Logs:Can't Complain
| Can't Complain | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2023-07-17 "Be a sad day if you gone an' joined the supercops." (Shortly after Rasheed makes Fury an offer he can't refuse.) |
| Location
<NYC> Detention Wing Common Room - S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ - Times Square | |
When exactly did Rasheed get here? Probably some time ago; he's been sequestered away -- first in medical and now in Kevin Ford's cells -- for a good while now, only finally emerging as evening sets in. There's an even greater slump to his stooped shoulders than usual, his fine-tailored suit hanging a little disheveled on his gangling frame. He's holding a briefcase that he's currently zipping back up. Rather than take the long corridors around, he's cutting through the prisoner lounge en route to the elevators. "Dr. Toure!" This voice is startled-bright and cheerful, piping up from somewhere in the vicinity of the couch. Jax, in bright red tee ('ALL MY HEROES HAVE FBI FILES' screenprinted on the front around an image of a monkey wrench) and black shortalls speckled Jackson-Pollock style with paint-splatter patterning that seems even in the light to be faintly luminescent, is just pulling himself up from where he has been sprawled across his companion's lap, kind-of-not-really watching Nimona (not for the first time) on the large television. "Gosh, what a nice..." He's trailing off with a birdlike quizzical tilt of head. "You ain't workin' here or nothing, are you? Be a sad day if you gone an' joined the supercops." "Oh! Rasheed!" Matt brightens a little slower by comparison, but his smile when it does arrive is warm and pleased. He's wearing a light pink tee with a black (roughly anatomical) heart sliced open to bleed in a swirl of bright rainbow colors, and gray cargo shorts, looking a little paler than he usually does by mid-July when healthy, but not particularly unwell. "I hate to be indelicate, but you look a bit haggard, dear. Are you quite alright?" His eyes tick over Rasheed, then back the direction he'd come. "Are you making a house call?" Rasheed's steps stutter to a halt at the sound of his name. The smile that drags itself onto his face seems like it's fought its way through a battlefield to get there, slow and tired. "Oh -- Jackson. Matt. I --" The smile comes a little easier, now, and he shakes his head once. "This isn't much of a house, is it? But yes, I've just come for a consult." He's wandering over, slower, the briefcase resting on the arm of the sofa as he rests his hand on its back. "Can't complain -- or, won't, at least," he adds a little more wryly, "Goodness knows your summer has been tough enough. How..." He's studying each man's face in turn. "-- are you holding up?" "I could complain vociferously," Jax replies with a small wrinkle of his nose. "An' have done, at him." He's bumping Matt lightly with a shoulder." He settles back when Rasheed comes over, sitting cross-legged on the couch, now. "I'm hoping it's gonna be on the upswing soon enough. With the spotlight been shining on 'em --" There's a shiver that ripples through the light around him, and he shakes his head hard. "Well. 'tween Ryan's yelling and Luci's spinning I'm hoping don't a single monster in that whole place get a wink of sleep till our kids come home." "You should try complaining more," Matt admonishes, slumping back down onto the couch "It helps, even if you never equal my mastery of malcontent." He snaps his fingers and points at Jax before slouching against him. "Yes, that. Except replace 'not sleeping' with something closer to what they deserve. But at least now we know, which...well. Now we know." He gives a tired, breathy chuckle. "I hope your summer's going better, by whatever measures make sense. You start from a baseline of--oh!" His smile curves brighter, and he doesn't quite cover it with one lifted hand. "It's your birthday! Many happy returns. I must devise some scheme for making it up to you when we have you over next." The smile hooks just a little crooked. "Perhaps after Gaétan is returned and settled back into his duties roundly ignoring us." "Can't nobody touch you in your domain we'd hafta practice aesthetically lounging on fainting couches for three years straight just to set the right ambiance to start complaining in." Jax curls his arm around Matt's shoulders, squeezing close and pressing a light kiss to the side of the other man's head. "Buuut I ain't never really believed in some kinda hierarchy of pain, if you got problems that billions of dollars can't buy your way out of I'm sure they're -- oh!" He sits up straighter, flushing lightly. "Gosh, happy birthday, wish I'd'a known you'd stop by I'd've made -- hazelnut, right, with the mousse?" His nose gives a small bunny-like crinkle, quick and apologetic. "Soon enough, hopefully. We'll all have some actual time for fun." Rasheed opens his mouth, but just draws in a small breath and closes it again, silent but listening to the younger men intently. A slow smile -- small and wan though it is -- eases some of the exhaustion written into his features. "Ah -- thank you. My sister's corralling my family together for an elaborate feast and the cake will almost certainly not be as good as yours." He pulls his briefcase back close, straightening from where he's been leaning on the couch. "Soon," he echoes thoughtfully. His head dips -- a heavy nod that hangs for just a moment, before he turns to head back toward the elevator. "The kids will be in my thoughts." | |
