Something close to happy is suddenly mine...

[stillaboyscout]

It should be said that there is never actually a quiet day in Chicago. Ever. Somewhere, always, something is happening, and invariably that something has to do with explosives. It is Chicago, after all.

But there are a lot of people in Chicago, and so specific people can have quiet days. Take Michael Vaughn for instance, currently out and about

Comments

[kineticmachine]

What.

Arlin just stares at her for a moment, a look of blank whatthefuck on his face, and then he literally snarls and lunges toward her, grabbing a handful of the front of her shirt and dragging her toward him. "Listen," he hisses, his accent suddenly completely apparent. "Maybe you're not so bright either, because generally people get the hint when someone clearly doesn't want to talk to you, because the proper thing to do in that situation is not to shriek at them--"

He stops, realizing that hey, they are in the middle of a cafe in which he would like to sit peacefully and eat his dinner and work out a design or two for new machines and, most importantly, not be kicked out. He also realizes she just made him lose his cool, which probably speaks volumes about his state of mind lately. He also realizes that this is utterly ridiculous.

So he lets go of her shirt, quirking his lips a bit into the closest to a genuine smile he's shown since he ran into Aniki in the park a month ago, and lets out an incredulous laugh. "This is ridiculous. Fine. Buy the coffee," he says. "But I'll get my own food."

[omnomnomface]

Trin freezes in place, because the last time someone manhandled her like that, it ended with a beating that did not lead to sex. And that... that's bad. Any words that he says go way over her head, and then he lets go, and she shakes her head. "Okay," she says, trembling a little. "Okay." She sniffs, then turns to face the line.

"I'm getting black," she says. "Is that okay?" She rubs her hands together nervously.

[kineticmachine]

Arlin closes his eyes for a moment, because he knows that reaction and that was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now, in a public place. "You don't need my permission," he says, sighing. "And calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." Never mind that he did within five seconds of 'meeting' her, last time they ran into each other. Nobody ever said Arlin was good with people.

He also turns back to the counter, glaring the intimidated barista into submission for a moment, and then orders his food. And then takes the number and turns back to Trinity. "You may sit with me if you want," he tells her. Like she needed his permission, per se, but whatever. He'll take pity on her and not fight her weird need to be his friend...for now. Not to say he's going to be talkative. Then he turns and picks a window seat far away from anyone else in the shop, as per usual.

[omnomnomface]

Trin exhales, then inhales again. "Th... thanks," she says, stuttering just a little. She shakes her shoulders out and orders two black coffees, then walks over to Arlin's table, sitting down and looking at her nails, curled around her fists. She picks at one, having trouble finding words for once. "I didn't..." she stumbles, then decides it's worthless and just sighs, sitting back to watch the rain. She sniffs, waiting for something. She's not entirely sure what.

[kineticmachine]

Arlin's gotten out his sketchbook and one of those fancy-dancy graphite pencils, and is making light, determined lines on the paper by the time Trinity sits down. He doesn't really look up, though does take the coffee and say, "Thank you."

The silence that follows might be uncomfortable for Trin, but Arlin doesn't mind it much at first. Except for the fact that he knows that technically, according to the rules of society, he should probably say something. Also, the fact that she's spoken makes it doubly hard to pretend that the silence means the same thing to both of them.

He looks up, finally, pencil hovering over the paper for a brief moment while he does before he goes back to what he was drawing. "Don't apologize simply because you think it's necessary," he says. "It's a disgusting habit to get into."

Those were not really the words the rules of society might have dictated he said, but at least he said words.

[omnomnomface]

Trin exhales in a sort of half-laugh. "'Kay then," she says. "I just... yeah. 'm not apologizing." She takes a sip of her own coffee--that takes her back more out of her head and into the present. She leans a little bit on the table.

"Watcha drawin'?" she asks. Because now that he's said words, it's okay for her to go back to being Queen of the Conversation.

[kineticmachine]

"Good," he replies, making a few more light lines.

And here they are venturing back into the realm of normalcy, which is not a realm Arlin operates well in, as much as he operates well in relating to anyone in any realm. He frowns down at his sketchbook for a moment, erasing a few of the lines he just made. "Designs for something," he replies. Master of conversation that he is.

[omnomnomface]

Trin nods, taking another sip of her coffee. "Designs for what?" she asks, because 'something' is not clear enough for her. Trin has no sense of privacy. Really she doesn't. She's a firm believer that secrets are bad bad bad bad BAD, and that everything should be out in the open.

[kineticmachine]

Arlin gives her an impatient glance, then looks down at the sketchbook, considering. He hates talking about the machines about as much as he hates talking about his job (at least he has a legitimate excuse of 'classified' if pressed too hard about that one). At the same time, he knows Trin isn't going to just let it go at 'something'.

"For a machine," he says. He moves as though he's going to draw something, but doesn't. Part of the reason he doesn't want to talk about the machines isn't ingrained; it's more the fact that they don't mean the same thing here that they did at one point. That's not something he's going to admit to anyone, but it doesn't mean he likes thinking about it. Which is what happens any time anyone asks about the machines in general. One would think he'd have more control than that. "It's a hobby of mine."

He could ask her something about herself, lead the conversation away and let her natter on while he only half-listened and ate his food, but at the moment, he can't think of anything to say.

[omnomnomface]

"What kind of machines?" Trin asks, because now she's actually interested. Not in machines, necessarily. Just in what he's doing. He's interesting, and Trin likes interesting. It's better than boring, anyway.

"That's an awesome hobby," Trin says. "I don't really... have a hobby... besides drinking, I guess. And that's not really a hobby, you know? I don't know. Do you have other hobbies?"

She likes to hear him talk, too. She doesn't have many friends (though she can't imagine why...) and she likes just talking.

[kineticmachine]

Okay, whatever, he's ignoring that question entirely. He's not talking about this. So he shifts position a bit, setting down his pencil pointedly. "Some people would consider drinking a perfectly acceptable hobby," he replies, voice laden with sarcasm. "And I didn't exactly come here to discuss my hobbies with you."

You know, as if he came here to talk to her at all, or anything.

[omnomnomface]

"Well, whenever I said that, people would look at me and be like, 'That's not a hobby,'" Trin says defensively. "So I don't know. Other people had hobbies, like... building model boats. Is that what that's for, model stuff? Or do you just draw it? Do the machines ever WORK? Is it, like, functional stuff, or just pretty stuff for, like, the outside?"

She completely ignores the whole 'didn't come here to discuss my hobbies with you' comment. Because if that's what he wants to think, then fine. She's not going to argue that point.

[kineticmachine]

Arlin...doesn't exactly glare at her, but he comes pretty close. "Hence the sarcasm," he points out, jabbing his pencil in her direction. "Yes, they're functional, and did I not just say I wasn't discussing this with you?"

At this point, he's questioning why he hasn't just gotten up and walked away. He questions this a lot. Damn his weird, ingrained politeness -- even when he's not being particularly polite, he can't just walk away from someone who's not doing anything to him half the time, particularly when he wasn't in a terrible mood to begin with and thus at least gives a tiny bit of a shit about social etiquette. Plus, he came to this cafe of his own volition, and he'll be damned if some girl who's trying to be his friend is going to keep him from public places.

Still, he's not going to talk about the machines, no matter how badly she wants to. So he pointedly changes the subject: "Why are you so insistent on having a conversation with me?"

[omnomnomface]

Trin exhales. "You know I'm not that smart," she whines. "You can't just sneak that sarcasm thing up on me!" She shakes her head and proceeds to take a sip of her coffee.

She really just wants to know more stuff about him. But she's not going to tell him that, lest it come of as creepy. Not that he probably doesn't think she's a) creepy already and b) really really annoying. So instead she grins at him.

"'Cause we're drinking buddies, and that's what drinking buddies do!" she exclaims. "You know? I mean, eventually you get to know each other enough that you don't have to talk, but we're totally not there yet so I have to know more about you. Or whatever." She shrugs. Because duh.

[kineticmachine]

"Drinking buddies?" Arlin asks, raising an eyebrow at her. He gives up on drawing for the moment, given the fact that the more he works on this design, the more she asks about it. So the journal gets closed and tucked into his inner jacket pocket again.

He's taking the jacket off (now that his hair and pants are slightly drier, the AC in the cafe isn't bothering him) when a barista brings his food over to their table, so this offers yet another convenient way to not talk to her for a moment. But only a moment, as after a sip of still-too-hot soup, he decides to snark some more.

"Don't both parties usually get a say in that sort of relationship?" he asks. He'll conveniently ignore that he's totally been dragged into relationships like this before; at least he was vaguely interested in those 'buddies'. "And doesn't it require that the parties involved have something even remotely in common?" He's pretty sure they don't.

[omnomnomface]

Trin makes a face at him. "You stick around," she says, more than a little hurt by the implication. . "You agreed last time to drink with me, you're drinking with me now." She sniffs. "And if I just drank with people who had things in common with me, my life would be soooooooo boring." She rolls her eyes. "Besides, we both have things in common! Like we like alcohol. And this coffee shop, clearly. And we both drink black!" She smiles at him, triumphant that she's found so many things that point directly to them being drinking buddies. To mark her point, she takes a long sip of her coffee, ignoring the way it burns her tongue.