Good on You


ethan_icon.gif ziadie_icon.gif

Scene Title Good on You
Synopsis Ziadie's come a long way since Ethan found him, but somehow, he's still asking Ethan for work.
Date June 11, 2011

Greenwich Village: The Red Fox

Just like any other hole in the wall bar.

Ziadie's contact with Ethan had become sporadic. And perhaps it was understandable. Sober, the old man tended to have less to do with criminal elements, less to do with most people, more to do with himself and keeping to himself. But the voicemail that's left for Ethan, requesting they meet for a few beers, sounds perhaps more sober than he's ever heard Ziadie before. Which could be alarming, or could be a good thing, and on the shortness of a voicemail message, it's difficult to tell which of the two it is.

But now, the old man is waiting, in the bar he'd given the location of. More assertive of him than usual, too, naming the location for their meetings, which in the past have just been in parks, or wherever it is that The Wolf said. But no, this afternoon, Ziadie sits at the bar of The Red Fox, in Greenwich Village, waiting. There's a half-full glass of scotch in front of him, and the leather jacket that he always wears is strangely devoid of any of the usual decoration of medals, except for the one award of the purple heart that remains. Far fewer than usual, and the former police officer perhaps even seems alert, and cautious, as he waits.


It is Ethan's primary M.O to appear when you are looking the other way. He's done it for thousands of years or something like that, and so he does so now. One arm is applied to the bar behind Ziadie as the Brit leans up against the bar. A light breath let out. "This weather." He points out softly, a pack of cigarettes laid on the bar with his free hand. He tilts his head at the other man.

Raising his hand to the bartender, and motioning to Ziadies drink. He'll have one of those. Before finally looking back over to the elderly man, arching his brows. "So. You called?"

True to form, it even startles the old man. Ziadie's grip on the clove cigarette between his fingers falters a little, but not enough that it drops into the ashtray that it's resting on, and when he's recovered his grip, he picks up his drink and turns to face the other. "I did." It's a matter-of-fact answer to the question, but not at all without amusement in his voice. "Wondered what you'd gotten yourself up to." Considering that he hasn't actually seen the Brit since before the Dome, it could possibly be posed as a valid question, except that it's a statement. Definitely a statement.

It's only after another sip of the scotch, and after the bartender sets one down in front of Ethan and goes back away, that Ziadie speaks again. "Figured I might as well tell you I'm moving." A pause. "You deserve to know." Or something. There's a strange sense of obligation, there, for the man who reminded him that he could do more than wander about and sit and drink on Staten. "Since Ivanov's gone, and all. You prolly won' want to come by my new place or be seen near it." Not that Ethan ever was actually at Felix's apartment, either. But near it, yes. "More cops live in that building than a station house."

Ethan's gaze slowly slides over to Ziadie, who he regards passively for a long moment. Simply staring at the older man, lips tight, jaw tighter. Displaying no emotion besides, eventually, impatience. A long breath slides out from his teeth. "So you brought me down to the Red Cock in the middle o' th' day. A note. Could've done. Phone call."

He waves a dismissive hand. "Whotever. I'm 'ere now. Well. I'm sorry your gay cop friend is gone. Movin' in with more cops then, good for you. Back to your roots." He smirks a little, holding his glass up to Ziadie in cheers. "You've come a long way since I found you, mate. Picked yourself up all th'way then. Good on you."

"Actually," Ziadie says, "I asked y' to come here because I still'd like work. Jus' … only have so much of a choice 'bout moving." Eventually, he shrugs. "I'm still no' suited to retirement." Or to walking on the side of the line that he finds himself, but he doesn't say that part aloud. In fact, the entirety of the impatience thing. "Though I thought y' went and got yourself killed in the Dome or something like that."

A harsh chuckle is sang back to Ziadie. The stern man gives a slow shake of his head. "I can't die, Ziadie." The man murmurs lowly. Taking a slow sip of his scotch. Setting it back down. He pushes it away from him some. "More work?" The Wolf tilts his head some. "Yeah. There's a lot t'be done. I'll be in touch. If y'wanted I might be able to provide y'a place t'stay. That wouldn't involve a shitload of cops."

The revelation is accepted with a slight raise of eyebrows. "Really." Ziadie seems at least a little bit surprised, and then there is another long moment of silence while he considers, another sip of scotch taken. "Might be good. At least for having a place to get out, when …" another shrug. When being around other law enforcement brings back the nostalgia to the degree of how very much Ziadie's lost, when it gets to more than the old man can deal with. "But if I keep busy, I'd be … thankful."

"Would need to go over it with me daughter. And the rest of the crew." Ethan waves a little hand to the side as if that was expected. Although it rubs him the wrong way just to say it. Grabbing the glass of scotch, he brings it up to take a gentle sip. Tilting it back some, he goes to set the glass back down on the bar. Pushing it to the side some. "I'll get with them and let you know, sound good old man?"

"Of course." It's expected, really, and Ziadie purses his lips. "So when'd you find out y' can't die?" The change in the line of discussion is not sudden, really, and not entirely unforeseen. "How's it feel?" And it seems the old man has a good amount of healthy (or perhaps unhealthy) curiosity. Which is what got him into this, or perhaps out of the situation he was in before, in the first place. Another cigarette is withdrawn, lit, the silver zippo remaining out as Ziadie toys with it.

"When the dome was lifted. Really my 'ole life I've been doin' things a man should've died from. But I never did." A light, smug grin pulls up his lips. "And I won't, not until I'm good and ready." He gives a light shrug. "Feel th'same I always 'ave. Though. I don't need t'worry as much. Brash decisions aren't stupid anymore, they're just effective." He gives a sly grin, downing the rest of his glass before slamming it down. "Well, Ziadie. I will talk to me daughter and them. Let you know, alright old man?"

In response, Ziadie just nods, taking the last sip of his scotch. "See you, then," he says. And although he doesn't get up from the bar, Ziadie definitely isn't there to get drunk. At least, not this afternoon.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License