2022-05-18 - Almost A Family

The weekend's over so the boardwalk has emptied out. This is kind of the way Nicasia prefers it, with her slight touch of enochlophobia. It's convenient that it means there's nobody around to complain about the dog off her leash, as Lady is right now, happily chasing a tennis ball for the hundredth time as she launches it up the way. This particular table has become a regular stop for this, out of the way, in front of some shops that haven't been open in years. No fries this time, just a tall paper cup of coffee that was hot when she got here, but that the chilly Pacific air has dropped down to something more like lukewarm. She has a beat-up notebook, pen stabbed through its spiral binding, a few scribbles on it having noted whatever she's noted over the past week about their absolutely off-the-books-not-really-cases, idle moments filled in alternately by trying to figure out what they know about Haggleford, and in trying to figure anything about Isabelle. One of these is preferable to the other, but neither of them pay the bills.

Lady comes running back with the tennis ball, returning it to Myles' hand. Picking it up, he throws it out over the beach. Lady goes running. It's quite a good throw, though, Myles narrows his brows and when the ball starts on its downward arc, it lifts back up again and keeps going. Flying down towards the surf of the water. Lady has quite a bit of running to do on this one, though Myles looks satisfied.

Taking a few steps back, he goes to sit on the bench. Wearing baggy shorts, a tank top and a loose hoodie, he has a baseball cap on backwards, pulled low. He leans back into the table, posting his elbows up as he watches Lady run. "I think I'm gettin' better at it."

Poor dog. She's probably confused for half a second when the ball doesn't go down where she's anticipating it, but really, it's just more mad dashing she has to do to catch up and the Tervuren has what might best be described as an excess of energy.

Nicasia hasn't quite made the transition to summerwear. She's still in jeans, still in boots, but she did finally shed the leather jacket, has just gone for a long-sleeved V-necked t-shirt instead, grey as gunpowder. At one point there was something stenciled on the front. An album's commemoration, a bar's logo. It's been worn and washed so many times that all that's left are some white flecks, like static. "Practice makes perfect," she comments, concerning how much better he's gotten. "Figured out anything else you can do with it, yet?"

Lady eventually gets to the tennis ball, starts running back through the sand.

Myles leans his head back. "Nah. Just goin farther, heavier stuff." He slowly looks over his shoulder, back to Nicasia. Perhaps looking at her as if sizing her up. How heavy she might be. Elbows still posted on the table. Eventually he decides not to try and pick up his ex wife with his mind, looking back over to Lady running back through the sand. "What you doin?"

Oh, she notices the sizing up and responds with a rather arch raise of her chin and arch of one eyebrow, a very particular you sure you want to do that? kind of expression that serves her well in a lot of situations. Like this one. Maybe. But Nicasia is then distracted by the dog, now a bit wet from chasing the ball into the surf, and it softens, melting away. By the time Myles gets around to asking the question she's mostly forgotten it, and corrals her cup to have a sip. "Nothing productive."

One nail taps on the corner of the open page. "It almost doesn't feel right, you know? Trying to figure all of this stuff out. Like trying to solve a puzzle with jello."

Lady returns with the ball, dropping it in his hand. He tosses it up once, making sure it doesn't stick to his hand. He lets out a quiet breath as if relieved. Standing up, he goes to throw the ball again powerfully out towards the surf, sending Lady sprinting back out to the sand. While Lady's running, Myles wanders around the table, moving to stand behind Nicasia. His hands go to her shoulders, slowly squeezing, kneading. Engulfing her shoulders. He leans down, to press his lips to the top of her head. "Which jello puzzle you tryna solve?"

Easy enough. Easy enough that Nicasia leans back slightly into him, into his grip. The fine-tied knots of tension in her shoulders aren't going to go away but this might loosen them up a little. "All this stuff," is vague. "This place. The strangeness. I stopped someplace for lunch the other day and there was some douchebag kid in a suit and tophat and I was dead on convinced he must've somehow been connected to the shit on the docks. And then his mother showed up and all but dragged him out by his earring..." A quiet sigh runs out of her. "Maybe I'm just losing my touch."

There's a light frown pulling on his lips. A quiet grunt escapes them. The kneading only continues. The kiss to the top of her head. It's unusual for Myles. Even in the best of times, his affection is generally a little more reserved. Especially in public. He frowns deeply as he stares down at her. He continues to rub at her shoulders. Falling quiet for a few extended moments as his thumbs rub over those knots, pushing at them, slow.

Eventually he releases, moving over to intercept a returning Lady, picking up the ball and throwing it again. He's headed back to her, going to sit on the bench, straddling it so he's facing her. "Eleven confirmed kills." Myles murmurs, low. "When I think about it now-- I figure I musta been using my powers. Just didn't really.." He sighs quietly. They never talked about it. Myles refused to, he would get very angry. But now. Now he's freely telling her. And he's being nice. Rubbing her shoulders. Kissing her head.

Maybe he has cancer.

His eyes flick back at her, frowning deeply. "It's okay to not be okay, baby." He rumbles low, slowly lifting one arm out to her, as if in invitation.

Especially in public. This isn't exactly that, is it? The place is virtually deserted and Lady doesn't really care. It is kind of unusual but she doesn't mind it so much, doesn't suggest he stop, doesn't give him any of those looks, just lets him be affectionate for whatever reason that he is.

When he speaks again she's reaching for her cup. It's three or four seconds before she really parses what he's saying though, the implications of it, and the cup drops through her fingers. Fortunately it's just half an inch or so and nothing sloshes, nothing spills, but that isn't at all the point. "Jesus. Myles..." They never talked about it. And now there is this one little confession that rolls through her like a hurricane and for a moment the tumble of emotion is visible. The shock, the dismay, the horror, the latter doubling back on itself with some reminder that she might now be up to three.

The part of the equation where he's being extra nice hasn't really been examined yet.

She lifts a hand though, starts to reach out as well, but it keeps going up, around, until her knuckles are against her mouth. "It's not okay. None of it is okay."

Myles lowers his head, eyes going down to the bench for a moment. "I know." He rumbles quietly. He looks over to the side, away from her for a few moments. "I just need you to know I'm here." His shoulders lift into the lightest of shrugs. "I don't want-- I don't want..." He frowns. "I was shit at it. Handlin' it. Back then. I know and-- It's not a fuckin' excuse but-- There's shit I can't ever take back and--" He grunts quietly. "I just want you to know I'm here. Yeah?"

Those conversational fits and starts underscore the convolutions of emotion and for a long moment Nicasia doesn't respond. She starts to, but every time she opens her mouth nothing comes out, not even that skip-start attempt at words. Nails dig into her palm as she curls her fist tighter, biting in turn into the tops of fingers, like maybe that's going to help. At least it provides something physical to pay attention to.

"Myles," she tries again, finally. And, "Fuck." Why waste a perfectly good conversation when dull profanity will do? But once it's out she slides over a few inches toward him, closing some of the distance, and reaches again. This time her hand makes it all the way, fingers going to the back of his neck, a vague mimic of what he did a few moments ago. "I wasn't there. I was shit at dealing with it. I'm still shit at dealing with it."

He gives her some space as she tries to dig into her palms with her nails. He glances over to the returning Lady. This time the throw is a bit lazier. A pitch out into the sand. When she says his name, attention returns. She slowly inches over and he immediately responds. His arm slowly slides around her waist. "Fuck, baby. No." He rumbles, her hand going over his neck, his chin going to her shoulder. "Nah, I wasn't tryna.." A deep sigh is let out. "Nah. I wasn't makin' it about me. You don't have to walk back to that shit I'm just sayin' I know. Yeah? I know where you are and-- I'm here. If you wanna see a fuckin' shrink or whatever the fuck. Whatever you wanna do Nico, I'm with you on this. Okay?"

"Except it's not just about me," Nicasia murmurs. "You were there. I saw it." Where there is and what she saw may not be entirely clear at the moment. Or it might. It doesn't matter. She leans into him, head settling against his, an awkward kind of embrace that still manages to be more. "I don't want to see a shrink. What the fuck am I going to tell one? I don't know what to do about it. Maybe there's nothing. Maybe it's going to circle around and bite us in the ass, open a door to one of those fucked up Dream things. Maybe it'll be nothing. Maybe..."

Rather than spinning those tires any longer she turns her head a little, presses a gentle kiss against his temple. "But I'm here now, too. And maybe that's what will make it be okay." If only she sounded like she were convinced of this.

"Yeah." He drawls lazily. "I was there." There's a breathy laugh against her cheek. "Maybe there's one that shines. I bet Ava would fuckin' know." As he murmurs, there's a bump against his leg. Lady, with the ball. "No more, baby." He murmurs quietly down to her. In return, Lady sets the ball down at his feet and sits very pretty. Waiting for him to realize how pretty she is sitting and remember what a good girl she is and then he'll throw the ball.

Myles is looking back to Nicasia, smiling softly. "Yeah. Maybe." He's willing to pretend to believe it, he even makes it sound real, leaning into the kiss. Slowly he leans his head down into his shoulder. "You know you said 'back off' to her the other day. And you never apologized." It was in the middle of some rather intimate moments. But Myles didn't forget. He'll never forget. He slowly looks up, a slightly playful smile on his lips.

"Yeah," she murmurs. "And what are they gonna do about it? I can still..." There's a little hitch in her voice now. Her turn for that verbal stop and start. "I can still smell it sometimes, you know?" Maybe not, since he didn't get that close. "I wonder if it could've gone differently. Better." It is a dangerous loop to be in.

But this is why they have Lady, the dog both of them need but neither of them deserve, and if Nicasia notices the very clear dodge and change of subject she doesn't call him on it. Instead she tilts her head so that she can also look down at the dog, whose tail swishes hopefully. "You spoil her rotten," she murmurs. "I'm not going to apologize. What're you gonna do about it?"

There's another frown, lowering his gaze for a moment. His tongue goes out to his lips. He lets out a slow sigh. "My first one..." He looks up at the sky for a few moments as if taking inventory, weighing whether or not he's really going to share this. "My first one was a kid." Beat. "Had to be.. I dunno. Sixteen? Maybe eighteen." He looks down at Lady, his hand going out to pet the top of her head. "I was eatin' a fuckin' hot dog. When things started riling up. People started fuckin' yellin. It just went so fuckin' fast. I was still chewin'. They were advancin' and I was just- Havin' fuckin lunch. Kid is walkin up on us and pulls on us and I have my sidearm out and..."

He swallows. "Hot dogs to this day make me feel like I'm gonna fuckin' puke. I can't eat em. Sometimes I can still taste it. The taste changin when I smelled the blood comin' up, felt the splatter on my face." He looks down at the ground once more. "You're gonna wanna do that, Nico. Replay it. Find what you could've done different. People told me not to. And-- They were right but-- They didn't stop me." He grunts quietly.

He's more than grateful to move on to the subject of Lady, smiling softly. "You better fuckin' apologize." He rumbles, that low faux threat given while scooting a touch closer. "Apologize."

This time Nicasia knows what he's talking about before he quite gets there, what the first one is before he has to clarify and she tenses up reflexively, instinctively. Instead of pulling away, it means her hold on him tightens too though, and with it comes a momentary flicker of power - intentional or not - but it rolls off entirely without any effect at all, scarcely noticeable. The remainder is listened to without commentary, without interruption, without another attempt at it, though the reversal of the wave sets her to rocking slightly.

"You were a kid," she points out, like maybe it isn't a fair comparison to make, a fair line to draw. But it's all she's got. That and the memory of the smell of cooked flesh, though there is for a mercy nothing remotely like it anywhere near by to make this conversation worse. "I don't know what else to do. I can't stop it from replaying unless I get really creative or drunk and I can't keep doing that." Either version. "They make it sound like it's gonna keep happening. That wasn't a one-time event, we just happened to stop it, that once." So she's going to replay it.

Lady looks between them, rolls of her big brown eyes still hoping someone might decide to throw the ball, but also content to wait until such time as they remember her. The petting helps, winning Myles another swish of her tail.

On the subject of apology, however, Nicasia looks down at her and scoffs. "Or what? Maybe you're the one who should apologize for fucking up all of her training. Giving her table food. Letting her sleep in bed." Her annoyance is just as artificial as his threat, but it is so much easier to pretend to be pissed.

There's a quiet grunt. Maybe he was a kid. He looks down at the ground. Staring at it for a bit longer. He looks down to Lady. He lets out a sigh before apparently deciding to abandon the topic of MURDER by either of them entirely. He leans over to pick up the tennis ball and toss it lazily over towards the beach. When Lady takes off his eyes flick back up to Nicasia. "Table food? The fuck?" Of course he does but he's always very discreet about it. He's quite convinced this is a tactic to force a confession. She probably learned a few things from her dad even if she didn't actually want to. "What th'fuck are you talkin about?" But the bed? "She gets lonely."

Discreet enough that Nic just looks at him, head tilting, eyes narrowing. "You know what the fuck I'm talking about. Why she always comes right to you as soon as you show up with food. Notice she doesn't do that to me?" Obviously it is food. Obviously it is not because Lady likes him better... because he gives her food. She hasn't quite let go, either. Her hand is still on his shoulder, her fingers still at the back of his neck, just barely dipped down inside his hoodie, skin to skin. "Oh, she's the one who gets lonely, huh? Gonna buy her a doghouse, I think, and you can both sleep in it."

"She just likes me better." He immediately argues. "Because I always feed her on time. And I feed usually while I'm eatin' or after I eat." It could be the army drilled into him. Even when he's staggering drunk, he will refill that bowl like clockwork. Or at least make a pile of dog food next to the bowl. "And maybe she doesn't do that shit to you cause you're mean to her. Hm? Sayin' shit like back off? Think about that?" Though he's still grinning, his arm slowly curling around her waist, pulling her closer. "She does. You ever watched her in the middle of the night? Wandrin' round, lookin at us? Sometimes she shakes out for no reason. Just to try and wake one of us, I think. She gets lonely." He lets out a wry laugh at the doghouse.

Which brings Nic back to, "You just spoil her rotten. I am not mean to her. She's a dog, and you're always cooing at her. Aww, come here, baby," she borrows some of his inflection for a moment but it's nowhere near the right pitch or tone. It is in fact a little bit sharp, a little bit sassy. "I guess if you really want, next time I'll let her get in your lap and you can deal with the consequences." Pulled closer, she shifts positions incrementally, sliding her arm more intentionally around his shoulder until they're almost pressed against one another. Correspondingly, her voice gets softer, but even in a whisper there's still a bite in her words, still teeth visible, like she's deciding whether to bite. "I bet that hardware store has doghouses. Nice ones. Maybe I'll even get you one with real shingles."

I am not mean to her. That earns a sidelong dubious look. There's a huff of a laugh at her mimicry of him, rolling his eyes. Though it effectively has him fall quiet. Perhaps it touches a bit too close to the reasoning why he's so in love with the dog and why he dotes on her so. And that mess is a whole other iceberg they don't need to crash into this evening. Instead he smirks lightly, as she's drawn in. Still sassy. Contemplating what type of doghouse she'll get. "Oh. Generous." He rumbles about the shingles, lips curling up broader. He leans forward to steal a kiss from her, the pair slowly falling into back and forth teasing quietly at the bench while occasionally throwing the ball back for Lady. eventually it will get too cold, Myles will complain and they'll head home. But for now, it's a quiet moment in what almost feels like a family.