some oblong tables, some almost U shaped, all with cloths draped over them. They are seated at a small rectangular table not far from the door, set for four. Despite this assurance, Sebastian still is less than comfortable upon entering the restaurant, and the looks they get from the waiters and other patrons don't help. It's not until they get to the back that he relaxes, just slightly, edging into a seat. "I'm getting all the buns," he says, stomach rumbling at the smell of food. "-- Why do /you/ bring shady people here?" He frowns, a little puzzled. "Cuz he's a /shady/ cop," Shane answers. "Probably to get his drugs. Uh. Can you even /get/ high?" He lapses back into quiet at this, not really paying much attention to the menus. Or buffet. Or anything. He just slumps in his seat with an uncomfortable expression. There are menus, in fact, but there are no prices for many of them. Instead, there is a single price at the top of the menu per person, and then the list of quite literally hundreds of different kinds of buns. Buns with meat, buns with fish, buns with veggies, buns with soup, buns with a combination of all of the above. There is a normal menu too, with normal prices - but this is not all you can eat. Eric's fingers run over the screen, quickly darting back and forth on the screen, before he looks up at Sebastian and Shane. "Hm? Oh. Where else would I bring them?" he says, amused. "Yeah, I mean... I can. But it takes a /lot/. Getting drunk can cost me hundreds, and it doesn't last long. It sucks." Out front, the door opens. Jax is bright -- dark reddish-pink leggins that shimmer, shiny-liquidy like an oil slick, a silver skirt over top, black blouse, velvety purple jacket. Silver makeup, bright purple and pink hair. He is looking a little harried and a little uncertain as he heads into the restaurant, glancing around with a faint frown but then talking quietly with a waiter. "Yeah, no, I mean, okay, this might be /good/ to bring shady people but what are you /doing/ with shady people is what I was --" But then Sebastian's head turns, /abruptly/, nostrils flaring. He drops his menu onto the table, scrapes his chair back, and /launches/ himself out the door and across the main room of the restaurant. There is no trace of his earlier self-consciousness; he just /flings/ his arms around Jax, squeezing tight and lifting Jax right off his feet for a moment before setting him back down. But not letting go of the hug. Shane looks up just as abruptly. His nostrils flare, too. But where Sebastian leaps up, he slumps down, gripping his menu tight and siiiinking down in his chair, in a possible futile attempt to turn invisible. Eric's mouth opens as Sebastian darts out of the room, and then glances at Shane. Despite the well sound-proofed doors and walls, the sound of silence is itself telling, and is echoed in the main room as the resturant guests watch this strange little scene unfold. Eric stands up, stepping over to the door to open it and gesture the two of them in. For once, something has made him blush, and he gives the waiter an apologetic look. This is probably not helping his tough, bad-boy image. Reuniting kids with their parents. Teddy bear? Yes. Hurr, tough guy? Mmm, not so much. At least he won't get thrown out of the games - too risky to boot a cop - but he's sure going to be a mark next time he sits down at one of the tables. << what are you doing. >> There is a sudden /surfacing/ of thought in Eric's mind, rising up almost as though Eric is thinking it himself. (Which maybe he IS considering how squishy he is currently being, freaking teddy bear.) It comes with a soft murmuring echo, though, many voices, many feelings, shifting in white-noise background beneath Eric's mind. The voice itself is manifold, too. A lot of voices joining together. Jackson has at least the room's length of warning before /sharkattack/. It is time enough to straighten, startled, time enough for his eyebrows to raise high beneath his fringe of colourful hair, time enough to -- /oof/. He is hugged and picked /up/ and it is only when he's on his feet again that he wraps his arm tight around Sebastian. "Oh, gosh, Bastian, you're --" /Hug/. It... takes a while before he actually notes Eric's gesture and starts back. Sebastian is in no hurry to head back, squeezing tight until Jax disengages. He's -- thinner, than he was even just a couple days ago; mutant metabolism will do that to you. He follows Jax to the back, and then -- throws his arms around Eric, too, face mushed up against the muuuch broader muscles of Eric's torso. "Oh my gosh. Thank you." Shane doesn't join in all this hugging. He slumps further down into his chair. He's thinner, too, his skin dry and starting to chap. Also, glaring. Straight ahead of him and not looking at Jackson at all. Or Eric, either. Eric freezes as he hears the voice in his head, glancing around the room quickly, one hand going to his waist where there is... nothing. He frowns, but as Jax and Sebastian enter the room once more and he gets Discovery channeled, his arms wrap around Sebastian and squeezes him, gently. "Hey, it's a good place to get some food." he demurrs, smiling, as he leads them back to his table. On his way to sit back down, he squeezes Shane's shoulder, once, firmly. << what are you doing? >> the voice asks, again, surfacing once more almost naturally. Aaaalmost. Sebastian squeeeeezes tighter, surprisingly strong for someone his size, but then returns to the table. "Oh, gosh, Pa, are you /okay/ what's going on? Have you seen Spence? Is Ryan going to /jail/, does Hive have to go back to Thailand? Did everyone find /homes/?" This comes out in a jittery-nervous flood and even after he sits he's scooting his chair slightly to be closer to Jax's. At least, he starts to, but then frowns at Shane and shifts back beside him. "Shane..." He reaches out to squeeze Shane's hand gently. Shane jerks his hand away from Sebastian's, then stiffens about this, guiltily ducking his head down lower. His gills flutter, quick and rapid. His eyes lift, shifting over Jackson in quick appraisal but then /this/ makes him frown, too. "I want to see /you/." It's the first thing he says to Jax, cranky-sharp. << Who the fuck is this? What's going on? >> Eric still looks perplexed, looking down at his menu as if it was in Chinese. Which, to be fair, it is, partially. He glances around at the Holland family members, but since none of them look confused... << Are you a telepath? Who is a telepath? >> The statement that Shane makes does /nothing/ to cure any of his confusion. << what are you doing. >> comes again, and this time it sounds sharper. More irritable. << What are you doing with the /kids/. >> Jackson watches Shane slump, watches him jerk away, and his head bows slightly. He slips around the table to take a seat -- beside Eric, but then he pulls the chair around to a side to move it nearer Shane. Reflexively, his hand reaches out, brushing down along Shane's fluttering gills. /He/ cringes a little guiltily at the sharp words, and his head bows more as he slips his sunglasses off. There's shifts of changes -- the makeup fades away. His skin pales, just a little on the pallid side of healthy. Dark shadows bag beneath his eyes. "I -- I seen Spence," he admits, "he won't /go/ back to his place he just keeps teleporting back /home/ and --" He swallows. "Ryan's out on bail this mornin'. Hive I -- I don't know. Are you okay, are they even /feeding/ you?" He is looking them over. And /fretting/. Sebastian doesn't really even seem to note the jerking away. He reaches /after/ Shane's hand, wrapping his hand around it and holding it more firmly. SQUEEZE. "Of course he won't go back, that's not home. Have you been -- are you --" He bites his lip, watching these changes with worry but without surprise. "They feed us," he admits, and then, "-- just. Not. Always things we can eat and not as much as we --" He shrugs. "Do you /sleep/ you need sleep." His menu is apparently forgotten. Also Eric. Poor Eric. Shane doesn't pull away, this time. He relaxes, squeezing Bastian's hand back, though his frown doesn't leave. He /does/ tilt his head, though, allowing the touch to his gills like a cat might allow headscritching. But instead of purring he just /grouses/: "You don't fucking take care of yourself." He is paying his menu attention, staring at it irritably. "We're never going to get back," he tells them, "they just want to fuck over all of you. And drag us into the system until they can make us disappear again." << I brought them to see Jax. Fuck you - who the hell are you? Get out of my head! >> Eric glances around the room again, frowning deeper. When his eyes pass Jax, he does a literal double-take, then presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. << I'm fucking losing it. Pull yourself together, Eric. You do one selfless (mostly) thing, and you lose your mind. Fuckin' hell, that's karma for you. >> The presence in Eric's head quiets. But it /pokes/ at that 'mostly'. Digging deep. Routing through Eric's thoughts and feelings to unearth everything he's thinking about the twins, about Jax, about bringing them here. "You're /going/ to get back," Jackson says fiercely. "They can try all they like but they /ain't/ making you vanish." His fingers still brush against Shane's gills, but his other hand lifts to rub at his eye, coming away wet as it nips tears before they manage to fall. "If you ain't even getting /fed/ right --" He swallows, shaking his head. "I got a lawyer," he tells them, "she's workin' with me on -- we're gonna fix this. The school's steppin' in, too, hopefully at /least/ you can just stay there till you can come home again." He glances over at Eric, slightly puzzled. "Eric --" It doesn't really resolve into a question, yet. "Nonono, we're getting fed," Sebastian is quick to say, "it's just, you know, it's -- it's not home." His cheeks flush a little darker. He doesn't let go of Shane's hand. His expression crumples into a deeper frown at Jax's tears. "We /are/ going back," he says to Shane, "Pa wouldn't -- wouldn't --" But there's hesitation, here. He looks down at his menu instead. "Shane there's like seven million things here." This at least sounds /excited/. "Why wouldn't he. It'd be /easier/," Shane says, and despite the sharpness in his tone he's, well, not pulling away from /pettings/. His eyes squeeze towards shut. "Like maybe he could have a normal life and finish school and /ever sleep/ and like. Get laid again ever in his life?" Well, no one ever said Eric was a /good/ man. He cares, in his own way, about the twins. Somewhat ironically, he might care a little bit more about Sebastian than Shane, seeing him as one of the nerds in high school that were always picked on by his jockier friends, despite his private interests being more akin to the nerds than his own friends. Shane... Shane being happy he cares about as well, from a very selfish point of view. Jax suuuuuucks, but he certainly wouldn't throw him out of bed in the morning; quite the contrary, he'd throw him back in bed. He still feels his balls twinge every time Jax looks angry, though. Even the thought of it makes him wince. He does not look up when his name is called, too busy being caught up in the swirling of his own thoughts that he is not calling forward. The phrase 'get laid' does cause him to perk up and look around the table, confusion still on his face. << You care about them. >> This is said both surprised and like an accusation. And then: << Do you care about people often? >> The /question/ part of this is a formality. Hive's digging for the information himself. "Shane --" Jackson's jaw /clamps/ shut on whatever his first reply to this was going to be. There's a /whirl/ of chaos inside his mind, thoughts typically rapid as they usually are, hummingbird-flitting from a sick sort of worry at the whole situation to overwhelming relief at seeing the boys to overwhelming /anger/ at seeing them underfed and unhappy to a note of wary bafflement at Eric's involvement to -- a sharp tug of temptation that rises in tandem with a sharp tug of guilt. Thoughts of life /being/ simpler, more sleep, less work stress when he doesn't need a bigger apartment, how much he used to actually enjoy his work when not accompanied by the question of How To Put Sharktwin Amounts Of Food On The Table. Thoughts of fighting his ticket and organizing more raids and being free to /follow/ his ideals without dependents, well, depending on him. Thoughts of dating. Thoughts of having enough time and energy and freedom to /have/ a sex drive let alone ever indulge it. The guilt climbs higher. His eye closes, fingers stilling against Shane's neck before he drops his hand to his lap. "Shane, I /love/ you guys," he says, and for all the swirl of chaos inside him it's unequivocally /true/. "I ain't gonna pretend like it's easy but it's /worth/ it." Sebastian is /firmly/ eying his menu now, again. His eyes might be kind of bright. He squeezes Shane's hand tighter. << oh gosh shane's right it /is/ easier oh gosh -- >> He gives Jax a bright smile, though. "Well. We're here now. And we're getting food, okay? And /then/ what happens next happens next." "We're getting food," Shane tenses up again as Jax's hand moves away, and his glaring continues. Inside his thoughts are about as chaotic as Jax's, a mix of pain and guilt and the stabbing /certainty/ that he won't be going home. Because they make Jax's life complicated. Because /he/ makes Jax's life complicated because he certainly has never been a Good Kid. "And fuck your goddamn Lifetime Movie bullshit, I don't think you've had a decent night's sleep since we moved in. Your life was better once. It could be better again." << Get. Out. Of. My. Head. >> Eric cares about a small fraction of the people he hooks up with - though, in numeric quantities, this still means a surprisingly large group of people. << Have you never heard of /privacy/? Who the fuck are you? >> Eric closes his eyes once more, taking deep breaths as he tries to focus his thoughts and clear his mind, calm himself and concentrate on his breathing to force the intrusion out of his mind. << Get. Out. Get. Out. Get. Out. >> << You care, >> is repeated again. And again it is puzzled. << You never slept with Bastian. >> Jackson /winces/, at Shane, drawing in a deep breath. "My life'll be better again. Once we win this fight and you all come home." He's focusing on his menu intently, at least for a while; after a moment he lifts his eye to peek at Eric. "-- You go an' get 'em just to bring me here to see 'em?" he asks, but then, with a frown, "-- You okay?" "He drove us out from Staten Island," Sebastian agrees. He's /squeezed/ Shane's hand harder when he curses at Jax. He has nothing to /say/ to this, though, stifling the worries and doubts churning in his own mind to -- focus on food. He looks around for a waiter. Shane lapses back into sullen silence. Beneath the table his leg is bouncing restless and jittery against the floor. Posture tense, gills fluttering. The question to Eric does draw his eyes up, briefly worried; the worry is quickly quashed back down into glaring, though. "Some /asshole/," Eric growls, not opening his eyes. "Won't get /out/ of my head." He is Not Pleased (TM) about this state of affairs. His eyes open and he looks at Jax, blinking several times. << Get the /hell/ out. >> Not sleeping with Sebastian is not, it seems, out of lack of interest - rather lack of opportunity and desire on the other person's part. "Yeah, I did." He glances around at the table. "Does everyone know what they want? I'll get the waiter; they won't come in here unless asked." If he ignores it, maybe it will get bored and go away. The voice withdraws. Everything withdraws. It's silent, for a moment, and then something /tears/ at Eric's mind, sharp and painful in its ripping withdrawal. Following this there's -- a rather intense amount of headache. A very foggy-disorienting sense of confusion and mental sluggishness. Likely small bits and pieces of the past few days are patchy and voids in memory. But it's quiet. "Ow, fuck!" Eric presses his hands to his temples, rubbing his thumbs in circles. << Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. >> Growling once, he glances around, suddenly, awkwardly. "Er. I think he's gone now. Sorry." A very awkward pause, as his cheeks redden slightly. "I'll... uh... go get the waiter." It is not fleeing the table. That would be unmanly. It is... a strategic retreat. To get the waiter. And booze. Lots of booze. Eric gets a long and -- admittedly, actually worried! -- look, from Jax. "Er --" But Eric is leaving. And he is sinking back into a somewhat awkward silence with the teenagers at the table, frowning at his menu and waiting to Food. | |
