ArchivedLogs:Pre-Date
| Pre-Date | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2013-07-07 Dating: Trib is doing it wrong. |
| 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 probably not the sort of day one would pick to meet up on, honestly. Which is probably why Trib has chosen it. A brief phone call with clipped instructions to meet here on the south end of the park and a change of clothes later, and the big man is now waiting for the other party to show. Sitting on a bench with his long legs stretched out in front of him with the heel of one shoe balanced on the toe of the other, the boxer doesn't look that much removed from the sun-worshippers. He's dressed in a pair of purple shorts and a white sleeveless t-shirt that is currently worn yoke-style; the front pulled up and over his head, allowing the sun to warm his taut belly. Elbows thrown over the back of the bench, he seems to be content with people-watching, his eyes drifting every now and then to track the proximity of the bike cops who patrol this area. Most days, Toru is usually out and about with his bicycle and a messenger bag; today, the young Asian is devoid of most of his usual accoutrements because it is, indeed, too hot to be carrying any of that shit. He took the subway. In light of the heat he's also dressed a bit more casual than his usual fare; a pair of dark grey cargo shorts, a pair of teal Chuck Taylors, a light blue shirt bearing the phrase 'Never Be Sober Again', and a pair of aviator sunglasses. And, despite the heat, a pair of elbow-length opera gloves with the fingertips cut off. He approaches Trib from the left, thumbs hooked in his pockets, and overall looks pretty dissheveled; he did sound tired on the phone, but agreed readily enough to the meeting. Nonetheless, he doesn't seem to have woken up any more during the trip over. Slumping onto the bench next to the larger man, he rubs the heel of his palm against his forehead and leans backwards, limbs going all over the place in a toruflop. "What the hell is so important you gotta call a meeting at the fuggin' Round Table?" Trib's gaze lands on Toru as he approaches, but there's no indication of pleasure or irritation at the other man's appearance. Instead, he watches coolly, eyes raking over the smaller man as he drops onto the bench. The question gets a small quirk of the big man's mouth, and he rolls a shoulder. "Maybe I just missed your shinin' face," he rumbles, eyes crinkling at the corner. "It ain't doin' it for me today, though. You look beat to shit." He shifts a bit closer, and leans in a bit. "You out partyin' all night or somethin'?" Lazily turning his head to look to Trib, Toru just sort of smirks. "Right." He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up a bit, then drops both hands down to the seat to push himself up to sit a bit more upright. "Somethin' like that. I gotta life, y'know." Running that hand through his hair one more time, he crosses his arms across his chest and yawns, shaking his head a bit to clear it, and looks over at a group of frisbee-players for a moment, before looking back again. "Seriously though, man, when someone gives you their number they usually figure you're never actually gonna use it. It's a /formality/, man." He slips into speaking in a Cheech Marin style accent. "Plus not even the ladies drag me outta bed on accounta how good lookin' I am, yeah? So what's up?" "You got a life?" Trib's eyebrows shoot up at this bit of information, and his expression is a little /too/ surprised-looking. "Huh. I figured you were some sort of hermit-nerd, who hung around his apartment when he wasn't working." The corners of his mouth pull down in an amused frown as he leans back, looking out towards the frisbee players. "Learn somethin' new every day." He snorts at the admonishment, and shakes his head. "I don't play those kind of fuckin' games," he says frankly. "When a guy gives me his number, I figure it's 'cause he wants me to use it." Some of the amusement fades from his features, indicating the solemn truth behind this statement. "So I do, if the guy is interestin' enough." He waves a hand at the park. "Besides, it's a nice day, if you don't mind fhe fuckin' heat. I figured I'd buy you a hot dog or somethin'." Toru doesn't miss that bit of over-much surprise, and with a raised eyebrow he points it out. "You sound a little too surprised about that, ese. Only thing I do at my place is sleepin' and showerin', why you think I'm lookin' for a smaller place? I don't need a lotta square footage." He shrugs a little at that, and again in response to the remark about games. "Ain't a game, I guess we're just from different generations, man. Things change." He smirks a little, there, and slides his arms up to fold them behind his head, crossing one leg over the other, and tilting his head back. After a bit of a thoughtful pause, he finally lowers his head again. "Hot dog, huh? That some kinda Kobayashi joke?" The smirk from before smooths itself out to a slightly less sarcastic grin. "Sure, whatever." Trib's brow lowers in a hard furrow. "The fuck you on about, 'different generations'?" he growls, his jaw setting. "I figure you ain't a year or two younger than me. Fuck your 'different generations'." There's a roll of his eyes, and he frowns at the smaller man. "Why the fuck would you give your number to someone if you didn't want 'em to call? That don't make no sense at all." This apparently needs some consideration, and he folds his arms across his chest as he thinks. At the question about a joke, his furrow deepens, although his expression is confused. "Kobayashi? Like, the place where you sit at the cooktop?" He snorts. "I can't afford that kind of shit, dude. Hot dogs and pretzels are all I can do." He tries hard to keep it in, but finally Toru lets out a bark of a laugh. It isn't /mocking/, but more disbelief. "Kobayashi, man, the hot dog guy. You're thinkin' hibachi, probably. Jeez." Pushing himself up off of the bench, Toru brushes at his shorts and stretches his arms over his head. "Anyway I'm just fucking with you, jeez, you're an easy fuckin' mark, you know? People just sometimes get weird about phone calls, I don't even fuckin' know. I mean, I was sorta surprised about it, but whatever, you wanna reminisce or somethin' I ain't gonna stop ya." He pulls the gloves off of his arms, then, cramming each one into a pocket, and offers a hand to help Trib up, though given how much smaller he is, it's more of a symbolic gesture than anything. "C'mon, let's get an orangeade or somethin'." Trib's expression shifts to one of 'ahh' when Toru laughs, and he shakes his head. "Oh, yeah. The skinny Japanese guy. Right." His smile is a bit sardonic as it pulls to one side, and he rolls a shoulder. "Hey, some people /do/ get touchy about that kind of shit," he agrees. "I just didn't want to fuck it up again, on account of bein' too aggressive or whatever." The offered hand is given an amused look, but Trib accepts it, slipping his thumb into the crook of Toru's hand and closing his fingers around it before standing. He even offers the illusion that Toru is a proper fulcrum, putting /some/ weight into the arm 'supporting' him. "I think I saw a cart go by a few minutes ago," he rumbles, narrowing his eyes in the remembered direction. He doesn't immediately release Toru's hand, keeping elevated in some sort of forgotten, extended bro-shake. "Fuck what up? You didn't fuck anything up, I'm just being an asshole," Toru notes, asutely. When Trib stands, Toru just looks up at the man and offers a vague sort of nod. "You can't take me too serious, man." When Trib maintains the hand gripping, Toru sort of gives him an awkward half-handshake before pulling his hand away. At this point, it may seem a bit more evident that Toru is a little confused as to the point of this whole outing, but he does regardless seem willing enough to keep it going. "So, uh, anyway. You said you saw a food cart?" The fact that Trib just lets Toru's hand slide away probably doesn't help in alleviating any confusion. And if Trib is aware of it, he's not showing it, tucking the fingers of his released hand into the waist band of his shorts. "I take too much shit serious," the big man rumbles. "Which is probably somethin' fucked up with me. So you're gonna have to excuse me if I take you at your word more often than not." He offers a half-grin, and nods as he begins moving forward, leading the way down the path. "Where'd you go last night?" he asks, looking over his shoulder at the smaller man. "Must have been someplace good." Shaking his head, Toru waves a hand dismissively. "Fuhgeddaboutit, I guess I just gotta make sure to be careful what I say." The remark is a bit on the sarcastic side, but he's /trying/ to be nice, anyway. Mussing up his own hair a bit more, he slides his hands into the pockets of his shorts and picks up the pace a bit to walk alongside Trib. "Well, I don't wanna surprise you too much," he begins, offering a dramatic pause before continuing. "But I actually got, like, some acquaintances, yeah? And erry so often someone has a thing at their place." There's another pause, there. "I'm sayin' I was at a house party. It's been known to happen." Trib just grins as Toru attempts to be nice, and his gaze slides sideways to regard the smaller man as he catches up. "Oh, yeah?" he asks. "Actual acquaintances? Like, who can call you an' not get a load of sass about it?" He's totally teasing, as indicated by the large amounts of amusement he seems to be taking in the conversation. He wrinkles his nose with a small shake of his head. "I never liked house parties," he admits. "Even in high school. It was always just drinkin' an' hookin' up, an' I wasn't interested in doin' either." He lifts his shoulder. "It looks like /you/ had fun, though," he rumbles. "How messed up did you get?" "Nah, they mostly text," Toru notes, with a little grin. The last question is met with a bit of a thoughtful pause, though, and finally he turns to Trib, lowering his head just a bit to look up at the man over the top of his sunglasses. "Y'know, you sure are takin' a weird lotta interest in my personal life alla sudden." And while he's not answering the question just yet, if Trib looks he'll see that Toru's eyes are still a bit on the bloodshot side. "I mean, I moved outta my parents' place cause I don't need to have this conversation every time I go out, y'know?" "I like to know who I'm eatin' with," Trib rumbles with a small hitch of his eyebrows. "I ain't tryin' to get involved with no one that's a fuckin' mess, yeah?" He waggles fingers between them. "You want to make it fair? You can ask me whatever you want, an' I'll answer you." There's nothing to indicate that the offer isn't sound; Trib is content to just keep walking as they talk, watching for their cart quarry to appear. It is at this point that Toru may start to realize that he has a different idea of what's going on right now; in the process of bringing his arms up to fold them behind his head, he abruptly stops in the middle of the path, frowning a little, as if working something out in his head. If Trib continues on without him, he lowers his arms to his sides and jogs ahead to catch back up with him, otherwise he'll just keep standing there and eventually take advantage of that offer of an answer. "What exactly d'you mean by /involved/? I'm startin' to think we might have different ideas on what's goin' on here." Trib doesn't notice the other man's pause, and his long legs get him a good ways ahead and give Toru a fair distance to catch up. The big man seems a bit startled by the sudden jog-up, and he furrows his brow. "I think we're goin' to get a hot dog an' an orangade," he says carefully, slowing his pace. "An' I /mean/ that I ain't the kind of guy who puts up with a junkie or club kid type," he says. "I don't do that shit, an' I got little patients for the sad fucks who over-medicate." His eyebrows pop again. "Why? What do /you/ think is goin' on?" Getting his breath a bit after that little jog, Toru seems pretty unconvinced about that entire explanation. He takes a minute to debate whether he should press the matter, finally settling on, "Yeah, but whattaya mean /put up with/? I just mean, like.." There's another pause there, however brief, and ultimately he decides to just frame the question like it's a joke. "You're kinda makin' it sound like this is a date or somethin'." He even throws a little laugh at the end, like, that couldn't /possibly/ be it. Trib stops, then, and turns a hawklike gaze on Toru for a long moment. He seems to be considering something, and his mouth shifts a couple of times before he chuckles, and starts walking again, leaving the joke-question to lie on the path between them, untended for the moment. Once again, Toru just stands still for a moment. He's-- pretty much entirely uncertain how to progress from here! Since as far as he's concerned, that's pretty much a 'yes' in his book. He rubs the back of his neck with a bit of a sigh, and starts striding after Trib again - he doesn't jog, this time, so it takes him a bit longer to catch up, which in turn gives him time to collect his thoughts. "Look, man, I mean like... no offense or nothin' I just dunno that you're my type, y'know? And I mean, I wasn't gonna say anything but I smoke a lotta ganja." Trib just gives a sideways look at the other man when he catches up, and his eyebrows twitch. "You got a 'type'?" he says, finally, and there's amusement in his tone. "With your charm, I bet bein' picky's a real luxury for you." The admission of pot-smoking gets a slow inhale, and an equally slow exhale accompanying a roll of shoulders. "You ain't gonna smoke it around me," he says, as if it's just that simple. "You don't do nothin' harder, do you?" The question seems as innocently invasive as all the others, but there's a note in it that's a bit hard-edged. "Well given you figured I was some kinda computer nerd, apparently you'd be surprised aboutta lotta stuff about me," Toru notes, defensively. He shoves his hands into his pockets, walking along with a slightly thuggish posture, now, and that last remark gets a bit of a scoff. "Trust me, man, I wasn't planning on it. And /no/," sarcastic, now, "I don't do any harder shit unless you count booze. Y'know weed's pretty much harmless, right? It's only illegal 'cause of like, capitalism." "I didn't say you was a computer nerd," Trib rumbles, unruffled by bristling pups. "I said 'hermit-nerd'. That don't necessarily track to computers. You might be one of them horror movie types, or one of them comic book superhero freaks." None of this has any censure in it; the big man is simply naming types of nerds. "You don't listen very well, Bones. We're goin' to have to work on that." His eyes crinkle at the corners when Toru begins to defend weed, and he snorts. "A little grass never hurt anyone," he says. "Just 'cause it ain't my thing don't mean I judge anyone for likin' it. I just can't be around it, 'cause they drug test you before a fight." He shifts his head, slightly, to regard the smaller man for a moment. "It's the harder shit I won't put up with." "See, it's that 'put up with' shit you keep sayin'," Toru notes. "You sound like you're tryin' to either be like some kinda 'mentor' or like. Somethin' else." He's now avoiding mention of that /other/ topic, since he's really not sure how to deal with the matter at all. "Y'know speakin' of that, you can't be gettin' paid real well if all you can afford to eat is hot dogs. Not that I got any other suggestions, I mean, but." He raises an eyebrow, looking up at Trib a little curiously. "Unless you ain't gotten back into that yet since the cop business?" "Well," Trib says, noting that they're nearing the cart in question. "I ain't old enough to be no one's mentor." He smirks when Toru notes his financial straits, and he rolls a shoulder. "I got another job," he rumbles. "But the office is closed right now. But you ain't wrong. I'm tryin' to get back into a gym, an' find a manager, so I can get back in. That takes some money that I don't have, yet." He falls in at the end of the small line at the cart, and turns to face Toru fully. "Why?" his eyes crinkle as his tone turns teasing. "You worried about me eatin' healthy?" Folding his arms up behind his head again, Toru raises an eyebrowand sticks his tongue out briefly. "Maybe I wanted to make sure you weren't holdin' out on me. Checkin' out your story, like, yeah?" As he settles into line mode, he twists his torso back and forth a few times, generally having a difficult time actually standing /still/, apparently. "I know it ain't my business, but you ever do anything about the guy what screwed you over? I mean, I like a good story." Trib chuckles, and shakes his head. "Trust me. If I had money, I'd be livin' a lot larger than I am, now. None of that noble sufferin' bullshit for me. What you see is what you get." He offers a wide wink before the question sobers him, and he actually /growls/ for a moment. "No," he says. "I've been busy tryin' not to starve to death. But I know where to find him, if he hasn't skipped town." His gaze goes hard, and the smile he offers Toru is sharp and dangerous-looking. "I plan on fixin' him good, when I catch up to him. You can tag along, when I do." He chuffs a noise deep in his chest. "If you want." For just a moment, Toru's eyes practically /sparkle/ at the thought of ultraviolence, but he tones the enthusiasm down quickly enough, bringing a hand to his mouth to clear his throat into it. "Sure, yeah, like. Lemme know. If you need some extra hands." He nods a bit, there, and the rest of Trib's explanation gets brief nods as well. "No, I dig that, man. I mean, I'd say that's pretty much the same with me but.." He shakes his head, entirely amused. "I seriously come across as a fuckin' /nerd/? Christ, man, that is super cold, y'know." He just can't get over it. "I never say no to extra hands," Trib says, quirking a half-grin and pulling himself to his full height for a moment. The question gets a long, studious look, and the big man steps a bit closer, leaning in. "Did I say I didn't like nerds?" he asks softly, his eyelids lowering just a small fraction. Then he's stepping back, and offering a toothier grin. "'Sides, ain't nerds supposed to be /in/, right now? All them TV shows about 'em, an' the press havin' a boner for people like Tony Stark?" He wags a finger at the smaller man. "Take a fuckin' compliment." Of course, that look just gets Toru on the defensive again. "Well, when you throw /hermit/ in with it, it don't sound so flattering, y'know?" See, he was listening! Idly, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other a few times, looking around a bit. "I told you I don't really pay attention to the news, isn't that Stark guy like, a super rich playboy or somethin'? Might just be they pay attention to the guy 'cause he's got money and he doesn't look like a circus freak, y'know." He apparently wasn't really listening to the 'take a compliment' advice, though. "Fair enough," Trib says, and it's almost apologetic sounding. "I guess someone who gets around the city as much as you probably do can't be called no hermit." And that is all the apology he's going to offer, distracted by the mildly hidden self-deprecation. "They pay attention to him because he's got money an' throws it around like a big tool," he grunts, and wrinkles his nose as he steps forward with the line. "An' the press /loves/ people who act like big tools, especialy if they've got money or power." He sniffs, and lifts his eyebrows pointedly. "An' you can stow that 'circus freak' shit. We got plenty of that shit as it is, without us throwin' it at ourselves." "'Scuse you, I didn't mean like an obvious mutant, I meant like... fuggin' Bill Gates or one of those other weird-lookin' rich white guys." Toru waves a hand dismissively. "And damn right I ain't no hermit." He nods, to punctuate the sentence. "I know this city like the back of my hand, man, I'm practically like a friggin whatsitcalled, GPS thing." This may be an exaggeration. "Anyway, whatever. Forget about it. I don't really watch TV either, I mean I don't /got/ a TV. It's kinda... I'm not tryin' to harp on that thing again but I really don't do, like, any of that shit. Stayin' in or TV or nothin', I don't got a computer, I'm pretty much super outdoorsy anymore." Trib snorts. "Should have said that," he says of the correction, his eyes crinkling as he looks down on Toru. "Remember -- literal." He doesn't seem all that bothered, though, and there's a small light in his eyes as he considers something. "So...if I strapped you to the handlebars of a bike, you could just tell me where to go," he says, one eyebrow hitching momentarily. The confession of the lack of media input gets another slow shrug of massive shoulders. "I ain't got a TV either," he says. "An' I ain't much of a homebody. Unless I got a reason." He grins. "I don't know how outdoorsy that makes me, though." "Well, they do got those bikes with the baskets in the front, but I ain't gonna dress up like E.T. before you go askin'," Toru warns. "And okay, maybe outdoorsy ain't the right word but, y'know like. On accounta I'm outside a lot, whatever, I don't care anymore I'll be honest." He shakes his head a few times, moving ahead with the line, and gestures. "We're coming up. You gonna order for me?" The question is asked with just the hint of a smirk as he raises an eyebrow up at Trib, rocking back and forth from his heels to his toes. "I don't do kraut, man. Just like onions and chili if they got it." Trib tips his head to one side, furrowing his brow lightly. "What don't you care about?" he asks, genuinely curious at the attitude. He steps up as the line moves again, and returns the almost-smirk. There's no answer, though, until they're at the point of ordering. Then it's clear enough. "Two dogs," he rumbles at the vendor. "One with chili an' onions, an' one with everything." He glances at Toru. "Except kraut. And two orangeades." While the vendor gets the dogs, Trib plucks a couple of bags of chips from the rack, passing them to Toru. "So, you know the city so well just from bein' a messenger, or are you from here?" he asks, digging in his pocket for a wad of dollar bills that he extracts and starts counting through. It doesn't take long. "I don't care about talkin' myself up," Toru answers, shaking his head a little. "I don't talk about myself a lot, it's weird." He takes the chips, holding them in the crook of his arm in anticipation of getting a 'dog and a drink in just a minute, but does answer the question posed. "Mostly it's from deliverin' but yeah, I'm from the south Bronx. Which, I mean, ain't exactly in the neighborhood but we'd come down here for school trips and shit and when you do delivery long enough you get used to shit. Helps that Manhattan's pretty much a grid, the Bronx's shit is all fucked up. Bunch of grids but they're all at weird angles and shit and it don't make any goddamn sense." "It ain't talkin' yourself up if I ask," Trib points out. "But if it makes you uncomfortable, I can shut up about it." He pays for the dogs, taking them and handing Toru's to him before following it up with the soda. "I ain't never been to the Bronx," he says. "I've fought in a bunch of places, but I didn't get down that way." He lifts a shoulder, grabbing his own soda and moving away from the cart. "I'm from Jersey, myself. Pasaic." He wrinkles his nose. "An' if you ask 'what exit', I'm gonna eat your hot dog." Toru follows Trib, looking for a place to sit down and set down his food, though as he walks he starts eating his hot dog in large bites. "All I care about Jersey is it's a shithole. You're from there, you probably know that," he nods, knowingly. "Though seriously I ain't never actually been out of New York. We went to Japan once when I was little but I don't really remember shit about it." There's a bit of a shrug, there, and when he spots an empty picnic table he gestures to it, walking over that way. "I been across the world but I ain't been to Jersey, how's that for cracked?" Trib finds a spot on the grass, under a shady tree, and sits, rolling his rump as he lowers himself so as to be stable when he finally lands. It works fairly well; he's able to set down his soda without spilling any. "There's parts of Jersey that ain't so bad," he rumbles. "There's actual countryside, in places. With cows an' shit." He grins, and takes a bite of his own hot dog, chewing for a moment. "It ain't that strange," he says. "Lots of people travel, an' don't know nothin' about the places close to home." He wags his hand over his shoulder, towards the West Side. "I bet there's a shitload of folks over there who've been all over the damned place, an' couldn't tell you what the best pizza place in the neighborhood was." He grins, a bit of ketchup (or maybe chili) streaking the corner of his mouth. "So you ain't any more cracked than anyone else." Strolling over under that tree, Toru sits down with his legs spread out in front of him, setting his drink down between them while he continues eating his hot dog. "I guess that's probably true. Still, I mean, that's what you're supposed to think about Jersey, right? Everyone says it's shitty so it totally is. I'unno." Chomping down another large bite, he washes it down with a long gulp of soda, giving himself a minute's rest before eating any more. A bit too big, that last one was. He also pulls his sunglasses off, folding them up and hanging them from the front of his shirt; his eyes are significantly less bloodshot, now that he's pretty much awake. "I gotta be honest with you, this isn't really a thing I do like, ever. Uh. Gettin' chummy, all that. I ain't really a people person, y'know?" "Well, don't make no mistake," Trib says, wrinkling his nose. "There are big chunks of it that are just complete shit. So, it ain't like they ain't got a point. It just don't apply to the whole state." He takes another bite of his hot dog, watching Toru as he takes off his sunglasses. He tracks the other man carefully, looking at his eyes for a long moment as he chews. "So why are you doin' it now?" "Fuck if I fuckin' know," Toru answers, edging back into asshole territory, and another bite of his hot dog is taken to give him a minute to think the question over. "I guess I figure we got like, shared shit to reminisce about, hell if I know. Or I dunno, you gotta be pretty damn lonely if your idea of a good time is sittin' here and listening to my dumb ass." It's hard to tell if that's affected modesty or just genuine low self-esteem, there. "I mean, I'm not sayin' I got anyplace to be anyway." Trib accepts that response with a empathetic nod, shifting his gaze out over the grass for a moment. "I ain't the kind of person that goes around dwellin' on that shit," he says, glancing back at the smaller man. "I mean, it's a thing we share, and that's some kind of fucked-up bond or somethin', but it ain't somethin' I'm plannin' on relivin' over and over. Least not until after I settle fuckin Rico's shit." He inhales, and takes another bite of his hot dog, chewing as he gathers his thoughts. "An' I ain't that lonely." His eyes crinkle, and he swings a foot to knock it against Toru's. "I guess I'm lucky to catch you on a slow day, yeah?" "Well I ain't relivin' it neither!" Toru shoots back, defensively. "I just mean-- I dunno, you got people who get together on accounta shit like that all the time. War survivors and shit, yeah? And s'far as I /knew/ you were lonely or somethin', but okay, fine, that ain't it. Whatever." The last bite finishes off his hot dog, and he follows it with more drink, expression a bit sullen. "Y'know you are pretty much the king of not givin' a guy a straight answer." Though on the other hand, he's been avoiding asking a straight question. "Don't you got a girlfriend or somethin' you could be doin' this with?" Trib lets Toru bluster on, watching him with just a slight narrowing of his eyes. "The fuck you so pissed off about?" he wonders mildly. "I thought we were enjoyin' ourselves. Why you gotta be an asshole about it?" The accusation gets another, amused narrowing of his eyes. "I'll tell you anything you want to know, if you ask it outright," he says, taking the last of his hot dog in two big bites. Then he's drawing his knees up, looping his arms around them and staring at the other man for a long moment. "I don't have a girlfriend," he says. "Never had one. Don't like girls." Then he's offering a big smile. "See? Ask me an actual fuckin' question, an' you get an actual fuckin' answer." In a brief outburst, Toru all but shouts, "Because I'm a fuckin' asshole! You ain't figured that out yet?!" It's accompanied by a brief, somewhat violent gesture, and a few angry stares from nearby parents, but he tones the volume down quickly enough. "And yeah, that's what I figured you were gonna say." With a long sigh, he leans back on his hands, looking up into the leaves of the tree above and squinting a bit at the rays of sunlight that peek through. "Well seein' as how you didn't answer before," he begins, slowly, "or maybe I didn't fuckin' ask it the right way, is this supposed to be some kinda date?" And there he lowers his head again to fix Trib with a quiet stare. "'Cause you got a weird way of showin' it." Trib's expression darkens when Toru shouts, and his jaw sets stubbornly. "Well, stop /bein'/ an asshole," he shoots back, his rumble somehow nearly as loud as a shout, without any heat in it. "'Cause it don't impress me. You've seen /real/ assholes, same as me. So can the fuckin' act, yeah?" He is less concerned about angry parents, although his size pretty much ensures that he can remain unbothered by them. The question gets a short, sharp nod. "Yeah. Only, not really, y'know? Like, a /pre/-date." He lifts his shoulder. "Seein' if we could get along for a couple of hours without beatin each other up." Another crinkle of his eyes. "So far, so good." Crossing his arms perhaps just a bit petulantly, Toru grumbles, "Well /clearly/ it was my asshole charm that made you think this'd be a good idea in the first place." There's another sigh, there, while he puts forth a tremendous effort to /not/ be an asshole but, in the process, it takes a minute for him to formulate a reply to this. Even though the subject has been on his mind for a while, he's been avoiding thinking about it. "Look, man. I mean like. You're an okay dude and all, yeah? But I think maybe you got the wrong idea about me somewhere along the line. I'm not into guys, for one thing," though he is into denial. "I guess I can see how I mighta sent some mixed signals." Trib's face doesn't change as Toru speaks. It's an impassive mask as he watches the other man, and when he finishes, the big man rolls a shoulder. "No harm in trying," he says casually, although there's a bit of a flat edge to his voice that could be disappointment. "I'm sure all them ladies that are callin' probably wouldn't be big on havin' me around, anyway." He drains his soda, and take a bite from the cup distractedly. "This why I fuckin' /have/ pre-dates. To address exactly this sort of shit." "Dude, you don't gotta be a bitch about it. Plus, y'know, you could solve this problem by just sayin' it's a pre-date or whatever in the first place. Jesus." Toru shakes his head a little, leaning forward to rest his arms on his legs. His tone's a little softer, now - almost /compassionate/, which is weird enough coming from him - and he sort of stares at the grass for a long, silent minute, suddenly lost in thought. "If you can be an asshole, I can be a bitch," Trib says, and he sounds amused, even. Then he winces. "But I guess I just told you to stop being an asshole, so my point is fuckin' ruined." He waggles fingers in the air, and watches as the other man gets lost. He lets him sit there for a moment before he reaches out with a toe to nudge at Toru's leg. "Hey, it's okay," he rumbles gently. "I'm disappointed, but it ain't the end of the world." "Huh?" Toru lifts his head as if coming out of a daze, shaking it a few times. "Oh, right. Yeah." He offers a sort of sympathetic shrug. "I mean, it isn't like the ladies are breaking down my door lately neither or anything." And even a bit of a smile, there, though it's a little forced. "Anyway I mean if you still wanna be bros that's cool, I won't be a dick about it or anything." "What?" Trib's back to that mock surprise. "You mean you /ain't/ the player you made out?" His half-hand is placed against his chest, and he widens his eyes. "Well, that is somethin'. Maybe I should reconsider my interests." The roll of his eyes might take any sting out of his words. His own smile is equally forced, although his gaze is warm. "We can still be bros," he agrees. "But if you ever change your mind..." he waggles fingers in the air before rubbing them over his eyes briefly. "C'mon," he says suddenly, pushing to his feet. "Let's stop mopin' around here, an' see if we can find a pickup game of basketball or somethin'." | |
