ArchivedLogs:Mook

Mook
Dramatis Personae Billy, Trib
In Absentia	2014-12-20 Trib goes to find Billy. Finally.
Location <NYC> Billy's Apartment - Brooklyn
Billy's tiny, dimly lit studio could be mistaken for any other twenty two year old's apartment. The walls are a cozy cream color, but the marring of white hand and finger prints do give it a bit of a monster's lair feel - particularly around the small, twin bed that's pushed into the far corner of the space, which depicts a sleep struggle from various elbowing and kneeing of the wall. The corner kitchenette and the bathroom, which is only closet-sized, offer much to be desired. Past that, the apartment is just as clean as one might expect. A plush white area rug protects the faux-wood linoleum. A large, framed print of 'The Unicorn in Captivity' from the cloisters' Hunt of Unicorn tapestries hangs on the center wall. Two dresser-towers overflow with clothes, as well as the plush white love seat. A cheap ikea desk and bookshelf littered with papers and textbooks are set apart in their own little office nook. It doesn't look like Billy entertains many guests. BAM BAM BAM. That's the sound of a heavy fist connecting solidly with the wood of Billy's door. It lands hard enough to jar the wood, the doorknob rattling as the door settles. Then, as soon as it stops, the knocking comes again. BAM BAM BAM. Billy is curled up in bed, watching Netflix on the tiny screen of his macbook. The apartment is toasty-warm and the windows looking out over the city have fogged over. The pounding on the door gives him a start and though he jolts up, it takes him a moment or two to react. Every knock make shim flinch as sound from the apartment stops. Barefoot, he slips over to the peephole and opens the door. Wrapped up in his comforter, he initially looks elated to see Trib. His hair is all tossled from a lazy day in and his shoulders and a sliver of bare chest are visible from his would-be toga, as well as two bare legs that shoot out from the comforter's folds. The elation slides away from his face soon enough and his big, doe eyes go all concerned. "Hi," Billy breathes out. Trib is bundled up against the chill of the outdoors, and his expression is more scowly than concerned when Billy opens the door. The big man is dressed in jeans and a thick green Army jacket that bulges slightly on the left side. On his head, a knit cap is pulled down as far as it can go and not impede his vision, forcing his hair to curl up at the collar. There's a sense of the outdoor cold about him, but the seven-floor walk up has claimed most of it. "Well, you ain't /dead/," the big man growls in response to Billy's greeting, and his brow lowers further. "That's somethin', I guess." Billy shivers from the cold coming in from the hallway and off of Trib. He can't help the little bit of a smile and pulls at the corner of his lips, "Are you checking on my health?" With a little tremor, he moves aside to give Trib room to enter if he chooses to. Trib doesn't move, when the space opens. The tiniest shift of his body indicates that he may have just rooted himself where he's standing. He exhales heavily at the question, and looks away, glaring down the hall at a face that peeps from behind a door. "Yeah, well, it's been fuckin' six weeks since you ran off," he rumbles, his lower jaw jutting foward with an audible sound of teeth sliding together. "I just wanted to make sure." He looks back, sweeping his golden gaze from Billy's toes to his platinum-blonde hair. Then he grunts. "Now I'm sure." "Hey," Billy cocks his head back indignantly, paling in the face as he meets Trib's scrutiny with his own. There's something far less formidable about Billy's own celery-green doe eyes, but he attempts it. His brow wrinkles, and he pouts in his attempt to scowl, "Y-you didn't seem to care, /then/." The blanket slips some and he pulls it up in a sharp, angry motion. Trib's eyes narrow at the sudden attempt at fierceness, and he's quiet for a long moment after Billy finishes speaking. Then he leans in, pursing his lips thoughtfully before he speaks. "I told you I wasn't angry or nothin', an' you left anyway. I ain't goin' to go chasin' after you like some fuckin' mook, beggin' your fuckin' forgiveness. I asked you a question, you got mad about it an' left. Didn't seem worth fuckin' drama." He lifts a shoulder. "So I figured I'd give you a couple days to get over it, but you fuckin' disappeared on me." Billy wrinkles his nose at Trib being so ...reasonable. Flatting his mouth, his expression goes through a second metamorphosis. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, looking down to his feet and back up. "I-I was just really, really stressed out and scared I wouldn't do a good job teaching and, well, I guess I don't know, would have liked you to be even like, a little bit of a mook." Billy scuffs his bare foot on the ground as if to kick an imaginary pebble. "For me." Awkwardly, he clears his throat and re-adjusts the blanket again, looking everywhere but Trib. Trib absorbs that information without any change in his expression, his eyes seeming to search Billy's face for.../something/. Then he exhales heavily, and blinks once, very slowly. "Well, I ain't a mind reader," he says, with a bit more gruff than his normal rumble. "An' I ain't really wired for /bein'/ a mook for someone. Every time I've tried it, it ain't gone so great." He reaches up to scratch his chin, then moves past Billy, into the apartment. Because that invitation was still good, right? "But I probably shoulda fuckin' spoke up sooner or somethin'." Following Trib's shoes with his eyes, Billy presses the door closed before looking up. He chews on his lower lip to try and supress a smile, "What do you mean? You're doing a great job." He breathes out a laugh and looks half-guilty, half-playful over at Trib. Planted at the door, Billy shifts his weight, "So, what? Now?" Trib turns at the encouragement, giving Billy a hard look. "This ain't me bein' a mook," he says. "I'm just makin' sure you ain't dead, an' droppin' off your Christmas present." He reaches into his jacket, then, and extracts a soft-looking gift. You can tell it's a gift because of the very wrinkled red foil paper wrapped around it, secured with what looks like an entire roll of tape. There is also something that resembles a shiny green bow, but it's been mashed into more of flat daisy shape. This gets thrust out in Billy's direction. "Since you ain't mad at me." Billy shivers, not even trying to conceal the smile that lights up over his face. He takes it gently, "You got me a present? Thank you!" He hasn't even opened it yet, hugging it gently to his white chest as if it might be very breakable. Out of old habit, he leans forward like he might give Trib a peck on the cheek but stops himself, blushing white and looking down at the present, then all around the undecorated apartment as if there might be some answer there, "Should I-should I open it or should I wait?" The gift is soft, under the wrapping, clearly something made of cloth (one hopes, anyway). There's a small twitch at the corner of Trib's lips when Billy's face lights up, and he reaches up to scratch his nose. "Yeah, well, I ain't got many people to buy shit for, an' I like you pretty good, so why not?" He rolls a shoulder in a shrug, smirking a bit at the almost-peck. He doesn't lean in to accept it, instead reaching up with his half-hand to tousle the blonde's hair gently. "Up to you," he says in answer to the question. "I figure either way, I'm lookin' at a fancy sweater-state thank you note." Which is probably a joke, given the crinkle of the boxer's eyes. Billy laughs, cringing cutely as his already messed up hair is messed up more. He moves to sit on the edge of the bed, tucking his feet under him as he goes about carefully unwrapping the gift. The package is /really/ well-wrapped, and it takes a few minutes to get into it, but once the integrity of the paper is compromised, it comes apart easily enough. Inside, there is...a sweater. A pretty nice sweater, in a cream-color that shifts in the light between white and gold. The wool is soft and durable, reminiscent of cashmere. Which it definitely is not. Trib watches the unwrapping intently, shoving his hands into his back pockets. "I got a medium," he says when the sweater is revealed. "But it's probably too big for you, right? You probably wear a small, or a...whattayacallit. Petite." He wrinkles his nose at that. "Do men even /wear/ fuckin' petite?" Billy grins, flailing his arms about as he tries to put it on right away, "I love it!" His voice is muffled inside, where he inevitably gets lost, poking around aimlessly in the sweater. He wears an extra small. Trib actually chuffs a laugh at the sight of Billy struggling to get the sweater on, and he eventually moves to help. Grabbing the sweater firmly, he twists it around until he can get the neck hole over Billy's head. "Well, maybe you can wear it around the fuckin' house," he rumbles when it becomes apparent that the garment is way too big. "I got it 'cause it was soft, and looked like it would be fuckin' comfortable as fuck." He finally allows a grin to tip his mouth lopsidedly, and he leans down to tug the sweater into place. "Looks good on you, though." Sitting Indian-style in a pool of blanket, tightie-whities, and his new, giant sweater, Billy laughs. "Thank you," he smooths it out a bit, "It is. Really soft." Hitching a thumb towards his laptop on the other side of the small bed, he watches Trib wide-eyed, "I was watching something you'd probably hate, if you wanted to hang out?" He eyes Trib's coat and hat and cold-weather gear, fiddling with the long sleeves of the sweater. Trib takes in the view for a moment, his eyes narrowing in a warm sort of expression. Well, warm for Trib, anyway. At the invitation, he glances at the laptop, and inhales through his nose. "Now, I ain't goin' to strip down to my skivvies an' climb in there if there's a bunch of singin' an' dancin'," he says, already beginning to peel off his coat. Underneath, he sports a green plaid flannel shirt over a thermal undershirt. "An' no fuckin' hobbits," he adds, kicking his feet a bit as he attempts to toe off his boots. "They're creepy." Billy giggles, "/Fiine/, we can watch something else." Beaming, he watches Trib for a while before going back to admiring the sweater. He crawls back against the wall to make room on the little twin-sized bed, which might as well be in a dorm room. Though, the apartment really isn't that much bigger than one. "We should watch something Christmasy, anyway." Because that doesn't count as singing and dancing. Trib strips down pretty efficiently, and is down to a pair of green boxer-briefs that only just qualify as such. "You got that movie Christmas Vacation?" he asks as he approaches the bed. "I love that fuckin' movie. Especially the part with the squirrel." He climbs into the twin bed, shifting Billy and the laptop around as needed until his massive frame is underneath both. Billy and his blanket are tucked up under the boxer's arm, and the laptop is placed on his bare stomach, just far enough away for comfortable viewing. "Or we could watch that special with the puppets. The one with the penguin, and that Burger guy." He's so helpful, isn't he? Billy stretches forward to type, snuggling in, "That burger guy?" He laughs, "Oh my God, when I was little my mom always had the muppet Christmas album on. Miss Piggy singing 'Christmas is Coming'-" The blonde stops mid-search for Christmas Vacation, eyes lingering on Trib. "I'm glad you're here." Reaching out, Billy runs his fingers through Trib's hair to tussle it around akin to what Trib did to him. "Yeah," Trib says, wrinkling his nose. "The one where the guy outlawed toys or some shit. They show it every fuckin' year." He adjusts for snuggling, curling his arm around Billy and pulling him in tight. He ducks his head away from the tousling (not that his long hair is easy to tousle), and grunts deep in his chest. "Yeah, well, don't get all sappy about it," he says at the sentiment, but there's no rancor in it. In fact, it comes with another little squeeze. "Jesus." "Mook," Billy rumbles, heart skipping a beat at the encouraging squeese. He burrows under Trib's arm and planting a kiss on his chest. He sqiurms around against Trib to get comfortable and stretches out a hand to press play. "You're the one who is all sappy," he says, in the most endearing tone possible. Trib grunts in response, but it's hard to tell what emotion is attached to it. He does offer another light squeeze, then tips his head to rest it atop Billy's as the movie starts.