ArchivedLogs:Been There

Been There
Dramatis Personae Sam, Steve
In Absentia	2017-02-25 "I've never been good at leaving well enough alone."
Location <NYC> East Village
Historically a center of counterculture, the East Village has a character all its own. Home to artists and musicians of many colours, this neighborhood is known for its punk vibe and artistic sensibilities. The birthplace of many protests, literary movements, it is home to a rather diverse community and vibrant nightlife. The thunderstorm earlier has left the city streets wet and glistening, but the temperature is still quite mild, and the sun is peeking out through the clouds now. Steve is wearing a brown leather jacket over a gray t-shirt with a futuristic landscape of blue, purple and silver towering over a cartoonishly adorable golden retriever puppy, well-fitted indigo jeans, and scuffed combat boots, his shield slung across his back. "On second thought, I might need more than just a snack. I could probably do with /several/ snacks." He sounds only ever so slightly sheepish about this. "Do you have a preference as to the type?" "Hey, I don't think anyone's going to tell you no." Beside Steve, Sam has his own suede jacket held draped over a shoulder. He's left wearing a dark purple linen button-down, jeans, black sneakers. "I'm thinking something in the greasy and fried category." His eyes skate down the street, lingering first on a falafel stand and then on one selling fries and onion rings. "Not that that narrows it down, much." "You might be surprised, these days." Steve does not sound very resentful, or even wistful. "But greasy and fried is easy -- greasy and fried and /good/, though..." He tilts his head back as if searching for the answering in the still-cloudy sky. "There's a tiny hole in the wall down by Tomkins Square Park that sells excellent fried foods. Funnel cake, fried oreos, beignets..." "Guess it's been rough." It's only half a question, though Sam's eyes are skipping sideways. Looking up at Steve with a brief hint of frown. "I didn't say /good/, I said greasy and fried." Smile -- quick, broad. "But if you can hit all three, you really /are/ a hero. /Beignets/. I'm in." Steve's head shakes minutely. "Not as much of a media nightmare as I had feared, but...I just wasn't really prepared for the type or the volume of seemingly personal vitriol." His frown is also short-lived. "Well, I like a challenge. /And/ I like their french fries. Gracias, by the way. For inviting me to your group." Pauses, glances at Sam. "I've had a therapist, but it's different. Talking with folks who've been /there./" This time, Sam's frown at least is more defined. "People seem real good at finding reasons to take shit personal that's none of their business at all." His fingers curl tighter into his jacket, pulling it a little further down over his shoulder. "I'm glad you came. Know you been back a bit, now, but --" A quick shrug. "It /is/ different. Talking to folks who been..." This trails off, a little bit hesitant. The breath Sam exhales is slow, his eyes drifting off ahead of them as he continues down the sidewalk. "You gonna come back?" It's delayed. Maybe an afterthought. A little distracted. "/That/ shouldn't have surprised me." Steve nods, his mouth pulling to one side. He doesn't answer at once, shoulders hunching inward just a little. "It's pretty intense, unpacking this kind of thing. I know we're not required to share anything we're not comfortable sharing, but it gets your thinking, you know?" He manages a thin smile. "But yeah, I think I'll be back." Pale blue eyes skid aside to study Sam. "You alright?" "Sure does, at that." Sam shakes his head, quick. He glances back over to Steve -- straightens his shoulders in subtle-subconscious counterpoint to the other man's small slouch. "Me? Oh, I'm -- yeah. It's just. Just gets you thinking, right?" His brows are still furrowed. "Your /there/ was a little different than most of ours. And then you come back to /this/ world, and --" "Our /here/ is looking more and more like my /there/ all the time." Steve sets his jaw, his voice pitched low. "Though, if I'd made it home from Germany straightaway, I'd just have gone back to more fascism all the same." He runs a hand through his hair, which, short as it, springs right back as it was. He gives a soft chuckle. "Not sure if that's what it got /you/ to thinking." "Yeah." Sam's agreement with this first reply is quiet. Not so much terse as pensive. "Can't imagine it makes the transition any easier. Every day I'm talking to guys who get home and look around and they're just -- what the hell are we out there for? Guess you just highlight it that much starker." /His/ smile is apologetic, now, if only marginally. "Well. Not /you/, exactly." "I do have a big mouth," Steve admits, "and I've never been good at leaving well enough alone." He pauses, gives Sam a long, appraising look. "If you think I'm too disruptive for that kind of group session, I can take a step back. I mean -- there's a lot of battles need fighting here, but people have to heal, too." Sam's eyes widen. For a moment his steps hitch, in time with his hand lifting upward and outward toward Steve. "Woah, what, no, I didn't -- I mean, disruptive? /You/?" His smile is crooked. "Quiet and meek as /you/ are I don't even know why you'd have thought something like that. No, man, you're welcome there. I was thinking maybe you could help me workshop a /new/ a group too. You know, in all the free time I'm /sure/ you got." Steve snorts. "Even if I did learn to keep my mouth shut, fame and infamy both take up a lot of space. Space other folks need, too. I try to stay aware of that, but...I'd appreciate it if you can help me. Taking a step back doesn't have to mean leaving the room." Here he smiles, friendly and guileless. "Alright -- what kind of group do you have in mind?" "You need shutting up, I tell you to shut up. Can do." Sam's agreement is decidedly cheerful, here! Though after he's a little more serious. "We got so many people coming through who -- look around at the world and damn, you signed up to /help/ this country and boy does it need help. But trying to reconcile what we done over there with the reality back here --" His brows have lifted, shoulder hitching up uncertainly. "Think it makes the homecoming that much harder. But for some guys, fighting helps. I'm still trying to work out the details, though. Some way to turn that energy and that fight into -- positive change back /home/? A group for people who want to figure out how -- to keep fighting without going --" He looks a little wry. "Crazi/er/?" "A kind of veterans' activism resource group, then?" Steve nods, slow and solemn. "I can get behind that." A small twitch of a smile. "I don't know about crazy, but I'm starting to think maybe fighting's the only way some of us heal." His eyes look a little distant, just for a moment. "And when it comes down to it we don't really fight for flags or ideas. We fight for each other." "Yeah. Yeah, like that." Sam's eyes linger on Steve's face. He claps the other man briefly on the shoulder, finally unslinging his own jacket to shrug it on. "When it comes down to it," he agrees, "it's the only thing there is."