shatter every window

26 || Lombardi || Debt Collector

[adamantarcher]

Loose Ends [Daniel & Ryan]

[adamantarcher]

Daniel pressed his lips together as Ryan spoke. He wondered if he looked ridiculous right now, coming to complain about the kind of thing that happened every day in the lives of men like them. Probably. Even so, there was a note of sympathy somewhere in Ryan’s voice, and he anchored himself to that note, telling himself that maybe his displeasure was valid. Maybe. Just a little.

"I—I don’t know," he admitted, looking into his mug. Was it possible that Colin could get his memory back with time? "It’s only been a few days. I guess th-the doctor could be wrong." Against all odds, he actually laughed, shaking his head. "It would be great if he were wrong."

There was something in Ryan’s voice that made him look up, then, his eyebrows drawing together. He hadn’t even—he’d been so busy running around trying to keep Colin’s situation in some semblance of order, imploring Francesca for help, and apologizing to people he’d wronged that he hadn’t really thought about it.

Yeah, he’d seen Colin get shot, and that didn’t just happen. There had to have been someone on the other side of the gun, someone with their finger on the trigger. Someone had sighted Colin, had aimed, had fired.

Something hot rose up from deep inside of him, smoldering and angry, the kind of fury he had seldom felt before—but it was marked by reluctance, too, fear that the thoughts swirling around his head at present might somehow manifest themselves into action.

Should he find out who did it?

"I didn’t," Daniel said after a long moment, "but… I could." He met Ryan’s eyes. "D-Do you th-think I should?"

[firestarter-sharpe]

"Doctors just guess shit half the time. Doctors and cops, actually." Ryan had never placed much trust in authority figures - they hadn't ever done much for him, and although individual people could be alright (like Sarah Baker), Ryan didn't believe in the system as a whole. Not that the alternatives, even the ones he worked by and in, seemed much better. As far as he was concerned, this was a stepping stone. Or at least he thought. Ryan wasn't sure what would be next for him, or if there would be one anyway. 

Ryan watched Daniel again, eyes squinting slightly as if it would help him catch some stray detail and insight into the younger man's thoughts. Ryan had seen many people get hurt before, some even killed. While many were surprisingly not by his own hand, he had still witnessed a fair amount of violence, enough to numb him to the effects. The truth was, though, that he had always kept a distance from others. Ryan had rarely bothered with people - someone dying was the same as someone moving away.

And what would he tell Daniel now? To give it up would probably be the safe option. No one ever lived happy, prosperous lives by delving into gang business. Ryan knew that. Ryan knew Daniel knew that - but the older man also knew what it was like to finally have enough, to reach your breaking point and absolutely have to do something about it. Was this Daniel's?

"You should do whatever you can live with at the end of the day," he replied slowly, looking up to meet Daniel's gaze and nod slowly. "If getting...I don't know, if getting revenge for Colin is what you need to do, then do it. If you can't live with yourself not doing it, then do it. But you gotta make sure that you're behind it one-hundred-fucking-percent."

And what did Ryan care about enough to do something about? He wasn't sure he could answer that, and as he realized that, his lips turned downwards and he drummed his fingers on the table.

[firestarter-sharpe]

.

[firestarter-sharpe]

Walks Like A Duck || Ryan & Sarah

[baker-sarah]

Sarah slumped down onto the bench next to him with an exhale, watching the ducks swarm the bread he had thrown them. She managed a smile, albeit a tired one, all the same. “Thought I’d get out and try to clear my head. It just doesn’t do to be a shut in all the time, after all.”

She looked out at the pond, the breeze cooling a bit of the sweat on her brow. “I’m all right, I suppose… Things are… complicated, but when are they not? I suppose that’s what being an adult is… I’ve been so caught up in things I’ve forgotten to keep track of everyone else. I’m sorry I haven’t met up with you for breakfast.”

She glanced at him, blushing a little, embarrassed. “You’re always welcome to come by my home and throw pebbles at my window until I come out of course. How have you been, Mr. Sharpe?”

[firestarter-sharpe]

Ryan scooted overly slightly to allow her room, the common courtesy not even occurring to him that he was actually doing it. Sarah disarmed him slightly, but in a good way. If he were to leave the world of guns and brawls and danger behind for a little while, it was also possible to leave behind the sense of morbid mortality, at least for a little while. The ducks helped as well, he had to admit.

"Yeah, I mean, if you have to be a shut in, don't do it when it's finally nice, not snowing, and maybe a little less windy," Ryan nodded, finding himself glad she was out if not for other reasons. He threw another small fistful of bread at the ducks, who continued to swarm at the food as if he hadn't been feeding them for nearly half an hour now.

"Oh, it's nothing. Uh - work's been keeping me busy, so complicated sounds about right." He thought about how it had been going lately, what with Daniel. That was confusing. Ryan continued to waffle on how he felt for the young man, between wanting another friend and wanting to just push him away. "Ah, really? I mean...maybe I might, y'know. Sounds nice. You could tell me about all the mayor stuff going on. Me? It's...alright. It's pretty nice outside, so I've been out here a lot. Been even talking to other people, like..."

Like a normal person?

"So what's up in mayor-land anyway?"

[dr-anouk]

Second Star To The Right || Ryan and Annette

[dr-anouk]

The thing about Dutch courage: it tends to make you stupid. Although Annette had drunk a little less than half a tumbler of whisky, she still felt it igniting, and felt the false confidence that came with it. Not that Annette was not confident— she could hardly take to the stage most nights were she shy. But confrontation was a different beast entirely, and not one she tended towards.

Some people, though, some people don’t leave much choice. There’s something in their demeanour or the words that they say, and you just know they’re ready for a fight.

Annette was a fighter, though not in any tangible or useful way.

Still, those threadbare strings of tenacity clung to her skin, and in the face of his teasing mockery of her unfinished sentence, she only stared at him with the sort of stateliness one might expect of a ballerina; a monarch. The flustered uncertainty of moments ago was melting, quick as wax and just as warm. It was something in the sharklike movements of the man, calculated and strong and without the burden of even an ounce of uncertainty. She knew that should she allow herself to become wound up, he would wind her further. The only defence in that case was to appear unaffected. Hopefully. She had less certainty than was worn on her face, but appearances were everything— particularly these days.

"Oh? I was not aware," she remarked drily, head held as high as one could manage when one’s face had all the marks of a physically taxing day upon it. He wasn’t necessarily being cruel, but ‘you look like shit’ is hardly a statement that she was going to celebrate. The way she looked was an integral part of her show, and perhaps, she thought, coming to the bar looking a mess had not been such a fine idea. It shattered the illusion somewhat.

"And you, monsieur, look like a thug. And I mean that in the nicest way possible,” Annette said, perhaps a little unintelligently. It was delivered with such eloquence and grace that it sounded near enough poetry from her lips, and perhaps this was because she hadn’t meant the words cruelly, but satirically. Her fingers wrapped around the crystal glass, half empty, and she took another delicate sip. It burned her lips like fresh boiled coffee, and the burn blazed its trail down her stomach.

He did look like a thug, and it made Annette think that she really ought to have kept her mouth shut. If he took offence, he could take her out in a blink. She did not acknowledge this, though, just sat with her chin raised neatly into the air.

[firestarter-sharpe]

"That's why they invented mirrors, I'm pretty sure." Ryan said, tilting his head in acknowledgement to her. It was interesting, and he wondered what she was thinking - some people tended to have a definitively negative reaction to Ryan and his attitude. And then she was calling him a thug, and a smile touched his lips before he looked down and tried to hide a chuckle (and failed).

"Well, it'd probably because some people'd consider me one. I like to think I'm one a' the good ones though, y'know? Not like the kind that robs pregnant ladies and shit, but...fuck, are there any other kinds?"

He took another drink of his water, looking briefly at the drink that sat in front of the singer. He wondered what exactly had happened to make her so flustered, but if nothing else, he respected the way she wasn't waffling or shying away. He had to admit, were he in her shoes, he might not want to speak to him either. He didn't have to make that choice, though. She did.

"I mean, not that this place isn't full of thugs anyway. God, some of my buddies, y'know? They gotta stop themselves from socking the Macini. Some don't care, though, but every place has its people, I guess."

He began to tap the side of his glass. Same thing he had every time, but never alcohol. Ryan never wanted to feel anything less than complete control, and he absolutely hated the feeling of being easily swayed. That, and seeing his father growing up...it wasn't something he wanted to become. Ryan didn't want to be his dad, and more importantly, he didn't want anyone else to see him like his dad. It was the same reason he carried a book of matches everywhere he went, even if his cigarettes were far more decorative than functional.

"Does it look different?"

Ryan looked over, figuring that the question perhaps needed a bit of elaboration. He leaned in slightly, tilting his head as he did so. "I mean the stage. Does it look different from this side than it does up there?"

[firestarter-sharpe]

.

[adamantarcher]

Loose Ends [Daniel & Ryan]

[adamantarcher]

Daniel laughed uneasily at Ryan’s comment, unsure of whether or not he was actually joking but deciding that accepting it as a joke was more likely to decrease the degree to which he just kind of wanted to run out and never come back.

Progress, he reminded himself, turning it into a mantra, this is progress.

Sometimes he wished he were a little more willing to give up on things.

He sat down across from Ryan, taking the mug with a quiet “thank you.” When he’d first met Ryan, he hadn’t thought he’d do something as—as calm as drinking tea with him, yet there they were. The tea was good, better than he’d expected it to be, and he enjoyed it for a moment before he braced himself for all the talking he was about to do.

"Colin got shot," he began, looking down into his mug. How was he supposed to explain what had happened concisely? And how much was he supposed to tell Ryan? Truth be told, he wanted to tell Ryan everything, but he wasn’t sure that was the right course of action, both for Colin and for himself.

But he was trying to get the mob behind him, right? He was already working on Francesca, but it wouldn’t hurt to get support from others, especially people he knew. Maybe telling Ryan everything was the right thing to do.

Bitterly, he remembered the days when everything seemed so simple. Don’t steal. Don’t lie. Don’t inflict pain on others. Those were rules he could live by, most of the time. But things had changed, and now what was best was so hard to identify. With no sort of moral or social construct to act on, Daniel figured he was pretty much on his own.

Then tell Ryan it is. If there were no rules, he couldn’t break any, right?

"He—he cracked his head open when he fell, I guess. Lost a lot of blood. He’s still in th-the hospital." His jaw tightened. "I was th-there when he broke up. Told him what happened. We ended up… arguing about it. How I should have left him th-there. I—disagreed with th-that, obviously, and I ended up leaving. I came back th-the next day and I was all ready to apologize and he just… he couldn’t remember anything. Any of it. He th-thought he’d just woken up for th-the first time."

He took a sip of his tea to steel himself, meeting Ryan’s eyes in an effort to—to find strength in the connection, or something. He wasn’t sure.

"Doctor said he—he might have trouble remembering new stuff. Th-Things after the bombing. Forever."

[firestarter-sharpe]

Colin got shot.

Ryan was oh so tempted to make some remark about it being the goddamn mob, about how Danny could probably expect to see any number of his colleagues or friends or whatever he wanted to call them get shot, maybe even die. He didn't, though, instead wrinkling his nose slightly as he looked down into his cup of tea. Would anyone care if he got shot and died? Isabella would have if he still talked to her. His dad might have when he was alive, if only to see Ryan in pain. Ryan doubted Frankie would give it much thought before finding another debt collector.

So no, not really. Maybe Daniel might, but...Ryan wasn't sure. He didn't want to think about that, so he didn't, listening to Daniel's story as he took tiny sips of his tea. It was a pretty good fucking batch if he said so himself, but Ryan Sharpe wasn't going to be caught dead bragging about goddamn tea.

"Huh, really must've fucked the guy up," Ryan remarked, raising an eyebrow as he thought. "Ain't never heard of that happening, but it's still pretty goddamn fucked. So is he ever gonna remember anything again? Or is it one of those things where they can't remember like...within a week? Just cause the Doctor says something doesn't mean they're right. They can still fuck up like the rest of us, though that'd...shit, I'd hate that. Can't imagine that."

This was Ryan trying to be understanding, trying to make Daniel feel a little bit more at ease. Again, he wasn't sure why, not really. He never would've cared about what someone, aside from perhaps Isabella and a few others in Chicago, would've thought about him in that way. He would've rather been feared than liked. At least that got people to stay out of his goddamn way. He was finding, though, that even if they did get in his way, that didn't mean to automatically throw them out of his life.

"Wait, you...saw him get shot? Did you see who shot him?"

He leaned forward, a little bit more interested this time. Feelings were uncomfortable territory for Ryan, but action less so. He'd not ponder the intricacies of revenge or regret, but he'd happily seek retribution instead. Ryan was a man of action, and when Daniel's story sunk in, his mind went to what his plan of action would be if he were in Daniel's shoes - and the first step would be to find out who goddamn did it. Of course, it was one of those fucking Macini wimps, but there were ways to find out specific members, if you knew who to ask.

[firestarter-sharpe]

Walks Like A Duck || Ryan & Sarah

[baker-sarah]

Sarah had a lot on her mind lately. Sure, that wasn’t necessarily uncommon for her, but it certainly had gotten worse. She had been making progress, at least she thought she had, when it came to her relationship with George. She hadn’t been happy, no, but he was, and that was what she was supposed to do as his wife.

It had all been going well until Valentine’s Day… That was when everything had gone wrong. That was when Giovanni Macini happened. She had no idea what to do with the reality of the situation… George wasn’t around enough to notice a difference, of course, but she still couldn’t get it out of her mind. She hadn’t seen Giovanni since that night, but… Oh, it was all so complicated.

It was because of her preoccupation that she didn’t notice the ducks until it was too late, yelping in surprise as they surrounded her to get to the nearby bread. She look up, trying to find the source and spotted none other than Ryan Sharpe sitting on a bench. “Well, Mr. Sharpe, what are you going to do about this?” she asked, flipping her short hair out of her face.

[firestarter-sharpe]

Ryan couldn't help but grin at the sight - it wasn't mean, but it was hard to deny that the mayor's wife surrounded by ravenous ducks was pretty fucking funny. Very pleased with himself, he took a moment to just sit there and grin before tossing another piece of bread, this time off to the side of the path. One duck saw it first, and then another, and then the whole lot of them moved like some duck swarm towards the bread. Ryan wasn't sure what he was enjoying more.

"Looks like you're at the mercy of the ducks, Mrs. Baker," he said, faux-seriously as he nodded at the birds. "I hear they'd rip a man apart for a piece of bread, and it just so happens here that I have a whole bag full."

He waved it to show her. Ryan Sharpe with his bag of bread, what a sight. He didn't think anything of Sarah seeing him, though. Maybe if it had been Victor or any of the other Lombardi, he'd have tried to hide the bread. Or throw it all at their feet and create an impenetrable wall of ducks that they'd never escape. Like he really needed to think about that decision twice.

Fortunately for Sarah, she was not associated with the mobsters (as far as he knew), so she avoided death by duck at least for a few minutes. "What brings you out here?" he asked. "New summer? The pond? The ducks?" He paused, then began in a slightly more honest voice. "How've you been?"

[firestarter-sharpe]

.

[letha-garland]

[She spies a look on his face, one that she hasn’t quite seen before. Granted, it’s not as though she knows every little detail of Ryan or his personality, let alone what certain smiles might mean, but she starts to think it’s possibly…

Letha cuts her train of thought short, feeling the blush creep up in her cheeks. It doesn’t matter, really. For now, it’s just nice to have a genuine friend. It’s nice to have his company, to be able to share a sense of camaraderie, no matter how odd it might seem to outsiders looking in.]

Oh, I expect a horse-drawn carriage, of course! [She tries her best to keep a straight face, but can’t manage it.] Look, as long as I get to say ‘You look sharp, Sharpe’, I’ll be over the moon.

[Even that’s a joke. It’s not important to her, what he decides to wear or whatever else he thinks that her possible expectations might entail. She doesn’t expect much, having come from little in terms of the grandiose, and she certainly doesn’t have much to judge by in comparison.]

I named her ‘Penny’. She’s got that coppery tint to her coat, and who knows, she might even bring me a bit of good fortune. Sandwiches? Yeah, she can’t seem to get enough of them, actually. Turkey’s her favorite, though.

[His last question strikes her as odd, though she makes no mention of it. Why wouldn’t she? Ryan was the one who found the dog in the first place, and it’s not as though he’d do anything to harm Penny - or Letha for that matter… Right?]

Of course I’d let you! If you’re free for the rest of the day, you could always come by. I’m sure she’d enjoy seeing a familiar face, especially one who took care of her.

[firestarter-sharpe]

If I don't look sharp, you just go ahead and clock me. I'd probably deserve it. [Another cocky smile. It's nice to have someone who takes banter light-heartedly. Ryan doesn't make friends easily (even if it was probably him being an asshole 95% of the time), and it's relaxing to have someone who just kind of...gets him, per se. Or not. That would require sharing more of himself than he's willing to divulge, but that's on him and not on her.]

Penny, huh? Alright. Turkey - got it. [He smirks slightly.] Can't believe a damn dog's picky enough for turkey. Probably a spoiled brat by now, and it's all your fault.

[His smile fades slightly again.] It was just one time, really - and...well, I'd like to. if you didn't mind.

[firestarter-sharpe]

Walks Like A Duck || Ryan & Sarah

Ryan Sharpe was feeling pretty goddamn domesticated lately. Lombardi shit aside, his life was...pretty dull. Not that he minded, not really, but if anyone ever asked what he did, all they'd get would be a glare in response. Ryan Sharpe didn't discuss her personal life, because outside of a few key people, he really didn't have one. It was only his job that was exciting, and fortunately, that was what most people seemed to know about him. It was why, as he sat on the park bench with a crumbled bag of bread, he found himself both completely satisfied and anxious (in a far-off, distant sort of way).

The pond wasn't far away, and with the pond were the ducks. Ryan was hardly a bird watcher, but there was something that made him smile at the sight of birds gathering before him. Plus, he often had too much food at his home, often from his attempts to minimize his time there, and if he wasn't going to enjoy it, at least they would. Not that he cared about the fucking enjoyment of ducks - admitting that to himself would make even him ashamed. The thought did pass, though, that he cared just as much about the ducks as he did about other people - nothing, he told himself. He didn't care at all.

People came and went, but he rarely looked up. It was only by chance, then, that he glanced at the path and saw a familiar face: Sarah Baker, the mayor's wife. They had spoken before and had breakfast, though it'd been a while. Still, he remembered her company as enjoyable, if a stark contrast to the people Ryan usually was with. He hesitated for moment, frowning as he tried to think of how to introduce himself before simply settling for tossing a piece of bread near the area where she was, figuring the ducks would swarm to her and announce his presence for him. Doing just that, he sat back, watched, and waited to see if she remembered him too.

[letha-garland]

Yeah, I know. But then again, I gotta make sure I live up to your expectations of me in a really glitzy dress, ‘drinking champagne and all that shit’. [A near-exact imitation of his own words. It’s become surprisingly easy to tease him, even if it gets her nowhere, really. She wonders if that’s simply a result of hanging around him, or something else entirely. Soon enough, the waitress comes along with their sandwiches and bowls of soup, and Letha digs in hungrily, taking a bite and swallowing it before continuing.]

Oh! I don’t think I ever got around to telling you. I took in the stray dog that we ran into that one time. You remember her, right? I mean, she looks a bit different now compared to then - she’s got more meat on her now, thank God, and she’s much more groomed than before, but… You know, you should come around and see her. If you wanna, I mean.

[firestarter-sharpe]

[He munches on another biscuit, licking his lips before giving her a sort of grin that could be described flirtatious were Ryan that subtle. Which he isn't, really. He's confident, can even be charming if the mood strikes him, but not subtle. Anyone talking to Ryan knows exactly where they stand.]

We'll see. Kinda curious what you expect of me, but I'm not sure I really wanna know. Not that I wouldn't pass, but y'know.

[He moves on to the entree when it arrives. Thank god it wasn't fucking fish. He eats, happy enough. Ryan's a pretty easy to please guy when it comes to food generally, seeing as he never grew up with high standards. He perks up, though, when Letha mentions the dog, a bit of the confidence fading from his features.]

Really? That's great - I mean - what'd you name her? Does she still like sandwiches? I - I can? You'd let me?

[firestarter-sharpe]

.

[letha-garland]

[She listens eagerly, excitement growing as her smile widens more and more. Everything sounds amazing, so much more brilliant than the simple life she knows. Admittedly, Letha’s somewhat hesitant about the idea of surrounding herself with so many people, having never done particularly well in large, loud crowds, but she trusts Ryan enough to know that he’ll be by her side should anything go badly.]

Drinks? Like…alcoholic drinks? You know, I haven’t had one since I turned twenty-two or so. Not that I ever really grew a taste for them, but still. I suppose it’d be good to try one after all that time, though the food better be more exciting than just a boring old beer or something.

[She notices something come over Ryan for just a moment, and she wonders if she’s said something wrong.]

God… How did I even forget? Thank you. I know, I know I should have said something earlier, guess I just got too excited… Thank you. I really do mean it.

[Letha can’t help but laugh at the expression on his face and the words which follow soon after.]

Ah, and just when I was starting to think that was your job. [Another laugh.] Well, honestly… I have no clue. I don’t really own any fancy dresses, certainly not ones fit for a party like that, but I’ll find something. Can’t guarantee it’ll get your seal of approval, but I’m sure I’ll find something. Why, you already know of a party you wanna go to?

[firestarter-sharpe]

Aw, well, you don't have to drink if you don't really want to. They're mostly just there for...for show, I guess. Probably not even that strong. I wouldn't really know. I've never liked any of the stuff, so I never really drink. [Ryan shrugs slightly - he has more reasons than just that, but it doesn't really change the fact he feels comfortable enough to at least semi-explain it to Letha.]

Um, well...[He rubs at the back of his neck a little nervously, laughing as he does so.] You ain't gotta worry about impressing me, just whatever you want. And yeah, there's one in...uh, I think it's a couple 'a weeks. At one of those big hotels or whatever, I don't know. I didn't really read the invitation.

[letha-garland]

Oh, very smooth. Just leave a girl hanging like that, I see how it is. Guess I’ll just have to pull out my glitzy party dress and get all dressed up with nowhere to go and… [She stops short, surprised at his offer. Of all things, she wouldn’t have ever expected to hear what’s practically an invitation to a party coming from him. Unable to help hit, Letha starts chattering excitedly] You’d do that? I mean, you wouldn’t get in trouble or anything, would you? God, I’d… I’d love that! I mean, I dunno if I’ll actually enjoy it, but… No, I’m sure it’ll be great. You’ll be there, fancy suit and all, right? 

[She stops talking as the waitress comes along with their drinks and biscuits on the house. Sipping at her tea, she calms down some and attempts to return to normal conversational manners.]

Should be something simple like a ham and cheese sandwich with a cuppa soup or something like that. Maybe a slice of cake with it, too - though I’m more of a pie person, myself. I dunno. I digress… [It’s obvious that she’s far too excited to properly chat about trivial things.]

[firestarter-sharpe]

[Ryan's mouth turns slightly upward at Letha's excited speech. He's mostly happy, but a little sad, too. It's obvious she's never been, and while it's not like those parties are for everyone, it's a little sad that no one's ever ever invited her. Ryan knows what it's like to feel...he can't put the words to it, but the feeling motivates him to nod.]

Nah, they won't fuck with me, if they even really care. Which they won't. And c'mon, it'll be fun...I mean, even if you don't like it, most of the food's usually good, but sometimes they get that nasty imported European shit or whatever, but usually it's alright, and there's drinks if you want 'em, and...

[He trails off, suddenly looking somewhat abashed. Ryan still feels bad about lying to Letha, but at the moment, the thing he wants most is to take her to a stupid party and show her a good time. Which is something he'd have never really wanted before, and it's confusing.]

Oh, yeah. Sandwiches are great. Cake's great, too. [He grabs a biscuit, aggressively taking a bite, chewing, and swallowing it before continuing, looking at Letha with a raised eyebrow.] So you thinkin' about what kinda dress you want to wear?

[letha-garland]

Are you saying that you think about me in glitzy dresses? [She teases, laughing a bit despite the expectant look on her face. Truth be told, she wouldn’t mind hearing an answer, though she doesn’t really count on it.]

Well, thanks. I wouldn’t know what those fancy parties are like, though. Never been to one before - although, more often than not, the flowers there tend to come from the shop. I dunno, I guess I’ve just never been interested in, well, any of that. I like my simple little life. [She shrugs a bit but walks into the diner nonetheless, taking a seat as the waitress comes along to take their drink order.] Just hot tea, please.

[Letha wonders if he took her offer as offensive. Perhaps it’s untraditional, or - not too surprisingly - it might just be another thing that Ryan isn’t too used to.] Oh, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it that way. I thought that it might be a nice gesture, just as a thank you of sorts. Sorry, I’ll shut up now and we can just, uh, square it away later…

[A bit of an uncomfortable silence passes. She’s not exactly sure what to say, and so simply buries her face in the menu - not that there’s really too much to choose from in the first place. It’s just a diner, after all. Unbeknownst to Letha, two men from the Lombardi enter, though they don’t seem to notice Ryan just yet. Just when Letha’s had enough of not talking, the waitress appears again, asking for their orders.] Just the day’s special for me, thank you.

[firestarter-sharpe]

Like I said, I think you'd look good in one. [His smile is vaguely teasing back, and he's being deliberately ambiguous. What a jerk. Ryan tilts his head to listen to her - he's no fan of the parties, but he has to admit that he's been to more than he likes and still has to go.]

Well, y'know, if you were ever curious, I know how to get my way into one. You'd be my plus one, but...[He shrugs, leaving it up to her. He doesn't like them, but he'd bring Letha to one just so she could see what it's like. He neglects to tell her the circumstances they'd probably be under, but whatever.]

Uh, yeah. Right. Good.

[He spots a pair of familiar faces. Ryan ducks his head slightly an doesn't acknowledge them. He doesn't need complications over fucking dinner. Dammit, why'd he lie in the first place?

Because she'd probably just get rid of you, he tells himself. His face darkens, and he's caught be surprise when the waitress comes to take their order.]

Uh, yeah. Same thing. I mean, I'll take it. [Shaking his head, he looks at Letha now and laughs self-consciously.] Hope whatever we just got isn't fish. I can't stand fish.

[adamantarcher]

Loose Ends [Daniel & Ryan]

[adamantarcher]

Daniel grimaced at what Ryan said, but the guilt that came with his statement was softened by the fact that, apparently, Ryan didn’t actually intend to turn him away.

Yet.

Alright. That was good. His apology had been accepted. That didn’t mean he could call this a victory and move on, because there was still the very real chance of messing it all up, but at least he was making some headway. An accepted apology was about a thousand times better than a rejected one when it came to repairing relationships anyway.

"Answers. I can do answers," he said, trying but failing to mask how much better he already felt. He was a little bit nervous at the prospect of entering Ryan’s apartment—what did a guy like Ryan live like, anyway? And was this all actually an elaborate setup to horribly maim Daniel as retribution for his crime and he was really walking into a trap?

Despite his own betrayal and the damage that came with it, however, he still trusted Ryan, and that trust guided his footsteps as he crossed the threshold into the house.

It was… plain. Daniel wasn’t sure what he’d expected. It made sense in a way, but then again, it didn’t. Ryan wasn’t a dull person by any means, and the apartment certainly was, but he also seemed like the kind of person who saw little need for many personal effects.

"No tea allergies." He stood just within the doorway, unsure of what to do next. Was Ryan just going to… make tea? Was that a thing that happened when you recapped the horrors of war, mob or otherwise? And was he just supposed to start talking or what?

He was way out of his depth here.

[firestarter-sharpe]

Danny was somewhat relieved. Ryan was relieved that Danny was relieved. He frowned at the thought and stepped aside to let the younger man in, thinking about the implications of the thought for a good few moments before he decided to speak up again.

"Yeah, answers."

Okay, that didn't really count as speaking. Ryan looked around the apartment as Danny entered, briefly wondering what his space said about him to someone else. Ryan rarely had people over - in fact, he generally avoided spending time in his own place. It wasn't that he hated it, but staying here made him restless, and the times he was here alone, he generally put on the radio in order to fill the space. Ryan's favorite radio act was Bessie Smith. Not that anyone knew that, of course.

Ryan led the way to his small dining area, coming back quickly with an extra mug of tea. The fixings were already laid out on the table next to his own half-drunk mug, and he rolled his eyes as he sat down at his seat and waited for Danny to do anything but stand in the doorway.

"You can fucking sit down, y'know. I'm not going to gut you or anything. Least not while you're in my place where they can find the body."

Was that in bad taste? Probably. Ryan looked down at the table and took a sip of his tea. When he spoke again, his voice was more somber, and he wasn't looking directly at Danny.

"What was so important that you went and ran off for?"

[dr-anouk]

Second Star To The Right || open and Annette

—And straight on till morning.

It was a refrain oft repeated from the play she had seen as a child, and wanted badly to be like Wendy. Now more than ever, it seemed. Peter had flown her up to the second star to the right, and straight on till morning.

But Annette was not Wendy.

She knew this, because although the sun was already going down in favour of the moon, and the stars were lighting up, and she could see the second star to the right, it didn’t lead her to Never Never Land. Oh, how foolish Wendy had been not to stay. The Lost Boys would never have had this trouble: a visit to her aunt, out in the countryside because the rough city air of Chicago disagreed with her health, and when Annette had returned to the train station after dinner and coffee and lengthy conversations, she had turned out her pockets.

“Ah, ah, I am sorry. I am only a few cents short. Can you not… bill me the balance? I can pay, just not…”

"Sorry toots. No cash, no ride. Hope ya like walkin’"

Annette did not. Not the five miles she had to walk until she reached the edge of the city where she might hail a cab. But, nose still smarting from the train door slamming shut in it, she had had no choice but to set off on foot. She could return to her aunt’s house and borrow a dollar, but she couldn’t quite bear it. She knew how her aunt worried about Annette’s finances.

…

It took some hours before Annette reached the Stingray. She came here before her home tonight, because she wanted a stiff drink. Although partial to water, she was exhausted. The walk had pinched her shoes around her toes and left her limping, with hair wild and trailing about her face. She was fortunate in that she didn’t wear makeup; it would certainly have smudged across her face: and that was to say nothing of the runs in her stockings.

The only reason she had been able to get a cab, was that she knew all of the cab drivers in the area, and this one had seen how exhausted she was, and he knew she would make good on her promise to pay him back in the morning. It warmed her, to know of the trust a relative stranger put in her. A lady in trouble, and he had helped her. Limping first into her dressing room where she always had hidden a small amount of money, Annette went to the bar and then to a private booth where she sat alone, exhausted fingers wrapped languorously around a double scotch. Foul stuff, and her nose wrinkled at  each sip. But it burned on the way down, igniting some sort of fire back into her belly. It was satisfying in the same way that spilling pus from a wound is.

She had only been there for a few moments before a glass was put down at the table, a figure seating themselves. “My apologies,” she said graciously and immediately, standing on legs that she just barely prevented from shaking. “This is your seat? I will…,” She had been about to say that she would leave, but her legs buckled, and she was forced inelegantly back into her seat. Annette rarely saw exercise and walking so many miles had exhausted her— it was humiliating, to say nothing of her dishevelled appearance, and she wished very much that she had just gone home instead. It shattered the illusion rather, to see the pristine, elegant singer of the Stingray fall back into a seat looking like she had slept on the streets for a week.

[firestarter-sharpe]

Ryan Sharpe was vaguely reeling - although from what, he couldn't actually tell. Encounters with Letha and Daniel had him feeling...something he didn't really know how to talk about. It was stupid, frustrating, and maddening all at the same time. Ryan Sharpe didn't fucking make friends, he...he wasn't sure anymore. Chicago had previously been bearable only because he knew his place, knew that he had a position with the Lombardi where he could do what he did best: be a raging asshole. Being friends with someone required the exact opposite - well, if not that, at least trying not to be so damn flippant and unbearable.

Which was why he headed to the Stingray. Ryan didn't drink and wouldn't touch a drop of alcohol, but observing the late night crowd was enough to put a bit of a smirk on his lips. There were the folks who thought a drink (or four) every night would cure their problems, the new people who looked abashed, as if they were going to get caught any minute now, and, of course, everyone else. There were some members of both the Macini and Lombardi there, but the Stingray wasn't the place for that. Even if it was, Ryan held no great loyalty to his gang, at least not anymore. He was disillusioned and didn't even know why.

Which was why when he went to get a refill of his lemon water, he didn't even notice someone having taken his seat. He was too busy thinking  - again, something he hadn't done lately. He only noticed when he placed his glass on the table, immediately recognizing the face.

Okay, fine, another reason Ryan liked to come was the music. They had some pretty damn good musicians here.

"Apology accepted," he smirked, the words easier than when he had said it to Daniel - mostly because he didn't really care now; he wasn't actually offended and couldn't have given a rat's ass.

"You'll just...?" He let the question hang in the air, giving off an air of somewhat condescending amusement. Then his expression softened (in terms of Ryan-standards - he still wore a bit of a grin) as he leaned forward.

"Man, you look like shit. And I mean that in the nicest way possible." Ryan seated himself opposite her, looking over at the bar as he sipped at his drink and waited to see how she'd react to him.