ArchivedLogs:Equal Footing

Equal Footing
Dramatis Personae Toru, Trib
In Absentia	2013-11-16 '
Location <NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments - Clinton
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 only 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. The apartment was very quiet, after Trib got home. If Toru eventually came home, he found it eerily still, with the door to the bedroom closed, and a pillow and blanket set next to the radiator. On the pillow, his collar rests, the lead wound up to make a neat little presentation. Otherwise, not much is different about the place, other than a stack of recently-added cans of food on the counter, which include cans of Toru's favorite soup and cans of various fruit pie fillings. From the bedroom, there is no indication that Trib is even home. Either the boxer has licked his heavy sleep-breathing, or he's still out wandering the dangerous streets. Maybe he never made it home. When Toru returns home, it's quietly - whether or not Trib is there, he apparently intends to attempt to go undetected for now. As he enters, he sheds his shoes at the door, removing blood-splattered clothing and throwing it on the floor as he storms into the bathroom. The door is closed and locked as the teen starts up a cold shower, spending as little time as is necessary on getting himself cleaned up from the night's carousing, and practically as quickly as he'd entered, he's out again, haphazardly towelling off his hair and then storming to the bedroom without bothering to re-clothe himself. He does, however, stop for a moment at the closed door, taking in a deep breath... then finally throws it open. "Trib, you had better be fucking awake or I'm gonna fucking wake you /up/." Trib is at home, clearly, when the door opens. He's laying in such a way that the sheet barely comes to his naked (wooden) waist, and his face is hidden in shadow. His left arm, where it's illuminated, has a couple of bandages on it, one starting to soak through with blood that might be in need of changing. He doesn't move when the door flies open, but his voice drifts out of the dark, low and reedy. "I'm awake." "Good," is all Toru says at first, setting his jaw as he strides into the room. He brushes at his hair, spraying water droplets about, as he strides to the bed and, with little preamble, sits to straddle Trib's abdomen, leaning forward with hands on the boxer's shoulders with a firm grip. "We need to have a /conversation/," he begins, slowly. The way he's sitting, looking down at Trib, his hair framing his face, leaves his expression cast in shadow, but even at this close proximity Trib can likely see an intensity in the teenager's eyes that hasn't been present... in a long time. If ever. The boxer winces when Toru climbs on top of him, his body going momentarily rigid as the teenager settles himself. When Toru's hands find his shoulders, he'll discover a bandage /there/, as well, clumsily applied. His breathing is slow, and it's a /long/ moment before he manages to relax. He exhales in a low, extended hiss, reaching up to rest his hands along Toru's thighs. "Fuckin' right we do," he rumbles, and there's another wince as he shifts his body just a bit. "What the fuck /was/ that?" There /is/ a moment of hesitation when Toru finds that bandage, but he pushes past it for now, removing the hand from that bandage and moving it to cup Trib's jaw. "/That/. Was me realizing that all this time playin' housewife has made me forget who I /am/." He takes a deep breath, there, letting it out through clenched teeth, and both of those hands grip a little more tightly. "I'm not your /dog/, Trib. I'm not your /pet/, and I'm sure as fuck /not/ your fucking toy /Nip/ that you get to parade around in front of your fucking /friends/." Lowering his head, there, he gets in close to Trib's face, to let out another breath through his nostrils, lowering his voice both in volume and in timbre. "My name is Toru, and /you/ are /mine/." Trib listens to Toru in silence, his body still beneath the younger man's slight weight. When Toru finishes, he remains quiet a few minutes longer, shifting his head to bring it into the light and reveal the hard set to his eyes. "I didn't realize I was fuckin' stiflin' you so much," he says, his voice flat. "I mean, bein' a controllin' husband /roommate/, and all." He shifts his weight, bucking his hips in irritation and twisting his torso. This comes with more hissing, although the boxer tries to mute it as he begins to extract himself. "I ain't never made you do /nothin'/," he growls, glaring up at the teenager. "An' I never /paraded/ you /around/ for anyone. An' I sure as fuck don't appreciate you goin' and makin' those suggestions to motherfuckers I don't even fuckin' /know/." Apparently done with struggling, he moves to swipe Toru from his abdomen, growling a bit. "Get off." "I'm not fuckin' done yet," Toru growls, tightening his grip on Trib's shoulders and pushing them back down. "I didn't say you're /stiflin'/ me, don't put fuckin' words in my mouth. I'm /sayin'/ I been lettin' myself get all like, complacent and shit. I ain't sayin' it's /your/ fault, I'm sayin'-- we're done with the collar shit. I'm done bein' your fuggin' /twink/. I do what I want, where I want, /when/ I want, and I don't gotta /answer/ to you." With a grunt of frustration, he pushes himself off of Trib again - careful, at least, not to agitate any injuries - and moves to kneel on the bed next to him, maintaining that fierce gaze. "And the next time you see me walkin' around with someone and I don't tell him you're my boyfriend, maybe fucking trust that it's because I don't want the Brotherhood of fucking Mutants knowing I got somethin' they can use against me if the winds fuckin' change." /That/ speech brings a bit more determination to Trib's struggles, and he assists Toru in climbing off of him with a hearty little /boost/. Then he slides to the end of the bed, his expression dark enough that his face might be /made/ of shadow. "Fuck you, if that's what you think I think," he says hotly, pushing to his feet with a pained grunt and moving out into the living room and into the kitchen. In the light, he has a few places covered with bandages, and his movement -- while angry -- is slow and measured, and comes with inaudible dark muttering. Then he turns suddenly, and raises his voice at the bedroom. "An' even if they didn't know who the fuck /I/ was, you got /other/ people they'd go after. I think I got a better fuckin' chance against 'em than your fuckin' /parents/." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Toru sits back on his heels, just frowning silently for a minute while he collects his thoughts. "Do you got any idea how often you push me around? It's all fucking little shit but it /adds up/." He doesn't sound upset at all; he's just staying it plainly as he pushes himself to his feet, striding over to stand in the doorframe. "Fuckin'... growlin' at me if I say somethin' you don't want me to, policin' what I fuckin' do, that shit the other day with the fuggin' burnout from upstairs when you made me hide on the couch in my own goddamn /house/. You act like I can't fucking take care of myself!" Punching the door, there, he lets out a sigh and thunks his head against the frame. "Maybe I want to fuckin' protect /you/ sometimes." Trib doesn't seem mollified in any way by Toru's calm explanation. If anything, 'confused' would be a better word as he turns around to /stare/ at the teenager for a moment. "I guess it does fuckin' add up," he says. "Since this is the fuckin' first I've heard about any of this fuckin'...whattayacallit. /Discontent/." He moves to open the refrigerator, extracting a plastic milk jug filled with water. "An' I didn't fuckin' make you /hide/. I fuckin' told you to be quiet. /You're/ the one that fuckin' burrowed under the fuckin' blanket like the goddamned boogey man was comin' in." He jabs a finger in Toru's direction, his brow lowering into something more stern. "If you was so unhappy about the way I acted, you should have fuckin' /said/ somethin', instead of all that fuckin' mamby-pamby whiny pansy shit you /been/ throwin' at me." He twists the cap off the jug, and uses it to wave at the room. "I ain't no goddamned mind-reader, y'know." "Excuse the fuck out of me? Whiny pansy shit? The hell else am I supposed to take outta you wantin' me to be all silent except that you don't want that dude knowin' I'm here?" Toru pushes himself away from the door, arms crossed over his chest as he strides towards the kitchen. "Maybe it took some fuckin' pushing to make me realize I /should/ say somethin'. On accounta my fuggin'... complacency." He waves one hand vaguely, running it over his hair and scattering another water spray behind himself. "I ain't sayin' this is your fault, it's /my/ fault for lettin' it get this far without doin' shit about it." Trib closes one eye at Toru's question, and stares off into space as he considers it. "I ain't exactly sure how not wantin' looters an' biters to know how many folks you got inside is a /bad/ thing," he says. "But I'll be sure an' fuckin' know better next time." He takes a couple of hefty swallows of water, and slams the jug back down on the counter, and replaces the lid. "You want to go an' be your own man, go on," he says darkly. "I ain't fuckin' stoppin' you. I wasn't fuckin' interested in havin' a /wife/. Like I said about a thousand fuckin' times." He licks his lips, then, and moves into the living room towards the radiator. Squatting next to the pillow, he picks up the collar and lead, turning them in his hands thoughtfully. "I spent a fuckin' week, shoppin for this," he says. Then he shrugs. "But, if you want to be done with this shit...." He lifts the collar to his mouth, his expression unreadable as he opens his jaws like he's about to eat it. Then he stops, and tosses it over his shoulder. "Eh." Toru opens his mouth, closes it, frowns, and scratches the back of his head with some irritation. "You aren't /listening/ to me." He slowly steps forward, hands moving to grip Trib's waist whether the action is welcomed or not, and lowers his head to butt it against the larger man's chest. "Did I not just fuckin' tell you that you're /mine/? If I didn't want you, I wouldn't /be/ here. All I'm tryin' to say is I'm done with the... bein' a fuggin' /puppy/ stuff. I just think we need to be on more level goddamn footing." He gradually lifts his head, then, tilting it up to look up at Trib, quiet for a moment. "I'm not done with /you/." Trib frowns, allowing Toru to wrap arms around him without protest. His expression is thoughtful, and he inhales slowly. His mouth works for a moment, as if he's trying to formulate the proper words. There are a few attempts, and there's a moment when it looks like he might be trying to swallow his own tongue. His skin darkens in a deep flush, red creeping up his neck and into his ears as he ducks his head to rest his forehead against Toru's. "...I'm sorry. I'm a fuckin' jerk." "You're not a fuckin' jerk, you jerk," Toru notes, good-naturedly enough, and gives Trib another little headbutt. "I keep tellin' you it's my own fault for lettin' it get all pent up without sayin' shit. Stuff just got kinda outta hand faster'n I realized it, y'know?" He slides his hands up Trib's sides, letting out a little sigh - one far less irritated than his previous ones - and rubbing firmly, except when he meets those bandages. "Didn't I tell you before that I didn't want you gettin' yourself hurt?" Trib exhales a rough breath, and shakes his head. "Well, from now on, talk to /me/ about this shit, instead of your fuckin' work buddies," he says, and there's little command in his voice. Or levity. "I get enough fuckin' bad press as it is." He manages a weak half-smile, and his amber gaze is a bit weary and dull as he looks down at the teenager. The admonishment about his bandages gets a tightening of that half-smile, and the boxer lifts a shoulder. "I was doin' all right, until I Ieft you guys," he rumbles, wrinkling his nose. "Then some dumb motherfucker started bangin' on a goddamned trash can, an' I ran smack into a fuckin' herd of biters comin' to check it out." He frowns down at his bandages, shaking his head. "A few of 'em got me before I could turn to metal. Hurt like shit." A guilty expression crosses Toru's features, but he wipes it away quickly enough, shaking his head and murmuring, sympathetically, "Fish.." He gently rubs one of those bandages, shaking his head again. "I feel like we should probably change them, they're kinda... wet." Now that he's concerned, he's actually letting some emotion back into his tone, and the look he gives Trib when he tilts his head back up is unmistakeably one of concern. "Then you should get some actual rest." A little squeeze, there. "In a little while."