Logs:In Which Nothing Is Fumbled And No Nets Are Needed (Yet)
| In Which Nothing Is Fumbled And No Nets Are Needed (Yet) | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2020-09-21 "I guess it can't be hazing if I'd likely be doing it anyway on my own?" |
| Location
<NYC> Creative Little Garden - East Village | |
It's not a big park, really. A small secluded garden in the East Village, quite close to Tompkins Square. The trees stretch overhead to both sides of the mulched paths, forming a leafy canopy through which New York's murky city-sky is visible. Between the paths the grounds spill over with an abundance of flowers, hedges, community-tended, in here. The paths all wind together into the small central clearing, a little circular retreat with fountain and benches. The air is getting crisp, though as yet its bite is mild rather than sharp. Even so it feels like a comfort food sort of day; Taylor has one long limb wrapped around a plastic takeout bowl of nabeyaki udon, chopsticks wielded deftly in one hand, still-hot coffee and tea in the thermoses on the table. He's in jeans, a BLACK LIVES MATTER shirt underneath an ancient Detroit Pistons hoodie. The recent stretch of silence has been companionable rather than uncomfortable, but after he slurps down his latest mouthful of noodles he breaks it. "Should get back into fencing," has no readily apparent connection to anything said before. "Or maybe something totally new. You wanna learn trapeze?" The air may not be sharp yet, but Daiki is dressed as sharply as ever, in a black slimline suit, the buttons undone now over a blue vest with a subtle scale pattern, stark white broadcloth shirt cinched with a blue-black ombre tie cinched in a neat full Windsor knot. He has his own bowl of vegetable nabeyaki udon cradled between slender hands, staring off thoughtfully. It's only when Taylor's voice draws him back that he seems to remember his meal, taking up the chopsticks again and stirring the noodles around. "I'd learn trapeze," he allows. "I doubt I'll learn it very well, though, given my schedule. Given what my schedule is going to be like, soon enough." "Terrible trapeze just means I take twice as many pictures of you." Taylor sounds, at this idea, still more eager than before. "Anyway, we don't have to learn it well. Just --" His head shakes, cheeks puffing out on a sharper puff of breath. "Just be good to have like. One regular thing that isn't goddamn insanity. Nobody dying, no jail, just --" Daiki smiles indulgently. "You can take as many pictures of my terrible trapeze as you like." He slurps down some noodles. "You're right, of course. And, I think, it might be nice to have something where, if you fumble or lose you grip, all that happens is you fall down into a bouncy net." Taylor barks out a rough laugh, reaching another arm for his coffee. "Shiiit, that's what we're missing when the Purifiers roll through." His head tips back, eyes searching the sky. "My next pressure-valve suggestion was gonna be getting you on one of our bikes but I'ono if the Club could handle that much style, we're pretty full up already." Daiki's slender brows arch. "I've heard about the ridiculous nonsense they put you through," he hedges. "And you know the hazing would go worse with me even whether anyone intended it or not." He picks up the thermos of tea and takes an appreciative sip. "Though, if you get a bouncy net set up at the garage, I might have to seriously reconsider." "Boyyyy, you been watching too damn much Sons of Anarchy, most our time's been spent cleaning the garage and polishing the bikes that're through with repairs." Taylor pops the lid on his coffee for a long swig. "Careful, I suggest this net shit to Ion and you know it's gonna happen." Daiki laughs, bright and clear, the ripple of his amusement palpable. "I guess it can't be hazing if I'd likely be doing it anyway on my own?" He gestures grandly with his chopsticks. "If it's that easy, you might as well tack on some extra garage improvement requests." His smile is unclouded for the first time that day. "I wouldn't be the first person to respond to life stress by joining a biker gang, but I might well be the first who joins one to do bad trapeze." "Shit, while we at it, I think a trampoline would make the garage hella better." Taylor's grin flashes bright, broad. "And please. They take this prospect shit real fucking serious. By the time you through, you be doing some fine-ass trapeze." | |
