ArchivedLogs:Not Scared

Not Scared
Dramatis Personae Toru, Trib	2013-07-24 Trib tells Toru about his day. Takes place after Complicated Feelings. (Part of Thunderdome.)
Location <NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments - Clinton
There is no furniture in this apartment. That's the main thing that's noticeable. Well, almost no furniture. There is a battered lawn chair and an equally battered card table with a small, ancient radio sitting on it; the latter is often littered with newspapers and playing cards. And shoved up under the sole window is a battered arm chair, upholstered in a cowboy print fabric. There is no art, although on one wall, there are the beginnings of what appears to be a collage of pictures and articles -- most boxing, although there are a few news stories and glossy physique images from muscle magazines that have made the cut. Through the small, dingy kitchen is the entrance to the bedroom, where the only comfortable spot seems to be a rumpled army-surplus sleeping bag with a pillow made of a stuffed t-shirt. The door to the bathroom is closed, but it's probably equally uncluttered in there. Toru, being the lazy thing that he is, has been in and out of sleep for most of the day. At some point, he dug a magazine out of his bag - a catalog, really, for skateboards, bicycles, and such things and accessories - and brought that to the bedroom, along with a bottle of water, but right now they're both sitting on the floor next to the sleeping bag "bed". Despite the heat, he actually is nestled in the bag, and sleeping fairly soundly, at least until he hears the front door open. This precipitates, on his part, a slow awakening, accompanied with long stretch, as he crawls off of the wood platform and up onto his feet. At some point during the day he pulled on his boxers, and his short-sleeved button-down shirt is unbuttoned over bare chest as he strolls out of the room, eyes still barely open as he is still gradually waking up. "Welcome back," he mumbles, raising his hand in a half-wave. "How'd it go?" It would be hard to miss the door opening; Trib pretty much shoulders it open even before the catch on the knob is turned completely back. He doesn't look very /happy/, which probably answers Toru's question. It's further enforced when he kicks the door shut and GLARES at it. Because it is a door, and doors SUCK, apparently. The boxer moves unsteadily into the apartment, and he has a bag in one hand that is most likely a bottle of booze, given the smell of grain alcohol that rolls off of him. He grunts at Toru when he turns, his narrowed gaze confused briefly until his brain identifies the teenager, and he lifts a shoulder, moving into the living room and /throwing/ his bulk into the armchair. Where he's content to drink, apparently, without aid of a glass. If Toru wasn't awake before, he is now; blinking a few times, he rubs his eyes and -- well, just stands where he is, for a minute. "Trib, uh.." He scratches the back of his head, hesitantly approaching the chair, one hand very delicately moving to grip Trib's shoulder. "I thought you didn't drink," is all he says, at first. It isn't an admonishment; the tone is actually almost teasing. He's not really sure /what/ to do, for a minute; that shoulder is squeezed, gently, but finally he walks towards the kitchen. "Just a sec." He digs through the refrigerator, coming back a minute later with a cold bottle of water, and thrusts it at the boxer. Not really offering, so much as. Insisting. "Maybe you should uh. Have some water?" Rubbing one elbow awkwardly, as the bottle dangles from the other hand. "You don't wanna get dehydrated or anything." Trib's shoulder under Toru's hand is oddly slack. Like someone has let the air out of him. "I'm not drunk," he mutters, wrinkling his nose. "I'm just drinkin'." His voice sounds odd; weary and strained (but not at all slurred) as he watches the teenager. His brow twitches a bit as he considers something, and when Toru comes back with the water, he frowns deeply before he reaches out to swap his (nearly empty!) bottle with the water bottle. He twists the cap off, and sends it spinning off into a corner somewhere. "Sorry," he grunts, tipping the water bottle to his lips and taking a long pull before lowering it again. "It was a real /shitty/ day." There is an audible sigh of relief once Toru realizes Trib isn't actually drunk, and he just about sinks to his knees -- kneeling /next/ to the chair, thank you -- and folds his arms on the arm of said chair. "Fuckin' A, man, I thought I was gonna have to wrestle you for it and-- that wouldn't work out real well, y'know?" He forces a bit of a grin, there, then shakes his head quietly. "Well, I'm here if you wanna talk about it." An arm slides up to give Trib's a firm, hopefully reassuring rub. "Or if you just wanna. Sulk about it. That's aight too. Just don't start breakin' shit, I just cleaned my apartment, I don't need to start bein' /your/ maid too." The joke is, of course, his attempt to defuse the situation. Trib sighs, and reaches up with his free hand to rub at his face for a moment. "I ain't sure I can get drunk," he says from behind his hand. "Which sucks, right now." He shifts to lean in Toru's direction for a moment, then stiffens, and sits back up with a deep frown. "I gotta ask you somethin'." Toru tilts his head a little, frowning just a /touch/, but it's a thoughtful, confused sort of frown. "I think we're pretty much at the point where you can ask me just about anything, Trib." A hand snakes out from under his arm, reaching for the closest one of Trib's. "What's up?" Trib is quiet for a long moment, his brow falling heavily as he thinks the question over. Another long swallow of water helps buy him some time, and he rolls the liquid around in his mouth before he swallows audibly and begins speaking in a low, careful voice. "What you said last night -- about me pushin' you out of your comfort zone --" He pauses, shifting uncomfortably. "I -- you -- " The question seems to be too much, for a minute, and he chews at the interior of his cheek, eyes nearly disappearing under the shadow of his brow. "I know you said you liked it when I'm all aggressive an' shit," he tries again. "But -- " Again, it seems to be a BIG QUESTION, and it gets stuck in his throat again. Even emptying the water bottle doesn't seem to dislodge it. So he just lifts his hand helplessly, staring off into space. "...Ah." Toru stands up, running that hand through his hair, then lets his hands fall to his sides a little awkwardly. He's silent for a minute, trying to put his thoughts together and, as he does so, paces in a little half-circle. "It's kinda like.. I guess part of it is 'cause sometimes I'm not really sure /what/ to do." There's a bit of a sheepish smile there, as red starts to creep into his cheeks. "I mean, I mostly got that part figured out by now. But it's like..." Letting out a little sigh, he lowers his head, frowns. "You got this like... /confidence/, I guess. And... that, with like... when you're pushy it's sorta... like I said before it kinda scared me a little, gettin' pushed, but it's kinda... it's like an adrenaline thing?" By the time he's finished explaining, he's standing a few feet away from Trib, but facing him; one arm crossed over his chest, the other folded up to scratch at the side of his head. "Like a haunted house is scary but you know it ain't gonna hurt ya...? I know you ain't gonna hurt me. But the whole like, package... is /really/ hot. If I didn't like it, you'd know." Trib is shaking his head two sentences into Toru's explanation, and he furrows his brow. "No," he rumbles, scratching at his cheek. "I know all of that. You were pretty plain about it. But that," he says, snapping his fingers at the word 'pushy'. "That's what my question is." He sits up, and there's deep concern etched on his face, expression somber as he looks at the teenager. "You didn't get into this 'cause you were scared of sayin' no to me, were you?" His eyebrows arc worriedly, and he pulls at his chin. "I mean, you don't feel like I was /too/ pushy, do you?" His mouth presses into a thin line. "Or creepy? I wasn't fuckin' creepy about it, was I?" "What? No," Toru doesn't even have to think about /that/ one. "I got into this 'cause I was lo--" He stops, there, biting his lip. "...'cause I was lonely." Pulling his arms in a little tighter, he suddenly finds himself feeling a little defensive of, well, his feelings, and his next remark is all but snapped, "'Cause I was lonely and you were the only person who was willin' to be there when I was--" Finally, though, he seems to have realized, or at least /thinks/ he realized, where this is coming from. "--Trib, do you think I'm only dating you 'cause I'm /scared/ of you?" The space between the two men is abruptly eliminated, as Toru leans forward, hands on Trib's knees, and brings his face in as close to the boxer's as he can get it without actually touching noses. "I'm gonna put this clear. Just 'cause you're bigger'n me don't make you /scary/. I ain't fuckin' scared of /you/; when I talk about you scarin' me I mean 'cause I didn't know what was gonna happen, like, sexwise. /You/ don't scare me." He might be boasting. A bit. There's a slight pause, but, a bit more quietly, he concludes, "You make me feel safe." Trib listens as Toru explains, and there's a twitch of his eyebrows -- first at the mention of Toru's former loneliness, the second wince-like under the question. His gaze shifts away, concern and something darker flickering over his face before he lands somewhere in the land of confusion. When Toru ends up on the floor in front of him, he shifts uncomfortably again. "I don't want to scare you," he rumbles, frowning deeply. "So I'm glad I don't. But --" the assertion that Trib inspires safe feelings gets a deep reddening of the boxer's face, and he twists his face away from that nose-bump. "I ran into them shark kids today," he says, suddenly. "With my boss, at some record shop in Harlem." There might be more, but he falls silent, eyes narrowing as he gathers his words. "They -- " A grimace, now. "They said some shit that got me to thinkin' about that. So I had to ask." "...Really." Toru pushes his way into Trib's lap, though the gesture isn't exactly /warm/; in fact he's suddenly a bit tense. Legs are draped over one arm of the couch, though he's sitting upright, staring at the wall opposite where he's seated. "Harlem. Record shop." The way he repeats it isn't idle; more like he's cataloguing events in his head. Getting things straight. "Harlem's outta my usual stomping grounds, not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. Was it /both/ of 'em?" Here, he finally looks to Trib again; the expression on his face is one that the boxer probably hasn't seen since they were in the cages. Toru is, apparently, taking the matter very seriously. "I know a guy who's acquainted with 'em, I mean. What did they /say/ exactly?" There's a bit of a pause, there. "--I mean, you don't gotta tell me if you don't want, but I mean like... how good an alibi am I gonna need?" If he's joking, he's hiding it really well. Trib's lap is easily accessible, but it lacks some of the comforting hugging that usually comes with sitting there. Still, the boxer's arms come around the teenager, and he exhales heavily, turning his head back to regard Toru with a dark sort of expression. "They said I was a fuckin' pedo fuck," he says, his voice picking up a definite growl. "Accused me of wantin' to rape that little superhero bug fucker when we was in the cages." He inhales sharply and deeply through his nose, and the reddening of his neck and ears comes back up. "In front of my fuckin' /boss/." He closes his eyes, and leans his head back, sagging in the chair. "I fuckin' tried my damnedest to keep those little fuckers from bein' forced to kill each other," he says in a sudden flare of heat that thunders from his chest. "But I'm a fuckin' creepy kid rapist, 'cause they /figure/ that's what I wanted from that skinny dumbass." The question about needing an alibi gets a bark of humorless laughter. "I didn't kill 'em," he says with a weary shake of his head. "I threatened 'em pretty good, but that's just 'cause I fuckin' lost my temper." Toru shakes his head a few times, moving to grip one of Trib's arms. Both his hands, notably, are starting to get a whitish tinge to them; starting from the fingertips, edging its way up his hands, and bringing with it a certain bonelike solidity. The hand on Trib's arm doesn't grip any tighter, as a result, but it isn't going anywhere either, for the moment. "What I'm askin," he replies, through gritted teeth. "Is-- it's up to you, if you don't want me to I won't make /sushi/ out of them, but what I'm /askin'/ is what kinda condition you want 'em to be in when I'm /done/." By this point, the bone has made its way about halfway up his forearms, his breathing a touch on the ragged side through those clenched teeth. "And how long it oughtta /take/." Trib looks down as his arm is gripped, and his mouth pulls to one side in a sudden, awkward expression. It's almost like he's /proud/, with a healthy dose of shame filtered through it. His gaze lifts to Toru's, then, and his gaze is weary, but bright. "I ain't gonna tell you what to do," he says. "Except that you can't kill 'em." He presses his lips together tightly, and furrows his brow. "They're dangerous as fuck," he warns. "They made fuckin' calimari out of Squid -- /Hector/." He grimaces at the memory of what he's seen. "They're fast, an' all claws an' teeth." He raises his left arm, turning it to show off the divot that's missing -- something Toru is more than familiar with. "The frilly one did this in the cages," he says. "An' that was just 'cause I was bein' mouthy at 'em." He drops his arm, exhaling heavily. "I don't want you to get hurt over my dumb fuckin' ass." The fact that Trib seems to be /endorsing/ Toru's rage paradoxically seems to actually calm him down a bit; enough, at least, to stop him from seeing nothing but red for long enough to get a facial expression. "Oh, well, yeah," he grins, a touch awkwardly, and lifts the hand that isn't stuck to Trib's arm up to scratch the back of his head-- at which point he realizes that they've gone solid. "Oh, shit," is mumbled as he just casually /un/does that; it's a fast process, everything just sort of fading back to normal skin tone, and he idly sets to scratching his arms. "Well no of course I ain't gonna /kill/ 'em." That claim doesn't really sound convincing. "Just kinda. Give 'em a gentle reminder. About how it ain't a good idea to fucking /FUCK/ with my fucking /BOYFRIEND/!" As he finishes almost /shrieking/ that sentence, he twists his torso to face Trib, a fist - bone, again - flying towards the boxer, but landing on the surface of the chair behind him. With that outburst finished, he all but goes limp, trembling as his falls, like jelly, to rest on Trib's shoulder, and he shakes his head, murmuring, "I can take 'em one at a time they're just fucking /kids/ I'll break their fingers.." Trib is fight-reflexive enough that he ducks that sudden blow, despite its being aimed past his shoulder. His brow twitches, relaxing into something warmer as he gathers his arms around Toru with more purpose. "Aw, pup," he rumbles softly, nuzzling his face into Toru's hair and smiling gently. "Have I said yet how lucky I am to have you in my life?" he murmurs, stroking his hand along the teenager's back. "You're about the only good thing I got goin' right now." He grimaces. "I'm probably goin' to get fired," he realizes in a weary voice. "Cage said he needed to think about shit, but I know what that means. He does a lot of work with kids -- he ain't goin' to want me around." Scrawny arms move up to wrap around Trib's neck, holding it tightly - though careful not to choke - as Toru buries his face in the man's neck. "I don't-- I'm not gonna /get/ something and let a couple dumbass little /fucks/ show up and try to ruin my /shit/ 'cause they got some kinda weird /grudge/.." It's mostly muffled, but not too difficult to get the message. "Want me to-- I can talk to your boss? I don't know if it'll help but-- but I can try, maybe, and.. and I guess.. it probably wouldn't be good for you if I /maimed/ 'em but-- it's nice to think about," he sighs. Loosening his grip a little, he slides down a bit along Trib's chest, breathing slowly in deep breaths. "I know someone. Who knows 'em. I'll-- talk to them. See what the /fuck/ is going on." Eyes closing, he lets a hand fall to his lap, resting his head against the boxer. "I ain't scraped together some semblance of a decent life to have a couple of brats ruin it; nobody gets to mess with you but me."