Log:Meeting At Aspire

Meeting At Aspire
"Alright, well. Look, I get it."
Participants C.B. & Teagan	20 February, 2018 CB's requested meeting at Aspire contains awkward conversations between two people at odds.
Location Aspire Arena
An indoor-outdoor obstacle course isn't exactly the most popular of places in Vermont in February, which makes it the best place for someone who wants to avoid crowds, but meet in a semi-public location. Aspire's staff has closed off the area, regardless, at Teagan's instruction, via Vorpal, who owns the place. The Darkling's sitting on one of the mats, underneath an overhang that casts a nice, solid shadow, their vape in one hand. A slow cloud of vapor surrounds them; their back leans against one of the supports. Every day they look more like an illustration from a Shadowrun book, and even more since CB saw them last. Their shadows are longer and more solid, their face somehow stranger and less settled. C.B. hasn't changed much, perhaps. At least on the surface, he doesn't appear to. Although one thing is decidedly weird: when he steps into the obstacle course, he's clearly dressed for athletic activity. Athletawhat? The guy who easily smokes 40 cigs a day and can drain a twelve-pack like it's lemonade thinks he's going to do something physical? Maybe so. He's wearing black sweatpants and a black warm-up jacket over a red t-shirt, and is carrying some sort of black gym bag. Stranger things have happened. At any rate, he approaches Teagan like this is entirely normal, coming into their view and putting a foot up on the mat beside him as he puts the bag down. "Hey." The Mirrorskin's clothing never changes, no matter what the activity, unless they're mirroring someone: black shirt -- the newer one that says I AM AN EXPERIENCE in the Steven Universe font, trenchcoat, skinny jeans, black boots with flexible soles. (Aesthetic vs sneaking, it's totally a thing.) One of their shifting eyebrows rises, and then drops, but they don't say anything about CB's appearance. "Hey," they answer; their phone's in their other hand, resting on their thigh, and they drop it down on the mat next to them, either ceasing playing the game they were playing or stopping a text message conversation or something. "Thanks for meeting with me." C.B. stays there, standing, shoving his hands into his pockets, squinting down at them. "How've you been?" His tone is level. For him, he sounds pretty easy-going, as much as he can be, at any rate. "Sure," agrees Teagan, taking another pull from their vape: a click of the button, a hiss, and then another cloud of vapor. Their broken-mirror eyes are a little more liquid than usual, and the slow exhalation of vapor smells like strawberries and vanilla. "Aight," they answer, rolling their shoulder. "Settling. Working on shit. Job. Motley. Freehold. Building Summer." Beat. "You?" "Freehold, huh?" C.B. keeps squinting and, perhaps curiously for him, doesn't pull out a cigarette. But they /are/ sort of still indoors. "You joining up?" The silver in his eyes swirls around, as it's wont to do. Mostly, though, all of his focus is on the Darkling at the moment. They roll their shoulders. "Already did. I had concerns about how the Freehold would affect my ability to do the job I've been doing for the last thirty years. Turns out: there's a job title for what I do. Hunter of the Longest Days." Teagan rolls their shoulders lazily, spins the vape in their hand. "So: had concerns, didn't, concerns were addressed, did." Their tongue clicks against the roof of their mouth. "You didn't answer my question, though." C.B.'s mouth quirks up a touch. "'Hunter of the Longest Days,'" he repeats, rubbing his mouth, like he expects to find a cigarette there even though there isn't. "That's nearly poetic. What's that been like for you, being in the Freehold?" Then the Author finally sits, or squats really, perching next to them on the mat. He shrugs, taking in a deep breath and sighing it out again, looking away. "I don't have much to report. Look, uh..." He runs a hand through his hair, then turns and stares squarely at them. "I'd like to make a truce with you. I know we have our differences, most of them personal." He puts his palms up like -- don't attack me. "But this is a small town. There's only so many of us. And fighting amongst ourselves isn't going to get nobody nowhere. So." His brows raise. "Whaddya think? That something you'd consider?" "Well," Teagan answers, "It's a Summer job. 'Taker-Out Of The Most Difficult Trash,' not exactly the most poetic, but really what the job actually is." Another pull from their vape -- inside or out, apparently they think that Vorpal either doesn't care, or will put up with their shit. They don't move, except their head kind of moves, broken mirrors tracking and reflecting bits and pieces of the Wizened's face. "A truce would tend to imply that we're at war, Ben, and you'd know if we were actually at war." Maybe that wasn't the best phrasing to use with a Summer. They roll their shoulder, a half-second later, turn their face to offer C.B. their profile. "Look. The reason why there's conflict between us is pretty fucking simple. You did something that triggered an abuse response in me. I came and told you what you'd done, expecting an 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, it won't happen again.' What I got instead was 'it's actually your fault, and you never actually loved me because you want me to own my shit and apologize when I fuck up.' So, like. You want a -- you want -- more chill shit? Start there. Because I did love you, and you fucked it up, and I'm still mad." "You -- threw it in the direction of Amanda and me, at the wall, yes. But -- toward us. Toward me." It seems a clarification, more than an accusation: picking out exactly why what happened triggered the response that it did, rather than making another accusation. Another spin of the vape in between their fingers, and their head turns back slightly toward him; the shadows around them deepen, sliding around on the mats like a discontent cat. They go silent through all of it, and nod the once, lips pressing together, making their dark-metal skin silver briefly with the pressure. "Every armor has its weaknesses, especially when it comes to people who you think should know better. You knew, because I'd trusted you with it." They don't comment further on their toughness or lack thereof. C.B.'s squint just grows deeper and deeper the more Teagan talks, but he doesn't interrupt, and he doesn't look angry per se. Mostly pensive. Eventually, he clears his throat and runs his hand through his hair again. "Okay. Well. Let's take a closer look at that. This thing that triggered the abuse response -- are you talking about when I threw the glass at the wall in Cat-22?" He shrugs. "I /am/ sorry for that. I mean, I guess I felt okay about it at the time, because it really didn't have much to do with you. I was angry, so I took it out on the glass. And the wall." He has to smirk a little, though it fades quickly. "But, uh. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. You act so tough, but really, you're pretty vulnerable inside. I forget that, sometimes." He's not looking at them now. "You -- threw it in the direction of Amanda and me, at the wall, yes. But -- toward us. Toward me." It seems a clarification, more than an accusation: picking out exactly why what happened triggered the response that it did, rather than making another accusation. Another spin of the vape in between their fingers, and their head turns back slightly toward him; the shadows around them deepen, sliding around on the mats like a discontent cat. They go silent through all of it, and nod the once, lips pressing together, making their dark-metal skin silver briefly with the pressure. "Every armor has its weaknesses, especially when it comes to people who you think should know better. You knew, because I'd trusted you with it." They don't comment further on their toughness or lack thereof. "Well. For the record, I wasn't /trying/ to throw it at you. But I get it. I see what you're saying." C.B.'s already apologized once; apparently, he's not going to apologize again. But he does seem chagrined. He looks towards them again and sighs. "Alright, well. Look, I get it. My old man was a champion plate-thrower. And chair breaker. I'm not trying to be like him." While still calm, he seems vaguely uncomfortable now, and glances away again. "Anyway. There you go." They roll their shoulders, then. "Intent isn't impact," seems like an agreement. A Summer with Therapy Vocabulary, will wonders never cease? "I accept your apology." The Mirrorskin stays as impassive in their appearance as they are at their most blank; there's a distance between their words and the nothing that is their mirror-dark expression. The only break in that is another small tightening of their lips, silvering across the mirror-dark once more. "Cycles are shit. Not easy to break. You're kinda caught in one, and the way you act it out is what pisses people off and makes problems for you. Take it for what it's worth, I guess. I know a good Bishop. He's the one I see when I come back from the worst assignments." Pause. "And the not-so-worst ones, but. The shit I deal with when I'm out there isn't exactly -- eh. It's irrelevant. Anyway, his name's Rook Talbot. He's come local, he's probably gonna work with us at the shelter and community center." C.B. purses his chapped lips, pressing his fingers over his opposite hand. "Bishops can't help me. I've already tried." He doesn't ask about the shelter and community center, or what they mean by cycles. Maybe he doesn't want advice. He just turns to them and says, "So, you don't like the word 'truce.' What would would prefer?" One eyebrow rises, and Teagan looks like they want to say something, there, but then decide against it: the eyebrow drops, their shoulders roll. Whether that gesture is dismissive or diplomatic or surrender to inevitable or something else? Possibly not clear. "I don't think we can really put a status on this, C.B." An absent spin of the vape in their fingers. "I think the best either of us can hope for is to attempt to give each other the benefit of the doubt. I'm not going to be held as breaking some sort of 'truce' if you're an asshole, and I'm not gonna put you in that position either." "You already said you didn't like the term. I know. I'm not gonna try and push it on you." C.B. squints at them. Then he, too, shrugs. And nods. "Alright. The benefit of the doubt. Sure. Fine by me." He stirs where he's sitting, like maybe he wants to get up, but something is stopping him from doing so just yet. A grunt in the back of their throat, and Teagan falls silent afterwards, still spinning the bright green vape between their fingers. They stop after a moment, and spin the ring on their left hand instead, an idle gesture. When C.B. stirs, the Mirrorskin turns their face toward him, eyebrow rising. "If you have something else you need to talk about, go for it. Otherwise, I'm good." C.B. clears his throat, rocking on his haunches for a moment, but ultimately, he stands. "Nah. I guess not." But as he looks down at Teagan, he offers out a hand. Presumably to shake, not to help them to their feet, but he doesn't say anything else about it. "You guess not?" Teagan's eyebrow stays up, and they take a deep breath, letting it out. "Aight." The hand offered is taken, and Teagan rolls to their feet. Whether they understood the gesture or not is debatable, though. Their face is the same as it ever is, calm and smooth. C.B. lets out a soft snort of laughter as his gesture is misunderstood. "I was trying to shake your hand," he explains. But now that they're both on his feet, he tries again: sticking his hand out to shake. He's squinting, as he so often does, like he's staring into some bright light or can't read something because his glasses aren't on. It's not unusual for people to squint at Teagan, though it's often because they're standing next to the much-brigher Valkyrie, these days. Shadowsouls don't usually make people squint. "Oh," Teagan answers, their mouth twisting into a moue briefly before returning to default once more. Their scarred hand stretches out to take the again-offered hand, shaking it. "Aight," they add, with a diffidence that may or may not be genuine. It's really difficult to tell, with Teagan. C.B., for what it's worth, squints at everyone. And everything. Bright, dark, or not there at all...but the shake he gives is both hearty and awkward, his palm a little clammy, and there's just a touch of electricity there. He lets go and picks up the gym bag again. "Be seeing you." Then he's heading out...wait, is he actually going to the gym part of Aspire? He just might be. "Yeah, probably," answers the Mirrorskin, whose handshake exactly mirrors the handshake they're given. Funny how that works. Shadows wrap around their hand, and thus his, briefly, with the subtlest of coolnesses, like a draft crossing the skin. They let go, slide their hands into their pockets, and once he turns his back, they're gone. That sneaky shit: it's an inherent part of Sof's Shadow Spy.