CH7: Kindling (Cain + Fran)
Jun 18, 2019 15:47:06 GMT -6
Post by fen on Jun 18, 2019 15:47:06 GMT -6
They didn’t have much time to get used to things.
Well, maybe he was already used to it, but Cain sure as hell wasn’t.
He had spent part of the morning staring down his friend in their modest community room, absentmindedly eating cereal. The ex-ESU pilot had slept in, for perhaps the first time in months, or maybe even longer. His disheveled hair certainly seemed to imply that, for a guy who seemed to always try appear picture perfect.
Though the community room was quaint and tiny, he seemed to make due standing in the doorway, his eyes flickering between Fran and the TV in the corner. Though their reunion had been great, the pilot couldn’t quite figure out how to bring things back to… Normal. So instead he fixated on the TV.
“...huh.” He paused, idly tapping his spoon against his cheek. “Did… Was that there when I first visited?”
He was never a very considerate person.
To Francisco, the years spent apart, the fact that the other thought he was dead -- those things didn’t mean that anything had changed. And yet, even someone like him couldn’t help but notice that the way his companion was conducting himself was odd.
-- At least, you know, for someone who was supposed to be a close friend.
What, still scared of cooties at this age?
He raises a brow at the other’s inquiry, turning away from the television to address him.
“What, you mean you don’t remember?” his expression is as deadpan as ever, although it softens a bit as he gestures for the other to come closer. “What’re you doing all the way over there anyway? Sit. It’s a pain to talk to someone who’s standing behind me.”
He stopped chewing midway, those unfocused eyes of his going with it, as some might say.
Cain pulled up a seat, letting that bowl clink onto the table as he continued. What was even on TV? He had been distracted, formulating some sort of method of easing into what he wanted to talk about without actually being direct. For a stuck up heir, used to socializing, it came as a surprise to himself that he found this so difficult.
“Hey, I needed to go check up on something was all. When I came back I saw you already sitting so I figured the doorway was fine.” That didn’t make much sense when he said it aloud, did it? Doesn’t matter. He let the TV drown out some of the noise that was bubbling in his head.
“So uh… Was it a you thing, or a Hawk thing that I wasn’t supposed to find out about you still… Being alive.” Another clink of his spoon coming to a rest before the pilot paused his eating, looking over but also not-quite making eye contact with Fran.
Luckily for Cain he was in the presence of someone who didn’t think -- too deeply.
But he does sense something strange in the atmosphere (not that he’ll be inquiring about that any time soon). It was comfortable enough, and that was all that he needed.
“Oh? That?” his eyes are still trained on the television as he speaks. “I wasn’t sure if he’d told you anything about that.”
It’s the way that he says it that stops him short. Of course, he’d figured that many of the people who had known him prior to his joining up with the Liberators would be under the impression that he was dead, but he’d never expected to meet any of them ever again: he figures, now, faced with such a person, that his tone was much too light.
“That’s… to say that I, uh,” he finally turns his gaze towards the other, though his expression is as unreadable as ever. “Didn’t really think about it much. I must have surprised you, even though you still recognized me right away -- guess my disguise isn’t that good, huh?”
Was that… supposed to be a joke? With delivery as poor as his, it’s difficult to tell.
“...huh.”
He took another spoonful of cereal, idly chewing on it as the sound from the TV drowned out the rest of the noise. It was… Something something Masked Hero. It reminded him of the shows he’d watch as a kid. For a lazy, almost boring morning, it seemed only appropriate that the TV would be playing that.
“I mean… You didn’t exactly try to look different.” His gaze wandered back over to Fran, eyeing him with a hint of suspicion. Honestly, out of all the people to remember how he looked, obviously Cain would- what kind of friend would he be? There was always the chance he was joking, but-
Well, he bopped him on the arm, an amused look on his face.
“Should have tried dying your hair.”
He’s looking away again as the other talks, his features unmoving until the tap on his arm.
“Well,” he starts slowly. “It’s not like I’ve got that memorable of a face anyway. Actually, I think I stand out more now than I did before.”
To this, Francisco lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his head, idly, absentmindedly. Bleaching it had been, to use his own words, a real pain in the ass and he didn’t seem inclined to do so ever again. Still…
“Dyeing it huh… Like what? Go blonder?”
It wouldn’t hurt to humor him, even though that’s likely not what the other means…
“...Blonder?”
It was hard for Cain not to chuckle imagining him… Blonder.
“I mean more… Red, or something, you know? A color that really sticks out. Something completely different.” Though he said red, the idle tapping he did of his spoon along the rim of the bowl reminded him that, actually, red was an awful color. Awful.
“Anyways, it’s fine. I’m just, uh…”
How should he say this.
“...glad that you’re alright.”
He actually looks like he’s considering it: dyeing his hair something flashy. But then he blinks, seems to remember something.
“I don’t wanna be that easy to identify,” he says almost like he’s reciting something that he was told rather than posing his own thoughts on the matter. A shake of his head before his gaze slides back towards the television only for it to quickly shift back in the other’s direction.
“You’re, wh- …?”
He’s reacting like he hadn’t heard him clearly, and yet, simultaneously, it’s obvious that he has.
A moment of silence, maybe two, three, before: “Can’t say it’s bad seeing you again either.”
No, that’s not right, try again.
“Actually, it’s really nice finally having you on board. … Not that the others are bad company-”
“It’ll be like the old days, right?”
When Fran mentioned the others, his brow furrowed. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to look into them- he knew one was from the colonies, and the other was Hawk’s adopted protege. The latter he knew enough about, the former was a bit of an enigma. She certainly looked stunning, even for Cain’s standards, thinking back during some of his earlier days before the military.
“Don’t tell me… Does Fran have a crush?”
It was obviously a tease, especially as Cain leaned in to jab his shoulder, but there was a half-hearted end to that sentence, as if it involved knowledge he didn’t actually want to know.
At the sound of that, the corners of Fran’s mouth twitch upwards like he’s about to smile before settling back down into that same, stoic line.
“What kind of joke is that?” he sounds almost exasperated, his eyes trained on the television. Though it appears as though the question hasn’t affected him in the slightest, his ears are tinged ever so slightly with a shade of red.
“What about you?” he asks abruptly, turning to face the other. “That’s… I mean, how have you been, since… -” I supposedly died is probably how he would’ve finished the sentence, if he’d bothered to continue.
Cain leaned forward by an inch as he listened to Fran’s response. His bowl long since finished, he could pick up enough of his reaction to know what he meant. It was enough to get him to clear his throat, as if to cut off the topic then and there.
“I’ve been alright.”
He didn’t miss them, by any means, but there was a lingering feeling of guilt that occasionally bubbled up towards his chest. Like the times before, Cain pushed it back down. This wasn’t high school, he didn’t have time for childish sympathy.
“Better now, at least.”
Fingers tapping against his bowl, he didn’t quite know where to go now. There was a strange swelling of emotions inside him that he’d rather not deal with.
“I’m gonna head off to get back to work on some side projects, but we should hang out again.”
A glance in the other’s direction at the vague answer.
“That’s..-”
Yeah, like he had any room to pry. This would have to suffice for now. “-.. I’m glad.”
His gaze shifts towards the other’s bowl, before he stands and scoops it up without asking permission: “I’ll take care of this. Since you’ve got, uh, stuff to work on.”
What was appropriate for this sort of scenario?
Why was the atmosphere suddenly different in the first place?
He’s not great at reading in general, let alone reading the mood, so he simply nods as if to affirm that he wouldn’t mind catching up in the future, and leaves the other in the common room, as if he’s escaping from something.
… He could’ve at least turned off the television.
Well, maybe he was already used to it, but Cain sure as hell wasn’t.
He had spent part of the morning staring down his friend in their modest community room, absentmindedly eating cereal. The ex-ESU pilot had slept in, for perhaps the first time in months, or maybe even longer. His disheveled hair certainly seemed to imply that, for a guy who seemed to always try appear picture perfect.
Though the community room was quaint and tiny, he seemed to make due standing in the doorway, his eyes flickering between Fran and the TV in the corner. Though their reunion had been great, the pilot couldn’t quite figure out how to bring things back to… Normal. So instead he fixated on the TV.
“...huh.” He paused, idly tapping his spoon against his cheek. “Did… Was that there when I first visited?”
He was never a very considerate person.
To Francisco, the years spent apart, the fact that the other thought he was dead -- those things didn’t mean that anything had changed. And yet, even someone like him couldn’t help but notice that the way his companion was conducting himself was odd.
-- At least, you know, for someone who was supposed to be a close friend.
What, still scared of cooties at this age?
He raises a brow at the other’s inquiry, turning away from the television to address him.
“What, you mean you don’t remember?” his expression is as deadpan as ever, although it softens a bit as he gestures for the other to come closer. “What’re you doing all the way over there anyway? Sit. It’s a pain to talk to someone who’s standing behind me.”
He stopped chewing midway, those unfocused eyes of his going with it, as some might say.
Cain pulled up a seat, letting that bowl clink onto the table as he continued. What was even on TV? He had been distracted, formulating some sort of method of easing into what he wanted to talk about without actually being direct. For a stuck up heir, used to socializing, it came as a surprise to himself that he found this so difficult.
“Hey, I needed to go check up on something was all. When I came back I saw you already sitting so I figured the doorway was fine.” That didn’t make much sense when he said it aloud, did it? Doesn’t matter. He let the TV drown out some of the noise that was bubbling in his head.
“So uh… Was it a you thing, or a Hawk thing that I wasn’t supposed to find out about you still… Being alive.” Another clink of his spoon coming to a rest before the pilot paused his eating, looking over but also not-quite making eye contact with Fran.
Luckily for Cain he was in the presence of someone who didn’t think -- too deeply.
But he does sense something strange in the atmosphere (not that he’ll be inquiring about that any time soon). It was comfortable enough, and that was all that he needed.
“Oh? That?” his eyes are still trained on the television as he speaks. “I wasn’t sure if he’d told you anything about that.”
It’s the way that he says it that stops him short. Of course, he’d figured that many of the people who had known him prior to his joining up with the Liberators would be under the impression that he was dead, but he’d never expected to meet any of them ever again: he figures, now, faced with such a person, that his tone was much too light.
“That’s… to say that I, uh,” he finally turns his gaze towards the other, though his expression is as unreadable as ever. “Didn’t really think about it much. I must have surprised you, even though you still recognized me right away -- guess my disguise isn’t that good, huh?”
Was that… supposed to be a joke? With delivery as poor as his, it’s difficult to tell.
“...huh.”
He took another spoonful of cereal, idly chewing on it as the sound from the TV drowned out the rest of the noise. It was… Something something Masked Hero. It reminded him of the shows he’d watch as a kid. For a lazy, almost boring morning, it seemed only appropriate that the TV would be playing that.
“I mean… You didn’t exactly try to look different.” His gaze wandered back over to Fran, eyeing him with a hint of suspicion. Honestly, out of all the people to remember how he looked, obviously Cain would- what kind of friend would he be? There was always the chance he was joking, but-
Well, he bopped him on the arm, an amused look on his face.
“Should have tried dying your hair.”
He’s looking away again as the other talks, his features unmoving until the tap on his arm.
“Well,” he starts slowly. “It’s not like I’ve got that memorable of a face anyway. Actually, I think I stand out more now than I did before.”
To this, Francisco lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his head, idly, absentmindedly. Bleaching it had been, to use his own words, a real pain in the ass and he didn’t seem inclined to do so ever again. Still…
“Dyeing it huh… Like what? Go blonder?”
It wouldn’t hurt to humor him, even though that’s likely not what the other means…
“...Blonder?”
It was hard for Cain not to chuckle imagining him… Blonder.
“I mean more… Red, or something, you know? A color that really sticks out. Something completely different.” Though he said red, the idle tapping he did of his spoon along the rim of the bowl reminded him that, actually, red was an awful color. Awful.
“Anyways, it’s fine. I’m just, uh…”
How should he say this.
“...glad that you’re alright.”
He actually looks like he’s considering it: dyeing his hair something flashy. But then he blinks, seems to remember something.
“I don’t wanna be that easy to identify,” he says almost like he’s reciting something that he was told rather than posing his own thoughts on the matter. A shake of his head before his gaze slides back towards the television only for it to quickly shift back in the other’s direction.
“You’re, wh- …?”
He’s reacting like he hadn’t heard him clearly, and yet, simultaneously, it’s obvious that he has.
A moment of silence, maybe two, three, before: “Can’t say it’s bad seeing you again either.”
No, that’s not right, try again.
“Actually, it’s really nice finally having you on board. … Not that the others are bad company-”
“It’ll be like the old days, right?”
When Fran mentioned the others, his brow furrowed. He hadn’t taken the opportunity to look into them- he knew one was from the colonies, and the other was Hawk’s adopted protege. The latter he knew enough about, the former was a bit of an enigma. She certainly looked stunning, even for Cain’s standards, thinking back during some of his earlier days before the military.
“Don’t tell me… Does Fran have a crush?”
It was obviously a tease, especially as Cain leaned in to jab his shoulder, but there was a half-hearted end to that sentence, as if it involved knowledge he didn’t actually want to know.
At the sound of that, the corners of Fran’s mouth twitch upwards like he’s about to smile before settling back down into that same, stoic line.
“What kind of joke is that?” he sounds almost exasperated, his eyes trained on the television. Though it appears as though the question hasn’t affected him in the slightest, his ears are tinged ever so slightly with a shade of red.
“What about you?” he asks abruptly, turning to face the other. “That’s… I mean, how have you been, since… -” I supposedly died is probably how he would’ve finished the sentence, if he’d bothered to continue.
Cain leaned forward by an inch as he listened to Fran’s response. His bowl long since finished, he could pick up enough of his reaction to know what he meant. It was enough to get him to clear his throat, as if to cut off the topic then and there.
“I’ve been alright.”
He didn’t miss them, by any means, but there was a lingering feeling of guilt that occasionally bubbled up towards his chest. Like the times before, Cain pushed it back down. This wasn’t high school, he didn’t have time for childish sympathy.
“Better now, at least.”
Fingers tapping against his bowl, he didn’t quite know where to go now. There was a strange swelling of emotions inside him that he’d rather not deal with.
“I’m gonna head off to get back to work on some side projects, but we should hang out again.”
A glance in the other’s direction at the vague answer.
“That’s..-”
Yeah, like he had any room to pry. This would have to suffice for now. “-.. I’m glad.”
His gaze shifts towards the other’s bowl, before he stands and scoops it up without asking permission: “I’ll take care of this. Since you’ve got, uh, stuff to work on.”
What was appropriate for this sort of scenario?
Why was the atmosphere suddenly different in the first place?
He’s not great at reading in general, let alone reading the mood, so he simply nods as if to affirm that he wouldn’t mind catching up in the future, and leaves the other in the common room, as if he’s escaping from something.
… He could’ve at least turned off the television.