Participants:
| Scene Title | Of Terrorists and Basketball |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Graeme touches base with Devon again, with additional plans made for basketball. |
| Date | April 10, 2011 |
Starbucks, Upper West Side
For what feels like the first time in quite a while, Graeme Cormac has had a relatively normal day. A day that started with waking up in his bed, in his apartment, though it's been a relatively quiet apartment, and he was woken up in the morning by the very insistent nosing and attention of the Great Dane that slept across the majority of his bed. From there, it's been a quiet enough day, out to eat lunch, grab a phone from the convenience store as well as some basic supplies, things that he hadn't had, because this is the first time that he had truly been home in half a month.
But now, Odin is well and asleep up in the apartment more likely than not, happily enough left alone after having had the latter half of Saturday to spend with Graeme, and the man has made his way to a Starbucks not two blocks from Dorchester, where he's waiting for Devon, sitting at the same corner table that the teenager had sat at, watchful. Wary and almost tired, as well, for all that he's slept recently, because he didn't sleep during the time that he was in the DHS holding cell while they were deciding that he wasn't at fault for things, decided that he didn't know anything. There's a cup of steaming coffee in front of him, lid off, not quite untouched, and occasionally his fingers drum on the table. It's evening, and he's been here since before he actually called Devon.
Having already been out walking when Graeme called, adjusting his course to head into Manhattan wasn't too much of a stretch for Devon. He kept the call short, answering much like he would if work had called him, then headed for the Starbucks even before hanging up. In as much time as it takes to walk several blocks, the teenager was soon appearing in the coffee shop.
As the intern moves to the counter, his eyes scope out the store to locate Graeme. Once spotting him, a single nod is offered before his turn is taken at the counter. No coffee for him today, it's an iced tea lemonade kind of day. After he gains the cool sweetened drink, Devon weaves his way between a couple of tables before joining Graeme. "Hey," he offers quietly, sinking onto the freed chair.
There's a smile offered to the teen when he arrives, and more of one when Devon actually gets to the table, and Graeme leans back. His right arm is still in the sling, but it's less for complete immobilisation now and more to remind him to keep it still, without it actually forcing the issue. "So, I'm sorry I missed basketball on Friday, and all," he says, with a half a shrug. "Had to go tell the alphabet soup that I don't know anything about Ms. Harrison, for a while."
One palm raises, before the gesture is dropped and Graeme picks up his cup of coffee again, taking a long sip, and then speaking more quietly, such that the music playing over the speakers is enough cover for less cautious talk. "That was Wednesday morning. Got done yesterday morning."
"Friday I had dinner with the family," Devon says with a shrug. And oddly, he's telling the truth. "I don't think I would have gotten out of helping make the place neat just to go shoot hoops." His cup goes to rest on the table and he leans back slightly in his chair, eyes going over Graeme's appearance quickly before meeting his gaze.
"You alright," the young man continues, matching the lower tones. He watches Graeme carefully, brows creasing slightly. "Been through it before." Maybe not with DHS, he's still not sure who those uniformed men were back in Arizona, but he's been hauled in for questioning before.
"Yeah, I'm alright. It was just… tedious," Graeme says. And aside from perhaps tired, and not having shaved since before the DHS hauled him in for questioning, because that still isn't a task he can manage safely on his own, given that he does it the old-fashioned way, he looks it. Even if there is the scruffy beginnings of an ill-kempt beard along his jawline. Maybe, maybe he'll even keep it, for a while. A long-sleeved shirt peeks out from under the sweater. Jeans. Mainly casual. "And that's good, then." The continuation has the tone of voice to make it perfectly clear that the mention of basketball was predominantly a front, something to say, to make it more normal.
"Didn't sleep much, there, though." There's a hint of a wry tone, that matches his smile. The only reason Graeme didn't sleep, besides that the bed in the holding cell was far from comfortable, was that it was a useful way to remind himself, and perhaps them, of his ability. "And I'm hoping… the old number you have, likely compromised, I think."
"Tedious is too nice for that experience," Devon says with a shadow of a grin. He picks up his drink and sips at it, eyes flicking toward a couple that walk past, laughing and enjoying their own conversation. "I'll make sure I get your new number written out at home," he continues as he returns his cup to the table. "Keep things free and clear for a few more days."
Turning his focus back to Graeme, Devon leans forward just a little. "I have a friend, she's like a sister to me," he explains carefully, watching the older man's expression. "Told her a little about what happened and, like me, she's offered to help if you need it. I can bring you to meet her, tomorrow maybe. I wouldn't have told her anything if I didn't trust her with my life."
There's a nod from Graeme. "Yeah. That would be nice," he says. Mayhaps if only at the very least so that he makes some more friends in places he can trust, seeing as his closest friends are all rather supposedly missing at the moment. "There so far…" and Graeme pauses for a little, considering his words, "there should be less problems, now that I've answered their questions." There's another hint of a grin. "And dutifully promised to call the good agent if I 'heard from' the 'terrorists' I'm supposedly associated with." Not that there's an icecube's chance in the Greco-Roman version of hell that Graeme actually would.
"It's no problem, Graeme," Devon answers levelly, still watching the older man. "Trust me in this. Neither you nor she would know about the other if I didn't have confidence in either." The grin is met with a shadow of his own and a casual shrug follows. "Terrorist is just a word the government likes to throw out there to elicit fear and keep the vast majority under control. Do you need anything in the meanwhile?"
The statement about 'terrorism' is met with a small, grim smile. "Done, usually, to shift the focus from the real terrorists. Because those too often are also in the government." There's a pause, and a shrug, and then Graeme picks up his coffee again. He's changing the subject. "I think it'll be good," Graeme says, with a smile that's less grim, instead more towards appreciative. "We should play ball again, soon. I think I'll be able to, my arm's been healing well and it can take being minorly jostled, now."
Devon picks up his tea with a nod. Changing the subject comes easily, and has a more natural grin. "We should play ball again," he agrees after taking a sip from his cup. "My shoulder's feeling a bit better than last time, I should be able to beat you now." His tone is easy going and good natured, almost bordering on cocky.
"Maybe while I'm still in the sling, you'll be able to beat me," Graeme says. "Since I'll be playing one-handed for a bit longer. But I think that the stitches should be coming out soon." But the teacher does seem confident in his ability to win, at least somewhat. "After that, you better watch out again." There's a half a chuckle. "Even if you're taller."
Devon smirks and half laughs. "Keep telling yourself that," he replies, grinning. After placing his cup on the table, he pushes back a sleeve to look at his watch. "I should get back. I'll call you about that game tomorrow, alright?" He begins to stand, grabbing his cup again and looking at Graeme. His brows tick upward slightly.
There's another smile offered to the teenager. "Yeah, that sounds good, then. I'll see you then, or something." Graeme leans back in his chair a bit, sipping his coffee, which he'll finish before he leaves.