ArchivedLogs:Birthday Boy

Birthday Boy
Dramatis Personae Cage, Toru, Trib	2013-10-27 Happy #@%&! Birthday. WARNING: Mild Adult Situations and banter.
Location <NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments
For a room in the Sunrise building, this apartment is pretty well-furnished. There isn't much in the way of art - though on one wall, there are the beginnings of what appears to be a collage of articles; most boxing, although there are a few news stories and glossy physique images from muscle magazines. Against one wall is a plush brown couch is wedged between matching end tables, with a matching ottoman seated in front of it, and a blue throw blanket draped over the back. Set diagonally from that, next to a brass floor lamp, is a matching brown recliner - clearly, the three are part of a set. Decidedly /not/ matching that furniture is another couch on an opposing wall with stripes in varying widths in shades of blue, green, teal and brown; this one is a bit cheaper looking, with canvas upholstery and bare wood arms. Under it all, a mottled brown-and-ivory rug covers the hardwood floor. The only other wall with space has a set of hooks screwed into it, which usually has a blue street bicycle hanging from it, and a skateboard leaning against the wall on the floor beneath it. The whole living room feels a bit cramped, though the relative lack of clutter keeps it from feeling too over-crowded. Through the small, dingy kitchen is the entrance to the bedroom, where a new-looking platform holds an oversized bed; the only piece of furniture in there. The door to the bathroom is closed, but it's likely stocked with bathroom-appropriate accoutrements. A cool, autumn Sunday evening is a good night for staying in and doing nothing. Which means that Trib and Toru's apartment is seeing something as close to domestic tranquility as it ever has. As dusk settles on the city, the boxer is taking a bye night from his workout routine, opting instead to be lazy and lounge around the apartment. Well, to the casual observer it might look like laziness. Those familiar with the big man might recognize the signs of hiding out, including the increase in eating. Fortunately for Toru, he's been pretty content with pretzel sticks instead of bricks or wood. Currently, Trib is dressed in a pair of green running shorts and not much else. Sprawled on the larger of the two couches, he has one leg cocked up to hook an ankle over the back. The other leg is pulled up to support the spine of the book he appears to have /started/ reading -- a biography of Muhammed Ali. Started, and possibly fallen asleep. Certainly his eyes are closed, and his breathing seems pretty rhythmic. Aside from a morning trip out to a store earlier in the morning than Toru is usually even /awake/, the teen - clad today in his usual PJ-pants and tank top ensemble - has spent the day just as lazily as Trib had. With Trib lying on the couch reading, Toru is fiddling around on his phone, as usual, idly flipping between reading the news, playing games, and watching the occasional YouTube clip. As the night wears on and Toru realizes Trib has either fallen asleep or is putting on a really good show of doing so, the teen strolls across the kitchen to put his phone on the counter, and digs around through a cabinet to pull out a wrapped package, small and bumpy but overall rectangular in shape. With this tucked under one hand, he ambles back into the living room, kneeling on the floor next to Trib's torso, and sets the box on the floor out of sight, leaning forward to rest an arm on Trib's chest, giving him a gentle little shake and whispering, "Tri~ib..." Trib gives no indication that he's not asleep as Toru gets up and shuffles around the apartment. He exhales suddenly, while Toru is looking, and shifts just enough that the books lands on the floor. Still not enough to wake him, as he simply folds his arms over his ribcage and snorts a bit before settling further. When Toru shakes him, his eyes snap open, and he jerks upward in an attempt to sit up. "--hngfuck!" he grunts, frowning at the teenager's arm across his chest before turning the frown on him. "What's goin' on? What happened?" The expression that Toru turns on Trib in response to that question is one of initial bewilderment, followed eventually by a tension-breaking laugh. "Dude, calm down!" He then pushes himself forward, planting a series of brief kisses on Trib's jaw and lips, but pulls away before the larger man can pull him in just yet. "I got you somethin'." There he picks the box back up, setting it down on Trib's abdomen firmly, then looking him in the eye. "I know you didn't want me to go all out or nothin' but I wanted to get you /somethin'/. So, um. Happy birthday?" Eyebrows raise hopefully, with a little, almost apologetic smile. It takes a few moments for Trib to realize that his wakening is not crisis-related, and he lifts a hand to grind the heel of it in his eye for a moment. He tips his head to allow for easy kisses, furrowing his brow and blinking hard a few times. When Toru pulls back, he shifts his weight and twists his head to watch the younger man. The box is eyed like it might contain a bomb, and he stares at it for a long stretch of minutes before he turns a deeply furrowed brow on Toru. His jaw shifts with the sound of rocks tumbling, and he juts out his lower lip stubbornly. "How the fuck'd you know it was my birthday?" does not have as much heat in it as the boxer's expression would suggest, and then his mouth pulls tightly to one side in a grim half-smile. "You go through my fuckin' wallet or somethin'?" Smiling sheepishly, Toru rubs the back of his neck and rubs at his hair a bit. "Well, you said it was around Halloween and I had to work out the day somehow, yeah?" Lowering his head, he folds his arms on the couch and rests his chin on top of them, wriggling in place a little. "It ain't nothin' big 'cause you ain't really that easy to shop for on accounta I don't know nothin' about boxin' and-- and anyway /open it/." Trib snorts, and reaches out to stroke his fingers through Toru's hair, gripping it lightly and giving it an affectionate tug. "Fuckin' sneak," he says. "/I'm/ supposed to be the fuckin' detective, ain't I?" He gives another tug before he releases the teenager and reaches for the box. "I ain't easy to shop for," he echoes, and it sounds like a confirmation of the statement. Then his fingers are poking carefully into the paper and stripping it away. The curls of discarded paper are absently draped over Toru, like tinsel. "But I don't figure I'd be fuckin' unhappy about shit you got me. Unless it was one of them Gamestation things. I hate them fuckin' controllers." Inside the wrapper is-- a plastic box! Inside which is a black wristband, labelled 'Fitbit Force'. Still looking sheepish, Toru brushes away some of that wrapping paper and explains, "It's sorta like... a super pedometer kinda thing. Keeps track of steps and like, how you're sleepin' and stuff. And you can set it so it buzzes your wrist so you don't need a loud alarm clock." He waves a hand dismissively, shaking his head a few times. "I had a better present but I kinda already gave it to you earlier than I meant to." But there, a thought apparently occurs, because he adds, thoughtfully, "I mean I could wrap it and let you open it again anyway. But, um, anyway. Happy birthday." Trib is quiet as he pulls the plastic box out of the wrapping, turning in his hands to examine it, reading the description on the back as he listens to Toru explain. Then he lifts the plastic box to his mouth, biting neatly through the plastic where it's sealed, and wrenching the box open. "'Snice," he offers, finally, taking the wristband out and handing it to Toru before he extends his right arm. "I fuckin' need somethin' like that. I lose fuckin' track of time and shit all the goddamned time, durin' my workouts." His smile is a bit wider, faltering as Toru mentions a different present. It takes a moment of thought before he comes up with the teenager's meaning, and he chuffs a laugh. "Hah. I don't think you can fuckin' re-wrap /that/ box," he teases. "I've fuckin' tore it up, since then." Toru takes the wristband and unfastens it from itself, looping it around Trib's outstretched arm and re-fastening it at the largest point. "I was kinda afraid it wasn't gonna fit ya." Once it's on, Toru grips Trib's hand gently, lifting it to his mouth to plant a kiss at the spot where those missing fingers are missing from. But when Trib ~so cleverly~ devises what Toru was more-or-less alluding to with talk of other presents, the teen lets out a little, mock-irritated grunt, pushing himself up to climb onto the couch, straddling Trib's stomach pretty abruptly and gripping tightly with his legs. "You," he notes, "are a /jerk/." He even goes in for a - weak! - punch to the boxer's shoulder, sticking his tongue out. "You didn't have to go and ruin the surprise. But for your /information/, the joke was I was kinda plannin' on not movin' in 'til today." "My wrists ain't /that/ thick," Trib rumbles, crinkling his eyes. "'sides, this looks like it was made for guys who work out an' get big. It's nice." He reaches out with his left hand to cup it around Toru's ear. "You did good." He's examining the wristband with the fascination of a kid on Christmas when Toru punches him, and he grins as he rocks back unnecessarilly. "You love it," he surmises of his jerkiness, and turns to offer a quick flash of tongue. His expression sobers when Toru mentions what the present had been previously, and he loops his arm around the teen to pull him closer. "/That/ was the best present," he grunts, leaning in to plant a kiss on Toru's lips. "I'm glad I fuckin' got it early." "You're just lucky you're so charmin'," Toru mumbles in that same mock-ornery tone, but when Trib pulls him in closer he's all too willing to relax, stretching out on top of the larger man and getting himself comfortable. After returning that kiss, he lowers his head down next to Trib's, tilted so that he's speaking directly into the man's ear and, accordingly, he lowers his voice. "Anyway, I'm glad you like it, 'cause it was that or like, a pair of shorts. Maybe some of that tape you wrap your hands with. Or like... I dunno, aspirin. Your hobby's got way too many supplies." Grinning, he slides a hand up along Trib's chest, eventually resting it on his collarbone, and just rubs that spot idly with his fingertips. Trib seems content to allow Toru to settle on him, arms wrapping around the younger man in a tight embrace (that in /no/ way allows him to continue playing with his new toy behind his back). He grunts a laugh-like noise at the idea of his being a charmer, and lifts a shoulder as he waggles his eyebrows. When Toru continues talking, he shifts his attention to the teenager with a small crinkling of his eyes. Only to /freeze/ at the joke. "It ain't a fuckin' hobby," he says in a flat voice, his expression hardening. "It ain't somethin' I do when there ain't nothin' on TV. It's what I fuckin /am/." "Hey," Toru murmurs softly, sliding that hand up to wrap around Trib's neck, holding him in a firm grip as he presses his head forward, forehead bumping against the side of Trib's head, nose poking into the curve of the man's ear. "You know I wouldn't say that and mean it in any kinda bad way." With a little sigh, he quiet nuzzles against Trib's head, slowly sliding off to the side so that he's between the boxer and the back of the couch, and nestles into that corner comfortably. Eyes closing, he makes a little content sound, his hand creeping back down to rub along Trib's chest. "...There's strawberry shortcake in the fridge. Fancy kind." Trib grunts, not entirely mollified but willing to let the younger man nuzzle into his ear. He shifts uncomfortably, staring at the screen of his wristband. "Just...don't make that joke," he says. "That's the kind of shit I have to hear from my Aunt Sonia, an' it drives me fuckin' batty." He wrinkles his nose, and crooks a finger in the air, adopting an accent eerily similar to a pair of twins in the building's. "Retribution. This is not a way for a man to live, beating up other men for money. This is hobby, at best. This should be a thing you do in addition to work. Perhaps you would do better working in factory.'" He growls as he finishes the (clearly) familiar admonishment, and wrinkles his nose. "Old fuckin' biddy." The mention of strawberry shortcake acrually seems to lift his mood, though. And his eyebrows. "Mmm. I could go for some shortcake," he rumbles, rubbing his hand along Toru's spine. "It's my second favorite use for whipped cream." Toru nods a few times, offering a weak smile. "Yeah, okay, sorry, won't happen again. You really oughtta do what I do and just not talk to any of 'em, y'know." The way he says it, he doesn't sound /entirely/ serious, but he's also eager enough to change the subject. Prodding Trib's chest with one firm finger, he pulls himself /back/ up and over the boxer, falling to the floor in an awkward tumble, but pushing himself to his feet again quickly enough. "Stay right there." The teen heads off to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a white paper box and a fork. "Don't move," he adds, slightly under his breath, as he opens the box and carefully removes a slice of cake - it's less a strawberry shortcake and more a cake with strawberries baked in, but it is indeed topped with whipped cream - and sets it on Trib's chest. With the box set aside, the teen clambers back on top of the boxer, holding the fork poised to strike. "Maybe next time I'll just skip the cake, then." Trib is remarkably obedient when directed not to move, either too comfortable or too lazy to argue about it. He watches as Toru pads to the kitchen, shifting up just a bit as he hears the rummaging through the fridge. He smirks when the younger man reappears with the box of cake, catching the tip of his tongue in his teeth. He can't quite hide the warm smile that Toru's climbing on him evokes, although he definitely tries, leaning forward to sniff at the box's contents hopefully. "I wouldn't mind comin' in to find /you/ frosted up like a cake," he teases. "That's good eatin'." When the cake appears, he doesn't try to hide his grin, dropping his hands to his side and opening his wide mouth playfully. Like the biggest baby bird ever. Toru grins, biting his tongue to hold back a retort just yet, for the moment just cutting off a forkful of cake and cautiously applying it to Trib!Mouth. "That might be takin' things a /little/ far," he does finally reply, though he's no less amused than he was initially. "But y'know. Christmas is comin' up. We'll see." Removing the fork from Trib's mouth, he cuts off a smaller forkful of cake for himself, raising his eyebrows a touch once it's actually in his mouth, and nodding approvingly. "That's good stuff." Trib grins at the not-promise, and closes his mouth around the forkful of food with a smug sort of smirk. He hums appreciatively at the taste of the cake, chewing slowly. "Lots of strawberry flavor," he agrees, nodding with Toru's assessment. "I like that bakery. I can fuckin' /taste/ their shit." He licks a bit of whipped cream from his lip, and waggles his tongue before he closes his mouth and watches the teenager chew. His hands come up to slide along Toru's legs, hooking in the junction of thigh and groin. He looks like there might be words forming, and he lowers his brow before he speaks. "Y'know. You're the first person I've shared today with since my granddad died," he rumbles, a shadow flickering over his face. His fingers tighten, and the corner of his mouth hooks upward. "I'm glad you're here." "Well, that's why I go there, you're always sayin' as how you like their shit." Toru's in the process of scooping up another forkful of cake to serve Trib when that admission comes out, and the teen pauses for a moment, fork silently held in midair as he chooses his words. "Kazuo died like... a little over a month after my birthday. So I never really had a good birthday since then 'cause it's just, y'know, hey it's Toru's birthday, that means it's almost--" The fork trembles a little, but he does hold himself together, finally just nodding brusquely. "--I kinda know how you feel, anyway." "It's good shit," Trib says, nodding. "We was lucky to find it." Currently, the boxer is laid out on one of the two (!) couches in the living room, wearing green running shorts and pinned in place by a pajama-clad Toru and a plate of strawberry shortcake. His mouth pulls tight at the information from Toru, and he reaches up to steady the fork in the teenager's hand. "Pup," he rumbles, tipping his head to offer a deeply (for Trib) sympathetic look. "You know I ain't got that association," he reminds the younger man. "So, from now on, your birthday's goin' to be about /you/." He smiles and pulls the fork to his mouth, closing his lips over the bite of cake. "'Cause you're /here/." Toru shakes his head dismissively. "I didn't mean to get all maudlin and shit, I just meant, y'know. That I can relate. Yeah?" He offers a quick half-smile, running his free hand over his hair and shoving that fork into Trib's mouth. Carefully! And when he removes the utensil again, he sets it down on Trib's chest, next to the shortcake. Hands slide down to rest on Trib's larger ones, holding them firmly as he looks down at the man, slowly managing a somewhat more sincere smile. "Anyway. I didn't mean to bring the mood down. Other stuff, maybe, but not /that/." And at this point, with little fanfare, he proceeds to start sliding down Trib's torso and abdomen, making his way to kneel at the opposite end of the couch from the boxer. Somewhat unusual for Cage, he actually texted about ten minutes ago, regardless of whether it was actually seen. (Cage -> Trib): Yo, I'm in your hood. I'll be by in 5. Flashback over, it's now ten minutes later, and heavy footsteps in the hall announce Cage's arrival, just before the sound pauses outside the door, followed by a careful thumping on the door, as if by someone used to accidentally breaking things. "Yo guys," comes Cage's voice. "You home?" Trib chews slowly, smiling a bit as he chews. "You didn't bring me down," he says, rolling his hips playfully. When Toru begins moving, the boxer watches his slide with half-lidded eyes. "Well, I ain't never had /this/ for my birthday," he rumbles when Toru lands between his knees, and reaches up to swipe a finger through the whipped cream on the cake before popping it in his mouth and sucking on it with a lascivious look. "Happy fuckin' Birthday to /me/." He settles back, then, spreading his legs just a wee bit further. And then there is Cage, knocking on the door, and Trib frowns down at Toru. "I swear to fuckin' God," he growls, reaching up to tug at his hair in frustration. That dude has the worst fuckin' timing." He wrinkles his nose, and glances down at his general shorts area. "You wanna get that?" he asks Toru, already twisting to reach for the blanket draped on the nearby recliner. Which he'll discreetly place over his shorts area while Toru answers the door. "You have got to be fucking kidding me." Toru grumbles, burying his face into Trib's leg for a minute and letting out a muffled sound of irritation. "Think we can convince him we ain't home?" Of course, the light being on and the talking probably don't lend themselves well to that, and despite whatever answer he gets he pushes himself up to his feet anyway. "Yeah, yeah.. Just a sec!" is shouted at the door, and the teen rushes to find a plate to put that cake slice on, a towel dropped onto Trib's chest, and with those matters accounted for he heads to the door, brushing a hand through his hair and grinning awkwardly. "H-- Hey, Cage. We were just, uh, havin' a birthday party kinda. Make yourself at home." Once that greeting is handled, he closes and locks the door behind Luke, and heads back towards the couch to clean up both the newly-plated cake slice and the box it came in; both get shoved into the fridge, and the teen heads back into the living room area, sprawling onto his mismatched couch. "Thanks for the furniture, by the way." "Oh hey," Cage says with a broad smile for the young man greeting him at the door. "Wassup, Bones?" He just nods and steps inside when Toru invites him in, but then the detective scans the room. The 'big dumb jock' is far more perceptive than most give him credit for. Luke's expression drops, and he closes his eyes, shaking his head in mock exasperation. One hand is holding a small box about five inches cubed, and the other is now scrubbing his face. Eventually he rolls his eyes, avoiding Trib pointedly, staring at the wall behind the man. "Jesus, sorry. I even /texted/ this time. So uh, Happy Birthday!" He grins ruefully, and holds the box out for Toru to take to Trib. Cage does not leave the vicinity of the door. Trib wipes at his chest lazily with the towel (after first eating what crumbs and whipped cream were left behind), and tosses it in the general direction of the kitchen. Then he glances at his wristband. "Hey, that burned 10 calories," he informs Toru, holding up his wrist in case the teenager's developed super-vision in the last four minutes and wants to look at it. Which puts his hand in perfect position to greet Cage with a tip of his hand. And a smirk for his sudden discomfort. "Fuckin' come on in," he rumbles, and frowns at the news that a text preceded this visit. Then he's leaning over to look under the couch. "I didn't even hear it. Pup, where the fuck is my phone?" It's asked into the under-couch gloom. So he misses the handing-off of the box, and maybe the birthday greetings, since he doesn't respond immediately. Taking the box, Toru gives Cage a bit of a lopsided grin when he realizes the detective has, indeed, detected what he's walked in on. "Look, we already stopped doin' what we were doin' so you may as well hang out for a few minutes. Have some soda or somethin'. I think there's Pepsi." Toru /does/ deliver the box to Trib on his way into the kitchen, setting it on the arm of the couch, and glancing towards the bedroom when the question about his phone is asked. "It's probably in your pants pocket and I ain't seen you in pa--" A pause. "--anyway it's probably in the other room." Grabbing three glasses, he proceeds to fish a bottle of Pepsi out of the fridge, filling the glasses and setting the now-empty bottle off to the side before he brings out a glass to hand to Cage, holding on to the second one for now. Luke chuckles and shakes his head again. "Yeah, ok." The box he hands off looks to have been professionally wrapped by someone at Bloomingdales. Cage sure as hell didn't do all that fancy folding and taping. He might float like a butterfly and sting like a dump truck, but arts and crafts have never been his gift. He accepts the glass and sniffs it uncertainly. "You tellin' me, people actually /prefer/ pepsi? When they have a choice?" He grins, meaning it as a friendly ribbing for the couple. He takes a sip and settles into one of the couches, easing down so as not to surprise the furniture with his compact mass. "How you been, fellas?" Trib looks up and smirks at Toru when he reveals the location of his phone, and lifts a shoulder. "Sorry, man," he says to Cage, his smirk turning a bit smug as he re-settles on the couch and picks up the box. He turns it in his hands with a curious narrowing of his eyes, and then looks back up at Cage. "You ain't tryin' to give me another ring, are you?" He grimaces. "I mean, I /did/ eat the other one last night...." He doesn't wait for an answer as he slides a thick finger into a seam and YANKS at the paper. "It was on sale," he grunts in response to the existence of Pepsi in the apartment. "I ain't picky about soda, so long as it's sweet." He glances up as he continues to shred paper, watching as Cage settles himself. "We're okay," he affirms. Then he wags a finger as he remembers something. "Oh, yeah. I got on a card. Bout's in a month, if you wanna come an' watch." "Son, Pepsi is the flavor choice of a new generation," Toru notes, protestingly, as he hands Cage that glass. Rather than hand Trib the other one - since the boxer's hands are full right now - he heads back to the kitchen to get that third glass and, when he returns, perches himself on the ottoman, scooting it closer to Trib's couch. The cup intended for Trib is set on the floor, and he finally gets to drinking his own beverage. "I don't usually drink it, anyway, but whatever. Whatcha got?" He's craning his neck to look at the box in Trib's hands, shooting a glance over to Cage. "You better not be givin' him rings, I ain't even doin' that." Pause, frown. "Well, aside from that one, but that didn't count." Luke shrugs off the Pepsi debate with another chuckle, and sips the drink. Opening the box reveals a fairly nice watch in a dark burnished metal, probably a titanium alloy. It's not some thousand dollar job, but it's probably worth a couple hundred at least. It's an analog watch, with a fair number of extra wheels and dials inside, with the inner workings revealed through some clever workmanship, all protected behind a sturdy piece of thick glass. "Hey, I only gave him the one, an it was just titanium." Luke laughs and holds his hands up in defense. "Figured it'd be a easy way for him to have something useful on hand... " Luke chuckles as he realizes his own pun. Trib stares at the watch for a long moment after the box is opened. He tips his head, regarding it carefully before he pulls it out of the packaging, holding it up for Toru to examine. "My wrists must be pretty fuckin' ugly," he drawls, eyes crinkling in amusement. "Everybody's buyin' me shit to put on 'em." He holds up his unadorned wrist to examine it for any heretofore unnoticed deformities. Then he's back to the watch. "'Sfuckin' nice, man," he says to Cage. "I'm goin' to look all sharp an' shit, wearing this. I'll have to fuckin' start dressin' better or some shit." He pins Cage, suddenly, with a suspicious narrowing of his eyes. "This ain't some dumbass scheme to get me in a fuckin' suit, is it?" Toru can't help but grin at the coincidence in the watch, given his own gift, and nods in agreement when Trib declares it to be Nice. But then he's snickering at the thought of Trib in a suit, and turns his full attention to Cage, forcing a serious expression. "Yeah, man, gettin' Trib in a suit is like takin' a fuggin' gorilla to a... nice.. restaurant." He frowns, looking at the floor for a minute. "...cause he. Doesn't like wearin' suits. And-- and anyway you get my point." That frown deepens, and he takes a long sip from his soda, going all quiet for the moment. "/Yeah/ you got ugly wrists, lookit those... Oh shit," Luke says, interrupting himself. "Did you say you got a fight? That's great, man!" Luke leans across to offer the man a fistbump. "I'll definitely be there. Count on it." Luke winks when Trib starts getting suspicious. "Well shit, man, you gonna show up in just shorts at my campaign rally? My head of security's gonna have to look a little sharper than /that/." He grins and adds, "The good news is that you can expense a suit as a business requirement." He grins and raises his glass to Toru. "I'm surprised Bones. You /don't/ wanna see your man all gussied up? It's fun to see how people clean up sometimes." "Good thing the pup ain't lookin' at my wrists," Trib rumbles, poking his tongue into his cheek and giving Toru a sideways look. He reaches up when Luke steps forward, bumping fists lightly with his half-hand, possibly showing off the hi-tech-looking wristband there. "Yeah, I found a gym that had an open slot," he rumbles. "I still got to find a cut man, an' a trainer, but I can find those easy." At the talk about suits, he falls silent, one eye closing almost completely as he absorbs the good-natured humor. His brow furrows deeply as Cage mentions him as Head of Security, and he exhales heavily. "I fuckin' /knew/ it," he grunts. "I fuckin' knew you were goin' to try to turn me into a fuckin' secret service bastard." He doesn't sound /unhappy/ about it, but he doesn't sound pleased, either, folding his arms across his chest and frowning. "You know I'm goin' to look more like fuckin Jesse Ventura runnin' for governor than fuckin' James Bond, right?" "He did win, though," Toru notes, regarding Jesse Ventura, with a little grin. Another sip from his soda, and he sets the glass down, suddenly setting about to cleaning up the various strips of wrapping paper that Trib has strewn about. And to Cage he adds, "I don't need to see 'im gussied up, I like 'im the other way around." Grinning, he waggles his eyebrows a bit, darting away quickly as he takes the paper to the trash can. "Anyway I gotta get a shower, so why don't you guys hammer out the details while I'm gone, yeah?" With that, the teen heads into the bathroom with little other fanfare, leaving the two Heroes For Hire to wile away the time discussing plans for the campaign rally over the sound of running water.