Participants:
| Scene Title | Losing Bets |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | It's a better explanation than the real one as to why Graeme's doing push-ups in the lobby. |
| Date | April 28, 2011 |
Dorchester Towers: Lobby
It is a nice evening outside for a change. The wind is coming from neither the down town, nor Staten island. There seems to be just a touch of briskness in the air, but not enough to turn cold. Inside the climate controlled building of the Dorchester towers though the temprature never changes. "Karl Agathon" is sitting in the lobby, reading a news paper lounging a little, while very close to him, Graeme appears to be doing push ups. The lobby is otherwise pretty quiet the only real sounds the rustle of paper and some heavy breathing.
Graeme Cormac is grudgingly enduring what he's set out to do. So far, it's been four minutes, nearly twenty pushups that are slower and more difficult than usual, that he's managed to be near the man reading the newspaper. Having determined that Graeme can, in fact, stand being in the negation field without having a total meltdown, the next thing to do was activity. Another pushup is completed, and then Graeme stands, moving further away, to the other end of the bench, to sit down.
Ten feet and a little bit away from "Karl Agathon". His breathing slows, evens out, less ragged and heavy, and there's a grin. "Shit," he says, quiet but emphatic. "That was hard." He looks down, pulling a stopwatch from the pocket of the workout pants. "Still, better than last time. This time, four minutes."
Enter…Adisa Dunham, on her cell, with a bag full of clothes over one arm. She's just arriving back at the Dorchester apartments. "I know. I KNOW. I was all like, Oh…em…gee. It was totally crazy. Anyway, I'm almost home. If I go inside the apartment, and like, you know, Tahir's there? And I'm all chatting on my phone and stuff…you know. It totally bugs him. And plus…I need to totally retry on all the outfits I bought. See which one I wanna start wearing right away. Ciao." Phone close and slipped into her purse which is slung over her shoulder.
At about the same time, Evan is heading the other direction, body partly obscured by a wheeled cart bearing some electronic gear with Property of Columbia University stamped on the sides. All nice and legit— or else it's a really bald-faced robbery, in plain view of all and sundry.
"Yeah, just picked it up," he says into his own phone, tucked awkwardly between ear and shoulder. "I'll be back with it in an hour or so." Then, lowering the phone, he pauses and squints at Graeme. "Lose a bet?" he asks, casually.
Trask chuckles softly to himself and nods at Graemes comment about four minutes, he then turns to the sports page of the paper. He just shakes his head some as he sees the two people with cell phones grafted to thier ears entering the lobby. Not really giving either more then a second glance, at least not openly.
There's a glance to Trask, and then Graeme nods to Evan, easily. "Could say that." But from when he'd stood up, nearly breathless and looking more than a little tired, to where he's sitting, now, it's as if you can barely tell that Graeme's been doing pushups at all. "I'll be happy when I've finished the requirements of lose a bet, but well…" Graeme shrugs. "I lost. I'll honour the terms of the bet, you know?"
Adisa glances at all the men who are happening to be in the lobby at the same time she is. "That…is why I like…totally never bet exercise. Only money. You should think about that. You know? Money won't make you strain yourself. Just make you wish you had more of it after it's lost." She says with a firm nod of her head.
Evan pauses a moment to rub his eyes, then offers Adisa a shrug, glancing between her and Graeme. "I don't know," he replies, "it depends what you end up getting out of it. Like, if your girlfriend's watching and she thinks you're all bad-ass for going through with it—" Who knows why Graeme got himself into it, though. It doesn't seem to be driven by accolades.
Trask looks up from his paper now. "Money? Ahh but exercise is a benefit to yourself, in addition to an … entertainment to the winner, I never found any unenjoyable activity that left me panting and drenched in sweat." The face may be Irish, but the voice is pure Latino, silky and smooth.
Graeme shrugs, stretching a bit, and moving himself back into the negation field as he does so. It's accompanied by a very slight wince, perhaps noticeable, perhaps not, but Graeme's going to sit there. And there are people around, so he can't even complain about the fact that everything is decidedly unpleasant. "Either way, I lost, so." Losing a bet is a good enough explanation for this. Much better than the fact that he suggested and wanted the experience.
Adisa rolls her eyes. "Men." That's mostly her whole statement, rolled into one. Men. "Yes, we gals want nice, strong men. We also want our strong men to come shopping with us to carry all our heavy bags. But they don't. I'd much rather my man win the money." But that's just one eighteen year old's view on things.
Evan waves a dismissive hand. "Yeah, and I want a million bucks, but it doesn't mean I'm holding my breath over it. I mean, if the guy's letting you spend his money, then the least you can do is haul your own bags. Or get him a beer when the game's on." He doesn't actually have a personal stake in Adisa's shopping habits, but lots of guys have had a bad experience with someone making them stand around and wait and be bored out of their minds. Wife, girlfriend, mother, what have you.
Trask nods slowly, "Well I guess that is some people's opinion on things. Eventually you may find that the kind of guy who is willing to do that for a little nookie is just as willing to find that nookie elsewhere when he gets bored. " He shakes his head, "But you have lots of time to find that out I am sure. You remind me of a couple friends I knew once upon a time, and they both turned out alright eventually, so I am sure you have a lot of…growing up to do." He cocks his head at that and smiles to himself, then picks back up his paper and begins reading again. He doesn't seem to have noticed Graeme moving in closer again. Evan only gets a meeting of the eyes and a nod of camaraderie as he reinforces what the other man said in a way.
"Yeah well, that's life, isn't it?" Adisa says to Evan. "You want a million bucks, I want a guy who'll actually take me shopping and not complain all the way." She sighs. She gives Trask a 'Did I just hear you right?' look. "I've done like, plenty of growing up already, thank you. It's not like I'm holding on to my daddy's hand while I make my way in the 'Big Apple'." But she is living at her brother's place for free. Not that she's about to mention that. She grins at Graeme. "You see, this guy gets it. If you lose a bet like this, you don't exactly want the one you're dating to see it." She nods firmly.
Rather than keep the argument going — he's just as happy to see Trask pile on — Evan studies the girl young woman. If the Valley accent wasn't already enough of a giveaway, then the 'make my way' comment cinches it: she's not from around here. Then again, a few years ago, neither was he. "So what did drag you out of California, anyway?"
Trask chuckles softly and shakes his head, "I will say that I have never complained when carrying a girls bags I cared about, but I have never been with a girl because she mostly saw me as a baggage carryer and walking wallet." He doesn't even look at he as he says this, still reading, he then folds the paper down to look over the edge. "Let me guess living off your trust fund? Or you already have a boyfriend putting you up?" The paper goes back up, "Not that it is any of my business."
Graeme's attention doesn't really seem to be on the conversation going on around him. Instead, he stands, walking past the edge of the bench again to lean palms against the wall, a glance at the stopwatch, which has incidentally been stopped again. The time on it is noted, and there's a glance to Trask, before Graeme's turned, now leaning back against the wall. And out of the effect once more, the breathing that had become ragged evens out.
There's a chuckle of laughter at the mention of trust funds. "Hey, unearned income is a wonderful thing," he says, with a grin, and a very pointed look accompanying the drawling words. "Though I work for a livin'." That it's some of Graeme's unearned income that's being put towards supplies for Trask and their mutual friends.
Adisa shakes her head at Evan. "I'm like, totally not from Cali. I'm from Chicago." She states. "And I totally came up here to get away from my parents to make it out on my own." That's her story and she's sticking to it! To Trask, she says, "It's neither of those things, I'll have you know. I'm totally not a trust fund baby and I don't have a boyfriend at the moment. And I do work." At a salon/day spa. She grins at Graeme. "Unearned income is nice. And I wish I did have a trust fund." She says as an aside to Trask. "But I've gotta work like anyone else."
Trask smiles and puts down his paper. "You assume everyone works. Some people are just independently wealthy, or even independently poor. The unemployment rate is rather high these days…and then there is all those …evolved… to deal with. No one is "normal" anymore don't you know?" He rises slowly shaking his head, and sliding the paper under his arm. "Let's definitely do this again Graeme, same time next week?"
Graeme leans back again, and nods. There goes the thing about it being a bet he'd lost. "Yeah. Next week," he says, with as much grudging give to the words as he'd started with. "Speaking of which. I ought to go see about calling, finding out when I'm next going to work for a living. Wednesday or something?" There's a pause, as if he's trying to figure out what to call Trask, but then he shakes his head, decides against it, turns to Adisa.
"Can I help you carry any of those up to your apartment? It's not out of the way, really." And Graeme's being a gentleman, though it does look to him like Adisa's fully capable of carrying the bags herself. A nod is given to Evan, and then a final shrug. "But yeah, next week."
"But like…don't…don't people have to work to like, be independently wealthy? 'Cause that like, totally assumes that they made their wealth independently of anyone else like family…right?" Maybe Adisa can actually figure something out, outside of the realm of shopping? Maybe? Smiling at Graeme, she nods. "That would be lovely." While she's capable of carrying the bag by herself, she holds it out for Graeme. "Thank you. Frees up my arm and hand from doing the awkward 'hold on to the bag while looking for the keys' thing." On the other hand, she doesn't seem to realize that there are options, in that scenario, where she could just put the bag down while searching for keys.
Graeme snorts, a bit, though he does take the bag, carefully, in his right hand. It's actually heavier than most of the things he's been carrying with that arm, so, and this knowledge is tucked away. "You could always put the bag down while you get out your keys, but like I said, no problem." There's a pause. "Independently wealthy just means you don't need to work for a living, and that whatever your money's coming from is yours, rather than belonging to your parents or relatives, or trust funds." A wry smile. Technically, the term could be applied to Graeme, but he's not going to mention that aloud. "But like I said. Unearned income or not, I work for a living. Even if mainly because I want to."
Trask chuckles softly, and shakes his head, "Independently wealthy means…yeah. That you are wealthy enough to not need to work. Anyway looks like you found a man more then willing to carry your bags after all. Have a good evening, both of you. He smiles and looks over his sunglasses at Adisa a moment, maybe memorizing just what she looks like, maybe just gauging something about her. "Fortis Et Liber," he smiles softly with that strange phrase as a good bye and begins to turn away heading for the door.
"Latin? I prefer latin dancing." But perhaps that's just Adisa. She listens intently as they wait for the elevator. "You've got an ability…where you like…don't have to be bothered by the pain? I'm totally jealous. I'd like…give anything not have to feel pain." She smiles widely. "So like, I guess it wasn't the hugest of deals getting stabbed then? I mean…I guess it was still a huge deal and all. You were stabbed. But still!"
"Superhuman endurance," Graeme responds quietly, as they get into the elevator. "It's not just pain. And I still feel it, it just doesn't really bother me, the same, and I can deal with a lot of things a lot better." Then there's a laugh. "I tried to walk out of the hospital without even letting them stitch up my shoulder, before some friends talked sense into me. It just felt like it was really sore, by what I could tell. I also don't have to sleep as much, I have to eat four times more than most people, you know. Lots of small details and all."
"Wow. That must be something." Adisa wonders at, as the enter into the elevator. "Well, it's still something, isn't it? I mean…you don't get bothered by it! That's why the rest of us take like…advil and stuff." She grins, pressing the number for her floor. "Yeah…probably was a good idea to get stitched up. Don't want something bad happening to you 'cause you didn't get the proper care!" She wiggles her nose a little. "That a lot to eat. You must really ride up a grocery bill!"
There's amusement clearly on Graeme's face. "It's good, most of the time." Even if negation is rather his weak point. He's not about to go admitting his weak points right and left. "And like I said, I have unearned income too. It's good for covering food costs."
Adisa nods a little bit. "Well, I'm still totally jealous." She says, shaking her head in a good natured manor. The elevator makes a 'ding' sound, and she takes her bag from Graeme. "This is me. Thanks for holding my bag for me, for the little bit. Night."