ArchivedLogs:The Man Trio

The Man Trio
(Blame the title on Toru. XD)
Dramatis Personae Trib, Toru, Micah
In Absentia	22 July 2013 Meetings over diner-food.
Location <NYC> Home - Greenwich Village
Nestled into the heart of the Village, Home is an unobtrusive place, with an unobtrusive name to match. A nondescript storefront opens up into an equally nondescript cafe, plain tiled floors, an assortment of veneered tables with plain wooden chairs or booths with cracking vinyl benches. What it /does/ have to recommend it is the food, hearty solid breakfast and brunch served twenty-four hours a day. Known to locals and little frequented by tourists, its friendly serving staff tend to remember their regulars, giving the place a warm feel that lives up to its name. It is /still/ hot in New York, despite the occasional pop-up shower that does nothing to ease the muggy heat. It is probably a crazy sort of day to be craving things like pie and stuff, but this is what Trib wants. And, since Toru was right there when he had the idea, the teenager's been sort of pulled into his wake. Now they are (literally) at Home in the Village, where such diner fare as pie can be obtained in relative comfort. Dressed in cargo shorts and a white tank-top, he's tucked into a corner booth with his feet kicked out on the bench directly across from him. The boxer half-reclines in his seat, leaning ever-so-slightly in Toru's direction, holding the menu so that Toru can read it, too. "If you want somethin' other than pie, we can get it," he rumbles to Toru with a small smile. "Seriously. Especially if you like breakfast stuff. This place has fuckin' /awesome/ fried potatoes." Toru is, conveniently!, seated next to Trib in that booth, and he's looking over the menu with some lazy half-interest. Trib's recommendation of the potatoes results in a playful sort of nudge to his side as the younger man notes, "Weren't you tellin' me before how you don't taste stuff good?" He frowns, though, hmming thoughtfully. "Though I guess if you /can/ taste 'em they would be... more good. Is that how that works?" Momentarily, he is caught up in the logistics of that point, but eventually he returns his attention back to the menu. "Uh, anyway. Yeah, I dunno, I think I'll just get a cheeseburger and curly fries. Anything to get the taste of goddamn /lo mein/ outta my mouth." He practically spits the term out, shaking his head. "I mean, it's tasty and all but when it makes up half yer meals you get sick of it." For interested parties, Toru is dressed in grey cargo shorts and a navy t-shirt, covered in neon yellow cats in various states of party. It says: ENDLESS PARTIES. Micah is /bouncy/ today. He steps bouncily through the door, smiling at the little bell that is set jingling by his entry. Once at the centre of the room, he bounces up on his toes and back, hazel eyes making a lazy circuit of the tables to choose a seat. The fingers of one hand fidget with the hem of his chocolate-brown T-shirt, on which a stegosaurus curses a T-rex for its 'sudden but inevitable betrayal', freeing it from where it had snagged up on a belt loop of his jeans. His smile broadens as he recognises Trib! The hand stops its fussing to offer a wave instead. Though Trib appears to have company, so he doesn't approach. It might be rude to interrupt. "That's how I know they're good," Trib rumbles in response to the playful nudge. "They use lots of onions an' garlic in 'em. They're fuckin' delicious." He chuckles when Toru gets lost in his thought, and shakes his head. "I guess," he says. "I think it just means that they've got a stronger flavor, though." He wrinkles his nose, and nods his head at the comments on lo mein. "Yeah, you got to switch it up," he grunts. "I'm gonna come over one day an' find you've turned into a damned noodle." His grin goes a bit wicked, and he rumbles a laugh as he looks out over the dining room. Spotting Micah, he raises his hand in a wave that ends with a beckoning sort of gesture as he pulls his feet off the bench. "Hey, that's my friend," he informs Toru, giving the smaller man a nudge before he lifts his voice to address the redhead. "So stalkers /wave/, now?" "Oh, what the fuck ever," Toru grumbles, regarding noodle transformations. "Maybe that'll be my whattayacallit, secondary mutation thing. Yeah?" He smirks, shaking his head a little, and responds with another /nudge/. And when Trib is looking about, Toru follows his gaze, and is starting to say, "Oh, I know that guy--" when Trib explains that it is. His friend. "--and apparently you do too?" Eyebrow raised a bit, at the stalker joke, he gives a look between the two men, and pulls him up to a slightly more upright sitting position - he'd been sort of hunched down in his seat before - and folds his arms on the table. "You gonna ask him over? S'alright with me, I mean, ain't nothin' wrong with bein' all sociable and shit." Trib's beckoning leads Micah's feet to the table, where he stands at its side, rocking back and forth onto his toes again. “What, was that the wrong answer again? I'm new to this, you'll have to forgive me.” He looks around the room, assessing. “I could sit at the table next to yours? Cut little holes in a menu to peek through...” During this chatter, he recognises Toru. “Oh! Bones. Hello t'you, too! I'm startin' t'feel like I know everybody.” His nose crinkles bunny-like with amusement. “Ain't /really/ fair t'accuse a body of stalkin' you to a restaurant they introduced you to, though,” he points out to Trib, tone playful yet. Trib's answer for Toru's question is an affirmative grunt, and he crinkles his eyes when Micah approaches their table. He barks a laugh at Micah's suggestion, and shakes his head. "You're supposed to be wearin' dark glasses, an' hidin' across the street with binoculars," he asserts, his mouth quirking into a lopsided grin. When the redhead identifies Toru, his gaze slides sideways with a small, thoughtful narrowing, before coming back to Micah. "See?" he rumbles amusedly. "That's also the sign of a bad stalker. You're supposed to be a loner an' not go to restaurants. Write creepy poetry alone in your apartment an' make freaky collages an' shit." His grin is toothy and wide as he gestures to bench across the table. "Come on an' sit with us." Toru gestures vaguely at Micah, for Trib's benefit. "I don't really /know/ him know him, we just like. Ran into each other once a few months ago and then like, just the other day actually. When I was couch shoppin'." Which, in turn, leads to him pointing at Micah. "Dude, y'know couches run like a grand at that place? And that's the /cheap/ store! Christ." Shaking his head in /disgust/, the crosses his arms over his chest and.. leans against Trib's side, almost abruptly. There may be just a /hint/ of territorialism to the gesture. Just a hint. "Anyway, yeah, sit down, you're cool." “Just how,” Micah muses, “am I s'posed t'have on dark glasses an' use binoculars at the same time? That's an awful lot of eyewear. An' there's no /food/ over there.” He pulls a pretty little pout, lower lip protruding ever-so-slightly. “I had a terrible cravin' for a mushroom an' herb omelette, but there's no /eggs/ at my apartment on account of the vegan boyfriend. Hence restaurant.” His lips curl into a sudden smirk. “I mean, you're nice an' all. But...omelette.” He slips into the empty bench across from the pair when invited, bouncing his way over a little to reach the centre of the seat. “Oh, goodness. I don't even know if I could pull off 'alone in my apartment', much less the rest of it. Jax has three kids. An' pretty much the entire rest of the buildin' has keys. It's about never empty.” Micah certainly doesn't sound like he's complaining, though. Trib lifts a shoulder for Micah's question, wrinkling his nose. "Hey, I don't make the rules," he says. "You're gonna have to take it up with the stalkers' local. Strike for better workin' conditions an' shit." He grins, and tips his head at Toru's sudden lean, peering down at the teenager before turning his attention back across the table. "Hey, you don't gotta justify /eggs/," he says with a chuckle. "I totally understand, an' won't report you to the union heads." The description of the older man's home life gets a lift of eyebrows that borders on horrified. "Oh, fuck no," he rumbles. "I couldn't deal with that many fuckin' people underfoot." He jerks his chin towards his chest in a sharp nod. "I would be kickin' somebody's ass inside of a week." Toru nods a few times at Trib's last assertion. "You pretty much have to hold him back from punchin' out the pizza guy sometimes," he notes, solemnly. And while the two of them are talking, he pulls the menu over again, pawing through it for a moment to confirm that he's sure about what it is he wants to order. /Then/ realizes that there isn't a second copy, and so it is handed over to Micah. "Oh, yeah, you probably need this." Bit of an awkward grin, there, but otherwise he is feeling just a little lost in this conversation. "I guess some people're more, uh, equipped? I guess? for bein' all social like that. Somebody's gotta do it, I guess." Micah /sighs/ exasperatedly. “The things we do t'hold up regulations.” There is even a sad headshake. “I like havin' people around,” he explains, tone back to being chipper. “/Why/ would you punch a guy bringin' you food? It's food. Right t'your door. Hardly a punchable offense.” He waves away the menu. “S'okay, I already knew what I wanted 'fore I got here. S'kinda a regular haunt for me.” Micah chuckles, regarding the other men. “Did I just join the antisocial table? An' should I be worried?” "Hey, the guy tried to tell me I didn't give him a twenty when I knew fuckin' well I had, an' then called me a shitload of names in Spanish," Trib rumbles, holding up his hand. "/An'/ he forgot the fuckin' red pepper flakes." He doesn't seem that bothered about it, anymore. "But I bet he won't fuckin' forget, next time." He leans back, lifting a hand to summon their server, grinning at Micah. "You seem like a people person," he rumbles. "I guess, doin' what you do, it's kind of a requirement, yeah?" He rolls a shoulder. "I figure, no matter what that Houses guy did, people really ain't keen on anti-social doctor-types." The server arrives then (a middle-aged woman with a pink streak in her black hair and a nametag that reads 'Elsbeth'), and the boxer falls silent, gesturing to Micah to precede them in ordering. A tiny Toru hand is lifted to set on Trib's arm, "Hey, hey, it was days ago, man," he points out, but grins a little at how intense the boxer gets about relaying the story. And Micah's question gets a bit of a headshake. "Nah, I ain't tryin' be all... that, I just." He shrugs, expression turning /just/ a bit dour. "I ain't really a people person. Like I said before, you're aight and all, I just uh..." A bare hand is lifted to run through his hair - no gloves today - and he scratches the back of his head. "...don't always got the skills for dealin' with folks. If I'm bein' rude you can just yell at me, yeah?" When the server arrives, he sort of self-consciously detaches himself from Trib, and folds his legs up onto the booth next to him (though not between himself and the boxer). And he, too, waits to let Micah order first. “Brave pizza guy,” Micah opines of /anybody/ willing to call Trib names to his face. “I'm not a doctor. But, yeah. Workin' with the kids goes a lot easier if you aren't a complete grumpypants.” He smiles brightly at Trib with that sentiment, easily turning the smile over to the server when she appears. His order includes the aforementioned mushroom and herb omelette, with the addition of pepper jack cheese, plus a side bowl of mixed fruit and a glass of orange juice (please and thanks!). “Oh, not t'worry. Not everybody is big on dealin' with folks all the time with full-on social graces. I ain't about t'yell over just a little perceived rudeness. Like t'think I'm made of tough enough stuff t'handle the like without resortin' t'bein' rude, m'self.” Trib's pizza-guy aggression subsides at the touch of Toru's hand, and he offers a wide grin to Micah. "That's what I told him," he says. "In Spanish. I thought he was goin' to wet his fuckin' pants before he got out of there." He seems pleased at this coda to the story, fairly /beams/ as Micah places his order, then smiles at Elsbeth, ordering a large number of eggs and crispy bacon, as well as the aforementioned potatoes (and a slice of blueberry pie for dessert). Then he jerks his thumb at Toru. "An' whatever he wants," he grunts, and leans back so that Toru can place his order. "I can't even picture you bein' rude," he rumbles at the redhead, and crooks an elbow to nudge Toru in the ribs. "This one, sure. But you bein' rude would be like seein' a..." he clicks his fingers as he tries to think. "Rabid Gummy Bear." He frowns. "Gummy Bears. Those were the ones that fuckin' bounced, yeah?" Ribnudge results in an involuntary laugh from Toru, who reflexively jerks forward. Trib is shot a /look/, but he can't exactly maintain any kind of faux-anger. And so he proceeds with his order, "Uh, cheeseburger, rare as you can get it, with the curly fries and no pickles on the burger, yeah?" He passes the menu over to Elsbeth, once the order is given, and scoots all subtle-like back over to Trib. "I'm gonna try some of your potatoes, though," he points out. "And yer pie. That's the world we live in, now, and you gotta accept that." There's a firm nod, there, and he rests his elbows on the table, setting his chin in his hands. "I'da got my own but I can't eat that much, man." “I'm /capable/,” Micah assures, of the rudeness. “When it's situationally appropriate.” His gaze slides ceiling-ward for a moment. “Pickles are just about the best part, though!” he teases Toru gently about his order, though he quiets to observe the young man making claims over Trib's food with a sort of fond smile. “Gummy Bears? I guess they're bouncy,” he concludes with a shrug. “Kinda just...gummy candy. Prob'ly if you put them in soda, they'd go all fizzy. Might /look/ a bit rabid.” "Why do you think I ordered 'em?" Trib rumbles at the food-claiming. "I mean, other'n them bein' fuckin' delicious. But you only get one bite of my pie." His eyes crinkle at the tease, and he tips his head at Micah with a wrinkle of his nose. "No, not the candy," he says of Gummy Bears. "I'm talkin' about that cartoon. With the bears. It was Disney or some shit." He lifts a shoulder. "Maybe I'm thinkin' of somethin' else." He furrows his brow, and the fingers of his half-hand tap as if trying to remember music or the like. Then he's sitting up as something occurs to him. "Oh! I told the p -- Bones, but I ain't told you. I talked to my boss the other day." He wrinkles his nose. "He ain't openin' back up any time soon, but he's still payin' me, so it's all good." Fingers waggle into the air. "No bouncin' at bars for me. For a while, at least." Crinkling his nose a bit, Toru shakes his head at Micah. "I gotta... complicated relationship with pickles. Half the time they're aight and half the time they're gross, so I pretty much just... don't get 'em 'less I know the place uses the ok ones." He waves a hand vaguely. "I dunno it's weird." Idly, he pulls over one of those wrapped packages of silverware and peels off the paper, pulling the fork out of it and tapping the handle against the napkin, sort of like a drumstick. At least hitting the napkin keeps it from being too obnoxiously noisy, though there is still the occasional thunk, thunk. "I still think bouncin' might not be a bad thing. Those guys get like, tips and bribes and shit, y'know?" Micah giggles at the one-bite pie rule. “Oh /gosh/, dessert rationin'. I'm pretty sure that should never happen outside of /wartime/.” He shakes his head, but is still grinning over it. “Hm. Maybe it is a cartoon an' I just never seen it? I never watched a whole lot of cartoons as a kid.” Trib's announcement earns a nod. “Sorry t'hear he's keepin' the doors closed, but it's good y'still got a source of income. I was startin' t'worry a bit there for a minute. S'pose y'could always take on somethin' part-time just t'keep from getting' bored?” Micah's expression turns thoughtful over Toru's pickle woes. “Hm. You're right; some pickles are /way/ better than others. But I'm more of a...some of them are /okay/ an' others are /glorious/. So. There are no complications when there are pickles. Only deliciousness.” Trib makes a face. "They also get knifed, and thrown up on, an' punched in the face," he notes about bouncers. "An' I'd be workin' till four or five every mornin'." He shudders, and frowns. "I ain't doin' that. It'll fuck up my trainin' like nothin' else could." The boxer leans back, watching the tapping fork for a moment before he offers Micah a curious tip of his head. "Aw. You was worried? I almost called you, about that thing you told me about." He grins a bit embarrassedly, and lifts a shoulder. "I could probably pick somethin' up doin' construction or somethin'," he says. "Their unions aren't too fussy about part-time labor, an' it'd be a workout in itself." Thoughts about pickles gets a wrinkle of his nose. "I like some pickles," he says. "Especially the home-made kind, with all the spices in 'em." "Jeez, we ever do this again someone needs to remind me to just get the pickles so y'all can fight over 'em," Toru notes, with some mild amusement to his tone. "I guess the gettin' puked on thing ain't such a great deal but I don't think there's many guys can /reach/ to punch you in the face, Trib," and there's a little grin at that. "Plus there's plenty of /other/ things messin' with your schedule that you don't have near as much of a problem with." It's entirely possible that he thinks he's being /subtle/, there. But before he can dwell too much on what he just said, he's leaning forward a little, looking Micah over curiously. "What do you /do/ anyway, man?" He looks to Trib, nodding towards Micah. "I ran into 'im all lost in that furniture warehouse place. With all the stuff everywhere. Somethin' about a delivery. Yeah?" “Mmn. Yeah. That thing ended up bein' a little more complicated than I thought. In that there was an /idea/ of doin' things, but no method of implementation yet. I'll let you know as soon as folks give me an idea what t'do? It's kinda out of my hands... I'm hopin' they'll just pass me contact info. For, like, a handler or somethin'. Try t'keep it simple. An' not make folks wait forever.” Micah rakes his fingers through his hair, expression a bit sheepish at having jumped the gun. “Hey, I wonder if they need more people t'work buildin' Dr. Saavedro's clinic? That's a massive project. Of construction.” Yes, Micah is clearly so knowledgeable about such things! He stops fussing at his hair, drumming his fingers on the table for a few quick beats. “Ohgosh, I think I've just been missin'... Used t'do so much picklin' back home. T'preserve things from the gardens. White peppercorns are the trick, t'get more flavour than most pickles. I mean, in addition to the tons of garlic or dill or whatever main flavour you're goin' for.” Micah nods to Toru at his question. “Oh, the delivery was just pickin' up somethin' for a friend. She doesn't drive, an' I drive pretty much everywhere for work. I do medical equipment. Mobile-like. Shop's in the back of a van, so I can work from 'bout anywhere.” "Be good," Trib rumbles at Toru when he's cheeky, giving him a playful nudge. The boxer nods at Micah's information -- or lack of -- about the fund. "Well, as long as I'm gettin' paid from Cage, it ain't a big deal," he rumbles. "But I ain't good with that kind of thing. But I got a lawyer friend -- she's probably the person who could handle that stuff for us." The small tip of his head in Toru's direction is probably unintentional, and slight enough to be mistaken for something else. Maybe. The mention of work gets a twitch of his eyebrows, and he shifts forward. "I know that guy," he says of Iolaus. "We almost had lunch together one day." He nods back at Toru, as if encouraging him to remember. "You know someone who's on the construction crew?" He crinkles his eyes at Micah's explanation of his job, but doesn't offer anything about it. "Why was you looking at couches?" seems to be a late, but pertinent question, aimed at Toru. "You got a perfectly good couch right now." Toru mumbles a, "Sorry," at that comment about being good... but there's still a cheeky grin attached. He calms it down quickly enough, though, and is mostly content to just listen to the other two guys talking about business, such as it is. "Yeah, we met that doctor guy, he seemed aight. I mean, I don't really go to doctors anyway, but y'know, cool of him doin' that thing he's doin'." It's hard to tell if he's just being painfully general or if he's forgotten the whole business entirely. Probably the former? But Trib's admonishment has him lowering his head a little submissively, shaking it back and forth a few times. "How'm I supposed to answer that without bein' g--" Pause. "...Mine's kinda cramped, you know that. I changed my mind anyway; I told you they were too spendy. That was a couple days before I... uh.. told you about that idea I had." Micah nods again at Trib's planning, unfortunately not having much else useful to say on the topic. “Construction crew...no. I s'pose those /would/ be the helpful people t'know, though, wouldn't they? Nah, I just share a couple of patients with Dr. Saavedro. An' I'm friends with the architect. Do some gardenin' at a plot that borders right up on the construction site, too, so I guess it's just kinda /present/ in my mind when somebody brings up construction. Place is always /crawlin'/ with folks durin' the daytime.” Micah is back to nodding yet again at Toru's commentary on Iolaus. “Yeah, the doc's a real good one. S'puttin' himself way out there for a good cause. An' goin' into /administrative/ work for it, besides.” The way Micah says it, the administrative work might be a fate worse than death threats. “It'll be just /wonderful/ once the place gets up'n runnin'.” Trib chuckles at Toru's discomfort, and reaches up to ruffle the carefully-mussed hair. He spares the teenager further torture, though, and only offers a smile before he's turning back to Micah. "I'll go by an' check it out," he says. "If nothin' else, I can haul brick an' shit. I don't think that takes no particular skill set." He nods in agreement with the assessment of Iolaus, and wrinkles his nose. "The clinic's a good idea, an' a bad one, all wrapped up in one," he says. "On the one hand, it's good for mutants to get a place that specializes, yeah? But on the other hand -- " he clamps his mouth shut and shrugs. "I hope he's gonna have some bad-ass fuckin' security," he offers instead. "He's definitely gonna need it." Trib's remark about the clinic being both a good and bad idea gets a bit of an uncomfortable silence from the teen to his left, who sort of just sits there fidgety for a moment before finally offering an absent, "Yeah, I guess that's true." He probably had that same reaction when it was brought up at the previously-mentioned earlier meeting, admittedly, but it's not something he keeps at the forefront of his mind. "But, uh, hey, y'know. If you can get in with /someone/ involved, people know people, yeah? S'how I get my odd jobs when I'm lookin' for extra cash." As he nods to confirm his statement, Elsbeth comes suddenly out of nowhere, bearing plates of food! And after straightening out who gets what, they are all set down in front of their respective owners, and once she's certain that everything looks correct, she strolls off, leaving the man trio to dig in to their meal.