ArchivedLogs:Fourth in Park

Fourth in Park
Dramatis Personae Arturo, Trib
In Absentia	2014-07-04 '
Location <NYC> Central Park South
Central Park South is home not just to the park itself, but also to the Belvedere Castle, the Alice in Wonderland statues, and the Central Park Zoo. These areas tend to draw tourists like a magnet - it is, perhaps, for that very reason that places like Bethesda Terrace tend to attract more New Yorkers than not, if just to escape the press of tourism that infiltrates the whole city. It might be a holiday for the rest of the country, but for people who are attempting a professional career in sports, there are no breaks from the routine. Every day is filled with workouts and other training that eat up large portions of the day. Which is why Trib is making his way through the park here at the gloomy edge of evening, scowling at the people gathering in the park to watch the forthcoming fireworks. Dressed in a pair of loose-fitting black shorts and a sleeveless black t-shirt, the boxer has what appear to be ankle weights strapped to his wrists and ankles that don't seem to be slowing him down all /that/ much. In his hands, he carries his gym bag, and tosses from hand to hand in an awkward sort-of juggle as he goes along. He pauses as he spies a hot dog vendor who's taking advantage of the holiday crowd, and shifts his trajectory in that direction. Rolling up to the cart, the boxer lifts his gym bag to hang it over his shoulder and down his back as he waits his turn in line behind a family with a very small child in an Uncle Sam costume. The kid looks cute; Trib clearly does not think this is true. "Hey," comes a voice from behind Trib. Arturo is standing there in a patterned, short sleeved button-up shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. Oddly enough, his overly hairy legs are...not. His claws aren't visible either, and although it's hard to tell with his poufy hair, his ears aren't either. His teeth, when he bites into the soft ice cream cone in his hand, look perfectly normal as well. "I was going to ask if you're here for the fireworks, but you're not dressed for it." Trib turns at the familiar voice, and crinkles his eyes at the smaller man. "Hey, I'm dressed for /comfort/." Maybe not /so/ comfortable, though, since the breeze is cooled from the rain the night before, and chooses that exact moment to pick up for a second. The boxer snorts, and rolls his shoulders as he looks Arturo over. His golden gaze is studious as he takes in those minor differences in the other man's appearance, and there's a tick of his eyebrows. Lifting his eyes first to Arturo, then to the people on the pitch beyond, he smirks a bit. "Guess these kinds of events agree with you." "It's a good crowd. They're expecting all kinds of people, which means I can be me. I'm damned hairy and it gets obvious this time of year." Arturo takes another bites of his ice cream and catches a dribble that snakes down his chin. "Hate fireworks, though. Must be the dog in me. Sounds like armageddon." Trib nods at Arturo's explanation, and his eyes narrow thoughtfully as he watches that dribble of ice cream. "You'll probably be okay here," he grunts. "We're a good way from the river." He wrinkles his nose as an idea occurs to him, and steps forward as Mini-Sam and his parents step away from the cart. "Wait. Dogs have super-hearin' or some shit, right?" He frowns. "Maybe earplugs would help." He considers that as he turns to the vendor. "Two with everything, an' a bottle of water." "I actually don't have enhanced hearing or sense of smell. Kinda glad for it, otherwise I don't know if I could stand to live in a city. My eyes are better than usual, though." Arturo taps his temple with the hand not holding the ice cream. "I'm mostly out and about to cool off a bit. Crowds are useful. I just gotta be careful not to wander into areas that are concentrated with specific kinds of people." Trib juts out his lower lip. "So why the dog reaction to fireworks?" he wonders as he fishes his wallet out of his bag and pays for his food. "If you ain't got the sensitive hearin', I mean." His eyebrows pop at Arturo's comments on crowds, and he snorts a small, surprised sound as he reaches for his food. "Wow. I kind of think I know what you mean, but that sounded kind of racist." His left hand, luckily, is large enough to hold both heavily-laden hot dogs, and he clamps the water bottle in his half-hand with the strap of the bag. Which makes moving away from the vendor easier than would be expected. "Actually, maybe I /don't/ know what you mean." Arturo lets out an awkward kind of laugh and blushes a little. "I uh, I see why you would say that, but..." he rocks back a step, indicating he'll continue when Trib is away from the hot dog vendor. "My ability is based on expectation. So if I wandered into a park, I'd look like a typical parent, or even a kid. If I went walking around Madison Avenue, I'd look like someone with a lot of money. That sort of thing. But if the crowd's all mixed, like it is now, I just get to be me." Minus all the dog bits. Trib nods at this explanation. "At least, the less-scary version of you, anyway," he says. He lifts the hot dogs to his mouth, biting into one paper and all and tearing off a big chunk. He makes a small sound of appreciation, and chews quickly, swallowing and licking a bit of cheese sauce from his lip. "Damn, I love that guy's chili," he says, looking back at the cart. "It's spicy as /fuck/." He holds out the hot dogs, lifting his eyebrows. "Wanna bite?" "Think of me as the perfect movie extra. I'm always the most likely person to be in the background of any situation. I wish I could control it better. I can try and hold on to it once I'm out of range, but it gives me a hell of a headache and doesn't last long. No, thanks," Arturo says of the hot dog. He finishes up the last few bites of his ice cream and tosses the napkin in the garbage. "Hah. I stand out in just about every fuckin' crowd," Trib says, taking another bite of his hot dog and continuing to talk as he chews. "That sounds like me in reverse," he says, gesturing at Arturo with his hot dogs as he explains his inability to hold on to his appearance. "When I'm metal all over an' shit, it takes an hour or so to shut it off. Can't force it, neither. Most I can do is shift it into my feet or hands or somethin' an' hope no one is payin' attention." He polishes off the first dog, offering a wide smile. "Don't always work. I guess every freak's got their own shit to deal with." "Yeah, uh, I guess so," says Arturo. "Y'know, I just realized I don't actually know what you can do. It's always a bit of an awkward question. 'Hey, what's your thing?' just seems kinda rude. And potentially insensitive." "I can eat shit that ain't food, an' turn into it," Trib says, unbothered by the potential awkwardness of the questioning. He flicks his gaze to Arturo, and lifts his eyebrows. "Mostly, I stick with metal an' wood and tough shit like that, but I can do other stuff, too. I just don't, on account a lot of shit is more fragile than people think." He looks around at the crowd, and wrinkles his nose. "I'll show you sometime, when we're someplace more private." "I bet /that/ was a fun ability to discover," says Arturo. "Accidentally like...turning into a marshmallow on a camping trip or something." He grins, but with an awareness that this might be a sensitive topic for Trib. Trib snorts. "Oh, it was /loads/ of fuckin' fun," he rumbles, and holds up his gym bag to indicate his half-hand. "Glass," he explains, biting into the second dog. "I was tryin' to imitate one of them sideshow geeks, eatin' glass, an' turned my hand /into/ glass. Shattered half the goddamned thing right there in the fuckin' garage." He turns the bag so that Arturo can see the rough, yet well-healed space where those digits used to be. "My granddad helped me figure out the rest of it. Least, what I know, anyway." He wrinkles his nose, and purses his lips. "I ain't ashamed or nothin', but don't go 'round tellin' folks about me," he rumbles. "The Boxing Commission ain't actually /ruled/ on mutant competitors, yet, an' I don't want to get disqualified before I hafta." Arturo looks faintly guilty for bringing it up when Trib draws attention to his hand. He listens respectfully and nods. "I wonder how many people hurt themselves trying to figure out their abilities because they don't feel like they can trust anyone to help them." He whuffs in a distinctly canine way. "I hurt another kid when I was younger. When I was still figuring out my own strength. Broke his collarbone. He was bullying me, giving me a hard time because I was keeping to myself. I shoved him and threw him against a brick wall." He whuffs again. "I was too afraid to tell my parents I thought there was more to my ability than pointed ears and camoflauge. That was already a lot to deal with." "I bet a lot of sad fucks up an' killed themselves without meanin' to," Trib says, and his tone isn't as unkind as his words might suggest. "The way some of this shit works. I bet there's more that hurt themselves than don't." He has a pragmatic sort of expression for the confession, and he lifts a shoulder as he finishes off the second dog. "Hey, you got to protect yourself," he rumbles, licking his fingers. His skin is starting to look a bit papery in the fading light, and there's a small crinkling sound when he moves. "I guess I was lucky my granddad was supportive," he says. "I don't think my dad ever really understood I was a mutant." "I have been blessed with openminded and accepting parents," and Arturo says that like he means it. "If they loved me any less for being like I am, they've never let on." There's clear affection in his voice, and for a moment, he's lost in thought. A headshake later and he's back to himself. "I do realize that any mutant who has supportive family - especially an obvious mutant - is incredibly fortunate. I can't imagine what things would have been like if I hadn't had supportive parents. I certainly wouldn't have gone to med school." "Yeah, but that's probably true for anyone, human or mutant," Trib says. "The ones who get the supportin' family are the ones that generally do well, an' the others don't." He rolls a shoulder, and tips his head towards a group of homeless youth moving along quickly through the shadow. "End up like those sad sacks. There for the Grace of God, an' all that shit." Arturo rests his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He watches the kids move and frowns. He makes a soft sound of agreement. "Anyway...you probably want to get to the gym. Happy 4th, and all that." He lifts a hand. "Was on my way home," Trib grunts, looking off in the general direction of Clinton. "I ain't much for fireworks, or crowds, so I'm just headin' to the crib to play some video games an' chill out." He studies the older man for a long moment, and lifts a shoulder. "You want to come an' hang out?" he asks, tipping his head. "I got soda, an' some video games I guess are pretty good." "If I didn't have an early shift tomorrow, I'd totally take you up on that," says Arturo. "Raincheck? The last video game I played with any seriousness was Mario on Super Nintendo, so you can kick my ass heartily." "Pfft," Trib exhales through his nose. "I /suck/ at video games. I ain't got enough fingers to work the fuckin' controller. I can do Pac-Man, an' that's about it." He offers a hard little nod at the offer of a raincheck, though, and slings his bag over his shoulder again. "Okay, then. I'll give you a call or some shit. I got a bout in three weeks, so we need to go over that with Harry." He wrinkles his nose. "My manager," he reminds Arturo. Just in case he forgot. Then Trib is lifting a hand as he moves off, glancing sidelong at Arturo as he goes. "Don't let the fireworks freak you out too bad." "If you don't hear from me in a few days, come find me. I might be cowering under the bed," drawls Arturo. He lifts a hand in a salute, then rocks back. He looks rather reluctant to go, but the promise of a paycheque is an enticing thing. "I'll do it," Trib promises, and calls back over his shoulder as he drifts away. "Call me if you change your mind."