2019-11-13 - Cheeseburgers in Paradise

A dark blue classic car rumbles to a stop outside 13 Bayside, Cris slipping out of the driver's side door with the grey hood of the sweatshirt he wears beneath a black leather jacket flipped up over his head to protect against the drizzle. A brown branded paper bag is tucked into the zippered opening and then he moved around the back of the car to pop the trunk and remove the large medic bag he retrieved from Seaside. With a flick of a glance to check the address, he heads up to the door and pounds out a knock with the flat of a fist.

Sutton comes to the door a few minutes later wearing a tank top that says FUCK OFF and a pair of black and white striped drawstring PJ pants. That... that's a look. She pulls open the door after saying, "Hope, this is not for you. Stop looking at me like that. Yes, I will throw the string toy in a minute." She looks up at the visitor, her hazel eyes meeting blue if he's looking at her. Her hair is damp from a recent shower. She doesn't smell like wine anymore, but she's a little hungover.

"Cristobal." She pulls the door wider. "Come in. Mind the kitty." The kitty in question is a night black little monster with vivid green eyes. She is unimpressed with everything, turns her ass on the humans by the door, and sashays off to the couch.

"Harry." Cristobal greets her back with a gruff, low intonation of her name. He turns sideways to get through the door, leading with the hip that has her overly large medic pack resting against it. Said kitty doesn't seem to need much minding, but at least he checks to make sure he's not going to squish the thing when he drops the bag in the living room. Making himself at home, it seems. "Whose place is this?" Lacking snarky smiles today, all his words come out as being vaguely pissed and inconvenienced about this entire ordeal, never the mind he volunteered to fetch her things.

"Alistair's." Sutton holds the door open for Cristobal, then closes it after him, flipping the lock unnecessarily. Well, maybe not. Only a couple people know she's here, but at least one of them makes questionable decisions when he's drinking. She follows along after Cristobal, sliding her hands into the pockets of her PJs. She must have at least had some clothes here, unless she left the motel wearing that the other night. "Have a seat, love. Would you like a drink? We have... uh... juice, milk, water, tea."

She rubs a hand up her opposite arm, standing there next to Carver's couch in Carver's house referring to shit as 'we have'. She drops to sit on the arm of the couch. "Thanks for bringing the bag."

It's actually a good thing Sutton didn't ask him to pick up any personal items. It made getting in and out of the hotel room relatively non-confrontational with Javier. Before taking the offered seat, Cris reaches inside his jacket and pulls out the fast food bag, tossing it onto the coffee table before he drops down onto one of the couches. "Your boyfriend's." He's just filling in some facts about Alistair for her, hard to say if there's any judgement in the words or not.

Sutton slips her hands out of her pockets to catch the fast food bag when it sails over to her. Her brows go up. "What?" She pulls open the bag and shoves her hand into it. Her hand goes spelunking into the bag's depths. "Javier calls me his girlfriend, but I don't think I've ever once called him my boyfriend."

She pulls one foot up onto the arm with her, balancing there. How many times her mother must have told her to get off the arm of the couch. "Oh, you mean Alistair? He's not my boyfriend. He's..." What is he? "He's... I guess he's my best friend."

The bag holds fries, as requested, and two paper wrapped cheeseburgers. "Javier's words, not mine. If I didn't know better it was a strategic move on his part. Said you two had a 'discussion' or some shit and that you fled. My guess is the use of the word boyfriend was meant to garner sympathy over to his camp." With a yank, he undoes the rest of his jacket's zipper and shoulders out of it, flipping it over the back of the couch to leave him in a hoodie and a white tank with his jeans. His hands are held out in the form of a cradle, apparently expecting one of those cheeseburgers to make it back his way. "Water's fine."

"Oh, yeah, well." Sutton pulls out a cheeseburger and offers one over to Cris waiting hand. Plop. "Javi asked me who I've slept with and when I told him, he got pissed enough to walk out about two weeks ago." She mms and jams a fry into her mouth. "Tacos told me, early on, he'd never be monogamous. I proceeded as indicated." She smirks, shaking her head, rising to grab some drinks. She passes through the archway and pulls open the fridge. "I get wrecked, I come here. Alistair sobers me up. Which is ironic." She doesn't say why, but there's a smile in her voice.

"So 'Tacos'," Cris assumes that's a nickname for Ruiz given the context, "Is a hypocrite." He states flatly as he leans back with his burger, hitching one of his booted feet up on the edge of the coffee table to hitch up by a ridge in the sole. "And you both flee from your problems instead of duking it out and having it settled. You know what my Abuelo used to say? The key to a happy marriage is never going to bed angry. Even if that means you stay up for so many days straight you reconcile out of delirium." He snorts as peels back paper to take a huge bite out of the burger, talking around the mouthful. "Good man, then, Alistair."

Sutton returns a couple beats later with two bottles of water, chilled. She hands one over to Cristobal as she takes a seat on the couch properly this time, her feet pulled up, her back wedged against the arm. "Tacos makes rules I think he only wants for himself." She passes that water over.

"I don't know if I can be in a circle of a bunch of people he's fucking while he calls me his girlfriend, asks me to move in, and can't give me a straight answer about anything, including... babies." Her phone pings! on the coffee table. She glances over at it. "While he nonstop texts me." She glances at the balcony doors, and it takes no genius to figure out she's thinking about chucking the phone. Her new phone. She already chucked one three weeks ago and had to replace it.

She falls silent to think about this Abuelo business. "I used to be that way too, not going to bed mad. You know? But Javi doesn't talk. He says 'I don't know' and leaves. Which is why I took those pills alone." She tips back. "Fuck. I'm still pissed." More fries in her mouth.

"Well for what it's worth, I'm sorry about my part in it. I usually don't stick around for...repeat performances because this is what happens. Things get sticky." Cris takes the water, propping the bottle between his legs as he continues to work on his burger. He seems to shift uncomfortably at the mention of pills, like he's suddenly sitting in a bed of ants, because an easy assumption can be made as to what sort of pills they were. "You mean he let you be alone so you could take them." Cris has devoured most of the burger in three quick bites, but no draws back the rest of it and glares at the ooze of ketchup eking out from between the patty and bun and suddenly gets disgusted by it. The wrapper is folded back over and the rest tossed to the table.

Ping! goes the phone on the table.

"It's not fair for me to be mad about a decision I made." Sutton mutters, mostly to herself.

Ping!

"You... what part? Oh, no. Don't be be, love. I don't begrudge anyone a good hate fuck. Or whatever it was. When the man who calls himself my boyfriend tells me he's seeing someone, he means dating. I don't usually get involved because so few people understand poly lifestyle isn't about free for alls. It's about honesty and communication." She gestures with a limp fry then eats it, unwrapping the burger next.

"Oh, no. I mean we did what we usually do when we're alone together and he snuck out for the first time since we started seeing each other. When I woke up alone, I correctly assumed that was his final answer, and..." She sips. "Which should really have been my first clue. I didn't see him for over a week, until after Erin was attacked in the next apartment."

Ping!

"Yeah, I'm not sure I understand...any of that." Cristobal makes a vague circular gesture with the bottle of his bottle of water as he lifts it, cracking it open and holding the cap in the same hand with a curl of his pinky finger. "There's fucking around, and then there's being with someone. But you didn't ask my opinion." He points out before he tips up the bottle and takes a thick swig that leaves his adam's apple bobbing.

Sutton turns her gaze to Cristobal. "Yeah. Mostly I fuck around, at least I used to, but burying my twin wrecked me, and now I get emotionally attached like my heart lives in my vagina or something." The scary part is she's basically sober right now, owing to Carver having taken all her booze away. She had a good drunk going, so it's ticking down to hangover land. She reaches up to brush her fingers through her hair, pushing pale locks back from her face. "You can give me your opinion Cristobal. You brought fries and my crap. I'm not going to light you on fire for that." Maybe for other stuff! Not that. "I care about the people I meet, but I don't usually... get entangled beyond friends with benefits." Bleeding heart nurturers.

Cristobal leans forward, knees splaying slightly so he can brace his elbows on the meat of them, the chilled bottle hanging down between them from a loose grip. "Is that who's in the picture you left on my ofrenda?" He doesn't seem to focus on anything else really, no snarky comment as to where her heart currently takes up residence. "Poor guy. He shows up the one time of year he's allowed to visit the living, and his ass gets stuck with me. Not...like it worked. But I was hoping if I could find some place like Gray Harbor before the Holiday, it might." He gives a little crass laugh and shake of his head, the former echoing down the mouth of the bottle as he takes a sip.

Oh. Right. She did leave a little photo there. Right before she touched the photo of... Sutton mms. "Yes." She laughs softly at the rest. "No, Cristobal, he didn't. It doesn't matter anyway." Something about what she says there sounds dishonest, or she's just nervous, or she's... she's hiding something. "I'm sorry it didn't work for you." That's not completely true either. "It's probably..." She rubs a hand over the back of her neck. Don't say 'for the best'. "Uh." Way to deceive, Sutton!

Cris turns his head slightly to the side as she talks, giving her the good ole eyeballing as she talks. "Uh-huh." He intones a little dryly, as if he's not sure what to believe about anything that just came out of her mouth, so it's best just to lump it all into the 'disbelief' category to be certain. "Anyway, it was just the last kick in my nuts I needed, right?" He turns to fish into his jacket pocket, pulling out the picture of Eli. He leans over with it scissored between his fingers to pass it back. "I'd ask who he's seeing now that you guys fought about, but that makes it look like I give a fuck. It sure as hell won't be me anymore, that's for sure."

"It could be worse, Cristobal," Sutton says, and this time when she speaks it's the dead honest truth.

She takes the picture the same way, scissored between her fingers, and flips it around to look at it. Her lashes lower, and she stares at her twin for a long time. The picture is taken from the side, so it's hard to see it, but they have the same eyes, though his are darker. His hair's also dark. So is hers, but she dyes it. She brushes her thumb over the image.

"Itzhak Rosencrantz." Cristobal didn't really ask, but he kind of did. After the club where they kinda mixed it up, it's unsurprising. Javier seems to attract a following of beautiful people in each of his social circles. "He plays the violin beautifully. I would have said he seems too sweet for Javier, but after he decked you at the Pourhouse the other night..."

There is a sudden bark of laughter from Cris, sharp and edging on angry. "Right. Well, that saves me some trouble of trying to make that right, doesn't it?" He tugs on his bottom lip in thought, chasing the pinch with a pass of his tongue. The bouncer leans forward and sets the rest of the bottle down on the edge of the table, overly-concentrating on the task as if untrusting of his own movement. "So you're good here?" He asks as he presses to his feet, hand going to snag his jacket.

"It's a tangled web," Sutton murmurs, of the social circles they follow and how many of those personal lines have been crossed. She moves to rise when Cristobal seems ready to leave. "Yeah, I'm good here. I'm safe here." He didn't precisely ask that, but she offers the information anyway, as if he might care to know that bit. She puts the food aside on the table. She tucks the photograph of her brother into her PJ pocket. "Thank you for returning the photo and bringing all this." Her medic bag, the food.

"Javier is good at sexual intimacy and shit at the rest. He's up in his head and trying his best to destroy himself in pieces. He just found out he has a kid my age, so that should keep him busy a while trying to remember how to interact with ... that." And therein lies another piece of the puzzle that has her ignoring her phone while it continues to ping! every few minutes on the coffee table. "So at least he has..." She clears her throat, takes a slow breath.

She visibly reigns that back in. "I'm sorry, babe, let me walk you to the door."

There's a soft noise from somewhere in the kitchen. Like wood sliding against wood, coupled with the hiss of air like a door being fit just that little bit too tight and causing a rush of wind every time it closes or opens.

And then there's a 'wham' as the trapdoor to the basement swings fully open.

That's normal in this place. It's the floorboards settling. Apparently. According to the owner, at least.

"Don't. Apologize to me." Cris turns back to her, his hand raises if only to give her an index finger of warning. It slowly curls back into his hand which folds to a loose fist and swings back down to his side. "You have nothing to apologize for. I just hope he figures his shit out. For your sake." His head snaps towards the kitchen at the sudden noise, having assumed that they were here alone. "Your friend's home."

Sutton glances over her shoulder at the noise from the kitchen. She looks that way for a while, like she's trying to figure out the origin of that noise, though the basement is a good bet. She still hasn't been down there. "So he is." She turns back to Cris fully and smiles when he raises his hand. "I do what I want, Cristobal. You don't have to accept it." She reaches over to touch his arm, to walk with him if he chooses to move to the door. Not if not. She'll stand there in the living room too. "I'm not going to hold my breath. I have a grave to visit, dinner with Mum to attend, and a boss to lie to."

Skittering up and out of the hatch to the basement like a man chased, Carver slips through the opening to settle on the kitchen floor with his knees, slacks, shirt, and shiny, shiny shoes all intact, and he slaps the trap shut like something might be about to follow him through. Luckily, all of this is behind the breakfast island, keeping him firmly out of view. Unluckily, this is behind the breakfast island that keeps him firmly out of view and does nothing to muffle that bundle of sound that could easily be mistaken for someone falling straight back down the stairs.

It's only when his head pops up from behind it, the man taking a moment to brush down the slight folds in his grey top after he's done standing that he leans on the counter and throws a quick glance to the living area. Oh. There's more people than I expected. One of them I have never seen before in my life. This is not at all confusing.

Those words. Those exact words can be seen in his expression. Plain as day. Followed by a long 'Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.'

"Hi."

Cristobal's eyes narrow at Sutton and he looks just on the verge of growling when he hears the follow up the-thump of all the racket in the kitchen. He doesn't move to the door, but he does take a half step around Sutton as if to put himself between her and whatever's going on in there. And then Carver's head pops up from behind the cabinets. "Bueno." Technically it means good, but it also passes as an informal way of saying hello. "Alistair?" The question posed over his shoulder without so much as turning his head in that direction.

Sutton stands there with a tall, blue-eyed Latino. She's wearing PJs. The house smells like burgers and fries. They seem to be chatting. Well, at present they're watching Carver scuttle out from behind that island in the kitchen, totally ignoring the weird fucking sounds from the basement.

The blonde clucks her tongue lightly once. Because none of that looks fucking weird at all. "..." She presses her lips together, sucking the upper one into her mouth briefly. "Yeah." Mhm. "Right." Sutton clears her throat, "Alistair Carver, meet Cristobal Ybarra Cruz. Cristobal, Alistair." She smiles a little when Cristobal puts himself between her and the curiosities from the kitchen. "Ay." Softly spoken, that sound could mean anything. Her hand falls on Cristobal's back, between his shoulder blades, and lingers there. "Todo está bien."

Eyes. Carver has eyes. They're pretty boring eyes, all told, dark brown, never really seeming to pay attention to much, even if Sutton happens to know different.

But those eyes shift from one person to the other, the movements, the soft-spoken words, the throat clearing and the question. His lips somewhat fold in against his teeth, palms flat out on the counter, patting out a little rhythm as he ponders. Ponders some more. Watches Sutton's little smile, and then settles into a soft chuckle, lifting his hand up to wave their way. "Yup. That's me!"

He's got a smile of his own when his attention falls to Sutton's use of another language, shoulders slumping as he stares to the ceiling. "My God you're collecting them."

Tension rolls out of Cristobal's shoulders at the words, not that he means to protect Sutton from Carver, so much as whatever those unknown noises were. He steps away from the reassuring hand to his back as he then extends one to Carver in greeting. "Pleasure." His accent is mild when he puts his mind to it, because maybe passing himself off as a really tanned white boy works in his favor sometimes. "I'd thank you for taking care of Harry, but we both know that is what a man, and a best friend, should do." If Carver accepts his handshake, its brief and firm.

Sutton's gaze is plenty sharp, and she flicks a look over to Carver and his dark eyes, dark eyes she's always thought of as black. "Shut the fuck up. I do not fucking collect Latinos." She almost says ex-cops, but stows that shit right before it comes out of her mouth.

Her hand slips away from Cristobal's back when he moves, and she doesn't follow him, standing where she is while the men do what they do.

She presses her lips together when Cristobal speaks, and doesn't say anything for a few beats. We both know that is what a man, and a best friend, should do. One man thanking another man for taking care of her. She looks at the ceiling. She looks at Hope. Hope looks back. Ok, that's creepy.

"Mate-" Carver starts, stepping out from behind the counter and giving the steps needed to meet Cristobal's hand with a brief shake on his part as well. "-You really think I take care of her?" It's not an incredulous look, but a surprised one, his eyes only slightly narrowing, especially at the use of the name. "She could kick my ass three ways from Sunday. Probably will in the coming weeks if she hangs around here, and doesn't need taking care of."

The step back is subtle, but there, easy smile all the way. "Someone to steal her wine? Maybe. Even when she hides it under the sink behind the scouring pads."

That has him looking her way. "Oh shut it. You are and you know it. You've got a type."

Cristobal gives a little non-committal rumble of an 'mm' as Carver explains how he's not taking care of her and then follows it up with how he's doing precisely that in almost the same breath. "Your foreplay isn't any of my business, but it sounds like a good time. I won't keep you from it." He gives a little tick of his head in a nod and then turns back to Sutton, "Maybe she just likes men with accents. Explains you, no?" He fires back over his shoulder as he stops in front of Harry, going to grip the back of her neck briefly to drop a kiss to her forehead.

Never mind that Sutton is surrounded by dark-haired men.

Never mind that several of them are Latino.

Never mind that she indeed has a type.

Now Cris is getting in on the act with his foreplay commentary. "Both of you know where you can shove it." She says this when Cris has hold of her neck and is going in for that forehead kiss. Is she a little bit salty? Yeah, she is, but not seriously so. It's a gift having people concerned for you. Even if they're infuriating men with accents. Her hand go to Cristobal's ribs, where she gives him twin flicks. "Be a good boy. Don't speed too much." As if he'll do either of those things. "Estar a salvo allá afuera." Be safe out there.

"Thank you for tonight. Now get out." She's so sweet.

"Ah. Fuck."

Carver snaps his fingers, looking disappointed as he gives Cristobal a little salute with two upturned fingers to his forehead, bringing the hand down to reach out for the fridge as he paces towards it. "They're always only after me for my accent. I knew it!" Those final three words are almost yelled with a theatricality that would have most stage managers weeping into their playbooks in horror.

He's reaching for a rootbeer when Sutton's throw sass his was. Well, technically it's both their ways, but he'll take his hits when he deserves them. "Can't hear yooou, Sutton. My head is in a fridge."

Which somehow doesn't stop him from knowing Cristobal's being given a caring departing comment, and throwing a wave out with his hand. Funny that.

Cris mutters something in kind, "Sé exactamente a dónde no irá." He knows exactly where it won't be going as Sutton tells him he knows where to shove it, perhaps eluding back to a previous part of the conversation. Raising a hand over his head, he seems to incorporate them both with his parting wave, even if Carver is currently chilling his brain pan in the fridge. "Hasta." He shows himself the rest of the way out, and a short moment later the starting of an automobile out near the curb rumbles back.