ArchivedLogs:Getting To Know You

Getting To Know You
Dramatis Personae Doug, Rictor	2015-06-16 (Part of Buzzkill TP.)
Location <NYC> Busboys and Poets - East Harlem
A quiet, artsy spot nestled away on a side street in East Harlem, Busboys and Poets combines cafe and bookstore in a way a Starbucks tacked on to a Barnes & Noble could never achieve. The food is a solid, multi-national cuisine menu that caters to all kinds of dietary choices, and its fair-trade tea menu is extensive. Its weekend brunch tends to draw a large crowd, but there is ample enough seating both at tables and on its many comfortable armchairs and couches that at other times of the week there is never a wait. The walls are adorned with the work of local artists, and tucked in among and alongside the couches are rows upon rows of books, with a definite slant towards the political and the bohemian. It hasn't been long since Rictor moved back to the U.S. and he's found it to be a surprisingly easy transition. With work, projects, and the X-Men filling up his plate nicely, one would think there wouldn't be room enough to find someone interesting in /that/ way. And yet here he is, waiting for Doug. Something was pushing him all week to pull out the man's business card and give him a call - or text, as people do these days. To his relief, it was an easy enough encounter to score. As is typical of Rictor when meeting someone out in public, he came early, scored a great seat by the window, and ordered something to drink. Today it's a dark roast with a surprising lack of bite. An unfortunate side effect of being busy is social fatigue, and he was hoping to counter that such a beverage, but oh well these things happen. So he sits and waits, idly browsing his phone and eyeing the clock. Doug is not a man to be tardy, and this evening is no exception. Just before the agreed-upon hour, the blonde appears in the doorway of the bookstore. He's dressed rather simply in jeans and a blue short-sleeve polo shirt that looks kind of new. Doug looks around the room for a second, zeroing in on Rictor in short order. Making his way to the man's table, he offers a bright grin as he drops into the seat opposite and nods at the cup of coffee. "Is that doing anything for you?" Which is a /kind/ of greeting. Sort of. Being quick to find him and take his seat, Doug doesn't allow time for Rictor to stand a give a proper greeting, but that doesn't deter him from smiling at the blonde's arrival. "Does it show?" he asks in response to the lack of effect the coffee is having. "It's tasty, at least. Brazilian. Hope you don't mind I ordered without you." The coffee is the only thing on the table besides a menu, left with the intention of being used by both parties at some point. "Doesn't bother me," Doug says in response to early ordering, continuing to grin as he reaches for the menu. "The whole city's moving slow today. I drank five cups of cofee this morning before work, and nada. Even my energy drinks are kaput." He shrugs, scanning the menu once before lifting his eyes to skim the older man similarly. "You don't look nearly as worn as some of the people I've seen today. Just the opposite, honestly." And he manages to get through that before his ears pinken and he goes back to the menu. "I think I'll have a glass of iced mint tea," he says, ever the master of changing subjects. "Five cups?" Rictor looks honestly shocked by the admission. "Where you alright after that? I don't drink much caffeine to be honest. Usually it's just a bunch of room temperature water throughout the day." Okay, grandpa. Despite not being much of a coffee person and getting little in the way of a boost from the brew, Rictor still picks up his mug and drinks from it happily. "Right, good choice. You're looking a little warm." The great thing about guys with paler skin than his is that they flush so obviously, allowing Rictor the chance to tease. He winks and turns to flag down a server. "Aside from taking about a hundred bathroom breaks, I didn't suffer any ill effects," Doug says, setting the menu down and leaning on the table. "But I didn't get any buzz from it. It was weird." When Rictor comments on his looking warm, he flushes a bit deeper, and shakes his head. "The subway was packed," he offers in explanation. "You know how that gets." He makes a face, sticking out his tongue a bit. When the server arrives, Doug orders his tea, and glances first at the menu, then at Rictor. "I hope you don't mind, but I'm starving." That said, he places an order for a BLT, substituting vegetable chips for the potato chips. When the server's gone again, he returns to leaning on the table. "So, I don't think I asked the other night. Where are you teaching?" Rictor lifts two fingers before the server leaves, because the meal sounds exactly like something he'd want right now. As for the bit about not getting a buzz, he simple shrugs and drinks a bit more of his own weak, bitter drink. "Maybe you're just having an off day," he suggests, clearly not thinking much about the subject, and therefore backing up his claim of not being much of a caffeine person. Doug's question about work, therefore, is a welcome change of topic as it's something that's naturally been on his mind a lot lately. "I'm at the private school in Westchester. Xavier's it's called. Do you know it?" "Maybe," Doug says slowly, watching the server as she disappears behind the counter. "But a couple of the guys at work were also sleepy, and I think Franco never even showed up." He doesn't explain what that means, or why it's important, but it sounds significant. "And I /always/ get a kick from energy drinks. I only drink the heart-hammering ones." When Rictor names the school, he sits back in his chair, looking a bit stunned. "You're kidding," he says. "You know the big, white house, across the road from the front gates? That's my folks' house." He grins. "So I /am/ familiar with it." He holds up his hand, squeezing his forefinger and thumb togetehr. "Little bit, anyway." "Really?" Rictor doesn't look stunned, exactly, but he does seem interested. "How long have they been there? I also used to attend the school a while back. If they've been there a while I've probably seen them around a lot." He might have even seen Doug a time or town. In fact, he seems to remember a little yellow-haired boy "Before we continue in that vein, though, I have to get back to the bit about you drinking those nasty energy drinks. Why, Doug?" Doug's eyebrows lift at the revelation that Rictor was also a student, but he doesn't say anything -- mostly because Rictor is shifting the conversation back a bit. He blinks at the question, then offers a sheepish shrug. "I work eleven hours a day on the docks," he explains. "And then come home to work on stuff for my clients, as well as working on Warlock. So, I generally rely on heavy-duty energy drinks to keep me going." He spreads his hands. "It's probably not the smartest thing to do, but it's working for me." Rictor listens with interest. In fact, he can't seem to keep his eyes off Doug, which is very strange for him, because he's usually more blas about people he doesn't really know. "Right, I guess I need to get a little busier to develop a taste for them," he says, though his tone suggests the latter will absolutely never happen. "How is Warlock by the way?" Doug has the same sort of staring problem, although he's being far more furtive about it, the bridge of his nose pinkening every time he makes eyes contact. "I don't know," he demurs. "If you haven't developed a taste for them by now, you probably aren't meant to be." His grin in response to the question about Warlock is bright and wide. "Oh, he's coming along great," he says. "He does much better on the home system than on my laptop, so he's bug-checking some web pages before they get published." He shrugs. "He seems to enjoy it. I'll tell him you asked about him." Rictor chuckles and folds his hands in his lap, looking very relaxed. "I'm happy to hear it. You know, I'd love to see him in the environment he's most comfortable in sometime. And that's not me looking for a way through your front door, either." He winks and glances down at the hands, but only for a moment, snapping his gaze back up to connect with Doug and note the other man's response. "Oh, sure! Maybe I can show him to you later," Doug says, before realization dawns on him, and he blushes yet AGAIN. (What is /with/ that, anyway?) "Um. Later as in some time. Not, y'know, /tonight/. Not that you're not welcome -- " he clamps his mouth shut, furrowing his brow as he attempts to figure out a graceful way to extricate himself from his gaffe. "The system's sort of in Frankenstein mode," he tries. That seems safe enough. "My friend Dusk is helping me build a cabinet for it." Rictor shifts his brows up and down provocatively at Doug's maneuvering, chuckling towards the end of it. "Sure, not tonight. I have a lot to do anyway. Four classes and still a bunch of content to prepare. The academics there are pretty intense and my classes won't be any different." He unclasps his hands and grabs his coffee, drinking more of it before continuing. "One day, though. You won't have to twist my arm." Doug nods. "I have a friend who teaches there," he says. "The same guy who makes the cupcakes. Jackson Holland?" If there's more, it's paused while the server drops off his beverage, assuring the men that their meal will be out shortly. When they've gone again, Doug reaches for the glass, leaning forward to smile at the older man. "I look forward to that," he says. "Whatever I end up having to twist." Then he's all innocence as he leans back and takes a long drink of tea, watching Rictor over the rim of the glass. There's a glint in Rictor's at eye and a grin on his face the playful turn of phrase, and it's not accompanied by a blush or an attempt to feign innocence. He's confident in his interest, but doesn't take the topic further. "Of course I know the name," he tells Doug after the tea is dropped off. "To be honest, though, I haven't met much of the staff. We're on break now so people are away or less available to talk and I've been busy getting reacquainted with things. Still, I'll let him know his cupcakes were talked up when I do get a chance to meet him." Doug grins as he sets his glass back down, the expression turning a bit sly as he catches that glint in Rictor's eye. "Jax is fully aware that I am a fan of his baked goods," he says confidently. "We used to be neighbors, and I was king of the mooches when the baking was happening. Which it does a lot." He chuckles, and lets his finger trail along his glass thoughtfully. "You'll like him. Pretty much everyone who doesn't hate mutants does." "You're a lucky man, then. Not to have gotten chunky, I mean," Rictor tells Doug while looking to make sure that really is the case. You know, just in case. Satisfied, he continues. "But enough about your friend, who I'll meet soon enough I'm sure. I want to know more about Doug the dock worker. You're from New York then?" "I work out too much to get too chubby," Doug says, grinning a bit impudently as he slaps his stomach. "Between work and soccer, nothing has a chance to stick to my bones." At the question, he shakes his head, taking another drink of tea. "I was born in New Mexico," he says. "But technically, I've lived all kinds of places. Westchester was just the longest." That seems like it need explanation, so he continues. "My dad is a government contractor. So we moved where the work was." He lifts his eyebrows at Rictor. "And you? Where are you from, originally?" Rictor smiles at the slap and takes a moment to check out the other man's ab area. Everything seems in order there. As the conversation shifts to talking about homelands, though, his attention returns and he nods with interest. "I am from Old Mexico. Guadalajara, to be exact. I lived there until I was twelve, then I moved here to New York. When I was eighteen I set off to Europe and lived in Spain up until now. So, I've also been all over the place." Doug grins, bright and quick, when Rictor reveals the land of his birth. "Oh, hey. That's cool," he says, eyebrows hiking. "I want to go to Europe some day. It could be really interesting." The server arrives, then, with their food. So there is a bit of awkward conversation before they're gone again. "Did you have any trouble with the idiomatic differences in Spanish?" he asks as he picks up the top of his sandwich and inspects it. "I've heard that's an issue for some people." Rictor offers the server a polite smile as the food is set before him. Once that's done with, he notes Doug's question first with a shrug. "Not so much of a problem, to be honest. That's probably because I didn't expect it to be the same language exactly. I adapted well I think, and besides that I fell in love with the place. Do you speak Spanish?" "Sometimes," Doug says, lifting his eyebrows. "If I'm around people who are speaking it." He takes a big bite of his sandwich, chewing quietly as he studies Rictor. Swallowing, he sets his sandwich down and dabs at his mouth with his napkin. "I hear Spain is beautiful," he says. "Like I said, I'd like to spend a year or so just bumming around Europe and seeing the sights. I've already seen most of America." "Spain is gorgeous," Rictor states before popping a veggie chip in his mouth. He get through that and follows up with, "America is still very new to me, I feel. I was here when I was young and pretty much stuck close to school. I want to see Chicago and Miami and San Francisco and you get the idea. I suppose there's plenty of time for that. What's your favorite place in your country?" Doug sighs a bit at the thought of gorgeous Spain, and stirs at his veggie chips with a finger before picking one up and tossing it into his mouth. "Louisiana was one of my favorite places," he says almost immediately in response to the question. "It's humid as hell and there are bugs everywhere, but those people know how to have a good time." He grins. "And Cajun French is really kind of pretty, in its own way. Once you get the hang of it. Where do you most want to go, first?" While Doug speaks, Rictor gets started on his sandwich, pickup one of the halves and taking a healthy, but not too big, bite out of it. He chews thoroughly, swallows, and says, "I've heard good thing about Louisiana. You speak that creole then, as well? You must be some kind of linguist in addition to working the docks." Rictor will allow Doug to answer that as he considers the question posed to him. When he responds, he answers confidently, "Texas, actually. Anywhere in the state as long as I eventually land in Austin." Doug's eyebrows hike a notch. "Are you a musician, Julio?" Rictor snorts and shakes his head. "Not at all. I tried taking up the guitar once, but my heart wasn't in it. I do, however, love music. In fact, one thing I'd like to do in this city is take in some live music. Do you know any good venues?" Doug's expression is a bit rueful and apologetic all at once. "No, I'm sorry. I don't really go to places with live music. I can ask around, though. I've got a couple of friends who follow the music scene." He picks up his sandwich, thinking for a moment. "I mean, don't get me wrong. I like /music/, but in those live venues...I can't hear what the music is /saying/, you know?" "Not a problem. I like a man who knows what he dislikes as much as what he does." Rictor chuckles and tilts his head in curiosity. "What is it you do for fun, then? You sound like a busy man and I'm sure Warlock is loads of it, but is there anything else?" "Not much, I'm afraid," Doug says. "Not that I'm not a fun guy, but my work hours are so long that I don't really leave a lot of space to carve out for fun. Other than video games and Netflix." His smile then is suddenly a bit sly. "There's other stuff I like to do, too, but I haven't done any of that in a while, either." And for some reason, that bit of boldness seems to be a bit more than feigned innocence will cover, so he busies himself with eating his sandwich, his ears reddening. Doug's red ears confirm his intent and it certainly grabs Rictor's attention. A sly look cross his face and there's something like a twinkle in his eye. "Really? I'd very much like to hear more about thisother stuff." His voice drops a bit, as if others might here, and he also quickly makes a move on his sandwich after. Doug manages not to choke, but he definitely gets redder before he swallows his mouthful of food. "That can probably be arranged," he says, lowering his eyelids. "Maybe someplace more private, though. It could require visual aids." Rictor laughs and hangs his head for a moment, left momentarily speechless and, for the first time in a long while, feelingsomething strong, let's say. "Ok, deal. But not tonight if that's alright with you. I do suddenly feel the need for fresh air, though. How about we finish up here and go for a walk." "Oh, no," Doug says, shaking his head. "Not tonight. My place is a wreck." There's a beat while Doug realizes what he's said, and then he ducks his head. "Um. Yeah. Not tonight." His ears look like they might burst into flame, at this point. "A walk would be nice," he says, finally looking back up at Rictor, and smiling. "Really nice." He must mean it, too. He certainly tucks back into his sandwich with renewed vigor. Eager, perhaps to get to that walk.