Logs:Captain Rogers' Neighborhood

Captain Rogers' Neighborhood
Dramatis Personae Noah, Sam, Steve
In Absentia	2020-04-26 "God always shows."
Location <NYC> St. Nicholas Park - Harlem
It's a quiet day in the park -- the chilly weather and intermittent drizzle have kept the crowds away,dwindled to just a trickle of joggers and bikers, dog-walkers and people out on errands or for strolls. It's not currently raining, though Sam does take a moment to swipe his hand across the seat of a park bench before he sits down -- an imperfect solution but at least the seat of his lavender slacks get only mildly-damp instead of soaked through. He has a light grey jacket on over his suit, a straw trilby with an ornate band held in one hand. Idly spinning around one finger. On his lap there's a bag, so far untouched but steaming and smelling rich and savory. Sam's cheeks puff out, breath short and heavy as he watches a young couple go by with a pair of Cavalier King Charles spaniels in matching sweaters. A jogger in pink and grey Lululemon attire and matching pink Airpods head the other direction. His eyes drop from the jogger to the bag in his lap. "Maaan --" It's slow and heavy, but nothing else follows for a while. Finally his head just rolls to the side to peer at his roommate. "Hungry?" Steve has been walking alongside Sam quietly, his eyes far off. Takes a seat on the same bench with the same precautions. He's wearing a sharp, if traditional, charcoal suit, tightly tailored to his impressive frame, over a pale blue dress shirt and a silver-gray tie subtly tessellated with five-pointed stars. His posture is perfect, his movements fluid, but some part of his usual self-assured air is diminished. He glances aside at Sam. "Pretty much constantly," he replies, though he does not actually sound all that enthusiastic about the prospect. The desperate need for open space and fresh air after lockdown has overcome Noah's general dislike of cold and wet weather. (Other people might argue with him that it wasn't cold in the first place, if he had the energy to pay them any mind.) Dressed against the chill in a navy and black plaid flannel buttondown, thick jeans and brown work boots, the rainbow pastels of the baby sling and baby bag wrapped around him seem almost out of place. Almost. The 'exhausted new parent' accessories - heavy bags under the eyes, hair haphazardly pulled back, a happy air in despite of it all - tie the look together. Alex, recently fed and changed, sleeps mostly peacefully against his chest--there is the occasional, odd jerk of limbs that come from a newly born muscular/nervous system figuring things out. He slows some while coming up to the park bench that Sam and Steve occupy--hesitates and nearly continues on--before motioning to the empty space left. "Is it alright if I sit?" Sam unfolds the top of his bag, extracting a plastic clamshell takeout container, handing it over to Steve before taking a second one out of the bag for himself. He eyes Steve a long moment, lips twisting to the side. "Was it church?" he wants to know, brows lifting. "Did God not show? He get the Rona?" His eyes lift as Noah approaches, and an easy smile breaks across his face. "Man, you look like you need it. Little one keeping you on your toes, huh?" "God always shows," Steve says, accepting the container. "Thank you. Lots of other folks didn't, though. I mean most of those missing, especially the elders, are probably just being extra cautious, or holed up with family elsewhere, but -- not all. How was yours?" He looks up at Noah and smiles. Nods his assent, too. "Long as you don't mind us chowing -- down." His express does something complicated and fleeting before he adds, completely unnecessarily, as he opens his container of chicken and waffles. "On lunch." "Thank you," he sighs, answering both of their smiles with one of his own. Noah does not collapse onto the seat, but the urge is obviously there when he sits. "I don't mind. I'm too tired to mind much of anything right now." He raises a hand to his face, stopping just before he rubs at sleepy eyes, lets it settle on Alex's back instead. "I thought her mama kept me on my toes," he muses with a chuckle. "She must get it from her." Sam's eyes lower to his container, fingers drumming against its lid. "More sparse than I'd like it." He pulls in a slow breath, musters his expression back a little more cheerful. Pops open his food, too -- chicken and waffles, mac and cheese, greens. "least it's gonna be a lively house, then. What's her name?" He tips his chin toward the sleeping baby -- then looks up toward Noah, a sudden amusement crinkling his dark eyes. "Sorry, man. Or yours? I'm Sam." Steve digs into his food with a kind of grim, famished determination, though he manages a smile, as well, when he glances aside at the infant. "I hear kids have a way of doing that," he says. "She looks like an angel, but I imagine they all do when they're sleeping. I'm Steve, by the way." "She's Alex. Short for Alexandra. I'm Noah." After a beat, Noah picks his head up to peer at the other two, his two remaining brain cells hard at work. "Sorry if this is rude, but are y'all the Sam and Steve that live on West 133rd?" he asks, once a few things have connected. Sam's eyes widen. His fingers snap, point at Noah, his face lighting up and his meal briefly forgotten. "No! I mean yeah, yeah, wait, you're that Noah -- this is that Alex? Lord but if she isn't cuter even in person. God, it's good to finally put a face to -- and to see you all. Doing healthy and everything. And her mama's good too?" His head shakes, hand skimming over the top of his neat-trimmed hair. "What a weird month this has been, huh." Steve looks up abruptly, in time with Sam, but lets his roommate reply, nodding his agreement. "Wel! Hello, neighbors." His smile is warmer, less reserved now. "She's a much bigger girl in person, too! Though, maybe that's just how much she's grown since the last photo I saw." He shakes his head. "As much as this has been rough for you and Joy, I hope young Alex's coming out of it none the wiser to all that's been happening." "Yeah, man! It's nice to finally meet y'all too—Joy's mentioned puttin' some kind of thank you gift together for y'all, for helping us so much, but it just ain't happened yet what with. Everything. We're doing good, though, yeah. Thank the Lord for it." Noah's now wide smile falters some—thinking of the lonely self-isolation Joy had put herself into before COVID even showed up in New York—but looking down at Alex returns it in double-time. "She's had a hell of a growth spurt over the past week. I think she's more interested in sleepin' and her next meal, than tryin' to figure out why the world keeps flippin' upside down. I don't know if it would've been as peaceful for her without y'all dropping off food or doin' grocery runs." "Hey, I'm just glad we could do something. Sitting around staring at the walls wouldn't have done either of us any good." Sam is starting to tuck into his food, legs stretching out in front of him. "What do you remember from when you were two weeks old? With good folks looking out for her, she'll be alright." His mouth twitches slightly to one side. "Long as we make sure there's a good world for her to grow up into." "You don't have to do that, Noah -- it's like Sam says, it did us good, and I was glad for a useful way to occupy myself. I can't imagine you're getting any less busy with this one here growing like a weed." He flashes his housemate a sheepish grin. "I remember things pretty far back, but -- probably not that far back." His smile softens, doesn't fade completely. "That's going to take a lot more than grocery runs, but there's probably worse places to start."