Sometimes, rare as it was, Steve revelled in a quiet night alone within the Eye...
It was a rare night for the machinist, alone at home and with absolutely nothing of consequence on his plate. Fionna was still at the office, both throwing herself into what work needed doing before the coming election and eeking out as much time as she could with her staff; likely over some chinese food. Raza was already fast asleep with a softly snoozing Dante curled up at his side and Mariyah had long since gone home, leaving the big blonde man to his own devices.
The night had descended cool, but warm enough to give the exposed top level of the building no small amount of appeal to the restless spirit with (pleasantly) mundane tethers. It was there that he had chosen to tinker away some time, trading his attention between the leatherbound journal/sketchbook gifted to him by the governor and stitching up the leather covering on the round, concave shield that spent so much time hidden in the basement.
The Soldier's shield.
Hawkish blue eyes were attentive, no matter which the task, but anything having to do with the shield itself always produced a pensive expression.
The time of night and what the next day would bring finally turned her wanderings on to the Eye. There never seemed to be enough rooftops. It was a ludicrous thought in the city, but it still pricked at her mind. To walk the edge, look down and look up and find yourself somewhere between. It had been her life since she was very young.
As she walked up the stairs, very conscious of the slow steps instead of her usual scampering leap, she let her mind think of what was before her. She still had not explained much of why she had been grounded. She did not want to. It was her choice, and the idea of talking about it soured her. It seemed like a plea for pity or pat on the back or other nonsense, when it was just what it was.
She was not ready to shake off the sullen mood though or cover it up with a false front, so she kept walking past the residence and up to the rooftop to get herself back into family mode.
Fionna liked to give him a good natured hard time about his enjoyment of using the roof's edge for lounging, but there was an odd sort of solace to be found there; a throwback to worse times that held a few inspiring memories. The machinist himself was hometime casual, from his bare feet and pajama pants, to the ratty old Buck's Gym t-shirt that had long ago lost it's sleeves.
With the journal at his side and momentarily forgotten, deft fingers worked diligently to stitch up a long tear in the shield's leather covered, looping over and over. He was all but lost in the moment when Lirssa arrived, bearded chin snapping upwards when the door opened.
She hadn't expected anyone to be on the roof. Then again, she did not know why not. It was not her sacred space. She stopped when she saw Steve at the edge. "Oh, hey, yeah...sorry." But she stopped before she turned to go, looking at the shield in his hand. She looked from the shield to him, and then just stood there waiting for a sign. Not sure what that sign would look like, but it was a high set of hypocritical on her part if she went nosing into his business when he had kindly stayed clear of hers. Didn't mean she wasn't curious.
Blue eyes lifted to search the teen's face, blonde brows knitting together in deeper thought before the slow, easy smile curled up the corners of his mouth and he beckoned her over with a toss of his head.
"Sorry for what? Did you eat my Chocolate peanut-butter ice cream again?" The thick leatherworking needle had paused and hung precariously over the work he'd been doing, the barest of hopes that Lirssa wouldn't put two-and-two together. That it could be tallied up to just a passing fancy. Sadly, the girl was incredibly astute and intuitive.
"Pull up a seat if you're inclined, Ace. Your mom's workin' late and Raza's already in dreamland."
It was easier to talk about the ice cream for the moment. "Listen, you live in a family household now, buster. You can't go all territorial on ice cream." She gave his shoulder a nudge when she sat beside him, feet over the edge and perfectly at ease there. "So..." she let the word draw out long and soft while she turned her attention to the shield again.
"Okay, I'm callin' bullshit on that one," he groused, feigning a scathing look. "Why is it when I eat the last croissant or get into those chocolate covered cashews you love so much, you or Fionna read me the riot act? Hardly seems fair." His mouth twitched despite himself, before the needle and leather thread were left to dangle.
The full weight of his attention lingered on her.
"Go ahead, Ace. Say what you're thinkin'." Beneath the remainder of the slash in the leather, a folded over scrap revealed trace amounts of red and white. "Or get whatever you need to off your chest."
"Why do you hide it?" It was what she really wanted to know, after all. The reason to hide what he could do. She was watching him now. The shield was an instrument, but it was the man working on it that held the answers.
"It's safer that way," came the somber response, before he was finally relinquishing his hold on the shield and setting it down infront of them. "Rhy'din's as bad as a comic book with what's out there to hold a grudge and there's a time when I probably wouldn't have cared."
He jutted his chin towards the door. "Plenty to worry over these days."
She was not sure what a comic book was, and the confusion was pretty plain for the moment, but she would investigate that another time. The point was that he was worried. "So, you're worried if someone knows it's you they'll do...what?"
"Well, assuming they really don't like me? I worry they'll take it out on the people who matter." It was as simple an explanation as he could give her, concise and truthful. His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Not that you and your mom aren't gifted as Hell in your own rights, amazing really, but I'm gonna play the heart card and reserve the right to be protective."
"Hey, not saying I don't appreciate it, but what makes this...suit, this whatever you want to call it, make you stand out more than say slugging some guy on the street for spitting on your shoes? There's gotta be more than that. People hold grudges around here for whatever they want." She turned to sit lotus style facing him directly.
"Personal taste? Upbringing?" This time a single shoulder rolled up in a shrug. "Separation and division." Both arms rose to fold across his broad chest, Steve's attention still lingered on her face. "Don't know if I could explain it in a way that'd really make sense, but I like trying to be ordinary old nobody Steve just as much as I feel good about what the Solider does, when he's needed."
Sometimes the lack of words said more than a whole speech. She thought about it, tried to put herself in his shoes. One foot wiggled restlessly, like a fish caught on a line just wanting to get back to swimming -- and breathing. "The Soldier, eh?" A nod. "That fits. And I get it. To be you without the expectation and rizzle-razzle, just seems like you could do both without hiding it -- at least around here, right? I mean, we aren't the sort that go blabbin folks secrets about."
"Your mom knows," he admitted. "Along with a few others. People I trust, few as they are."
Leaning forward in his seat, he kicked a bare foot playfully against hers and mustered up a slow smile. A weathered hand rose to scratch fingertips through his beard as he considered what to say next.
"Sadly, sometimes as adults, we make a point to not share things to protect people. As if leaving them in the dark will somehow protect them from the rest of the world or our darker halves. It's a crappy way to live, but I guess sometimes we can't think of a better alternative."
A shrug that turned into a stretch after which she let herself slump for a few moments before she was sitting up straight again. "I suppose. In this world, so little to control that keeping what folks know about you is sometimes the only control you got." She looked out over the city, watched as a few of the streets changed direction, and snickered as if it was making her point. "Anyway, so how'd you come by that suit anyway? Make it yourself?"
"You aren't far off there, Ace," the machinist conceded the point with a slow nod, the slow slouch of his shoulders showing a growing comfort in the discussion. Slow but steady. He followed her gaze, his attention drifting down into the meat of West End with an expression that was equal parts fond and pensive.
"The suit? Most if it's little more than leather and steel, reinforced in a few key places. Pretty low-tech, with the exception of the commincations array and H.U.D in the helmet. The oomph? That comes from... me."
One brow rose slowly and then was joined by the other as her expression changed from credulous to curious. "You got demon in you or somewhat like it?"
"Simple version?" Steve snorted. "I'm the legacy of an old science experiment and someone who I'm pretty sure wasn't human." The smile that came next was a somber one. "Beyond that, I couldn't tell you for sure. I'm strong and quick, and tough as Hell to put down, but the other stuff? Couldn't say I understand it, other than the fact that the more I put into using it, the more it hurts."
"Hurts? Well, stop using it."
"The simplicity of youth." He grinned for that and then snorted. "It made that pretty blue rose I gave you at the Yule Ball, you know."
Her finger pointed directly at his chest. "Don't go making me pretty things that cause you pain. Pretty, thank you, liked it, no more pain." She broke it down into that simplicity he mocked.
"I dunno who's bossier, you or your mother." The machinist's grin only widened. "If I didn't love the both of you crazy broads so much, I'd swear you'd drive me nuts."
It wasn't true of course. Usually it was him driving them nuts.
An uncertain smile, she drew her legs up to her chest, arms tight about them and her chin on her knee. "Yeah, guess that was sorta gripey. Do whatcha gotta do, right? Right." A firm nod. "We all do that. Tryin' to do our best."
"Little stuff like the trinkets? It's fine. Worth the pain." Sliding slowly from the ledge, he sank down to gain a better seat across from her, with his broad back propped up by the lip. "A nose bleed at the worse."
"What about you, Lir? Your situation at the Academy gettin' any better?" Out of respect for the girl's staunch independant streak, he didn't pry.But... "It's had your mother a little worried, so if you're gonna talk to anyone about it... maybe make her year by doin' a little confidin' in her?"
The change of subject had her unraveling again, legs dangling over the edge once more. "It'll be what it'll be. Tell her not to worry." A chuckle, she lifted a hand and rubbed at her forehead. "Yeah, I know. Telling her not to worry isn't going to make it so, but it will all play out. Sooner than later. This isn't anywhere near the worse srape I've been in, right? Right."
"Sorry, Ace. I'm not your messenger. That's something that you're gonna have to tell her." He gave her foot a light kick with his again. "She may be crazy busy, but never too busy for you."
"Seriously? Come on, do some ingratiating or whatever it is fourth father-like figures are supposed to do." She teased and returned the light kick to his foot. "Okay, I'll tell her not to worry -- again. Sometimes she just doesn't hear it from me. It isn't that she isn't listening, but I think she's got some sort of guilt that if she isn't worrying then she's failing her mom job. I'm not exactly sure how the mom work goes, but I guess worrying goes with it."
(OOC: More to come!)
It was a rare night for the machinist, alone at home and with absolutely nothing of consequence on his plate. Fionna was still at the office, both throwing herself into what work needed doing before the coming election and eeking out as much time as she could with her staff; likely over some chinese food. Raza was already fast asleep with a softly snoozing Dante curled up at his side and Mariyah had long since gone home, leaving the big blonde man to his own devices.
The night had descended cool, but warm enough to give the exposed top level of the building no small amount of appeal to the restless spirit with (pleasantly) mundane tethers. It was there that he had chosen to tinker away some time, trading his attention between the leatherbound journal/sketchbook gifted to him by the governor and stitching up the leather covering on the round, concave shield that spent so much time hidden in the basement.
The Soldier's shield.
Hawkish blue eyes were attentive, no matter which the task, but anything having to do with the shield itself always produced a pensive expression.
The time of night and what the next day would bring finally turned her wanderings on to the Eye. There never seemed to be enough rooftops. It was a ludicrous thought in the city, but it still pricked at her mind. To walk the edge, look down and look up and find yourself somewhere between. It had been her life since she was very young.
As she walked up the stairs, very conscious of the slow steps instead of her usual scampering leap, she let her mind think of what was before her. She still had not explained much of why she had been grounded. She did not want to. It was her choice, and the idea of talking about it soured her. It seemed like a plea for pity or pat on the back or other nonsense, when it was just what it was.
She was not ready to shake off the sullen mood though or cover it up with a false front, so she kept walking past the residence and up to the rooftop to get herself back into family mode.
Fionna liked to give him a good natured hard time about his enjoyment of using the roof's edge for lounging, but there was an odd sort of solace to be found there; a throwback to worse times that held a few inspiring memories. The machinist himself was hometime casual, from his bare feet and pajama pants, to the ratty old Buck's Gym t-shirt that had long ago lost it's sleeves.
With the journal at his side and momentarily forgotten, deft fingers worked diligently to stitch up a long tear in the shield's leather covered, looping over and over. He was all but lost in the moment when Lirssa arrived, bearded chin snapping upwards when the door opened.
She hadn't expected anyone to be on the roof. Then again, she did not know why not. It was not her sacred space. She stopped when she saw Steve at the edge. "Oh, hey, yeah...sorry." But she stopped before she turned to go, looking at the shield in his hand. She looked from the shield to him, and then just stood there waiting for a sign. Not sure what that sign would look like, but it was a high set of hypocritical on her part if she went nosing into his business when he had kindly stayed clear of hers. Didn't mean she wasn't curious.
Blue eyes lifted to search the teen's face, blonde brows knitting together in deeper thought before the slow, easy smile curled up the corners of his mouth and he beckoned her over with a toss of his head.
"Sorry for what? Did you eat my Chocolate peanut-butter ice cream again?" The thick leatherworking needle had paused and hung precariously over the work he'd been doing, the barest of hopes that Lirssa wouldn't put two-and-two together. That it could be tallied up to just a passing fancy. Sadly, the girl was incredibly astute and intuitive.
"Pull up a seat if you're inclined, Ace. Your mom's workin' late and Raza's already in dreamland."
It was easier to talk about the ice cream for the moment. "Listen, you live in a family household now, buster. You can't go all territorial on ice cream." She gave his shoulder a nudge when she sat beside him, feet over the edge and perfectly at ease there. "So..." she let the word draw out long and soft while she turned her attention to the shield again.
"Okay, I'm callin' bullshit on that one," he groused, feigning a scathing look. "Why is it when I eat the last croissant or get into those chocolate covered cashews you love so much, you or Fionna read me the riot act? Hardly seems fair." His mouth twitched despite himself, before the needle and leather thread were left to dangle.
The full weight of his attention lingered on her.
"Go ahead, Ace. Say what you're thinkin'." Beneath the remainder of the slash in the leather, a folded over scrap revealed trace amounts of red and white. "Or get whatever you need to off your chest."
"Why do you hide it?" It was what she really wanted to know, after all. The reason to hide what he could do. She was watching him now. The shield was an instrument, but it was the man working on it that held the answers.
"It's safer that way," came the somber response, before he was finally relinquishing his hold on the shield and setting it down infront of them. "Rhy'din's as bad as a comic book with what's out there to hold a grudge and there's a time when I probably wouldn't have cared."
He jutted his chin towards the door. "Plenty to worry over these days."
She was not sure what a comic book was, and the confusion was pretty plain for the moment, but she would investigate that another time. The point was that he was worried. "So, you're worried if someone knows it's you they'll do...what?"
"Well, assuming they really don't like me? I worry they'll take it out on the people who matter." It was as simple an explanation as he could give her, concise and truthful. His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Not that you and your mom aren't gifted as Hell in your own rights, amazing really, but I'm gonna play the heart card and reserve the right to be protective."
"Hey, not saying I don't appreciate it, but what makes this...suit, this whatever you want to call it, make you stand out more than say slugging some guy on the street for spitting on your shoes? There's gotta be more than that. People hold grudges around here for whatever they want." She turned to sit lotus style facing him directly.
"Personal taste? Upbringing?" This time a single shoulder rolled up in a shrug. "Separation and division." Both arms rose to fold across his broad chest, Steve's attention still lingered on her face. "Don't know if I could explain it in a way that'd really make sense, but I like trying to be ordinary old nobody Steve just as much as I feel good about what the Solider does, when he's needed."
Sometimes the lack of words said more than a whole speech. She thought about it, tried to put herself in his shoes. One foot wiggled restlessly, like a fish caught on a line just wanting to get back to swimming -- and breathing. "The Soldier, eh?" A nod. "That fits. And I get it. To be you without the expectation and rizzle-razzle, just seems like you could do both without hiding it -- at least around here, right? I mean, we aren't the sort that go blabbin folks secrets about."
"Your mom knows," he admitted. "Along with a few others. People I trust, few as they are."
Leaning forward in his seat, he kicked a bare foot playfully against hers and mustered up a slow smile. A weathered hand rose to scratch fingertips through his beard as he considered what to say next.
"Sadly, sometimes as adults, we make a point to not share things to protect people. As if leaving them in the dark will somehow protect them from the rest of the world or our darker halves. It's a crappy way to live, but I guess sometimes we can't think of a better alternative."
A shrug that turned into a stretch after which she let herself slump for a few moments before she was sitting up straight again. "I suppose. In this world, so little to control that keeping what folks know about you is sometimes the only control you got." She looked out over the city, watched as a few of the streets changed direction, and snickered as if it was making her point. "Anyway, so how'd you come by that suit anyway? Make it yourself?"
"You aren't far off there, Ace," the machinist conceded the point with a slow nod, the slow slouch of his shoulders showing a growing comfort in the discussion. Slow but steady. He followed her gaze, his attention drifting down into the meat of West End with an expression that was equal parts fond and pensive.
"The suit? Most if it's little more than leather and steel, reinforced in a few key places. Pretty low-tech, with the exception of the commincations array and H.U.D in the helmet. The oomph? That comes from... me."
One brow rose slowly and then was joined by the other as her expression changed from credulous to curious. "You got demon in you or somewhat like it?"
"Simple version?" Steve snorted. "I'm the legacy of an old science experiment and someone who I'm pretty sure wasn't human." The smile that came next was a somber one. "Beyond that, I couldn't tell you for sure. I'm strong and quick, and tough as Hell to put down, but the other stuff? Couldn't say I understand it, other than the fact that the more I put into using it, the more it hurts."
"Hurts? Well, stop using it."
"The simplicity of youth." He grinned for that and then snorted. "It made that pretty blue rose I gave you at the Yule Ball, you know."
Her finger pointed directly at his chest. "Don't go making me pretty things that cause you pain. Pretty, thank you, liked it, no more pain." She broke it down into that simplicity he mocked.
"I dunno who's bossier, you or your mother." The machinist's grin only widened. "If I didn't love the both of you crazy broads so much, I'd swear you'd drive me nuts."
It wasn't true of course. Usually it was him driving them nuts.
An uncertain smile, she drew her legs up to her chest, arms tight about them and her chin on her knee. "Yeah, guess that was sorta gripey. Do whatcha gotta do, right? Right." A firm nod. "We all do that. Tryin' to do our best."
"Little stuff like the trinkets? It's fine. Worth the pain." Sliding slowly from the ledge, he sank down to gain a better seat across from her, with his broad back propped up by the lip. "A nose bleed at the worse."
"What about you, Lir? Your situation at the Academy gettin' any better?" Out of respect for the girl's staunch independant streak, he didn't pry.But... "It's had your mother a little worried, so if you're gonna talk to anyone about it... maybe make her year by doin' a little confidin' in her?"
The change of subject had her unraveling again, legs dangling over the edge once more. "It'll be what it'll be. Tell her not to worry." A chuckle, she lifted a hand and rubbed at her forehead. "Yeah, I know. Telling her not to worry isn't going to make it so, but it will all play out. Sooner than later. This isn't anywhere near the worse srape I've been in, right? Right."
"Sorry, Ace. I'm not your messenger. That's something that you're gonna have to tell her." He gave her foot a light kick with his again. "She may be crazy busy, but never too busy for you."
"Seriously? Come on, do some ingratiating or whatever it is fourth father-like figures are supposed to do." She teased and returned the light kick to his foot. "Okay, I'll tell her not to worry -- again. Sometimes she just doesn't hear it from me. It isn't that she isn't listening, but I think she's got some sort of guilt that if she isn't worrying then she's failing her mom job. I'm not exactly sure how the mom work goes, but I guess worrying goes with it."
(OOC: More to come!)