ArchivedLogs:White and Blue Collars

White and Blue Collars
Dramatis Personae Doug, Eric	2013-06-05 A meeting, a discussion, a date.
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. Wednesday evening in the Central Park is the beginning of a new shift for the NYPD, and it can be seen mostly in little clusters of police officers in different cars debriefing each other around the area. Not too far from the Bethesda Terrace sit two police officers on bicycles, chatting with each other in a quite friendly manner. "Yeah, that's what I told her, but she still threw me out." Eric drawls in his bright Georgia accent, eyes twinkling. "I guess she didn't believe me when her boyfriend insisted that he only was experimenting." The other officer laughs and shakes his head. "You're a pig, Sutton," he replies, and it is immediately countered by Eric with a, "We're both pigs," and a gesture to their uniforms. This sets off another round of laughter. "Alright. Well, have a safe shift, Sutton." The officer says, putting feet to pedals. "See ya." Eric responds, with a wave. The lull between the end of the spring semester and the start of the summer session is turning out to be surprisingly busy, for Doug. So busy that this is the first day in nearly a week that he's actually been out of the apartment. And that was apparently for some sort of work-related thing, since he's dressed in jeans and a button-down blue shirt, with his laptop bag slung across his chest. He's focused on his phone as he comes around a bend in the path, thumbs sliding over the screen lightly as he finishes his text. It's only luck that keeps him from running into Eric on his bike, the near-collision enough to bring his gaze up. It takes a minute for his eyes to focus, and he offers a small grin when they do. "Hey, there." "Hey, watch where you're--" Eric, for a brief moment, almost sounds like a New Yorker. Cutting himself off when he recognizes a friend, though, probably betrays his foreign-ness. "Oh, heya. How are ya doin', Doug?" he says, eyes flicking up and down the other man and lips curling into a wide smile. "Comin' or goin' to somewhere interestin'. You headed out or headed home?" he asks, leaning to one side to rest his weight on one foot. "I'm actually pretty good," the blonde says, ducking his head. "How have you been?" When Eric gives him the once-over, Doug grins, and scrunches his nose as he tugs at the strap on his chest. "Actually, at this point, I'm just wandering. Just finished up some work for a customer, getting his website back up and running. Server was all fragged to shit." He shrugs, and looks around the park. "I was thinking about going and getting some pizza, maybe." He tips his head, regarding the obvious appeals of the bike uniform for a long, studious moment. "You just coming on your shift, or about to call it a day?" The bike uniforms are cut as if by some kind of sex-maniac, extremely tight and made out of all of the wonderful fabrics that industry has come to know and love: lycra and polyester. Or, perhaps, tight fitting clothing is essential for eight hours of bike riding. Either-or. "Just gettin' on. Started... not half-hour back. Got a lot of ridin' ahead of me," he says, playfully. "Server was gettin'... fragged? What, was it under attack or somethin'?" he asks, curiously. "I don't know much about how computers work 'cept how to use them." Doug makes a disappointed sound. "That's a shame," he says, with maybe a /bit/ of exaggerated sorrow before he shakes his head mournfully. "Your poor, pretty ass will be all sore. And not in the good way." He laughs at Eric's translation of his geek-speak, and shakes his head. "Naw. It was just a breakdown of the main controlling program. It was a pretty easy fix -- for me. But the guy was bugging about it pretty hard." He tips his head as he studies the older man, and lifts a shoulder. "Code stuff is kind of hard to learn," he admits. "It's not everyone's cup of tea." Eric grins and winks at Doug. "My ass has been through worse," he says, with a wink and a smirking grin. "And, of course, been through better." A radio call blares briefly through the microphone clipped to his chest, and he reaches almost unconsciously around to his back to turn the volume down on it after listening only for a moment. "Breakdown of the..." he trails off and shakes his head. "You lost me 'bout three sentences back. I'll just leave it at 'it was broken.'" Doug grins at the response, and even manages to not blush. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he lifts a shoulder. "Preaching to the choir, dude," he says fluttering fingers in the air. He winces at the blare of radio noise, and watches as Eric adjusts his set. "Gloriously broken," he confirms. "It was kind of beautiful, actually, in the way it was eating itself." He breaks off, waving a hand. "It was broken," he reiterates, and grins. "What have you been doing with yourself, lately? I almost called you a couple of weeks ago." "I didn't know computer programs could be beautiful. Hell, or that they could be broken beautifully." Eric makes a face and shakes his head. "Been busy," he drawls, glancing briefly around him. "Been takin' a lot of night shifts to help clear the roster a bit, and to get some credits with the brass for when winter comes along and I want the nice shifts inside, instead of out here on the bike in the fuckin' snow." he grouses, though he does so with a smile. "Anything can be beautiful, if it's done correctly," Doug says. "It's just a matter of who's viewing it, and their level of appreciation. Computer language is tough, but once you're in there..." he breaks off, and /does/ blush this time. "Well, it's a different kind of beautiful," he admits then. He blinks as Eric lays out his plan, and frowns. "Clear the roster? I get earning good favor, but what does clearing the roster mean?" He furrows his brow, and concentrates. Maybe he's trying to puzzle it out. "Fill all the open shifts," Eric explains, shifting on his bike seat and repositioning himself. "If they don't have enough people volunteerin' for the shifts, they just pull names off a' the roster of available officers and force you to take a shift." he says. "Nobody likes doin' that. I don't, the other cops don't, and the sarge's don't like fuckin' with our weekend plans. So, we all pitch in to try and help each other out, as much as they let us without gettin' too much overtime." "Ah." Doug's eyebrows lift in comprehension, and his bobs his head. "It's cool that you guys do that for each other," he says. "Seems like the sort of thing that everyone benefits from. Especially the guys with kids and stuff." There's a flicker of memory through his expression, and he shrugs. "I should recommend that to my dad, for his labs. Keep people from /having/ to work sixty hour weeks, at the end of a project." He shifts his weight, and exhales slowly. "When's your next day off?" "The thin blue line," Eric replies to this with a smile. "You help out your union brothers and sisters, or they beat you with baseball bats behind the station-house." he says, winking, voice teasing. "But, nah, it's good. A lot of the other married officers take overnights, or take shifts while their kids are at school, and people like me take overnights and weekends and stuff." He waves a hand. "Some hours pay more than other hours, if you're doin' them extra. There's a whole complicated /thing/. The Sergeant's take care'a all that, though. Your shifts are assigned, not requested, ya' know?" "Still. It's nice to have people looking out for your back," Doug says with a light wrinkle of his nose. "Computer geeks are less neighborly-inclined. Every man for himself, and all that." He chuckles, and tugs at his laptop strap again. "So, when is your next /assigned/ day off?" he teases. "Maybe I'll take you out for a real meal or something." His grin slips a bit wickedly. "First." Eric's eyes light up hungrily and he grins. "I'm off tomorr'a durin' the day, though I'm goin' on again at night. And I think I've taken too much overtime, so I probably won't get a shift this weekend. Not sure what my plans are, but if you're free..." he holds his hand up, thumb and pinkie extended as he presses fist to the side of his face. Facefist. "Call me, yeah?" Doug's return grin is equally hungry, and he nods. "This weekend," he agrees, closing his eyes as he burns it into his mental calendar. "I'm free," he says with a small lift of one eyebrow. "Classes don't start again for a couple of weeks, and I've got nothing planned. Should have all my current projects caught up, as a matter of fact." He steps forward, close enough to feel intimate without looking completely inappropriate to passers-by. "So you'll probably be hearing from me." He grins. "You like Italian?" "I like Italian. I like pretty much everything," Eric says, with a laugh. "My tastes are quite varied. You know a good place to go?" he asks, a twinkle in his eyes as he mounts the S.S. Double Entendre and sails off into the sunset. "Because I'm up for tryin' pretty much anythin' once." he says, smirking down at Doug and giving him a single wink. Doug laughs, and nods. "I know a couple of good spots," he murmurs, lifting his eyebrows. "They're very tasty." His grin goes wide with a flash of teeth as he steps back, re-hooking his thumb in his strap. "Good cream sauces." Aaaand book one more on that ship. Steerage class. "You like those, right?" Then he's stepping back one more step before Eric can respond, offering his own wink. "I'll call you tomorrow," he says. "And we'll work out the details." Then he's offering a small salute. "Now I think I'll go and score that pizza, and leave you to protect our fair city." He drops the hand with an overly-exaggerated frown of mock-dismay. "I wonder if this is how Lois Lane does it?" Eric laughs and winks at Doug. "You know I do," he teases, shifting on the bike and putting feet to pedals. "I dunno. I might have Superman's ripped body, but I think I've got the better job." Laughing at his own joke, Eric puts pressure down on the pedals, beginning to gain speed as he bikes away. "Call me!" he calls backwards, in an attempt to get in the last word. Doug lets him have it, raising a hand in silence as the older man bikes away, tilting his head a bit to enjoy the view as Eric goes because -- hello -- /pretty/. Then he's turning and moving in the other direction, smiling brightly as he heads for the subway station, and that delicious pizza.