nexus_sages | +1 Brat

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Ah, Roman Godfrey. He strolls with a lazy directionless pace and is unafraid to stare as much as he gets his own looks. What is with people? Finding a seat he reaches into his blazer for a cigarette and a lighter. Nexus doesn't have any rules about juveniles right?

"So is this the part where I ask something philosophical or just start giving advice out of my ass?" His expression stays neutral until his mouth tilts in a slow smirk.

"Fine. I'll shoot. What do you do when you feel like you're meant to do something important but have no clue what it is?"

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That's the ideal. Considering her parents aren't speaking to her, she's not sure she's the one to ask about these things.

It's a very carefully crafted image, yes. Absolutely. But the reasons for the care and the craft aren't what he thinks. The wink isn't any more impressive than anything else he's done. "I've never been to Mars, literally or figuratively, but people here have both psychotropics and space ships." It is so matter-of-fact with her, so boring. Like she doesn't do either because she just can't be bothered.

Which is pretty true.

"I don't think so, but you're going to have to go home before curfew. Don't want to get grounded, do you?"

Parents are overrated. Roman thinks it now and again, even when all he has he owes to her. But all he's been denied is also her doing.

She is giving him attention. That's what this is about. "I've had a good trip, bad ones too." Are they talking about the same things? He shrugs his lanky shoulders. "If I'm not high and you're not either we're either doing something wrong..."

"Why? Going to call the nonexistent cops?" Roman taps ash and rubs his nose and mouth.

He'd feel differently if his parents were gone and he had to make do on his own.

Ah, any attention is good attention? Poor boy. "Or you're very lost?" She supplies the last part because she's a very helpful person, really. "It's probably that."

"No, you don't look like you need any help getting in trouble."

All Roman has is Olivia. And she won't ever, ever let him forget it. Without her he would have to make his own decisions, own up to what flaws are his own and which were given to him from her.

He shrugs at the suggestion. Yes. Well. Maybe. "This is what happens the times you just don't decide to drive." Or something. Roman shoves both hands in his pockets.

"I can handle it. I got ways."

He has himself. Once he gets over himself, it might not be so bad. It's very freeing, and there's something to be said for learning to be self-sufficient.

"Mm. If you'd driven, you might just end up here with a car. Which would really help." What with most of the paths around here not being wide enough, and there being no parking. Right. "You're taking this all deceptively calmly, aren't you?"

She just snorts. He has no idea what kind of trouble he can end up in here.

Getting over himself could be a Kilimanjaro grade expedition into self discovery. Roman is so very unaware of everything except for the hollowness he is trying to fill. Self sufficiency would be a grand way to do it.

"People don't take walks to stick around," and maybe shit is just too real. Too odd. Too difficult to place. Roman shrugs again and takes a deep pull from his cigarette. "I mean, I guess I was kind of going somewhere. It wasn't important."

At least that is something similar between the here and the there.

Nobody said it'd be easy, and anyone who did was lying. Accomplishing something all on his own might make him feel less hollow and teach him his own worth. Real worth, not just his parents' bank accounts.

"If you say so." She doesn't believe him, but he might believe himself. It's an attitude she knows too well. She remembers the hollow ache in her heart that she tried to fill by stuffing all her unwanted feelings in it and covering it over with scars and acid barbs for anyone who got too close. She's still not impressed with him, but now she feels some sympathy.

"...you want some coffee? My treat."

Everything he has was obtained with no skill or ease at all. So anything he'd actually put his heart into feels like a big task. Real worth, real effort, real pain...

"Yeah, I do," he infers with greater emphasis. Her skepticism raises a little more sass. "Shit's just weird." To say the least. Teenage body counts, inexplicable gaps in memory, shared dreams with local Romany boy, hypothetical werewolves, alleged immaculate conception. What's there not to clear your head from?

"For real?" Coffee. Ah. Who turns down coffee? Roman inhales deep in his chest and exhales out slowly from his nostrils. "Just coffee?"

Being real is a very big task. It's one plenty of people run away from, and if he's as rich as he thinks, he could run away for the rest of his life. But he can't run away from himself, or his own feelings. He'll have to decide.

"That it is." She's from the 616, boy, just try to outweird her. Or out-sass her. She took a master class with a god. Stick around and she might teach him a few things.

"Hey, you're lucky I think you're old enough for the coffee," she retorts with a smirk. But it's a smirk with a touch of a smile in it, this time. "C'mon. There's a real nice cafe a few minutes down the road. It's a French-space fusion place, and the coffee is amazing."

He wants to be a leader, a warrior, a someone, a something. And it's this need that only makes the hunger in him more intense. The chrysalis of wealth and privilege that's held him is going to break. Roman can't run from himself or the true nature in his blood and destiny. For now he just feels all kinds of restlessness and a need to stop running and fight.

It's not about out weirding. If it was she would win. There are oddities hidden in the hemlocks and in the blinding lights of the White Tower he won't even think to question. He already doesn't. Any sass or confusion are there because it's blaringly obvious.

"I'm plenty old for coffee," he drops his cigarette and crushes it under a loafer. "You usually buy coffee for people who ask around for drugs? Is it a consolation prize?"

Then it's time to learn to fight. The 'something' will come in time, and hopefully, in time. That's what the fighting does, and the learning: it whittles you down, drop by drop, sweat and blood.

"Yes, you've seen through my clever plot. I'm not at all taking pity on a poor lost boy before the shock sets in." Saying that sarcastically would drop them both; it wouldn't drip, it would flood. So she's deadpanning it, and turning to go; he'll follow if he wants, and if he doesn't, that's his choice.

Her path has coffee and the companionship of someone who seems to know what they're doing in this place.

Roman thinks that it is an external battle, that it's the terror of night and the sleepy town. Learning to fight would take both. And getting sweat and blood into it would ensure success verses this stillness. That only makes him feel more agitated beneath his skin. Roman does stupid things when he's bored.

"I won't have to go to school today or tomorrow," again with the negatives what is there to be worried about? He really hasn't committed any concern to his displacement. Free coffee and sass on tap and he can walk around and smoke. And maybe, just maybe, for two seconds can be defined by how he behaves as a person not as rich people spawn. Roman follows Verity, resisting the urge to light up just because he can.

"....you're not a teacher are you?"

Success versus stillness is easy, in its way, and deceptively difficult. He has a lot of bad habits to break before he's successful in getting what he really wants.

"Well, that's always a bonus," she admits with a smirk. "Gods forbid you accidentally learn something. Then you might have to think." It's a good sass, but she falls silent for a moment before adding quite seriously, "I'm sorry, I forgot for a minute what American schools are like."

The question gets a snort. "Hel no, I don't have that kind of patience."

What do you mean success doesn't come from the want alone? Roman is rather shallow and empty feeling and all the hope and yearning is the only thing that's really in heavy supply. Habits too. The road to anywhere is going to start when he opens his eyes and takes in all he has in himself.

"I think," with the slightest offense to that. "And I think that I could learn way more that isn't in a book. Standardized testing takes up at least a week. Besides, I have cable." Not that all that much time would be devoted to History or Discovery.

"Okay, good. I was hoping this wasn't a ploy for some come to Jesus talk about direction or something." Nobody likes that.

Sorry, Roman. On the other hand, the success is so much sweeter after the effort. And he's a spoiled rich kid: he wants only the best, surely?

That gets her laughing. It's not a cruel sort of laugh, but there's a little edge to it. Like laughing is hard for her. "Cable. Right. I'm sure all those 'Nazi aliens from the future' shows are really educational. But the standardized testing sucks, that's true."

She glances over at Roman before shaking her head. "I don't bother with ploys. I'm annoyingly straightforward."

She did mention that cafe was nearby. He might already be able to smell the coffee and pastries.

Only the best because that is what he deserves, oh yes. Since day one that silver spoon has been in his mouth. His great, great grandfather made a company that saved a budding down. His father changed it to be something more lucrative and scrapped the working class. At least they were actions. He has it in him. Somewhere.

Roman snickers a little. That was meant to be a joke after all. "They were just trying to clean the slate, you know?" Okay a little more tasteless than necessary. Sue him. "All I'm saying is that it's senior year. It's all rehashing here on out."

No ploys? None at all? Adults are full of em. He dead eyes her comment. Uncle Norman would approve of her efforts though all the same. They don't have people who see through the bullshit like Verity.

The area is nice. The family doesn't go on extravagant vacations anymore. Roman believes it's because of his sister's health. Or Olivia stopped trying to win over her children. Who knows. The pastries smell good. And a cuppa would be great.

By the time he's done with the work ahead, he may have earned it. Being born rich isn't doing him any favors beyond paying the bills. A legacy of strong-willed people doing things can help or hinder--that's up to him. He'll find all sorts of things inside himself if he bothers to look. They won't all be pretty.

More than a little more tasteless than necessary, given how her expression flickers through shock and pain before shutting down. Pity all that money never bought him manners. She folds her arms and turns her gaze away from him. He'll get away with that comment about senior year.

It's a nice area, and she's lucky to have stumbled into it. Maybe he will be too. If he can get over himself enough to enjoy it.

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