ArchivedLogs:Degrees of Separation

Degrees of Separation
So. Who ordered the extra large side of awkwardsauce?
Dramatis Personae Micah, Trib	19 August 2013 Pasts finally collide.
Location <NYC> Tompkins Square Park - East Village
Small but popular, this tree-lined park is a perfect centerpiece to the eclectic neighborhood it resides in. Home to a number of playgrounds and courts from handball to basketball, it also houses a dog park and chess tables, providing excellent space for people watching -- especially during its frequent and often eccentric festivals, from Wigstock to its yearly Allen Ginsberg tribute Howl festival. Evening has fallen gently on the city, still breathing a sigh of relief from the summer's earlier swelter. Its citizens have largely decided not to question the sudden coolness of usually-sticky August, in favour of enjoying the breezes that tickle through the trees in the city's green spaces. It is the type of night that invites lazy walks and stargazing, and as such the park is lightly sprinkled with people engaging in these very activities. A number of benches are occupied by couples drawn close in conversation or cuddling quietly. Micah has set out on an aimless meandering path through the park, simply breathing in the night air. He is clad in his typical after-work wear of patched jeans and a T-shirt (faded black and bleach-stained, with a stick figure holding a calculator and Erlenmeyer flask as he warns 'Stand Back I'm Going to Try Science!'). Those approaching close enough would be able to hear him singing softly to himself, Heart's “Dog and Butterfly”. Trib is not out to enjoy the beautiful night, although he /is/. Dressed in a pair of grey sweat shorts and a blue tank top, with a pair of high-top sneakers, he has his gym bag slung across his chest, where a blue-stoned ring hangs from a silver chain. The boxer seems to be in a fairly good mood as he walks through the park. He might even be caught smiling at the occasional person! His path seems destined to intersect Micah's, especially after the singing catches the big man's ear, and he changes course. When he gets close enough to recognize the older man, he smiles lopsidedly, and raises a meaty hand in greeting. "Hey. Fancy meetin' you here." Micah's face lights with a warm smile as Trib approaches, lifting a hand in a languid little wave of greeting. “Alright, y'don't get t'accuse me of stalkin' at you. I was walkin' this way an' /you/ found /me/.” Chuckling softly, he falls into step beside the much taller man. “What brings you this way? I live over there.” He pauses to flutter his hand in the direction of the Lofts. “So I'm just wanderin' out a bit before settlin' in for the night, m'self.” Trib smirks. "Maybe /I'm/ stalkin' /you/, this time," he rumbles, and hooks the thumb of his half-hand in the strap of his bag. "An' we only met 'cause I'm learnin' your routines." He wrinkles his nose, and follows the indicatory gesture. "Oh, hey, I know that place. A guy I work with lives there." He waves his own hand towards the western end of the park. "I go to a gym a couple of blocks over,' he answers the question. "Thought I'd cut through here, an' catch the subway on the other side." There's a chuff of laughter, and he rolls his shoulder. "It's a good night for wanderin'," he notes. "At least, this early. I don't know that I'd wander through here after midnight, though." “Hm. Guess I really /am/ horrible at this,” Micah jokes, shaking his head at himself. “Got my stalkees stalkin' me now. Throw the handbook right out the window.” He laughs outright at the routines comment. “Shoot. If you ever learn any routines about me, y'make sure t'let me know. Feels like I don't never do things the same way twice.” His shoulders bob in a slight shrug. “Ain't ever had trouble just bein' in the park. On account of /lateness/, anyhow.” He scuffs the toe of a sneaker against the ground at the self-correction. Trib snorts. "I just figured I needed to take charge of things, since you /are/ so bad at it," he says, crinkling his eyes. "Next thing is gettin' you on a routine, I guess, so I can keep up with you." He chuckles, and wrinkles his nose at the assessment. "How late you been in a New York park?" he asks, eyebrows lifting in surprise. "Maybe if we was further north an' east, it'd be safer, but I wouldn't hedge no fuckin' bets on anywhere else." He sniffs, and rolls his shoulder. "Someone givin' you shit?" he asks, when Micah scuffs his toe. "'Cause I'm more'n happy to scare the piss out of someone for you. Or crack some heads." “Oh man, now he's /trainin'/ me,” Micah mock-laments through a light sprinkling of giggles. “Been out pretty much all hours. Was livin' in my van for months when I moved here. Y'wanna move about freely, s'pretty much the best place t'go. An' I don't keep no kinda regular sleepin' hours, neither.” Another shrug pulls at the fabric of his shirt, making the stick figure appear to be waving his flask in a brief moment of excitement. “It ain't as bad as people make it out t'be. Mostly just quiet, 'cause nobody else is willin' t'hang around 'cept for the homeless folks. An' they're usually just tryin' t'sleep without gettin' harassed. But...no, nobody messin' with /me/ so much. I do come out with one or both of Jax's kids from time t'time, an' people pretty much give them shit wherever they go. Lucky if it's just /glares/. Ain't right what those kids have t'put up with just for lookin' different.” He slides a hand through his hair, mussing it. “Okay, /really/ different. But that don't make it any better.” "Hell, you're an old hand at street livin'," Trib rumbles, wrinkling his nose at the smaller man. He glances around the park when Micah lists the usual occupants, nodding slowly. When Micah mentions the kids, though, his attention snaps back. "Oh, yeah? His kids are mutants, too?" He shakes his head. "That's rough," he says, with sincere sympathy. "I guess 'really different' ain't as charmin' as it ought to be. They ain't /scary/-lookin' or anything, are they?" He grins in an attempt to lighten the subject. "I figure a guy that sparkly probably has like, koala kids or somethin'." Micah chuckles at the implications of 'street'. "Only in a manner of speakin', in that my van is usually parked on a street? S'a really nice van. Ain't like what people go through who just don't got /anythin'/. Ah-well. That's past, besides." He nods at the mutant question. "Yeah, an' on the obvious side, t'boot. Ain't...oh /gosh/. Koala people. I think that could only get cuter with, like, /chinchilla/ people. All the floofs. Puffpuff in a giant dust bath." Hazel eyes dart side to side, clearly realising that their owner's brain has gotten /sidetracked/. "Oh. Um. Scary. I guess some people would say that? I think they're pretty adorable, but. They are pretty /toothy/. An' blue. Though ain't nothin' immediately threatenin' about /blue/. Also, there's two of 'em? Some people think twins're creepy t'begin with, I guess." He offers yet another shrug. "S'all a matter of perspective, really." Trib seems amused by either the idea of floofy chinchilla people or how easily Micah is sidetracked by cuteness. He's got a lopsided grin as he listens to the description, and it slowly fades, dropping into an expression more appropriate for someone who's been shot. Even in the low light of the streetlamps, his face has little color in it, and his eyes have a hard, pained expression as his grip tightens on the strap across his chest. "Toothy," he grunts, inhaling through his nose deeply. "Blue. Twins." He grinds his teeth audibly for a long moment, and then furrows his brow. "The ones that was in the cages?" It sounds as if he hopes it's a /different/ set of scary, toothsome, blue, mutants twins. Micah's brows make a valiant effort at meeting one another as he notices Trib's sudden change in demeanor. “Oh. Yeah. Like I said, them bein' missin' was part of what helped us t'find you all. I guess. Reminders of the things that went on in there ain't happy for nobody. Between the stories an' the videos, I... Lotsa folks had t'do horrible...” His teeth meet with his lower lip, pressing into it firmly. “Sorry. I didn't mean t'bring up bad memories.” "An' they live in that buildin' over there? With you an' this Jax dude?" Trib's expression is intent, although it still lacks color. He rubs at his face, then, and squeezes his eyes shut tightly. "Yeah, of course they fuckin' do. God /damn/ it." He turns, and walks a couple of steps back the way he came before stopping and rubbing at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "/Fuck/." "Well, sort of. They got their own apartment with some friends next door t'us, but that might just be for the summer..." Micah's head tilts like a bird's when it is inspecting something unexpected. "I don't get...why it matters where they're livin'? I mean, I guess it is /hard/ for people with the obvious genetic enhancements t'find places that'll let 'em stay," he attempts to figure the reason for Trib's continued souring of expression. "Are you okay?" He breaks stride, then pauses altogether as Trib starts backpedalling. "It matters if you don't want to get fuckin' /ate/," Trib mutters, rubbing at his face viciously before turning back to face Micah. "Look. I got to tell you somethin', 'cause you're my friend, an' those two are close to you." He says this in a bleak sort of voice, looking at Micah's feet -- or maybe the path just in front of them. "You probably already know, but I just want you to listen, yeah?" Trib's choice of words draws a heavy sigh from Micah, his posture wilting slightly. “Oh. Oh, it's that. Honey, I saw that video an' heard that story an'...they /starved/ the boys before that fight happened. That ain't what they're usually like.” He stops talking when Trib brings up having things to tell and needing Micah to listen. His head bobs once in a silent nod to signal Trib to proceed. "No." Trib sighs heavily. "I /wish/ it was that. I know what they did to them kids. I watched most of it." He lifts his left arm, showing off a place on his elbow where the flesh looks depressed. "I lived some of it, too." He inhales through his nose and squints hard into the night air. "When we was in the cages," he says slowly, his mouth a tight line, "I saw them two kids an' the superhero kid a /lot/. I was kind of.../scary/, in there. You had to be, 'cause that shit kept you alive. But I kind of fucked with the superhero kid's head, a little." He grimaces, and lowers his brow. "But I /wanted/ him to stay scared, 'cause /that/ shit kept people alive, too. An' then, when them shark kids showed up, they was all bein' all lovin' an' friendly an' crap...well, that shit got you /killed/, in there. Nearly got /them/ killed." There's a pause, while the boxer takes a shuddery breath, looking back at the Lofts, then around the path before he continues. "I tried to fuckin' stop that from happenin'. I figured if I got that superhero kid out an' into my cage, they couldn't sleep in no goddamned love-pile no more, an' they wouldn't get tossed in the ring together. Only, I was all scary about it, an' they thought I wanted somethin' /else/ from the kid." He pauses, letting the redhead absorb that, for a moment. "Which I only found out about a couple of weeks ago, when they said it to my face. An' I kind of...didn't take it well." He sighs, and rubs at his face wearily. "An' now it's all fucked up," He finishes, wincing a little. "If you want to hit me, or tell me to fuck off or whatever, I totally fuckin' understand." Micah just listens quietly as Trib recites the whole of his tale. “Don't guess anybody's /proud/ of the things they had t'do in there. Ain't fair that the whole of it's the fault of the people as organised the damn thing an' not any of you folks.” He clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “Yeah, I can't imagine any of that went well. They're...protective of each other. Maybe even more protective of Peter since the kid ain't got the sense t'protect himself the better half of the time.” His expression changes from sad and resigned to perplexed at the invitation to /hit/ Trib. “I...why would I want t'do that? Ain't gonna undo anythin' that was done. Prob'ly /would/ break my hand in the meantime. Not help t'nobody.” He chews at his lip again through a brief pause. “I mean, seems like it prob'ly ain't a good idea t'invite you around for /tea/ if the boys are gonna see you as a threat,” he concedes finally. "Yeah, a lot of people had to do shit they didn't do before," Trib says in a dark tone, and he furrows his brow in thought, or maybe it's memory. The comment on the twins' protectiveness gets a chuff of air that's neither laugh nor snort. "Yeah, I got that," he says, lifting his left elbow. "An' that Peter kid ain't got the sense God gave a stump. But I never meant those kids no harm." He snorts. "Hell, I ain't that much older than 'em. I mean, I was a scary jerk, but I ain't what they think I am." Micah's confusion gets a roll of his shoulders. "I don't know," he admits. "Seems like the sort of thing people get hit over. Or threaten to hit people over." He nods at the final thought, and his mouth presses into a line. "Yeah," he admits a bit wistfully. "I ain't much for tea, anyway. I ain't got the pinky for it." “I'm sorry you had t'go through that. /All/ of you,” Micah adds for emphasis. “It's...no good havin' extra scary around when everythin's already scary, though. I can see why they'd still be bristlin' at you.” He catches his fingers up in his hair again, tugging at it. “Mmn. No good for nobody. Y'already said y'didn't /mean/ no harm by it. Only other thing t'be done for it would be t'apologise. But even the twelve-step programs give leeway for /not/ makin' amends where t'do so would cause harm. An' that's some pretty hard-core apologisin' they set people up for.” Micah manages a wan smile at Trib's joke. “I figure we been talkin' this long without it bein' a /thing/ for the twins. Shouldn't be too much effort t'keep it that way. 'Specially considerin' we were succeedin' without even /tryin'/ before.” "Yeah, I don't know about apologizin'," Trib says slowly. "Not any time soon. They ain't wantin' to hear it from me, an' I don't know that I blame 'em, if the situation was reversed. Just got to give it time, I guess." He manages a small half-grin in return for Micah's wan smile, and shrugs. "I guess that's true," he says. "It's a big city, an' there's only two of 'em. I guess the odds are in our favor, huh?" Micah nods his agreement. “Yeah, as I was sayin'. Might be more harm than good. 'Least all three of you are pretty easy t'spot from a distance? On account of the tall. An' the blue.” This last he offers with a somewhat awkward half-smile. “Ugh. Sorry t'dredge all this up for you. You were lookin' so /happy/ walkin' through before.” Trib snorts, and shakes his head. "Yeah," he says of his easy I.D., and he shows a small bit of teeth in his half-grin. "I figure it should be easy enough to avoid 'em. Maybe not by standin' in the park across from their buildin', but otherwise." He furrows his brow at the apology, and frowns. "You ain't got to apologize," he rumbles, narrowing his eyes. "I figure the shit from the cages will keep bobbin' up for a long time, yet. It's me that should be apologizin'. This puts you in a fucker of an awkward spot." A bit of a chuckle escapes through Micah's lips at the reminder that he has Trib standing in a park within /view/ of the twins' building. "Y'got a point, there. Don't... I mean, y'don't got no cause t'be apologisin' to /me/, neither. How were you t'know I had anythin' t'do with those boys? Ain't like it's somethin' y'could've easily avoided." His fingers disappear into his hair yet /again/, betraying some discomfort at the next thing he feels the need to say. "If it comes down to it, though. I hope you understand if those boys need me /not/ t'be spendin' time with you? I mean, if it comes up, an' they were t'ask it of me? I would have t'do that. I'm not tryin' t'do a single thing t'make life harder on those kids. Not with the way things've gone with them their whole /lives/. An' me livin' in their /one/ truly safe place. I can't..." He stops himself from continuing on the semi-stream of consciousness ramble. "I mean, it might not come up ever. But. I didn't want it t'be a horrible surprise for you, neither. If it were t'happen." Trib absorbs that warning with a small tightening of his jaw and he nods, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a brief tug. "I guess I can understand that," he says, a bit sadly. "I mean, that's your man's family, an' kind of yours. You got to do what's right for the people you care about." He lifts his shoulders. "I get that. It'd suck, but yeah. I wouldn't expect you to do no different, I guess." He clears his throat, then, his jaw clenching spasmodically a couple of times. "I guess I should go," he offers, finally. "You probably want to get home an' get comfortable an' shit." It sounds as lame as his expression says he thinks it is, and he smiles gamely, tipping his head in the direction he's currently backing in. "Give me a call sometime if you want, yeah?" It is hard to tell if Micah's frown develops more from Trib being sad or from his own /complete/ inability to make the sad any better. “I...I'm really sorry. About the horrible.” He scuffs the sole of his sneaker against the path again. “I. I will. An' you can still call me, too, okay? It's not like that's suddenly not allowed or anythin'. I... I'm just. Sorry.” He gives a little wave at Trib's attempt to depart, as if to give him permission to do so without feeling like he's /fleeing/, then heads back toward the Lofts himself.