ArchivedLogs:Insurance

Insurance
Dramatis Personae Eric, Shane
In Absentia	2015-02-23 "What comes, comes."
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
From Valentine's Day: Two letters are delivered to Shane's apartment and to his school mailbox respectively on Wednesday morning. They are post-dated Tuesday with a return address in Clinton - Eric's address. Inside, there is a a single sheet of paper, with a cryptic message written in a thick sharpie: 40 degrees 46' 58.0116" N 73 degrees 56' 26.2788" W Depth 82 feet. Red and yellow stripes. Down in the cold water of New York harbor, in a red and yellow striped box partially filled with stones to keep it anchored in place, is a manila envelope with three different plastic bags enclosing it to keep the water from destroying the contents. Inside the envelope are several different forms - a deed of purchase from a seizure auction in Connecticut in June 2014 for a 38' Ted Hood Little Harbor sailboat with a description "as-is, no refunds". A copy of a title for the ship, named Rosebud. Registration in the state of New York. A receipt for a berth at a harbor in upstate New York. A set of three different keys. A card: 'Happy Valentines Day, Shane. It took me a while, but I finally managed to remove my head from my ass. In case you are still planning on leaving, now you have somewhere to do it from. If not, now you can take me to see some of the places you wanted to show me. -Eric. Spacious and open, this coffeeshop has a somewhat industrial feel to it, grey resin floors below and exposed-beam ceilings that have been painted up in a dancing swirl of abstract whorls and starbursts, a riot of colour splashed against a white background. The walls alternate between brick and cheerfully lime-green painted wood that extends to the paneling beneath the brushed-steel countertops. There's an abundance of light, though rather than windows (which are scarce) it comes from plentiful hanging steel lamps. The walls here are home to plentiful artwork available for sale; though the roster of prints and paintings and drawings and photographs changes on a regular basis it has one thing in common -- all the artists displayed are mutants. The seating spaced around the room is spread out enough to keep the room from feeling cluttered. Black chairs, square black tables that mostly seat two or four though they're frequently pushed around and rearranged to make space for larger parties. In the back corner of the room is more comfortable seating, a few large black-corduroy sofas and armchairs with wide tables between them. There's a shelf of card and board games back here available for customers to sit and play. The chalkboard menus hanging behind the counter change frequently, always home to a wide variety of drinks (with an impressive roster of fair-trade coffees and teas largely featured) though their sandwiches and wraps and soups and snacks of the day change often. An often-changing variety of baked goods sit behind the display case at the counter halfway back in the room, and the opposite side of the counter holds a small selection of homemade ice creams. A pair of single-user bathrooms flanks the stairway in back of the cafe; at night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits up the stairs above the coffeehouse. For what marks a rare occasion for the last few weeks, the sun is shining down on the streets of New York City on this Monday afternoon. The air blows hard, to be sure, cold whipping down the long blocks of the city and past tourists and residents alike - and yet, if you asked the average person, they would tell you that the weather was nice. Stockholm syndrome, perhaps. The sun makes its way even into the windows that front Evolve, casting beams of light onto the floor. Like so many cats, some of the chairs and tables have been rearranged as the sun moves across the sky, keeping them in daylight for as long as possible. When Eric steps in through the doors of the cafe, he makes a bee-line straight for one of the sunlit chairs and drops his backpack down on it. He is not in uniform when he unzips his jacket, even though the outermost layer is part of it. Neither is a radio pulled over his shoulder as it sits clipped to the outside of his backpack. Eric runs a hand through his hair as he heads over towards the counter, covering a yarn with the crook of his elbow. The door opens a few times, a small trickle of people in and out of the cafe, but it takes a short while before Shane arrives. Straight out of school, it seems, heavy-laden backpack dragging his steps down and evident exhaustion dragging them down further. A little sluggish, a little bleary-eyed. He's in a red scarf and mittens, heavy boots, slacks, a peacoat over his vest and dress shirt. There are red and metallic-gold streaks in his spiky black hair. He trudges towards the counter, stopping halfway across the room with a small furrow of brow and twitch of nose. Sniff, sniff. When Shane comes in, Eric has settled back down into his chair, coffee mug in hand and pastry on a plate on the table in front of him. Blowing over the surface of the hot coffee, Eric's eyes flick up when Shane comes in - and stay on the younger man. He glances curiously around the cafe when Shane stops, sniffing at the air, looking left and then right, before turning his attention back to Shane. "Heya." Eric calls out. His voice is soft, and though there is a warm smile on his face, it is small. "You look tired as hell." Shane turns, nostrils flaring and his eyes fixing on Eric. His head tips to one side before he moves towards Eric's table, unslinging his backpack and letting it thud heavily to the floor. He pulls out a chair opposite the cop, dropping down into it and then removing his outerwear. "I don't know. Sixth, seventh terrace of Purgatory, maybe. Kind of forgot to schedule sleep this weekend." He stuffs scarf and mittens into a coat pocket, twisting around to sling his coat over the back of a chair and then facing Eric again. "So. A boat, huh." "Not your best look," Eric says, smile spreading slightly wider as he proffers the coffee mug towards the blue teenager. "You should get some sleep tonight, if you can." The police officer sits up a little bit straighter and red brushes lightly at his cheeks. Must be sunburn. "Uh, yeah." His eyes flick between Shane's darker ones, shrugging one shoulder. "I ain't great at this kind'a stuff, Shane. I hope you'll give me at least credit for creativity, if nothing else?" His smile slants, an almost shy look. "Did'ya enjoy the dive? Gettin' it down there was almost as much work as gettin' the boat back in shape." "Come on I'm rocking the fucking hair though." Shane flicks a claw upward to indicate the red and gold highlights in his plasticky black spikes. "Fuck sleep I've got a goddamn English paper /and/ a big CS project due tomorrow. I think tonight is for coffee." Which he's swiping from Eric to take a gulp. "How the fuck /did/ you get it down there, last I checked /you/ didn't have gills." "Well, that's true." Eric leans forward and gently ruffles Shane's highlighted hair - as best he can, with fairly immobile spikehair. "The hair is pretty fuckin' sweet." The larger man grimaces, shaking his head. "Man, fuck that. Will you be able to get some rest /tomorrow/, or is your whole week fucked?" Eric picks up his pastry and takes a bite of it, since his coffee has been appropriated. "Nah, no gills. Just borrowed some diving gear and a boat from the harbor patrol guys. Diving isn't as hard as I thought it would be - though /man/ is it fucking cold down there." Shane's lips press slightly together, and he sets the coffee down, sliding it back to Eric. He leans back in his chair, gills faintly rippling at the hair-ruffling. "Cold as fuck," he agrees, palms pressing to the edge of the table and his claws clicking lightly against it. "Planning a solid week of partying. Tomorrow's game night, anyway." He rocks his chair back, thuds it back down heavily. His eyes flick back up to Eric's face. "OK so /why/ the boat." "Nice. Good'ta have a reward for gettin' the hard work done, yeah?" Eric says, picking up the coffee and proffering the pastry as he takes a sip. Mmm, caffeine. The police officer doesn't answer right away, but when he speaks, his voice is quiet. "I messed up, yeah? I wasn't there when I should have been, and I didn't take it as serious as I felt. Shit, Shane, I was scared and I ran. That ain't right." Eric takes another - long - sip of coffee, eyes turning away from Shane for a moment to look into the liquid before returning to his face. "I didn't know how to fix it. N' I know you thought that I didn't care how ya were feelin', what you were goin' through. An' I didn't do a good job of findin' it out neither. I wanted to give ya somethin' to show you that I do care." Eric leans back in his chair, letting out a long breath - almost a sigh - as he lets the coffee cup rest on his leg. "I know when things got bad, ya and B talked about just gettin' away from it all, livin' on your own in the water." Eric's eyes fix on Shane's, flicking back and forth between them. "I don't have gills, nah. But I -- we -- have a boat." "B's applied to MIT. And Caltech. And Princeton. And Berkeley. And Harvard. And Oxford. And Georgia Tech. I think she's gonna get away, for sure, but maybe not to the ocean." Shane's gills flutter briefly. "Maybe not yet." His eyes drop briefly to his backpack, claws pressing down harder against the table. He exhales sharply, rocking his chair back again and thumping it down hard. "I need a coffee." He stands abruptly, disappearing off behind the counter. It takes kind of a /while/ for him to get back -- not just time to make the coffee but to talk with the baristas there, disappear into the back, presumably get filled in on whatever of the day's work he missed when he got in initially. But eventually he does return, a large steaming mug in hand that he sets down on Eric's table. Not really taking his seat again, just chewing slowly at his lip. Eric's eyes follow Shane towards the counter for a moment before he turns to sip at his coffee. His eyes close, breathing slow and steady as he takes occasional sips at the liquid. It's not until footsteps approach once more that he opens his eyes and looks back at Shane, glancing down into the now-empty cup and placing it down on the table in front of him. "I'm sure she'll get in ta' 'em. Blue or not, she's way ahead of the curve." Eric looks over Shane, tilting his head to one side. "What about you?" Shane shrugs, scooping his cup back up for a sip. "What about me?" His ridged brow lifts. "I mean, yeah. You fucked up. I'm glad it sunk in now. I just --" He shakes his head, shifting his weight back onto his heels. "What do /I/ do with that? Where am I supposed to go with that? I don't -- what do we do now, go off and have boating adventures like everything's good?" "Nah, Shane." Eric shakes his head. "It's paid, n' I'm happy to keep it in dock for as long as it needs doin'. It's not for today, yeah? It's for if ya need it. If we need it. Insurance, ya know?" Eric says, turning one of his hands palm-up and placing it on the edge of the armrest. "It's not the boat I care about, Shane." Shane takes another long sip from his mug. One hand smoothes at the front of his vest, fingers toying with one of its buttons. "Okay. Right. But I'm not talking about the boat. I'm talking about the part where we pretend like everything's fine." His hand turns upward. "I'm not exactly an expert at all this either, you know. I just. I don't know what I'm supposed to. It's been a while and you kind of turn back up with a note and a Valentine's Day gift and where do we /go/ now?" Eric shrugs his shoulders. "I don't know, Shane. I ain't never done somethin' like this. But if you haven't, n' I figure whatever works for the both of us is good enough, even if it's not what other people'd do." Eric picks up his coffee mug to take a sip - futily, since it's empty. "Maybe we should get ta know each other again. I don't know what's goin' on in your life, how you're feelin', and you don't know mine. Seems like a place ta' start... n' what comes, comes. No need to plan it." There's another small flutter of Shane's gills. A small dip of his head. "Seems like a place to start," he finally agrees, with a hesitant curl of smile. "What's going on in my life right now is I have a cafe to run." He gestures with his mug around Evolve. "Maybe we'll catch up later?" A genuine smile sparks bright on Eric's face and he laughs, sticking the tip of his tongue out at Shane. "Yeah, I got ya. I've got paperwork I need'ta catch up on anyway," he says, patting at his bag. "I'm 'round. You've still got my cell, n' I'll be in and out a' here as much as ever. Spend almost as much time here s' I do at home anyway. Both number two ta' the trucks, though." Eric chuckles and shakes his head. "I'll see ya 'round, Shane." "I'm sure you will. And thanks for the boat." Shane lifts his mug to Eric, leaning down after to scoop his backpack up and onto his shoulder. He slings his coat over his arm, disappearing into the kitchen in back of the cafe.