multiversallogs | But these stories don't mean anything / when you've got no one to tell them to

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But these stories don't mean anything / when you've got no one to tell them to

Who: Raylan Givens and Rachel Conway
What: Dinner and catching up. And, likely, A Talk.
Where: In the general vicinity of Rachel's workplace in Syriac Well.
When: forward-dated to Veerdi.
Notes: passing mentions of sexual activity.
Warnings:see above.

Rachel packs it in for the weekend at a quarter to six, putting away files and notes, clearing her desk so it's neat for Newdi morning. It's something she's always done, as far back as college; a clean desk when she starts the next day's work is like a fresh start, it's soothing somehow.

Knocking off a little early also gives her time to duck into the restroom and make sure she's still presentable before heading for the front of the building. She's always thought it rude to keep someone waiting, or to make them have to ask somebody to go find you, and that's part of the reason she intends to meet Raylan out front.

The other part being she's still pretty new here, and even the best workplaces are full of gossip. She's not ready or willing to have her personal life or friendships examined quite so closely here, not yet. The front steps aren't far, but it's far enough to ward off most of the well-meaning-if-nosy questions and speculation.

So she's a few minutes ahead of six o'clock when she steps out the front door, ready to head down the steps to the sidewalk.

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Raylan isn't dressed up, per se, but he's wearing a nice button-down and he brought a tie, mainly because he didn't know what kind of place she has in mind. It probably wouldn't help her workplace gossip if he'd gone in looking more or less like it was a date.

Maybe it is a date. Raylan isn't quite sure anymore.

He does smile when he sees her though, easy and genuine. As complicated as things between them have become, it's good to see her.

"Hey there. I'm not late, am I?"

Rachel isn't dressed up so much as dressed for "so I work in an office, now", jeans and Converse replaced, for the work day, a more professional skirt and blouse. She shakes her head as she steps closer. "No, no. I'm just allergic to being late for things so I usually wind up starting early. I was coming out here to wait, just in case."

And she really doesn't know what's going on between them any more, either, but her face lights up all the same at the sight of him. "It's good to see you," she adds, softer, a hand reaching for his arm.

"You too." He isn't exactly admitting he'd worried... but he had, a little. "You look good."

"So, where are we heading?"

"Thank you." She looks down at herself with a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "They make me dress like a grown-up now. Anyway, there's a diner a few blocks from here? Does that work for you?"

He seems almost a little relieved. "A diner's perfect. Lead the way." It's easy to pretend that they've got nothing to talk about but catching up the couple weeks since they've seen each other; that won't last, but it's pleasant for now.

She'd figured a diner was the best option; it's Syriac Well and the place is crammed with upscale eateries but she's never really been a fine-dining kind of person. It's also easier to have a conversation--especially one that might get difficult, she still has no idea--in a place that's bustling, that's noisy. Less chance of being overheard, or of feeling like you will be.

"This way. It's not far." She waits for him to fall into step beside her before she goes on. "So... apart from work, how are things?"

"Not many things apart from work," he confesses. "Been kind of waiting for another shoe to drop, but it never really has." He kept waiting to go home, but that hasn't happened either, and he's beginning to accept that it might be a very long time, if ever.

"How's city politics? Truth be told, I've kind of avoided them."

"I think that's almost a regular state of being in this city," Rachel admits. "Feels like we're always waiting for something, usually for something to happen. But I'm glad it's been reasonably quiet lately."

She spreads her hands a little, looking up at him. "I don't know how involved I actually am with the politics. Like, I'm trying to focus more on the people and less on all the drama and fighting and whatever? And maybe that's naive of me to think I can do. But at least, now, I feel like I am actually doing something that directly benefits people, makes sure they have access. Jack wants to make sure their voices are heard and his campaign is being proactive and sensitive. I don't see any other officeholders or potential officeholders doing the same, so directly.

As far as the politics... there's still a lot of anti-xenian sentiment out there, and still a lot of suspicion where newcomers are concerned. People like our cohort, we're still newcomers. That's the super-conservative party, and then there's a super-liberal party that wants everything for everyone. Jack's party is pretty new on the scene but they're trying to find some middle ground."

"If it's anything like home, he'll need all the help he can get." American politics of the 2010s: not the place for moderates! "But it sounds good. Sounds good for you. Gotta feel like at least you're making a little difference, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"I'm sure trying. I feel like it's a good start, anyway. Here, turn here, it's just down the block."

And she falls silent a moment, out of things to say. They've discussed work until they're out of it, but there's not a lot of other ground they could cover without having to acknowledge the things left unresolved between them. And the street is likely not the best place for it.

He walks with her, quiet for a moment. He's never been good with small talk, even without other things hanging over their heads. He can't help smiling a bit at the diner, though.

"Someday I'll stop being surprised at the places I find in this city."

The diner is someone's perfect interpretation of every stereotypical small-town diner, from the old but well-kept formica table tops to the fake leather upholstery to the noisy open kitchen behind a long counter to the giant clock on the wall and the glass case with desserts. They head inside and take a table near one of the front windows.

"I was, like, totally happy to find this place a couple weeks ago," she says, reaching for the salt shaker and fidgeting with it, rotating it between her hands. "Syriac Well is a nicer neighborhood than I'm used to and most of the places right near our offices are, like--a whole day's pay for a couple of artfully arranged vegetables on a china plate."

He pulls out the tie he had folded up in his pocket with a grin. "Wasn't entirely sure you weren't gonna take me to a couple-vegetables-on-a-plate place, so I figured I'd better be prepared."

She laughs, shaking her head a little. "Well, thank you for thinking of that. But I wouldn't have done that. They're not my kind of places. And besides." Her grin brightens, takes on a mischievous cast. "That just seems mean, to invite someone to dinner and not get a proper meal."

He laughs. "Very thoughtful of you. I can't imagine a man could even get a chocolate milkshake if he wanted, place like that."

"No, no, he couldn't." She leans forward a little, elbow on the table, chin braced on that hand. "...And actually, that sounds good."

"I am of the sincere opinion that any occasion that's inappropriate for a chocolate milkshake is probably outside my comfort zone." He almost grins.

"You have a usual?"

"Amen to that. And yeah, I do."

Rachel grabs one of the laminated menus out of their spot behind the ketchup and mustard bottles, turning it and setting it down on the table in front of Raylan. "The burgers here are all good," she tells him, leaning in, indicating that part of the menu with her finger.

"Well, luckily I'm a burger kind of guy. After all, you need fries to dip in the milkshake." ...not everyone needs that, Raylan.

Maybe there are things that not everyone needs, but...

"...I've never tried that, is that good?"

There are certainly always things people are willing to investigate, if nothing else.

"Seriously? Well, now you have to. Chocolate." He shakes his head. "Next thing you'll be telling me you never had homemade fried chicken before."

...you might kill him, Rachel.

Rachel shakes her head, entirely unaware of the potential effect of this declaration:

"Nope. We don't really do that in California? Like, the closest thing is going to a diner for their fried chicken, I guess."

He looks stricken. "That is not at all right. Even in Miami you could get decent homestyle chicken."

Miami.

She shakes her head, still smiling, spreading her hands. "I don't know what to tell you. We just don't fry chickens in southern California. I mean, outside of like dubious offerings at fast food restaurants, but I'm sure that's so not what you mean."

"I mean, fast food chicken has its place, but it's nothing like... okay, I'm finding a place with acceptable fried chicken for next time we have dinner." He is really worried about Rachel's well-being.

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sorry i never got a notif for this :E

no worries :3

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