2638/The (Pseudo)Scientific Method

The (Pseudo)Scientific Method
Date of Scene:	29 September 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Warpath, Siryn

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Warpath has posed:
    Being this close to the school makes his teeth itch. He can remember avoiding trouble, pulling pranks, and generally causing trouble in this neck of he woods. It lso meant something to his brother, at least for a little while. James is a creature of conflicted emotions and contradictions.
    He is looming over the bar. Hatty is actually talking to him. "Can't get over how big you got. But yeah, you are welcome here. Especially without your friends. You were always good to us. SOme of them were assholes."
    James endures it wwith a smile. "We were kids." Is all he says.

Siryn has posed:
Theresa has been keeping something of a low profile, simply getting settled and getting a full update on the situation in NYC following the Apokalips reports that brought her back to the United States. She's been pondering what to do and how best to help since she got off the plane. Half-formed plans have been made and discarded, but Jimmy's invitation is a welcome one.
    As she steps in the doors of Harry's, she looks around quietly. This place holds some memories... relatively good, she supposes. She reaches up and brushes back a lock of red hair, perhaps a little nervously, as she moves toward the bar. "Hello."

Warpath has posed:
     No one is particularly unhappy to see her. Harry greets her warmly "See, this one of your friends is also welcome. You two were always kids will be kids, not malicious jerks." James grins at that. "I was just telling Harry we were done with school and you are a successful art authenticator and I am an sec--" Harry interupts, "Assistant to a very powerful woman. Menu is mostly unchanged. I know what the big man wants, what can I get you Miss Theresa?" James smiles warmly, but subdued.

Siryn has posed:
Moving to lean on the bar next to James, she rests on her elbows and grins shyly at both men. "Uhm... perhaps a burger and whatever passes fer a beer here in th' Americas, Harry?" She is, after all, legal now. And beer in the US is quite watered down. She looks up at James. "Would ya like t' sit at th' bar or a table?" she asks him.

Warpath has posed:
    "Table." James responds. He walks over to pul out her chair for her. He nods at Harry. "Just a diet soda. I am driving." His smile remains warm.
    Harry slides her a big beer and makes a note James has already started a check, it seems.
5TAfter getting her seated, James asks, "Lose anything or anyone in the invasion?" He shakes his head. "I think the Brood and Badoon were worse, personally, but..." His shoulders move. "I guess they were trickier."

Siryn has posed:
"I doon' think so, no," Terry replies as she walks with him to the table and settles in. "I haven' heard from Da... but tisn' exactly unusual. I'm assumin' he's just... doin' what he does." She shrugs. She puts a napkin across her lap in an automatic motion. "Whit about Emma's group?" She doesn't ask if he personally lost anyone -- he's made clear that in his own mind, he really has no one.

Warpath has posed:
    "Don't know." James answers. "Nor do I particularly care. The ones I do care about, I keep tabs on. If only to make sure they are not creeping around." Growing up amongst scumbags gives one a scewed view of the world. James gives her a grin. "I am glad though that all is well with you. Work treating you well?" He asks her blithely. His tone is quiet. His smile warm. His eyes are not fixed on the beer. He certainly is not gauging her alcohol intake. "Find any major forgeris, yet?"

Siryn has posed:
"Tis... quiet, I suppose," Theresa replies with a smile. "I don't start until Monday. I'm goin' down t' the city later today.... I've some paperwork t' fill out for them." She smiles just a little. "And some old frends t' check up on," she admits.

Warpath has posed:
    "Well. I am happy for you." James says it simply nd quietly. "You going to stay up here, or are you going to get your own place?" James asks, sipping his diet soda after a moment. "New York Apartments are outrageous." he admits. "Miss Frost might be helping me with mine. She probably owns the building." He admits it ruefully.

Siryn has posed:
Terry laughs quietly. "Oh, aye -- apartments are completely out of m' reach," she confesses. "But... ach, well... I don't know fer certain. There may be a place or two that I can find tha' will work." She clears her throat, waiting for Harry to set their orders in front of them before admitting, "M' uncle had several places in th' city. Could be tha' one or two is actually still there."

Warpath has posed:
    Well, shit. Guess she will not need a roommate. James sips his drink to hide that. "I can see that." James agrees. "Some old bolt hole. Probably rat and roach infested." James has like a double order of chicken tenders. Takes a lot to move his bulk. He pushes his fries out to the middle of the table a bit. "I read someplace that Irish people like potatos." He teases.

Siryn has posed:
She laughs at him. "We doon' LIKE potatoes, silly man. They're a plague on us that starved our people! So o' course, we *love* them." Theresa wrinkles her nose and adds, "But doon' go putti' tha' nasty ketchup stuff on them. Tha's just sacrilege." She uses the fork and knife to cut her burger in half. It's funny, the motions that are natural to her -- sharing the other half of her burger with him if he wants it, for example. She won't eat the whole massive thing. "If none of those roach- and rodent-infested places holds up, perhaps Emma could see her way clear t' helpin' out yer friend t' find an apartment too?" she offers with a smile.

Warpath has posed:
    "Or you could just live with me." The words spill out of his mouth and there it is. Right there. On the table. The offer. He pauses, processing what he said.
    Well. Shit. James cannot take it back. "Would not eveen need a seperate bedroom, if you didn't want it." In for a penny. In for a pound. He does not smile when h e says it. He instead dips a chicken tender in honey mustard and makes an astonishing amount of it vanish. Of course, he has good manners and his mouth is closed as he chews. Meanwhile, he is thinking to himself that he is a moron.

Siryn has posed:
Blink. Blink. Blink. The redhead sits with her burger halfway to her mouth, sort of gaping at him. "Whit?" Terry's voice squeaks alarmingly and she clears it, trying again. "Whit's tha' ye said? Are ye ..." No... that's not what you say when someone lays it all on the line like that. "I'm thinkin' yer offerin' me far more than.. uhm.. I really deserve, Jimmy."

Warpath has posed:
    "Offering a significant amount, yes." Was that a ... dirty insinuation? His cheek color seems to show that he is abashed as it is a bit more red than normal.
    James considers her. "Why not?" He asks her. His left hand wipes at his napkin then pushes through his hair. "Don't like Apaches?" He asks.

Siryn has posed:
Theresa suddenly realizes she's still holding her burger and sets it down on her plate, pushing the plate a little away and instead taking a long swallow of her drink while she tries to decide what to say, how to say it, and whether or not to even open her mouth.
    "Yer makin' an offer tha' I'm ... no' exactly understandin', boyo," she fially tells him softly. "Yer no' in th' habit of makin' jokes, so... ye've caught me wi' me face t' the wind. Startled, ye see? We've... hardly talked in two years. I doon' know how t' respond t' tha' offer, comin' out of th' blue as it seems." She bites her lip. "Have I been so blind? All this time?"

Warpath has posed:
    He lets her think it over. His brother died with these people. His high school rivals. Different philosophioes. Yet, there he has. Picking up pieces. Seeing she gets home. Taking her out to lunch. People in New York who gave her trouble would get roughed up sometimes and it would stop.
    It makes a certain amount of sense in a certain light. Right there. He's been looking after her. Quietly. A bit pathetically.
    He just looks aside. "I should not have said anything." he puts his game face back on. Internally he is kicking himself.

Siryn has posed:
She reaches out to touch his arm, trying to draw his eyes to her. "Jimmy," she coaxes. "Ye've laid it oot there. Ye might as well talk t' me aboot it, aye?" So many times he's picked her up. So many times he's backed her without question. She's such a fool. And they're old enough now that ignorance is less bliss than a huge slap in the face. "Ye have t' know I'm still a hot mess," she tells him softly. Not all the time. She *thinks* she's mostly in good shape. A beer here and there, not falling-down drunk. It's under control. Right? Right. But she also knows herself -- God help her -- well enough to know that at the first sign of stress, she's likely going to be in a sodden heap on the floor.

Warpath has posed:
"Terry." James adjusts his hand. Harry starts over to check on them, then turns around to go back to the counter.
    James regards her. "You are always a hot mess." His voice is low and gentle. "You always need someone who will step up to handle things." His frown carves a canyon on his face, and he quietly says, "Everyone keeps leaving you, or sending you away. Who wound not be a mess?" He clears his throat. "Someone needed to care. I am someone. I guess I still am." He looks aside. "Maybe I need to be needed. Maybe I just see what you could be if someone gave two shits. I dunno, Terry. I'm not dumb, but I am an emotional idiot." His sigh is soft. "You need looking after. I like looking after people. I shouldn' a said anything. It's cool."

Siryn has posed:
Theresa, of all people, has never thought of him as in any way intellectually or emotionally deficient. He sees more than anyone else in her life, so far as she knows, and he's always the first to offer whatever emotional support is needed -- even when she doesn't offer the same in return. Hot mess, remember? But she retorts almost instantly, in the same way she's always reacted whenever anyone puts him down, "Yer not an eejit, quit callin' yerself tha'. Yer a quiet man, and ye doon' let very many people close. Tha' doesn't make ye an emotional eejit, it makes ye cautious. And why th' bloody hell ye keep giving a great bloody emotional mess like me th' chance t' say stupid shite and hurt ye, I doon' think I'll ever.... " She trails off. Actually... now she just MIGHT understand.
    "Look. I'm glad ye said somethin'. I am. I doon' want t' hurt ye. I just need a little time t' ... get past th' fact that I'm a gobshite and didn' see it a helluva lot sooner. Can I think aboot it just a bit before I give ye an answer? Withoot ye thinkin' tha' .... I doon' even know what ye'll be thinkin', honestly. But whatever 'tis, I promise ye... I'm just tryin' t' reframe my own perceptions."

Warpath has posed:
    "Suure." Is James immediate response. Because it is. It always is. Whatever she wants or needs, it is always 'sure'. Or 'You bet', or 'Whatver you need', or 'Whatever I can do, it will happen'. Dear Lord, has he been saying 'I adore you' when he says that?
    James looks aside. "I should not have said anything. Let's just pretend I didn't?" he asks. he atakes a really long drink from his diet soda and makes another chicken tender vanish with great speed. He is hard to read, with that Apache stoicism.Or is is Proudstar stoicism? He fidgets with his hair. Maybe it dawns on her that he mentioned his hair to her on purpose? James looks about, for once betraying an emotion-- nervousness. He is fighting the urge to bolt. He chews with careful, long, exageration. If his mouth is full, he cannot talk.

Siryn has posed:
Great. Now she's gone and made it awkward. Terry has never had any clue what to do when other people get nervous about personal things. So she does what she does best -- takes another long swallow of that beer and then ignores it. "Right, then." Talk about it later. There's always later. "Y'know, I met a young lad on my way back up here who might make a real good addition, if ye were still interested in striking out on our own. He's ... kind of unique, though, an' I'm thinkin' it could be interestin'. He dislikes th' Mansion almost as much as ye do."

Warpath has posed:
    "The people who blissfully allowed my brother to kill himself, and ignore your alcoholism yet claim to be great humanitarians?" James says darkly. "I cannot see why anyone would ever want to deal with them." he pauses. "Except Logan. Maybe Kurt. They try. I would not mind denting in the face of the Russian." James admits. "His face and Petey Pureheart routine, and accent just piss me off." Terry might have smiled at him once too.
    "I'll meet with the kid." Because she wants him to. Even if he is just dying inside. He nods his head. "Proactive not reactive." he says simply. "With a low profile."

Siryn has posed:
Theresa nods immediately. "Right," she agrees. And then she attempts to work on eating that half of a hamburger. And she steals one of those fries too. "Tha's what I want, too."