2022-04-21 - Way Too Early For This

At some point in the past decade Nicasia turned a corner and became a morning person. Part of that may've been getting the dog because the dog has to get up and go out and when she was living in an apartment she couldn't just open the door and let Lady do her business and go crawl back under nice warm blankets. This urgency on the canine's part - which, lo these many years later is now just the weight of her head on the edge of the mattress and that soulful look of expectancy - coupled with the intense discomfort of having spent the night in a house that isn't wholly strange but maybe more uncomfortable for its familiarity, have ensured that she's up nearish to dawn.

She stumbles down the creaky stairs, Lady a respectful distance behind, and pads on now-bare feet into the kitchen to open the door, letting her out. Hopefully the glass isn't going to be an issue, but those broken shards are pretty far from the forefront of her mind, the only thing that stuck since the last inspection of the property is that the Tervuren is unlikely to go over the six foot fence without extreme provocation. It frees her up to go try and find the coffee maker, and then to try to find the coffee, a shuffle of cupboards and drawers filled in with some sleepy, mumbled muttering that suggest maybe she hasn't wholly converted to the cult of the dawn.

Mostly, it's quiet. Mostly, it's the kind of thing she does alone, has done alone, intends to do alone, in black silk yoga pants and an old khaki t-shirt that someone might realize looks familiar, worn soft and full of holes, the stenciled letters that used to blazon across it washed off a long, long time ago. It's too early in the morning for judgment.

At one point Myles was an insufferable morning person. Up early. Running. Healthy. Eating only good food. Working out relentlessly.

A lifetime later certain choices and heaping amount of booze has clogged those gears. It's who he is at his core. He's a healthy person. His physique is still ridiculous. He usually intends to go to bed early, to rise early. But things get in the way. Sometimes its the booze, sometimes the inability to sleep. Sometimes both.

So when the front door opens quietly, it's not Myles heading out to start the day. It's him returning to end it. Having sneaked out in the middle of the night, Myles went out to do something. Though if she sees him, in all black, with a black beanie, and paint stains on his hands and the black bag slung over his shoulder she can likely figure out what he was doing. It's not something he's ever been willing to let her in on. Not even at their best times. His street art an oddly private realm of his life. There were times. Isolated times where they would be walking and he suggest she go look at that over there with a smug little smile and never really answering whether it was his piece or not. But that's about as far as he would go.

Finding her awake is a surprise. Lady was not factored into the equation. He should have several hours before she wakes. But apparently he's using the old numbers. Need to update the database. All that. He's quiet as he enters the foyer, looking into the kitchen at her preparing coffee. He looks down at himself in all black like he was just stealing the hope diamond. There's a frown. Myles is quiet for a big man. But he knows the likelihood of escaping Nicasia's notice in particular when she's awake.

Not great.

But still. He tries anyways, creeping towards the stairs.

It's probably for the best that the dog is out back or she might be up in arms about someone coming in unannounced through the front door. A better notification system than Nicasia's sleep-addled internal alarms, anyway. She's only been conscious for about five minutes, maybe ten, hasn't had that precious coffee to stimulate her neurons and so he has pretty even odds on getting to the stairs without her noticing, owing to the layout of the house.

What gives him away, in this case, is the house itself.

CREEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAK.

It's just the way things are. It's an old house. The boards are loose. And there's a certain immutable law about how, in such cases, the quieter one tries to be the more likely they are to make some accidental noise. This one carries through the quiet, wholly interrupting her own ransacking of the kitchen like some looter searching for the petty cash jar and her go-to is to freeze up and to listen. All of her. That stillness is absolute, that alignment with the very fabric of the world, that reach to try and pick out... what? Enough to know there's someone there, that she's not alone.

One hand closes instinctively around the handle of a knife. A boning knife. Small, not really lethal, but it's still in her hand when she pads toward the entrway, toward the stairs, come to investigate. There's only one viable reaction to a giant clad all in black at this hour and it's "Jesus fucking Christ," because she recognizes him after that surge of adrenaline rolls in. It is, at least, more effective than the coffee.

Myles freezes up at that CREEEAAAAAK. It's quiet for a second. There's that split second thought that goes through his head.

Maybe she didn't hear

But then there's the sound of motion and Myles doesn't really have time to come up with a new plan. She's turning the corner and there he is, standing there awkwardly. His eyes go down to the knife in her hand, slowly go up to her eyes. His lips quirk just a touch into something lightly amused. But that is going to only bring more anger so its quickly forced off his features. He has a whole menu of things he could say to her now. A quick apology. A fast explanation on why he needed to get out. A combination of both.

What he decides on however is,

"'Ay." With a little up nod of his chin, one hand going up to hold the strap of his duffel.

"Mornin." And he's turning to the stairs.

That whole menu has been sampled repeatedly. So has the suggestion of a smile which absolutely doesn't improve her mood, that particular venomous ire that, riled, is going to need a minute to settle.

He's turned to go up the stairs, foot on the first rung, before Nicasia gets any kind of an answer out, before she's swallowed down the first reaction and made room for something less reflexive, more considered. "Myles..?" There's got to be more to it. The demand to know where he was, why he went out, why he didn't wake her up, but she lets those go too. Maybe the exhale of breath will be audible. Maybe the slight thud of her head against the wall when she leans against it, closing her eyes, letting it go.

Letting him go, because it'll be followed up by a "Nevermind" that he might not even hear, so quick is he to flee the scene.

Myles starts up the stairs. Pausing halfway up at the name being called out. He looks over his shoulder. "I was painting." Comes the answer to the question that never made it out. There's another pause. Should he apologize? He furrows his brows. "Didn't think you'd be up." Then he's heading up the rest of the way.

Not much of a conversation.

She doesn't call him back, only waits there for fifteen or twenty seconds, listening, eyes closed, mind open in a way that feels every vibration in the house, every shiver of the old thing settling around them, beams and timbers adjusting to his weight conveyed to her through the stud, through the plaster. Thirty seconds and she finally shoves off, goes back into the kitchen to put the knife away.

The coffee remains elusive, evading her search, so she gives up on it for a minute and opens up the fridge instead, only to close it back up almost immediately with a little gagging noise. "Mother. Fucker." Yesterday's list of chores didn't involve major appliances. There was takeout, gas station sandwiches and Chinese cartons that are even now on the top of a precarious stack of trash needing to be taken out.

Myles isn't gone for very long. The sound of the shower can eventually be heard. Then a yell. Moments later Myles is available on the upstairs landing. Partially wet, a towel wrapped around his waist as he marches towards the master. "Usin' yours." Now is not the time that he's going to explain what happened or why he can't use the other bathroom. He's just using hers and that seems to be it. A few moments later she can hear the shower again. No yelling this time. If he heard her proclamation about the state of the fridge, he made no show of it.

Well, so much for getting a second opinion about breakfast.

The yell does win the ceiling a look, slightly baffled, and then a vague shake of Nicasia's head. "Oughta just burn you down," she tells the house. "Pave over your ashes. Maybe turn you into a nice little community garden. Make something productive out of you." There's an air of threat in these words, an intimacy between her and the architecture that implies she might have this power in her, this willingness to raze his childhood home to the ground. It's one step above salting the earth, but...

As the shower starts up again she lets out another breath though, and goes back to rummaging through the cupboards. Eventually she finds the coffee and gets it started, an extra heaping scoop of grounds in the filter to give the brew some body, and then she opens the door to let Lady back inside. The dog noses her hand in thanks and then makes a bee line for the stairs, for the upstairs hall, for the master bedroom, obviously having missed the fuss and now wanting in on it. "...traitor!" is called down the hall after her. Motivation is otherwise hard to come by, though. It's easier to stand there, letting the coffee percolate while she stares at the ceiling.

While the shower obscures the actual words Nicasia can likely hear the dulcet tone of Myles' default greeting to Lady. Maybe fifteen minutes later, the man is in a t-shirt and jeans, toweling off his shaved head before throwing the towel back into the room he walked out of. The traitor following him back and forth as he THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMPS down the stairs towards the kitchen. He goes to lean in the frame of the entryway to the kitchen before fully looking in. The paint stains gone from his hands now as he looks over the pot of coffee, then over to the woman. "Thanks."

In that amount of time Nicasia's found mugs, chipped and mismatched. One's turned over on a clean-ish dishcloth on a vacant space on the counter. The other has been filled to the brim - and then refilled - and she's gone to stand by the back door, looking out through the dirty windowpanes at the weedy back yard. The dining chairs are still out there, lonely remnants of last night's little memorial service.

There's no surprise this time when he comes back down, Never will be, the stairs inevitably acquiescing to his weight and to gravity and the pace at which he takes them, but at least it serves as a more familiar early warning than the creaky patch at the bottom,, which whines again in protest. But she's expecting him, and manages not to turn around, just leans, soaking warmth out of the ceramic. "Don't thank me yet. The coffee's stale and you should be charging whatever's in the fridge rent."

There's a quiet sigh at the news. He frowns deeply at the fridge. Reaching down to scritch at Lady's head. Petting her slowly down the neck as he looks to the fridge then to the dirty windowpanes. He's quiet for a long stretch before his shoulders are shaking and he's laughing quietly, his head tilting down. "When we lived in that tiny ass apartment in Vegas." He brings up, features twisted with humor. "You always talkin' bout how nice it'd be to have a house." He takes a step into the kitchen. Mimicking her voice. Poorly. Throwing out his hands in an effeminate gesture like she definitely doesn't do. Cocking one hip out. "Even your parents house would be great. I don't need a lot."

His performance over he turns to eye the fridge. "I aint fuckin with that." He states flatly, glaring at it. "Let's just get a new one, throw that and everything in it out." It's not the most frugal solution, but he seems dead set on it.

He's then looking over to her. "Dreams come true?"

Taunting her like that is dangerous and he should know better, but here they are. She turns to watch this performance, one eyebrow arched in critical study as he dares approach, leaning in to behavior she definitely doesn't demonstrate.

"I always talked about how nice it'd be to have a house so you weren't always taking up all the damned space all the time. Look at you, got your own room now." His old room, even, changed little from how he left it when they bailed way back, except for the inevitable boxes of stuff the old man shoved in there. He wasn't a hoarder, exactly, but he definitely saved a lot of useless stuff. A leftover from an era when paperwork was the way of the world.

But she's not really looking for a fight and his glare at the fridge makes her laugh. "Is that in the budget? Maybe make a list. Hell, maybe just throw it out and worry about getting a new one later." Money is going to be an issue. But that's a problem for later, on the other side of more immediate issues, like the way she looks back out the window in sync with his looking at her. "This was never my dream. This is exactly the thing I wanted to avoid. And now look at us, back here on the same shitty street in the same shitty town, like we never got out. Like we never..."

But they did. All of it.

Here they are!

Myles is still glaring at the fridge. Is it in the budget? He frowns. "Where's the closest casino? I'll do a fuckin' fight if it means we don't have to fuck around with the fridge." His fights sometimes helped with finances.

Sometimes not. Sometimes he would lose and have nothing to show for it but injuries and no ability to work for weeks after. He seems to forget that part.

There's a frown as he looks over to her. This was never her dream. She wanted to avoid it. And yet he dragged her back. His brows knit. He wasn't ready for this level of heaviness this early in the morning. He looks over at her for a few long moments. "Coffee." As he goes to find a mug, to go fill up himself.

She doesn't forget that part. "Maybe slow your roll a little until we figure out what we're standing on." If only Nicasia's cooler head came with a silvered tongue. "Still gotta get out to the shop, see what's what. Maybe he left a safe full of cash in the back room." Gotta have some financials to cover bonds, after all. Or else a whole stack of names to go hunt down and shake down to recover it. One or the other.

The second cup she dug out of the cupboard is right there by the pot; the brew is still hot, but sure enough is not great. Despite her adding extra into the filter it's weak, cheap. Maybe fine for the average household, but she got rather accustomed to the house-roasted beans from a particular fancy shop on the strip and spent a not-inconsequential amount of cash buying them to take home and grind. One of the boxes upstairs probably has her grinder and coffee maker in it, not this little Mr. Coffee that took most of his shower time to fill the pot.

But she folds. She almost always does. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting this to be so hard. I forget; it's got to be so much worse for you."

The mug is picked up, Myles is soon pouring it. He looks over his shoulder, barely responding. Until she folds. It has him hanging his head somewhat as he puts the pot back down. He brings up his mug and sniffs, frowning lightly at what he finds. He remains there for a few moments, lowering his mug. Shoulders rise and fall a few moments, letting out a quiet grunt. Slowly he turns.

"You don't have to stay." Myles murmurs. "I can manage, eventually. I can help you get a place if you can't get your place back. If it's too hard..." He frowns lightly, looking down to his feet. "You can go home." Because this place isn't that. Apparently.

This time Nicasia does look at him when he gets around to replying. Looks, and waits, giving him plenty of room and space and time to collect his thoughts and put this offer out and she can't then help the single back of laugh. "It's a little late for that."

At least the walls are sturdy. Whatever else, the bones of the house are good. Solid enough that nothing's given in despite the weight pushed around here for decades. "I said... I was going to help," she says then. "I cashed that all in. Packed everything up." For you. "Because, face it, you need me. Unless you're also planning to sell off all the old business and go back on the circuit, or whatever your next big plan was." It's also sharper than she means it, but this is a cold, cruel time of day for conversation of any sort. So when she says, "We'll make it work," it's a lot softer.

Some part of her still earnestly believes that.

It starts with the laugh. His gaze sharply flies up to meet that laugh, scowl already forming. He doesn’t say anything else right away letting her get her piece in.

She uprooted her whole life because he asked her to. Is he allowed to resent her for it? For saying yes one too many times. His jaw tightens as he peers at her.

It’s not exactly a withering look but it’s certainly not fond. A few breaths pass before he responds by....

Just sidestepping all of it. “I’ll get his bed out and your bed in today.” Comes the stern promise. “And I’ll see if I can fix the lawnmower.”

Nicasia responds to that look by lifting her own chin, straightening up minutely; it's unconscious, a familiar fight or flight mode settling in.

Mercifully it's not needed, but he's making promises and she falls in step. "I'm gonna see what I can get done in here. Probably will just throw anything food-adjacent away, start from scratch. Find a grocery store. Maybe call around, see if I can find anybody who wants to pick up this stuff." It comes dangerously close to her starting up a list of things for him to do, but she stops herself.

Remembers something. "You know, you coulda taken Lady. She probably would've enjoyed the exercise."

"I'll get the living room finished today, too. Figured my TV in the living room." Beat. "Cause mine is bigger. I can hook up yours in your room." He frowns when she talks about giving stuff away. "Just put it on the street. People'll take it." There's a pointed pause. "Just. None of the models and shit. Or any of my ma's stuff you might find. I wanna give her that shit. Okay?" There's a beat as he looks over to her. "You know. They might actually come here for Christmas like this. You know? Now that he's gone. Could actually have a.. fuckin family Christmas you know?" His lips curl up into a slow amused smile.

You coulda taken Lady. Myles blinks over to her. He considers her for a moment before shaking his head. "Nah." He rumbles. "Lady can't go." He doesn't elaborate on why. Just tells her no. While she may have always struggled with it. He never has. But it was a little roughly delivered. So. Maybe that's why he offers her a compromise. "I'll take her on a run, tonight."

"You want all this out on the front lawn?" No, "You want strangers coming onto the property and helping themselves to shit?" It isn't a no, but it isn't immediate acquiescence, either. Anyway then he's charging ahead, going straight at Christmas - an actual family thing, like hasn't been seen in this house in twenty years - and she slumps again. Just a little. "You talk to her recently?" His mother. It's a wary question, clear she doesn't know what she wants the answer to be.

What she wanted was for him to say he'd take the dog because when he declines her eyes narrow down to green slits, subtly venomous. "You don't have to. I'll take her for a walk before I go find the store. Maybe we'll find one together and she can help me carry the groceries in." The cup's lifted, more of the coffee sipped down without any real joy: it is mere fuel, doing double duty since nothing seemed suitable for solid breakfast. "You figure out the living room. Everything needs washed and waxed and painted but maybe it'll be okay just to come in at night and not expect to see Leonard drinking in that recliner."

Myles furrows his brow. "On the street not on the lawn. Like on the sidewalk. People will take it." He frowns lightly. "It's normal." He looks around as if trying to find someone to support him here. "People do that." He insists. Taking a sip of his coffee and immediately scowling. "At the funeral." It was pretty recent. Recent ish. "I think I--" Hm. "I meant to call her before we drove up." Did he forget? Sounds like it. He looks up at her with just a touch of wariness in return. "Did you?"

He lets out a loud sigh. Louder than necessary. "I said I'd take her for a run. She just can't come when I paint. It wouldn't work. But I'll take her for a run. Don't make this a thing." He grunts, eyeing her sidelong. There's a frown when she mentions Leonard in the recliner, his eyes narrowing in return. "Okay." He takes a few steps away from the wall, his eyes going over her. He frowns a little.

"You good, Nico?"

Lady will support him! Look at that tail-swish. She doesn't even know that she has also been cut out of Art Club. Or maybe she's waiting patiently until someone remembers that the dog would like some breakfast as well please and there is a bag of kibble thank you very much.

"I called her after you called me." Before the funeral. Which she then didn't come out for, on account of some other obligations, undefined, very much like an excuse to not return to Gray Harbor. And yet here she is. Here they are. Whatever's outside the windows is real interesting, that secret wild garden of weeds and brambles. It was never a lush green lawn, always scrubby and rank with crab grass, but once upon a time that was short enough to seem like paradise. Back when the hammock wasn't a rotting tatter of knotted cords; back when the tulips Regina planted along the fence line still bloomed on the regular.

It takes a while longer to come to an answer for the other bit, and when it comes it's just a shake of her head, dismissal rather than denial. "I'm fine. Just got a lot of work to do."

Myles frowns watching her as she looks anywhere but him. He looks down to Lady. "Just hold on baby." He rumbles in a low affectionate tone. Realizing that without her looking Nicasia may think he's speaking to her. Maybe. His gaze flicks up. He frowns before taking a step forward, his hand going up to settle on her shoulder. Gently. "Nico." He rumbles again, giving her a little tug, trying to turn her towards him.

Likely Nikki does; he says that and her eyes close, but the two things could just be coincidental.

At least she doesn't flinch when his hand sets on her shoulder; it must be the weight that unbalances her enough that her head tilts minutely in that direction, like she'd lean into him. Instead she gets turned around to face him, looks up with wary sobriety, jaw set like maybe it'll keep her from looking too hopeful. "I'm fine," she repeats. "I said I was gonna help you. I mean it. I'm not going to tuck tail and run just because it's hard." Not yet, anyway.

His hand still on her shoulder, he watches her for a long moment. "Nico." He repeats, soft. He pulls in on her shoulder gently, pulling her towards him. A step closer. Another step. Soon his massive arms go to envelope her. If she allows him. His large arms go to wrap around her back, pulling her into his chest. "Hey." Comes out in a much softer voice than he has used with her the entire time they've been here. He holds her there for a moment. "Let's both take her for a walk. Mm? Now. Before we get started. Doesn't have to be long."

It's less a matter of if and more a matter of when; when he pulls her in, when he closes up the distance, when her head ends up on his chest, just above his heart, the regular rhythm of which was often a metronome for the order of her life, the tempo of so many things, fast and slow. Sometimes too fast, occasionally too slow. She's still holding that cup; her arm is still wrapped around herself. It makes the whole hold a little bit awkward, but paints in a layer of something that has been absent for a while.

Slowly, by degrees, her shoulders drop, some of the tension coiled up in there let go of. "You don't have to," Nicasia murmurs. "I really just thought you... might want her as company. She doesn't get in the way." Ever the excuser; ever the rationalizer. It's a precarious position. Her chin lifts a few inches. Just two, three; not enough to really reach him. Just enough to take a breath. "There's so much to do."

He lets out a slow breath, as he holds her there in that awkward embrace.

"Sometimes I have to jump over shit and climb things and-- I wouldn't be able to hold the leash. Sometimes I just have to run. I can't have my hands tied up." Probably more of an explanation than he wanted to give her. But he's giving her a little. It's not hard to imagine what a cop like her father may have done seeing a man dressed like Myles, looking like Myles. In the middle of the night. It perhaps adds an element of risk to the entire thing he does that he may not have wanted her to consider. "It's not a good activity for a dog." He assures her.

They do have a lot to do. "We'll only walk for fifteen minutes. Relax a little. We'll work better if we're not in a shitty mood when we start."

Maybe she has considered it; maybe that's why she wanted him to take the dog. It doesn't seem worth arguing about, however. A petty thing to get hung up on.

"Yeah, alright," Nicasia murmurs. "Fifteen minutes."

Then she drops her arm, but only so that she can shove him. Ineffectively. The leverage is all wrong, she's got no room to move it, can only place her palm on his chest, near her cheek, to push. "I'm not in a shitty mood," she goes on then, hardened back up so that gooey interior isn't wide open and vulnerable anymore. "Just wasn't expecting the day - any day - to start like this." With a fridge full of fuzzy leftovers and her own personal home invader.

Shes shoves at him. But it mostly ends up in her just groping one firm pec. Which may just flex under her hand. On reflex. He looks down at her for a moment, drawing in a slow breath. "Yeah-- I know." Slowly his arms unwind from around her and he takes a single step back, building up just a little bit of space between them just as the warmth started to build.

"Hey-- Where's my Lady Baby?" He goes down to one knee as Lady comes dancing up. "We'll feed you after a walk, alright baby? We'll both walk you. You like that? Yeah you like that." He smiles warmly as his hand comes up to scrub at the side of her face. "You wanna go on a walk?" A key phrase that can send the dog into sheer enthusiastic panic mode. Getting her front paws bouncing around. "Yeah, you wanna go on a walk?" Walk-enthusiasm intensifies! She jumps backwards, moving towards the door as Myles stands up.

Her leash? It had been sandwiched under a box in some unfortunate jostling. It possibly might have warranted a deep search at some point. But Myles walks right over to it. Having not any idea where it was before, yanks it out from under the box and goes over to her. "Oops. Collar." It's like he's not even paying attention. And maybe Nicasia isn't either. But when Myles reaches out, he doesn't go to the collar. It comes to him. It just slides up from its place on the small table by the door and leaps into his open waiting hand. It's insane looking, but Myles doesn't even seem to acknowledge it. At all. He just goes to his knee and gets her collar on, going to fasten the leash to her collar.

It's very necessary, that space; he takes one step back but so does Nicasia, back toward the wall, back to take another deep breath and another swallow of her coffee. Both of them are necessary, lest things get too familiar again. Too comfortable. There is one brief sidelong glance but her gaze quickly snaps to the window again.

At least that's where she's meaning to look. It's impossible to stay mad when the giant goes down and all but baby-talks the dog and it takes every bit of her limited willpower not to laugh again. As it is she hides behind the mug, her shoulders lifting and falling with the effort of keeping the noise in. It is an uncanny, uncommon kind of delight, and she embraces it rather than the other feelings it rouses. Less comfortable feelings. More comfortable ones. The dog is absolutely giddy though, vastly preferring this to the food, but perhaps she knows the food will come eventually.

And so Nicasia is watching when Myles just happens to know where the leash is, coiled up on the counter under that box. Is watching when the collar defies every bit of logic and physics and falls upward, across the distance, and it saps every ounce of amusement from her to leave her staring in bewilderment. It's not often that she's caught completely off her guard like that; not often that something derails whatever she was doing, whatever she was thinking. Leaves her blinking, and then rubbing at her eyes like there is no way she saw what she just saw. Something she can't explain.

And the collar is fastened. Leash is snapped on. "Good girl. Yeah, that's my good girl." Rub rub rub scratch scratch scratch. Finally Myles is standing up and turning to face her. With that look on her face. He frowns a little. But forces up a smile anyway. "Ready?"

Nikki shakes her head, like that'll clear it out. It doesn't but she puts up a brave face anyway. "Let me get my boots."

Myles gives an up nod as he and Lady go to the door. "We'll wait for you outside, Nico." He calls out over his shoulder before opening the door and stepping out with Lady moving excitedly