ArchivedLogs:One Crow Sorrow

One Crow Sorrow
Dramatis Personae Dan, Micah	30 July 2013 Enjoying sun and commiserating over the state of the world over lunch.
Location <NYC> Central Park South
Central Park South is home not just to the park itself, but also to the Belvedere Castle, the Alice in Wonderland statues, and the Central Park Zoo. These areas tend to draw tourists like a magnet - it is, perhaps, for that very reason that places like Bethesda Terrace tend to attract more New Yorkers than not, if just to escape the press of tourism that infiltrates the whole city. It's /just/ past the lunch hour, and with the heat wave more or less broken, New Yorkers are slow to get back to their nine to fives. As a result, Central Park is a bit more full than it has been lately, with people enjoying leisurely picnics and tourists seeing sights. For a city full of tension, it's hardly noticeable here, apart from the occasional mistrusting glance thrown to a stranger -- but then, that's pretty much standard for non-tense New York. Along one offshoot of the main path, sitting on a bench nestled in a curve, Dan is just finishing /his/ lunch, given the paper bag and soda cup that sit next to him. Dressed in his security guard uniform, the ex-soldier looks rough, for want of a better term. His skin lacks any sort of sun-induced color, and he's in need of shave. He might also look like he's lost weight. It doesn't matter to the pigeons gathered in front of him what he looks like, so long as he keeps throwing pieces of that bun in his hand. Micah has /not/ been spending enough time outside lately, with all of the busy and crazy combined over the past week. So it is that he has picked a park for his lunch destination, where he retrieved a falafel wrap from a handy cart vendor on his walk in. His auburn hair is slightly less of a mess than usual, with some care taken for work purposes, and he is in his standard workplace attire of a TARDIS blue polo shirt and khakis. A faint bit of scab marks an almost-healed split in his lip, and some remnant scrapes and fading bruises decorate his arms where they are visible below his short sleeves. The skin of his palms and fingers looks to have been through a recent incident with excessive heat or chemical exposure, but likewise is much on the mend. His expression is tugged between tired and luxuriating in the sun without blistering hot-humid weather accompanying it. He wanders toward Dan's bench in search of a seat, himself. “Mind if I sit here?” he asks, not really having studied Dan's face long enough for thorough recognition to kick in. Dan doesn't look up when someone approaches the bench, and the question gets a grunted response that is neither confirmation or denial, and both at the same time. More bread is plucked from the bun, and tossed listlessly at the birds, who are /down/ for that and swarm briefly in a flurry of coos. Dan glances up, then, and there's a small glimmer of recognition that's lost in the furrow of his brow. He's quiet for a long few minutes, and then shifts as something drives him to break the city's rule about engaging people at random. "Nice day," he grunts, this time THROWING the bread crumbs at the pigeons, who are too dumb to recognize it as an attack. "Finally." “Thanks.” Micah chooses to take the grunt as assent, but kindly does given Dan as much room as possible as he perches himself on the far end of the bench. He watches the birds as he unwraps the wax paper from his food. Dan speaking draws his attention back. “Pretty much gorgeous. I ain't seen enough of outside recently,” he replies in a light conversational tone. Actually talking with the man dawns recognition on his features. “Dan, right? We've...talked a couple of times. Micah.” He gestures vaguely toward himself with his wrap at the name reminder. "Yeah, I've been indoors way too fuckin' much," Dan grunts, and looks up at the clear sky. "I think this is the first time I've seen the sun in two weeks." He glances over at the other end of the bench when he's identified, and narrows his eyes studiously. "Oh, yeah," he says, the corners of his mouth lifting momentarily in a brief smile. "You're the guy that likes Colleen's pony show." He nods. "Micah. Yeah. I remember." He tears off more bread, using his arm to sweep one of the braver pigeons from his knee before he throws the crumbs on the ground. "How've you been?" he asks, side-eyeing Micah for a moment. "Or should I even ask?" “Shame when that happens,” Micah comments on Dan's being stuck indoors for so long. “It's like not bein' entirely /awake/.” He chuckles at the identification via ponies. “Ohgosh, you make it sound like I'm all alone in the world on that one.” A large bite of falafel wrap disappears into his mouth during a pause. He shakes his head slightly in response to the question. “It's been...a time. But it's gettin' a little more okay, I think.” So, that was vague. A water bottle is produced from his messenger bag, the lid twisted open for him to take a sip. “I have a feelin' you might be in the same should-I-ask boat, though.” "I feel asleep," Dan mutters, flinging more bread at the pigeons, who are starting to wise up to this shift in delivery. There's a twitch at one corner of his mouth at Micah's chuckled defense, and he rolls a shoulder. "I guess there's plenty that like it,' he rumbles. "But not many willing to sit down with a three year old to talk about it." He winces, and frowns. "Four. She's /four/, now." Which brings back the dark clouds on the security guard's face, and he lifts a hand to scrub at his face. "Yeah, it's been a time," he echoes Micah's assessment, and he just tosses what's left of the bun into the mob of pigeons for a big fight. "Don't know if mine is getting more okay, though." His smile is brief, tight and lop-sided, but it's genuine. "Glad yours is getting there." He gestures to the bruises and blisters. "Car accident?" Micah just nods at that, chewing over his food for a minute. “Spend more of my time talkin' at kids than most, I'd wager,” he admits with a hint of a smile. “Sorry t'hear it's goin' rough. Hear more'n enough of that lately, though. An' in the way of these things, I'm not quite sure if I'm findin' light at the end of the tunnel or somethin' else t'mow folks over.” He lets his shoulders rise and fall in a loose shrug. “S'pose that's the uncertainty of life, though. Don't get t'page ahead.” Micah nods again at the guess of a car accident, taking another large bite of his food rather than actually speaking, his gaze shifted over to the birds decimating the surrendered bread. Dan nods. "Yeah, there's a lot of folks having trouble, these days," he says, blinking slowly at the pigeon mass as they squabble over the bread. "I'd give anything for a little light," he mutters, watching as a crow swoops into the middle of the pigeons to end the fight with a mocking caw, stealing what's left and flying off. Take that, stupid pigeons! Dan looks vaguely approving of this tactic, watching the crow as it perches in a crook of a statue's arm and tucks in. "It'd be nice to page ahead /once/ in a while," he offers, and leans back in the bench with a slump. "Just for morale or preparation or whatever." The sudden influx of /crow/ startles Micah into jumping a bit in his seat, squeezing his wrap a little too hard. Tahini sauce runs down the side of his hand, which he licks off for lack of a napkin. “I think the whole city could do with a stretch of good news, nowabouts,” he agrees. Feeling bad for the poor robbed birds, he pulls a half dozen little pinches off the edge of his pita and scatters them over the ground. More, smaller bits means less to squabble over. “Not sure if knowin' what's comin' would make it better or worse. Or just...Greek tragedy seems t'be the way of it in stories, at least.” Dan actually /chuckles/ when Micah jumps, and there's a weary crinkle to his eyes when he looks over at the younger man. "You scared of crows?" he wonders, one eyebrow lifting slightly as he roots around in his forgotten bag, coming up with a crumpled (but unused) napkin, which he hands over. "Can't say I blame you, if you are. They can be kind of thuggy." He watches as the pigeons avail themselves of pita, and wrinkles his nose. "I guess that's true," he says. "That Cassiopeia chick could see the future, and everyone ignored her." He snorts, and shifts his weight. "I'm not sure I'd ignore warnings of dire import and shit." His brow edges into a deep V as he watches the pigeons eating and gossiping. Probably about that lousy crow. “Oh, no...just. Didn't expect it t'dive-bomb in there like that,” Micah explains, eyeballing the crow over on its statue-perch. “May be just a shade jumpier'n usual,” he confesses with another shrug. “Ignorin' prophecies gets you no good. Actin' on 'em gets you no good. S'all Oedipus an' the like. Better to avoid 'em altogether, I think.” He takes the napkin with a chin-tilt of thanks, wiping at his mostly cleaned off hand. A few more pita bits find their way to the pigeons. Mean ol' bully-crow. "They're sneaky bastards," Dan says of crows, following Micah's gaze to watch the crow having a fine meal. Something it feels the need to remind the pigeons of with the occasional smug croak. "Oedipus was the guy with the fucked up thing with his mom, right?" he verifies, lifting his eyebrows. When Micah confesses to being jumpier than usual, Dan's brow falls again, and he nods grimly. "I think a lot of people are,' he says. "I think it's survival instinct, for most of us." He frowns, and rubs at his chin. "I just want..." he frowns, pulling at his chin for a moment. "It'd be nice if this city could feel safe again," he amends, his mouth pressing into a line. "I miss that." “Eh, it's just survivin' as best it can. Startled a bit is all,” Micah replies, as if by way of offering the crow forgiveness. “Yeah, he's the murder-dad-marry-mom prophecy one. Real cheery.” He chews on a few more bites from the wrap. “Trouble is, I'm not sure it's just this city anymore. Think it's...just sorta the way things are for now.” He pauses, quirking his lips to one side, displeased with the conclusion. “Just hard t'figure ways out of it anymore,” he says down to his water bottle before taking another swig. "If I had any brains," Dan says suddenly, RUBBING at the scar under his left eye wearily. "I would go and collect Alex, and Colleen, and just drive north until we were all safe in Canada." He says this as if it were a plan he's been considering heavily. "Just...get in the car, and drive out of this country, and all of its crazy shit." He turns to lift his eyebrows at Micah. "That's the easiest way out of it that I know of." He makes a plane out of one hand and zooms it at the open sky. "Get the fuck out of the pressure cooker before it blows. Find a little farm some place and just...live in peace." “How...safe is Canada?” Micah looks a shade /chagrined/ for how hopeless he would be to answer that question. “I...kinda been stuck focusin' on things close t'home. I ain't got the first idea how they're handlin'...things...up there. Or really anywhere else.” He smiles fondly at the mention of starting a little farm. “That...yeah, it does sound kinda nice. S'cold up in a lotta Canada, though. Snowy.” He crinkles his nose at the prospect. "It's gotta be safer than America," Dan says, wrinkling his nose as he offers this anti-patriotic sentiment. "And even if it isn't -- there's whole swaths of Canada where I figure people can live pretty peacefully." He rolls his shoulders. "I don't mind the snow," he says. "I'm a native New Yorker; I can deal with anything." There's a small grunt, and the ex-soldier's face falls a bit. "It's just...hard," he says. "Explaining it." He doesn't mention who needs the explanations. "Harder, when I can't be there to do it properly." That reminds him of something, and he tips his head to regard Micah with a sad sort of expression. "How's your partner and his kids dealing with all of this?" he asks. "The stuff on the news, and all of it." “Does it? Have to be, I mean,” Micah asks only half-rhetorically. “I'd like t'think it is, but...it just feels like it's bad everywhere.” He nods at the further descriptions of safety in open spaces. “Yeah, I imagine it's kinda better in rural /anywhere/. Provided y'don't run into people, that is. Just kinda fall off the grid.” He heaves another weary sigh, takes another swallow of water. “That ain't no kinda solution, though. Don't help nobody, really. People can always come later. An'...not everybody can go communin' it in the countryside.” He uses finishing the last few bites of his pita to delay answering the question, and still is vague when he does. “It's been...messy.” The noise Dan makes is frustrated-sounding, and he reaches up to push his hands through his hair. "I just don't know what to do," he admits, dropping his hands into his lap. "She's only four; she doesn't /understand/." He exhales a sigh that comes from deep in his chest, and leans forward to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "I bet it /is/ messy," he says. "It's bad enough with one kid; I can't imagine what it'd be like with three, an' teenagers to boot." He rubs at his face, and glances at his watch dully. Like he can't make sense of the time the dial says. Then he frowns. "Crap. I need to get to work," he growls, and begins to pat at his shirt pockets, eventually withdrawing a very plain card, with MOLLY'S PUB printed across the top, followed by an address and phone number. "This is the other place I work, if you want to stop in some time," he says, handing it over. "Commiserate over the state of the world, and all that." He offers a smile that doesn't /quite/ reach his eyes. "The first drink is on me." “They're...they do remarkably well, for all that gets thrown at them,” Micah says with a fond sort of half-smile. Dan's glance has Micah checking his own watch. “Mmn, yeah. Where does the time go? I feel like I just sat down. Oughtta get back to it m'self.” He takes the card, glancing it over before tucking it into a pants pocket. “Thanks for the offer. May have t'check it out sometime when things aren't bein' so...things. Good luck t'you. An' Colleen.” Micah caps his water bottle, stuffing it back into his bag and hauling himself to his feet. “Just try an' keep it together for her. Let people help where they can. It's really all we can ever do.” "Kids are pretty resilient," Dan says with a nod, and it sounds like he's actually trying to convince himself of that fact. Micah's advice gets a nod, and a lift of his shoulder. "It'd be easier if I could see her more," he says, and bends to claim his trash, tucking the cup into the paper sack. "That's the hardest part of all of this. Not bein' with my girls." His mouth pulls into a half-smile, and he shakes his head. "You should stop by," he says, already beginning to move away. "It's a hole in the wall, but I got great plans for it, in a better world." He lifts the bag, waving it gently. "Take care of yourself. And those kids. Everybody needs all the people they can get, right now." Another bag-wave. "And believe me when I say that's a big statement, coming from /me/."