ArchivedLogs:Getting Things Straight

Getting Things Straight
Dramatis Personae Toru, Trib	2013-07-23 '
Location <NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments - Clinton
There is no furniture in this apartment. That's the main thing that's noticeable. Well, almost no furniture. There is a battered lawn chair and an equally battered card table with a small, ancient radio sitting on it; the latter is often littered with newspapers and playing cards. And shoved up under the sole window is a battered arm chair, upholstered in a cowboy print fabric. There is no art, although on one wall, there are the beginnings of what appears to be a collage of pictures and articles -- most boxing, although there are a few news stories and glossy physique images from muscle magazines that have made the cut. Through the small, dingy kitchen is the entrance to the bedroom, where the only comfortable spot seems to be a rumpled army-surplus sleeping bag with a pillow made of a stuffed t-shirt. The door to the bathroom is closed, but it's probably equally uncluttered in there. Trib has wood. The big man has wood -- packing pallets mostly, to be precise, currently the focus of his new project. He also has tools, not new-looking, but sturdy enough for the job he's doing. Which is, apparently, dismantling those pallets and stacking the best boards carefully to one side of his apartment's small bedroom. Dressed in a pair of jeans and socks, the boxer doesn't look much like a carpenter, but he seems to know what he's doing. In the living room, there's a new-looking laptop that is currently pumping out some classic rock. At the moment, Bon Scott is wailing without abandon about dirty deeds. Trib may or may not be singing along under his breath. Toru has managed to find an alternative way into the building other than being buzzed in - which is to say, he snuck in behind someone else which, let's face it, is not that hard to do in a low-rent building. Taking the stairs two at a time, he'll have made his way up the stairwell in record time! but when he stops at the door to apartment 311 he stops just before knocking, at the sound of music from inside. Blinking, he steps away from the door, confirming that the numbers are, in fact, correct, and even checks the nearby doors to see if maybe this one got. MISLABELLED. He even goes so far as to take out his cell phone, digging through previous messages for mention of the address to confirm that he's in the right /building/ and only when everything seems to line up properly does he knock on the door, hesitantly at first then, realizing it wouldn't be heard over the music, banging firmly. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. It takes a minute for the knocking to get past the noise of music and the prying of boards, but eventually Trib hears it. He stands up and furrows his brow at the door, tipping his head and listening until another knock confirms his suspicions. Then he drops his hammer and moves towards the door, pausing by the laptop to lower the volume before continuing. Swinging the door open, his face breaks into a warm smile at the sight of Toru before he jerks his head at the interior of the apartment, stepping back and moving towards the kitchen. And the fridge located therein. Striding into the apartment, Toru pulls his messenger bag off his shoulder, dropping it by the door, along with shoes and socks which he slips off before making his way too far in. "I was startin' to think I had the wrong building," he explains, looking around with no small amount of confusion at the series of new items taking up the place. "Or that you left without a forwardin' address or somethin'. What the heck are you even doin' in here?" He's following Trib to the kitchen, though, and leans against a convenient wall once he's in that room. Today he's dressed just a touch less casually than his usual attire; a white button-down shirt, though it's short sleeved, is unbuttoned over a similarly white tank top. Along with his usual cargo shorts, and those black gloves. "And since when do you have a computer?" "I wouldn't do that to you," Trib rumbles, opening the fridge and pulling out two bottles of water. "I mean, I've skipped out on rent a time or two, but I ain't gonna skip out on my pup." He quirks a grin, offering a bottle to Toru as he takes in the teenager's attire. "I'd give you a good an' proper hello, but I'm afraid I'd fuck you up for work or whatever." He /does/ lean in for a kiss, though, sweaty though it might be. He chuffs a laugh at the question, and waves a hand at the bedroom. "I am buildin' a bed," he says confidently. "Someplace where we can sleep proper, off the goddamned floors." He wrinkles his nose. "Mostly makin' it out of wood I find, so it might be a while before it's sound enough for both of us." His eyebrows waggle, and his grin goes toothy. "I gotta make sure it's properly supported an' shit." He lifts a shoulder for the final question. "My boss bought it for me," he says. "So I can keep up with the news, an' boxin' information, an' stuff. It's pretty fuckin' awesome. I pretty much spent all the money he gave me for it." As he uncaps the bottle, Toru gives a little shake of his head. "I had an early shift today. Took my bike back to my place but didn't feel like changin'," he explains. Kiss is returned with a blushy little half-smile, and he musses his hair self-consciously, nodding to the explanation. "I was lookin' at like mattress sizes and stuff, and man you did not win out on /that/ lottery," he notes, with a little bit of a grin. "Did you have to sleep on one of those, whatcha callit, California King ones 'til you moved here? I don't think I ever even seen one of those in a store." Though after a thoughtful pause, he adds, "Then again I ain't never shopped for mattresses so that kinda makes it hard to find 'em." Shaking his head, then, he finally takes a swig from the water bottle, and returns the cap. "...Anyway I gotta ask, I mean, I /like/ the nickname and all but where the heck did it come from?" "So I could get you all sweaty, an' it'd be okay?" Trib's eyes crinkle, and the flare of heat in his gaze is momentary, dying out in the wake of his smile. "I ain't ever slept on one of those," he grunts. "I want one, though. I don't think I could get it in here, though, even if I knew where to get one." He waves a hand at the bedroom. "I'm gonna use two full-sized mattresses, an' we'll make the best of it." He uncaps his own bottle, tipping it to his lips, and snorts. "You should listen to a fuckin' radio once in a while -- 'THE MATTRESS KING IS INSANE FOR SAVINGS! COME DOWN TODAY FOR EASY FINANCING!'" He booms the catch phrase more like a ring announcer than a voice-over actor, even spreading his arms like playing for a crowd. The question gets a drop of the arms, and Trib tips his head. "Which nickname? Bones? I think that one's pretty obvious." Toru shakes his head, a bit of a sly smirk playing across his lips. The water bottle is set down on a nearby counter, and he leans in to Trib, hands going to grip his sides and give him the tiniest of pinches. "No, the /other/ one." Hands slip around the boxer's waist, while Toru's chin comes to a rest on cavernous chest, tilted up to look -- well, at Trib's jaw, from this angle. "Alla sudden you been callin' me yer /pup/ and don't think I didn't catch you /not/ sayin' it when we were at breakfast yesterday." The tone of voice suggests that he thinks he's discovered a /secret/. "And like I said, I ain't complainin', it just seemed like it came outta nowhere." Trib's arms come around Toru automatically, when the teenager grabs his waist, and he cranes his chin to peer down at him. There's just the tiniest of coloring in his ears, and his smile fades to something a bit more secretive. "Oh, that," he grunts, and his nose crinkles in a sudden movement. "Well." He takes a deep breath, and considers his words carefully. "Here's the thing," he begins, his hand sliding up to the small of Toru's back. "I ain't exactly the kind of guy who calls people 'baby' or 'babe' or 'honey'...it sounds queer as fuck, comin' out of me, so I don't do it." He lifts a shoulder, and offers a mildly sheepish look. "But, I gotta call you /somethin'/ that's just ours." He snorts, eyes crinkling as his tone turns a bit teasing. "Besides, you yap like fuckin' puppy, an' need a good, firm hand so you don't go all feral." There's a hint of a smirk at the last part of that explanation, but otherwise Toru seems to accept the reasoning. "Yeah, that sounds about right," he finally notes, and tilts his head down to nuzzle his face into Trib's shirt. "Though man," muffled against fabric, "after hangin' out with that Micah I was startin' to feel downright /domestic/, that guy like. I dunno, I mean he's a nice guy and all but it is exhaustin' hangin' out with nice guys." Giving Trib just a bit of a squeeze, he lets out a little sigh, tilting it back up again. "Mm. It was also kinda weird him callin' me Bones when you're pretty much the only other person who does it and I talk to regular-like. I mean, I got a couple other friends who do, it's just... I don't know, I don't like tellin' people my real name. Only people who call me it are my brother and people I don't like. So pretty much if someone ever calls me Toru it's almost always 'cause I don't want 'em callin' me somethin' personal-like, it's sorta my way of remindin' myself that I don't like that guy. Or a warnin' that my folks're tryin' to get ahold of me." "Hey, I like Micah," Trib says, lifting a shoulder. "He's got a good attitude; that's pretty fuckin' rare, these days." His hands slip up and down the bony ridge of Toru's spine, and his brow furrows as his brain catches on something the teenager says. Then his hands still, and he tips his head, considering something. His jaw works as he thinks, with the sound of marble sliding against itself. "I like Toru," he says finally, furrowing his brow. "Suits you a lot fuckin' better than /Jim/." He offers his own little squeeze with the jab, and the smile he offers is tilted and warm. "But. You'll always be Bones, to me. An' my pup." Then something else occurs to him, and he furrows his brow again. "Why /did/ he call you Bones?" "Better than--?" Toru looks up, puzzled for a moment, but soon enough a grin flashes across his face. "Dude, didn't you know I was joking about that?" He gives another squeeze-hug, shaking his head a few times. "I said that 'cause I thought you were an asshole and didn't figure I was gonna run into you again anyway. I mean, y'are an asshole, but, y'know, the kind I like. Thought you were the kind I don't like," he clarifies. Rubbing his face against the front of that shirt again, he gives Trib one more squeeze before slowly pulling away from him, though it's just to uncap his water bottle, taking one more thoughtful gulp before capping it, returning it to the fridge -- off away from the others, so's he knows which one is his. "Eh, he caught me off-guard with like, introductions and shit, and I don't dislike him enough to give 'im my real name. Toru's /alright/ but my full name is kinda ridiculous. Satoru Suzuhara," and with that, he sticks his right hand out, introductory-like. Trib furrows his brow to GLARE at Toru. "What did I say about takin' shit literal?" he rumbles. "I ask you a question like your fuckin' name, I sort of expect it." He doesn't sound overly bothered, though, and he drifts after the teenager, rubbing a finger alongside his nose. "But, just so we're clear, Satoru Suzu..." he bites off the surname with a frown. "I ain't gonna try an' pronounce it," he says. "On account it would be disrespectful. But let's get it clear, now. From now on, we deal in the fuckin' truth. I don't fuck around with game-playin' an' bein' coy." Hie eyebrows lift as a punctuation, and then he offers a shrug before taking that hand finally, and pumping it. "Retribution Jones," he rumbles. "Which ain't no less ridiculous." Toru actually winces a little under the glare, clenching his teeth a minute and noting, perhaps a bit too defensively, "Trib, man, that was /weeks/ ago and-- I kinda mighta forgot I never told you my real name." His expression turns sheepish, there, and his left hand goes to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. "On accounta I woulda told ya -- like I am /now/ -- that I don't want you to call me it." There's a pointed sort of expression, there, like he's just making it clear. "So I figured I didn't. And anyway, I think by now you'da figured out that I ain't really in the kinda spot where I'm at all inclined to fuck things up." He's still gripping Trib's hand, but now he brings it up to his face, gently resting his lips against that spot where those missing fingers should be. Not quite a kiss. "Since we're on the subject of stuff, though, you seem like the kinda guy who'd be mad if I didn't tell ya my birthday's in two weeks but I'd kinda rather you didn't make a big deal outta that neither." "An' I'm sayin' from now on, we're dealin' in truths," Trib says firmly, although his tone carries warmth beneath its firmness. "An', since you asked me not to call you by that name, you ain't gonna hear it pass through my lips again." He smirks, and rubs his thumb over Toru's nose when his hand is kissed. "Pup." He chuckles, and loops his hand to catch the smaller man's jaw and haul him forward. "Two weeks?" doesn't sound like /happy/ confirmation, and the big man's brow falls again. "Well, I won't throw you a party or nothin'," he rumbles, "but I am gonna get you a fuckin' present." The lift of his eyebrows now is a dare. Come on, fight with him about it. "So you can just shut up bitchin' about it now, 'cause it's gonna happen." "Birthdays have just... been kinda akward for me, for a while," Toru explains, though he doesn't elaborate on that notion. Instead, he's up on his toes and planting a little kiss on Trib's chin, followed by a soft nibble. "Presents is okay, I ain't traumatized or nothin', I just don't really like havin' a big deal made about it. We'll do somethin' for your birthday, how about?" Eyebrows lifted there, questioningly, while he loops his arms around Trib's forearm, hugging it lightly. "August 9th, anyway. So uh.. two weeks and change. When's yours? We can go to your place in Queens or somethin'." Trib wrinkles his nose. "I ain't celebrated a birthday in years," he admits. "My old man...he didn't remember, half the time, an' my granddad was too old to be plannin' parties an' shit." He grins at the kiss, and leans down to press his chin into that nibble. "I'm in October," he rumbles. "The 27th. Another reason I didn't get much attention around my birthday. Fuckin' Halloween." His eyebrows quirk at the ideas for celebrating, and he frowns. "I don't live in Queens," he says, chuckling and squeezing Toru gently. "If you mean my old man's place in Pasaic, that..." he frowns. "Maybe," he grunts. "But, that time of year, I'd rather go the other direction, an' head to Massachusetts or somethin'. At least upstate." Shaking his head, Toru notes, "That restaurant you were talkin' about, uhh.. Little Neck. That's in Queens, yeah?" He gives Trib a little squeeze, and looks off towards the living room. "C'mon, let's sit down, all this standin's wearin' me out and I ain't even the one been messin' with power tools. You could use a break." He starts toward the living room, backwards, tugging Trib after him. "I mean not that I seen how much you been doin' but I figure it's a fair assumption." Though he does frown a little, thoughtfully, as he thinks that over. "Y'know, not that I think it's the best idea, but if you want I can stay away for a couple days while you get this stuff all taken care of. I know I can kinda get in the way.. I mean, that ain't me talkin' bad about myself or nothin', you know it's the truth." Trib's brow furrows as Toru explains, and then he barks a laugh. "Oh! Yeah, no. Little Neck is down the shore, not in Queens. It's near Great Neck." He chuckles, and steps forward to scoop up the teenager and throw him over a shoulder as he heads for the armchair. "An' the place I was talkin' about is called Clamenza's, but it ain't open in October. Clams ain't in season, then." When they get to the armchair, Trib swings Toru around as he flops down, settling the teenager in his lap. "Now, why the fuck would I want you to stay away?" he says, tilting his head. "All I'm doin' is buildin' a platform for the mattresses. It probably won't even take the rest of /today/, much less a couple or three." He grins, and leans in to plant a kiss on Toru's nose. "Stop overthinkin' shit." As per usual, getting swung over Trib's shoulder results in a surprised yelp from the teen; and, as per usual, it isn't like he /objects/ to it. This time he also proceeds to rake fingernails up and down Trib's back in light scratchy motions, patting it gently just before being pulled into lap. At which point he loops his arms around the boxer's shoulders, leaning against him and settling in comfortably. "Man, I dunno how long it takes to do that construction shit, I figured maybe it'd take a while and didn't wanna get in yer hair." A hand trails idly along Trib's chest, just in a fidgety sort of motion, and Toru tilts his head up, a concerned look on his face. "I ain't overthinkin'-- well, I guess I /am/, but I just like. Get nervous about pissin' you off, I guess. Which I know I keep comin' back to but... I guess I'm just kinda so used to folks not wantin' me around that it's hard not to be nervous when ya /do/." "You're always overthinkin'," the boxer rumbles, and reaches up to push his hair back. "It's your least endearin' trait." Trib makes a small frustrated noise, and digs a finger into Toru's ribs, furrowing his brow. "Look here, pup. I'm only goin' to tell you this one more time," he says, eyes narrowing. "But I ain't goin' to mess around with fuckin' game playin'. If you piss me off, I'm gonna yell at you. An' if I need some space, I'm gonna tell you to fuck off for a while." He lifts his eyebrows. "An' until you hear me actually do any of those things, you're just /guessin'/ at what's goin' through my mind." He rolls his shoulder, and chuckles. "An' when you do /that/ shit, you just sort of fuck yourself up before you start." He exhales heavily, and leans back slightly. "Capice?" "I think I don't really realize how much I bring it up," Toru mumbles, sheepishly. Hand running through his hair in that all-too-familiar nervous fidget, the teen shakes his head a few times, expression turning just a /touch/ serious. "I know you're talkin' 'bout honesty and stuff and-- and I mean I ain't /lyin'/ 'bout nothin' but I think there's. Some stuff I ain't really... don't really wanna talk about, that. Are sorta part of why I worry about that shit." With a sudden bright little smile, he then turns to face Trib fully, hands coming around to his front to grip the man's shirt. "Look, next time I get to bein' all bitchy just like, roll up a newspaper and smack me on the nose or somethin', yeah?" Grinning, there, just to indicate that it's a joke. "...I wouldn't be so worried about it it's just you got this like, /thing/ about ya that... I just really want to make you happy. 'Cause I like ya. Elsewise I wouldn't care so much about it." And here come the red cheeks again. Trib is quiet as Toru speaks, his hands stroking lightly along the smaller man's torso. "Look, not tellin' me stuff you ain't ready to ain't the same thing as lyin'. Maybe you'll get there, maybe you won't -- as long as it ain't abusin' my trust, I don't give a fuck, as long as you're happy." He smiles a bit as Toru grabs his shirt, and his gaze goes smoky amber. "Oh, trust me, pup," he purrs in a velvety rumble. "If you mess up, you'll get punished properly."