Morning Glory


brian_icon.gif calvin_icon.gif

Scene Title Morning Glory
Synopsis What's the story~?
Date January 12, 2010

Calvin's Pad


It's not a door bell. It's someone making a ding-dong noise just outside Calvin's door. The noise is preceded by a rapid tap-tap-tap on the door. It's an early morning. Far too early to be time for ding dong noises and excited knocking. Yet it happens anyway. Around 6:45, Calvin will find he has a visitor outside.

It's still a bit dark outside, which might be accounted for the dark clouds gathering above. Frost sticks to the ground outside, steam floods from the breath of Calvin's visitor.

Standing just outside the door, Brian Winters stands with a bright smile. A bag of Burger King dangling from his right hand and a cup tray balanced in other other arm. Two iced mocha frappuccino's rest in the cup tray. Calvin might have almost killed him last night, but here he is, not a scratch on him. With egg and cheese croissants.


Halfway dressed for work and three-fourths of the way to getting out the door, Calvin leans out've the cramped closet of his bathroom with toothbrush in hand.

A glance to his watch confirms that it's too early for visitors, even ones of the landlord-shaped variety, and he's slow to lean back in to finish his brushing. Huh.

A few spits and a scrub of towel to goatee later, he pads out across cold wood flooring to squint critically through the peep hole. It takes him a beat longer after that to actually open the front door.

He's a touch shorter without his shoes on, 5'11" where he might otherwise scrape just over 6', already fully made-up in eyeliner and fine orange dreads, pale blue eyes peering out from under the hood of his brows the way people peer when a vacuum-cleaner salesman they've already told to shove off twice comes round knocking again. He's wearing a white dress shirt unbuttoned over a fitted black t with PRIMAL stamped out across it in grey lettering and grey slacks that probably belong to a suit that he hasn't put the rest of on yet.

He doesn't say hullo.

When the door opens, Brian doesn't change much. He had set himself up ready for Calvin to open the door and that's where he stays. Much like a cardboard cut-out, Winters remains completely still with his bright white gleaming smile in front of Calvin. The only thing that changes is the steam flowing out on his breath every other puff.

A gray beanie pulled down over his brows, a black peacoat is fastened snugly, with a pair of torn and faded jeans. One leg of which was accidentally tucked into his boot. Ops. Finally, Brian pushes the bag of food forward slightly.

It's chilly in Calvin's apartment; he doesn't like to leave the heat on. So it doesn't take more than the few seconds he stands there for his breath to filter into a fog in turn, door partway open, left hand still on the handle. He looks Brian over like he thinks he might be crazy. Looks to the bag of Burger King. King of Burgers.

Then he steps back and moves to close the door in Brian's face.


The knocking is very obnoxious. And if Calvin doesn't answer soon, one of his annoyed and cranky neighbors will. But once Calvin finally does open the door again. He will find Brian gone. The King of Burgers and one frappuccino resting straight in front of his door. Calvin might hear the sound of scraping against stairs and possibly even a little guilty giggling.

He will also hear a thump, which is Brian. Making his way through Calvin's window. "Hnngh." He groans, sliding his way through. Frowning down at the desk, a little leap is made to avoid breaking anything, sending Brian toppling onto the ground. "Hello apartment. I missed you."

"Right, yeh. Come on in. Make yourself at home." Back in the bathroom already, not having bothered to answer the door a second time, Calvin is in the process of buttoning his shirt and adjusting the crisp sit of his cuffs and collar high against is neck. Arrogant.

The leather slack of his holster is lifted off a towel hook as he paces back into the studio apartment proper, loops shrugged into with an awkward twist of his left arm on his way to the desk, where the grey of his gun lies loaded next to a spare magazine. "Don't mind the screens; I've been meaning to replace those anyway."

"You don't like burger king?" Brian asks as he goes to unfasten his pea-coat. Pressing himself up from the ground. "I know it's fast food. But nothing else opens this early around here, and transporting home made stuff is so impractical." He flails one hand. "If you only have it every now and then, it's actually pretty good. Just make sure you wait a couple months til you eat it again. Or a life." Taking off his coat, it's draped on the back of Calvin's chair.

"I'll get you a new one." He murmurs, examining the screens on the window, leaning over the desk some. "You know the measurements?" Frowning some, he shifts his weight back to his heels. "So… Robots."

"I don't like you," bitten off with starkly earnest distaste that is probably not surprising so much as it is expected, Calvin situates semiautomatic in holster along with the spare and fidgits with his collar again. His laptop is folded over and slipped into a briefcase that is, in turn, clasped shut and slung over onto the narrow plank of his bed so that he can set next to it and pull on a pair of dark dress socks.

Fast food, window screens, robots. Calvin ignores the rest easily, resilient through the arch of his skull and the slant of his jaw while he does the socks and then the combat boots, laces done up swift-like into double knots. "Y'don't leave me alone and I'm going to start killing you all the way, you know."

"I'm a great friend, Calvin. And I'm going to keep showing you that until you start inviting me to parties and book clubs." Brian answers crisply, folding his arms as if to show how staunchly adamant he is on this position. He watches him for a moment, frowning.

"Kill me once or twice and I start to kill back." Brian murmurs with a slight warning in the tone. "And you won't last as long as me." He brings up his hands as if to say 'what you gonna do' "You know it, I know it. So just drop the threats before you even start. Really, Calvin? We're going to run into fucking robots last night and you're not going to talk about it?" He drops his hands with a light sigh. "You're taking this 'hate' thing too seriously."

"Oh yeh? Well I guess there's always the alternative of capturing you and turning you over to my employer to be multiplied and experimented on and cut into pieces like a flatworm and brainwashed on their way to creating some kind've infinite clone army." Nastily enthusiastic about the extent of his own imagination on the subject, Calvin rankles his nose like a wolf in the pause before he reaches back to collect his suit jacket to snap it on over his shirt. "If you're implying that the one move I'll have a chance to make should leave a more lasting impression."

Somehow that is probably not what Brian was implying. All the same, Calvin is confident enough in his riposte to keep getting dressed instead of pulling out his gun or jumping out the window. The long black drape of his coat is collected out of his closet like a great inky bat. "I can't talk to you about robots. I have to go to work."

"Now you're just fantasizing." Brian waves a limpwrist at the other man. "Stop, you." He smirks lightly. "Again we both know you won't do that." He tilts his head back. "Because I would still be out there, around people you love." He pulls his lips to the side. "I mean. People you don't hate as much as me." He brings up his hands, palms out. "Just ease on down with all the threati-hate shit man. You are really set on this not liking me thing."

Walking over to the door, he goes to lean against it. Tilting his head back and resting it against the door, he drops his hands to his sides. "You destroyed something that doesn't exist. Give me five minutes so we can fucking debrief on this situation, holy shit."

"Y'break into my apartment twice to interrogate me, get me stoned on so much sedative my sleep cycle's fucked for two weeks and punch me in the balls when I refuse to accomodate your insanity." All the way dressd now, briefcase still locked on the bed behind him, Calvin squares his shoulders out and draws his firearm to point it blankly at the Brian blocking his front door.

"How much of your behavior thus far has been sanctioned by the organization you're working for? And how sympathetic do you think they'll be when you turn however many potential allies into enemies for the sake of making yourself into a case've sentient herpes?"

Brian purses his lips slightly before smiling nostaligically. "Oh yeah. I forgot I hit you in the balls." His brows furrow some at the question of the organization he's working for. "Well. Sorry about that sedative thing." He waves his hand dismissively. "I ah.. Yeah. I don't know how to react to affection. So when you kissed me." He gives a light shrug. "I freaked out. I don't let people close.. I punch them and put them on sedatives." He shrugs a little. "I really am sorry about that. That was a mistake." He spreads out his hands apologetically, not that he really expects it to matter.

"You did take brakes off my van so I would crash. And you tried to Robot me half to death." He counters racking up the tally. "Yeah.. You have more than me. Well. That's why I brought you a frappuccino. And a cake if I need to."

Dropping the jokes for a moment, he stares down at the gun. "I'm just trying to protect my friends, my family. Calvin. Surely you can understand that. And until I know why you and your adventure club are so secretive, how you know the things you know.. I can't trust you. I admit my actions have been.. eccentric. But you might do less crazy versions of my actions were you in my position." Winters murmurs.

"So don't trust me. The hell do I care s'long as you leave me alone, you loony fuck." Exasperation shows the points of Calvin's teeth and shines in the harsh gleam off his eyes, lean muscle lashed in taut across either side of his jaw. "There was something out there, in Midtown. Something big and scary and made've metal. My friends think you're a nice guy. I spared your life. End of the fucking story, Mister Winters."

Having a nasaly sort of voice isn't much good unless you're sneering at someone. Then it comes in handy.

"You have five seconds to get out've my way. After that I'm pulling the trigger and resigning myself to eight hours of miserable paperwork on your behalf."

Watching Calvin, Brian believes him. He stares at the nozzle for a long moment. Probably four seconds. "Okay Calvin." Brian remarks gently, sliding a step out of the way. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he watches the man easily. "I am a nice guy, by the way." He adds in. Glancing to the door. "After you. Don't step on your cheese croissant."

"Can I just get something straight though? So you think I'm crazy and hate me. But the guy who talked about joints while being attacked by a robot and unwittingly peed on a human.. That guy you buy a beer. Just trying to get your friendship standards straight. Maybe I'll pee more often."

It's probably for the best that Brian has faith, because once the imaginary ticker gets down to about that three and four second mark, Calvin settles the hammer back on its haunches and begins to tense as if in anticipation of .40 fire ringing loud in his ears. He's still bristled like a cranky badger when Winters steps aside in the nick of time, polished barrel following the sideways motion steadily on even when he reaches back to collect his grey and orange scarf and then his briefcase with his free hand.

"Maybe," he says, in moving past Brian to bump the door open with gun still in hand, "if he ever treats m'friends like criminals and punches me in a dick, I'll reassess the well-advisedness of our relationship."

"Fuck you. You hated me when all I had done was save you after you assaulted a federal agent and a FRONTLINE member." Brian mumbles, letting Calvin go through the door first. Before stepping in after him, "I like your scarf, by the way." Winters adds in with no sarcasm touching his words.

"If it helps. I think your friends are very nice criminals." He offers with a light smile. "And I'm a criminal too.. So treating your friends like criminals actually might be the best way I can treat them. At least I'm not treating them like federal agents."

Calvin stops short at the fuck you, not quite past and away so that confrontation is a simple matter of pivoting on his near heel enough that he's nearly nose to nose with his former captor. His nose is lower. Tipped back to account for the difference in height, pallid blue eyes dazzling a little wild in clearer light. "I am a federal agent," he says, plainly. Flatly, even, gun held close to the side of his leg, roughly invisible to passers by. "I didn't need saving. But I am grateful for the getaway driving. Benji might not've made it through a followup investigation."

A beat of thought and a sideways glance later, he rocks up onto his toes, pecks Brian on the lips as assholes in unnecessarily close proximity sometimes do. Peck!

Then he smiles.

Narrowing his eyes, "So'm I." He mutters. "Or at least my badges say so." He shakes his head. "Just because you're a federal agent doesn't mean you're allowed to shoot other federal agents guns into their pants. Or hurt FRONTLINE soldiers." Winters mutters. He's right on this one.

And then he's getting kissed by Calvin the second time.

His eyes lid heavily, lips drawing thin. But at least Calvin doesn't get punched this time. "I'm going to eat a cheese croissant in your kitchen. I'll lock up before I go." He drawls in a monotone.

And the award for most fucked up relationship goes to….

"Who did what now?" Brows knit to earnest plausible deniability and back, Calvin makes his exeunt at a pair of backwards steps before he turns round to carry on facing forward, gun reholstered and scarf tossed easy over his shoulder as he goes.

So long as he locks up.

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