ArchivedLogs:Wormhole

Wormhole
Dramatis Personae Cage, Toru, Trib	2013-09-22 Trib is so grumpy. Follows Judgement
Location <NYC> 311 {Trib} - Sunrise Apartments
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 a new-looking platform holds an oversized bed the only piece of furniture in there. The door to the bathroom is closed, but it's probably equally uncluttered in there. Trib left the park the night before without a word to Cage. Whether or not the older man was speaking to him, the boxer showed no indication as he disappeared into the subway tunnel, his face a mask of ever-gathering thunder. Calls to his phone were similarly ineffective at gaining his attention, which was probably nice for those next on the train. Now, on Sunday morning, the boxer is not in any better mood, stomping around his apartment and growling at anything that might merit it. The refrigerator is slammed a couple of times (seemingly just for the hell of it), and the music chosen to play on the laptop is a growly Metallica song, cranked up just enough to be a nuisance for the thinner-skinned neighbors. At the moment, Trib is...doing nothing except sitting in his armchair and GLARING at the far wall. His hands are clenched around the ends of the arms, and his bare feet are pressed flat on the floor, and his bare chest barely moves as he breathes. There’s a couple of bricks on the floor next to him; perhaps liberated from a nearby construction site. They look to be in fairly good condition -- meaning there’s no bite marks in any of them. The knock at the door isn’t even enough to break the boxer’s thoughtful trance, beyond a slide of his eyes to regard the slab of wood. If it’s the pup, he’ll let himself in, and if it’s anyone else...the pup can deal with them when he gets back. And so he sits, in emotionless silence. When no answer comes, Luke knocks again, a little more firmly. "Hey man, its Luke. You home?" He rattles the handle, and finds it unlocked. "I'm coming in. Don't shoot." The door opens a crack, and Luke's big head peeks around the jamb. "Shit, you're actually /here/," he says when he spies Trib in his chair. Luke comes in the rest of the way, dressed in a pale yellow Oxford shirt, with gray slacks and black dress shoes. He's carrying a 4-slot cup holder. Three of the cups have lids, while the fourth looks to be stuffed with creamers and sugar packets. "Bones here? I brought three." Cage swings the door shut with his elbow and then just stands there, awkwardly. "Sorta... Hoped we could talk." Trib’s gaze shifts slowly to the door when the knob rattles and Cage’s voice floats through the din. There’s a roll of eyes just before the door swings open, and now Cage is the subject of Trib’s glare. He watches as the older man lets himself in, his fingers tightening a bit more around the arms of the chair. “Went for food,” is his answer for where Bones has gotten to, and his voice is rough and gravelly. Like he hasn’t used it in a while. Which he probably hasn’t. His hawkish golden gaze snaps up to Cage’s, then, and for a moment it looks like Trib might tear off the arms of his chair -- indeed, there’s a cracking sound as the frame takes the brunt of his tension. His jaw shifts audibly, his teeth grinding against each other with a marble-like roll. “Talk about what?” "Look man..." Cage sighs and crosses the room to set the coffees down on the tiny counter. "I'm not your enemy, OK? Last night was /fucked up/. No other way to say it. I know you're probably pissed as hell at me. But I'm fuckin proud of how you handled that, man." Cage pops the lid off a coffee and dumps some cream and sugar in. A lot actually. Then he crosses back to lean against a wall in Trib's field.of.view. "That was almost the worst fucking conversation I ever been part of. But you /handled/ it." Cage sips his coffee and watches Trib carefully. Trib inhales deeply, but is otherwise silent as he watches Cage move through the living room. His brow lowers as the older man talks, and his mouth flattens into a tight line at the reminder of the previous night. He doesn’t respond, though, preferring to glare at the detective for a little while longer. When he does speak, it’s probably not what Cage is expecting to hear. It’s a grunt, and comes from somewhere deep in the boxer’s chest. “I quit.” With his usual stellar skill at timing, it is right about when Luke showed up at Trib's apartment that Toru made his way into the building, heading up via the elevator and hauling an armful of takeout bags. If nothing else, there may be a bit of a dramatic pause after Trib's resignation before there is another knock at the door, this one accompanied by the younger man's voice calling, "Trib, I got some of those cakes you like," and here he starts opening the door as he continues, "and if that isn't enough to get you outta this funk then I'll fuckin' marry your stupid ass--" --and at this point he notices that there is /company/. "H.. heyyy. Cage." There he pauses a moment, awkwardly standing in the doorway, before finally taking another step in and closing the door behind himself, sliding shoes off and heading over to set his bags on the table. "That, uh. Was a joke." This he adds seemingly for Cage's benefit, as he sets about taking things out of bags; a wide assortment of breakfast sandwiches, hash browns, one of those yogurt cups with granola mixed in. Two of the bags are taken to the fridge, where he pulls out a carton of orange juice, pouring himself a glass and sort of milling around for a moment, sipping it quietly. "...Am I interrupting anything?" "What?! Like hell you quit-" Cage does not raise his voice often. Generally, there's no need. This time though, Cage's surprise and hurt, plain on his face, make him stand up straight from his lean and take a step in Trib's direction. He's cut off by Toru's arrival. His jaw clenches, obviously working hard to switch gears now that Trib's man is present. He flexes his hands briefly, as if trying to restore blood flow, passing his cup back and forth from hand to hand as he does. He lifts a chin at the counter near Toru. "Hey Bones," he doesn't mention the potentially embarrassing private joke. "There's coffee if you want." Cage takes another deep breath, nostrils flaring in his tension, then he fixes Trib with a steady gaze. "What was that you were saying, Trib? I'm pretty sure I heard you wrong." Now his voice is measured and low again. Trib’s expression darkens further when Cage rejects his resignation, and the fact that it comes with an unusually raised voice causes his eyes to flash with sudden heat. It is perhaps fortunate that Toru makes his awkward entrance when he does, because it stops whatever invective was about to come out of the boxer’s mouth and he closes it audibly. “You ain’t interruptin’ /shit/,” is the answer Toru gets. “You ain’t never an interruption.” Trib watches the unpacking of the bags, and leans back in the chair, releasing the arms to fold his arms across his chest and set his jaw in a stubborn expression. “You heard me,” he says to Cage, thrusting his lower jaw forward. “I said, I quit my fuckin’ job. Effective fuckin’ immediately.” Then he’s looking towards the kitchen. “Bring me one of them sausage sandwiches, Pup.” Cage's remark about Trib quitting gets a sudden lift of the head from Toru, who looks sharply over at the boxer, a concerned expression flashing across his face. Maybe he-- heard it wrong? But as the other two men get to talking, and the matter isn't exactly cleared up but at least /confirmed/, the teen makes no move to take that sandwich to Trib. Instead he just stands there, jaw set a bit stiffly as he grips the edge of the table. There's a bit of a pause before he actually speaks, given how little time he's had to actually process the information, and when he does finally reply, he's addressing Cage, almost pointedly ignoring Trib's sandwich request. "You wanna tell me what the hell happened last night?" Judging from his tone, 'no' probably isn't an answer he's going to accept. “You’re gonna quit on me aft-” Cage’s voice is soft, and Toru’s presence has drained all the anger out of his voice leaving just flat hurt. He can’t finish the sentence anyway, and Toru’s question gives him a good reason not to. Luke keeps his eyes on the boxer, practically daring Trib to look him in the eye. He keeps up the stare while explaining to Toru. “I don’t /want/ to tell you what happened, Bones, because it was just about one of the worst nights I can remember. Top five, for fucking sure. Really, it should be this guy telling you. But the short version is, we ran into the shark twins’ dad last night. It went about how you’d expect.” Cage takes a sip of his coffee and sets it down, out of the way on the floor. “This?” Cage says, gesturing at Trib. “This I have no answer for. Break my fuckin heart Trib, Jesus fucking Christ.” He turns his back and stalks to the window, peering out through the slats, purely for the lack of knowing what else to do. Trib doesn’t seem to notice that his sandwich is unforthcoming, with his gaze back on Cage intently. His nostrils flare slightly, when the tale is recounted, and his lips almost disappear completely as he presses them together tightly. If anything, he looks /angrier/ when Cage accuses him of breaking his heart, and his eyes darken to look nearly brown. He doesn’t even seem aware as he leans over to grab up a brick, hefting its weight lightly in his hand before he takes a bite from it. No sandwich? No problem. “What the fuck did you expect?” he growls at the detective, bits of mortar and brick flying from his mouth. “Didn’t you fuckin’ pay attention, last night? I’m a fuckin’ creepy fuck up who’d only fuck up your campaign an’ shit.” He takes another bite of brick, crunching it loudly as he flops back into his chair, his skin already starting to take on a stony semblance. "Jesus goddamn Christ." Toru pinches the bridge of his nose, lowering his head for a minute and just lets out a long sigh. "Fuckin'... /hnngh/. Trib, you can't just-- that guy ain't the only person who isn't gonna like ya." He gestures to both Trib and Cage, just to make it clear that he isn't singling out the boxer. "Or him. I mean. Cage ain't gonna quit his thing if he finds out someone doesn't like /him/, and he's the one who's actually fuggin' /runnin'/. You can't just fuggin' quit 'cause... 'cause that's just a fuckin' dumb reason to quit." It is at this point that he does finally pick up a sandwich, striding over to Trib and pushing it into the man's free hand, /yanking/ away what remains of the brick, and giving Cage a sort of 'this, this is what I have to deal with' look. "You ain't a fuckin' creepy whatever," he mumbles, striding around to the side of the chair and leaning over it, to plant a chaste kiss on top of Trib's hair. "You're /my/ fuckin' creepy whatever, and you don't get to quit your job if you don't got another one lined up." He pauses a moment, adding one more kiss, and gently mumbles, "Even I know that, dummy." And as if suddenly remembering that they have an audience, he stands up stiffly, lifting a fist to his mouth to clear his throat. "You can't... you can't go makin' impulse goddamn decisions like that without thinkin'. You gotta just... cool down. Think it over. Y'know?" “Maybe /you/ haven’t been paying attention, Trib.” Cage stays at the window, watching the sparse foot traffic go by outside. His voice is soft now, actually gentle. Or possibly fragile. Finally breakable. He turns and sits back on the low window sill, watching Bones and Trib, looking utterly exhausted. “I’m guessing you didn’t get any sleep last night either. Which makes this a shitty time to have this conversation. But here we are, man. You stormed off last night before my little trip down memory lane. I was telling Jax about the guy I put in a wheelchair, and has to shit in a bag the rest of his life. But you know what I /didn’t/ tell those guys?” Cage looks down at the floor, the weight of his gaze becoming too heavy for even him to lift. “I /met/ him again. A couple months ago. After I started doing all this.” He waves his hand indistinctly. “That goddamned sonuvabitch /forgave/ me. Said it wasn’t my fault.” Luke looks like he wants to spit, he’s so mad. “It fucking /was/ though. Just when I was coming to terms with what I did. If I had stopped those idiots- Fuck it, whatever.” He looks up again, spearing Trib with his deep brown eyes. “The point is, I believe in goddamn second chances. And thirds, and fucking /fourths/. So get over yourself, Trib. You’re like a brother to me, and you don’t get to fucking quit - not when you’re /family/. You want a different /job/ someday, fine. But that ain’t today. And you don’t quit on /me/.” Trib accepts the sandwich, and the brick is easily removed from his hand. But the sandwich dangles, as if the boxer is unaware of it. He sits silent through the admonishment, although the stoniness of his skin fade a bit when Toru presses those kisses against his grainy hair, the gritty surface sliding down his limbs and pooling in his hands and feet. He closes his eyes as Cage begins to speak, inhaling slowly. He seems poised to interrupt, but the story cuts him off. When his eyes open to meet Cage’s, his brow CLENCHES in the middle of his forehead, and his lips completely disappear as he snaps his mouth shut. The boxer looks like he might actually get up and /hit/ the older man, and indeed his sandwich is ruined as his stony fist tightens around it. Trib’s teeth grind, audibly, as he processes things, and he regards a spot on his knee that’s now littered with sandwich debris. It’s a long span of uncomfortable minutes before he speaks again, sniffing loudly before he does. “/Fine/,” he grunts, in a voice that sounds like the brick hasn’t left his larynx. “Just don’t come fuckin’ cryin’ to me if you lose.” Toru just watches Cage quietly as the man explains his side of things, eyebrows arching up just slightly at one point - the teen /may/ be a little impressed by all the wrong details, there. But once Cage says his piece and Trib finally acquiesces, Toru's demeanor seems to suggest that he didn't actually expect the boxer to cave in so easily. He actually just kind of fishmouths for a minute, frowning slightly, then finally just nods. "Good." Giving Trib's shoulder one last squeeze, he heads back to the table, returning to his orange juice, and flopping into the lawn chair there. "Y'know, when I went and hunted down the shark brats after you got fired and told 'em you got fired, one of 'em was all like," and here, he adopts that whiny tone of voice that people use when imitating someone they dislike, "'Well good, I hope his life gets hella ruined because of one goddamn mistake he made when his life was fucking stressful and he had to deal with /our/ stupid asses on top of all that.'" There's a pause, there. "I mean, I'm kinda paraphrasin'. But ... but look anyway, my point is they're a bunch of shits who want you to throw your life away, so don't go doin' that 'cause it just means they're gonna be fuckin' happy as shark clams and /I'm/ gonna have to deal with you bein' all miserable." Cage blinks and looks a little off guard at Trib’s capitulation. Apparently he thought he was going to have to argue more, and has to mentally retool. It’s not until Toru says ‘Good’ that Cage finally manages to add, “Yeah, /good/. Ok.” He listens as Toru retells his own meeting, frowning through most of it, but nodding at Toru’s ultimate assessment. Luke paces a little, still with energy to burn. He points at Toru but looks at Trib. “I like this guy more and more, Trib. You oughta listen to him. Also…” Cage clears his throat, picks up his coffee off the floor and goes to stand by the door. “Also, my mom wants to do a BBQ for the office, at her place. You’re both invited. Sunday lunch next week.” He stands awkwardly for a another moment, and then nods coming to some internal decision, and pulls open the door. “Take tomorrow off. I’ll see you Tuesday. Yeah.” One more nod, and he’s gone, having closed the door behind himself. Trib doesn’t look /happy/ about capitulating, but he’s content to glare Cage on his way out the door, actually reddening at the invitation to eat Sunday dinner with Mama Cage. He grunts something unintelligible, his chin jerking slightly to his chest in acknowledgement. When the door has closed behind the detective, Trib turns that angry glare on Toru. “Now we got to fuckin’ make nice with his mom?” he asks, as if he can’t quite believe that this is a thing which will happen. “You should have let me quit.” "Dude, I am so not ready to meet your boyfriend's family." Toru pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a nonetheless relieved sigh once Cage is out of the apartment. Tilting his head back, he then directs his gaze to the ceiling, eyes closing as he runs his hands over his hair. "You can't go makin' snap decisions like that, man," he adds, after a bit of a pause. "I mean obviously I wasn't gonna hold it against ya when it was a matter of yer bein' fired, but you can't go and /quit/ what sounds like a good goddamn job without at least /talkin'/ to me about it first." Slowly his head tilts back down, eyes opening slightly to level a tired gaze at the boxer. "I ain't mad or nothin', just... Just don't /drop/ shit on me like that. Pretty sure if your input matters in my shit, mine matters in yours." Trib snorts. “You think I /am/?” he asks, grimacing at the idea of making nice with Mama Cage. “Heck, if she’s anything like him, I’ll go fuckin bug-nuts in ten minutes.” He shifts his weight, opening his hand to let the remnants of sandwich fall from his fingers. “Goddamned. Every time he could be /shed/ of me, he just pulls me in fuckin’ further. Like a goddamned...whatayacallit? wormhole.” The boxer’s mouth clamps shut as Toru admonishes him more, and he narrows his eyes at the younger man even as the corner of his mouth curls upwards slightly. Maybe even sheepishly. “Fair enough,” he grunts. “It ain’t fair to you, an’ that ain’t what we’re about.” He spreads his knees, then, and twitches his fingers in a barely perceptible beckon. "Maybe he just really likes Star Trek." Toru closes those eyes again, letting out another little sigh, but now, at least, he seems to be more-or-less over the whole situation. He does open them again once Trib admits fault, managing a little smile at that, even, and murmurs, just loudly enough to be heard from across the room, "You know it's bad when /I/ gotta be the grownup." It does take a moment, after that beckon, for him to actually get up - and when he does, it's a slow, languid movement, accompanied by the groan of an old man; or at least a tired one. He makes his way across the room at an almost equally slow pace, finally flopping across Trib's lap and resting his side against the larger man's chest, eyes closed once more. "I'm ready to just go to sleep and do this morning over again," is mumbled, and it sounds like he's already halfway there. “All right, you nerd,” Trib rumbles, his eyes crinkling slightly. “You ain’t got to rub it in.” He shifts his weight as Toru climbs into his lap, looping his arm around the smaller man to rest a stony hand against his hip. “That sounds like a fuckin’ plan,” he mutters, sniffing as he resettles and leans his head against the back of the chair. His chest hitches, as if he’s about to say something, but then he exhales, pressing a kiss against Toru’s forehead before settling back once more; this time closing his eyes to slowly follow his pup into slumber.