( banishment, booker finds, isn't that difficult if he tells himself that they're all off on a mission and he's been left behind to be on watch. if he convinces himself of that, then he can convince himself of anything.
the trouble is that only tends to work every so often and then realization rushes in and he remembers what he's done. he's alone. he's alone and that's deserved.
he tries to keep doing good things to atone for what he's done but even that falls off after awhile and he finds himself drifting, moving from place to place and doing the occasional odd job to keep money in his pocket.
he's found his way to new york city and he regrets. it's bright and loud and he ducks into the first bar that he finds, thankful for the quiet and the people that turn away at his presence.
booker takes a seat in the corner, back against the wall, so he can watch the door. he thinks of his team, he thinks of his family, and he thinks about how he's ruined it all.
the dour, depressive mood is shrouding him when someone familiar steps through the door and booker can only laugh because of course this would happen. of course.
he doesn't get up but he knows eventually the other man will see him. booker was here first though. he isn't doing anything wrong. )
[Time isn't a finite thing when death doesn't find you easily. Joe had been overwhelmed by his betrayal, wounded and fearful like a caged animal after a day of experiments and pain. He'd been trapped alongside Nicky, and unable to do anything to help him physically. It was mental alongside the physical and had it just been one or the other he would've been less temperamental but it had been both, and Nicky had been victim to his poor judgment as well.
Nicolo's silence following his departure made it all the more distressing. Each one of them felt the loss, and in quiet moments so did Joe. Booker had become as much a brother to him as he had to the others. He felt seen by him and found wisdom in his words and the life that he'd lived, despite his being younger. In Booker and Andy, he found a family that he hadn't yet experienced and they fought alongside each other, helped each other through hardship. The knife of deception left a lasting sting but he still hoped that he was well and using his time wisely instead of doubling down in his despair.
It's rare that they stop in a heavily populated city like New York, but he found himself stopped here while waiting for another transport to somewhere more coastal, a new safe haven that Andy had scouted for and found with Nile. He fell back to meet with Copley, to ensure that their deal was well-met and understood, it hadn't very long since his arrangement with Merrick and checking in with him had been part of their rapport. Hearing the chain reaction of things as they happened, tasks he might have found, it didn't require all four of them. Still, he never went there empty-handed and still wasn't any nicer than he had to be.
His trip to the bar was only because this tavern had an atmosphere contrary to the loud and vibrant nightlife on every corner. It was smoky, calm, and the thrum of voices drowned out the music playing on the overhead speakers. He approaches the bar first, orders a double when the familiar cut of shoulders and fringe of hair catches his peripheral. It's been a while, but not long enough that he's forgotten the suffering that he'd caused all of them. No more gruesome than the suffering he imposed himself, but troublesome and dangerous nonetheless. When he's given his drink, Joe folds his arms over his chest and doesn't move, but his jaw tightens and the muscle in his cheek flexes from the tension.]
( he can feel the weight of joe's glare on him and while he knows he deserves it, he also knows that he hadn't sought the other man out. he'd been here, drinking his night away, and joe had just happened to show up.
he takes a sip of the amber liquid in front of him and then finally turns to face the other man full on, sighing and refusing to be kowtowed and walk away. )
If you're going to try and hit me, let's just get it over with now.
[Not for you. It's a painful thing to say, even after years of absence because Booker is like a brother to him. He could've died on that table next to Nicky, or had to endure the loss of Nicolo with no way to help him. Those things weigh heavy on his mind when he thinks about forgiving Booker, or going back on their decided path.]
What would hitting you do? [Besides temper rage that had long since been diluted into disgust, pity, and discomfort. He didn't hate Booker, he couldn't hate him but he also wouldn't ever had done the same. Not even if his circumstances were similar.]
no problem! i'm on the east coast, i understand hurricane messes
( it wouldn't be the first time someone's hit him to make themselves feel better and booker knows it won't be the last either. not that he particularly wants to be hit but hey, he thinks he's nice to offer. )
Give you the satisfaction of seeing me in pain? I don't know, I figured I'd offer.
( is joe going to be the bigger man and refuse? booker thinks, if they're positions were reverse, he'd punch the guy. )
[Where did the anger stop and then become violence? Joe was prone to outbursts, of course, but only because he felt deeply. The problem with that was that it made him all the more aware of Booker's absence, of the state of him, and the sadness that must have been behind such a selfish choice.]
I have already seen you in pain. You would just drink it away, and even if I did land my blows would you not just recover?
[The truth of being what they were. No amount of physical vengeance could ever replace what had been done emotionally. Satisfaction didn't exist in that way for them.]
I would gain nothing from it. Your masochism is exhausting.
( booker can't stop the roll of his eyes at joe's declaration. he knows that he made a mistake and he'll be self flagellating about it for the rest of his life but here he is, trying to be helpful and joe's just going to lecture him. )
You know, that high and mighty look isn't very attractive.
( because that's what booker sees it as. lording his mistake over booker's head and using it to give him about a million little papercuts. )
That make you feel better? Acting like you're the better man?
[There it was, the ever-familiar indignation from Booker. Something he'd come to count on when they brothers, and even enjoy. Now it just left a bitter poisonous taste on his tongue.]
You want me to punch you?
[It would behoove Booker, to be thrown out of the bar, maybe to get Joe in some trouble on the way out but he was tired and as much as he might want to brawl, to scrap and fight with him until his throat was hoarse from yelling it would do no good. It wouldn't stick and they'd wake up and commence all over again. That kind of vitriol had died out of him a long time ago. Now, there was just pity, and a churning sadness in his gut for the loss of someone he thought he'd known. Someone he'd come to love and trust.]
( he is the better man. they all know it and booker's not going to try and explain or rationalize what he'd done. when he'd done it, he thought it was the best thing to do, a way to help people but he sees the error of his ways now.
he knows that what he'd done had been a betrayal on a level that he can't come back from. )
What are you doing here, anyway? Got a job in the city?
( small talk isn't going to help anything but it keeps them away from touchy subjects. )
feel like the worst person ever for continuously taking so long.
[ooc: feel free to drop this thread if you're no longer feeling it. :c]
[There would be no sense in arguing it. The truth of things was layered and deep, deeper than Yusuf wanted to get. His grief was paired with sorrow, and while he resented Booker for his choice he missed him the way a person might miss family. The ramifications of his decision had left a ripple effect they all felt in the wake of his absence.]
Reconnaissance.
[It's a simpler way of saying that he was following up on a lead and scouting a possible job. One that he may elect not to take so that Booker could do whatever it was he was here for in peace. Even if it was as simple as drinking himself into a stupor.]
And you?
[Yusuf could hazard a guess, but if there were going to humor small-talk it would at least behoove him to keep up with the pace of the conversation.
His teeth itched to insult, to lament on how it looked like nothing had changed but that felt like pushing the pads of his fingers into old bruises, salting old wounds. He couldn't bring himself to do it.]
( it's kind of a dumb question because they both know what he's here to do but he doesn't say that. instead, he takes a long, slow breath and looks around. )
I'm meeting someone.
( that wasn't too out of the realm of possibility even with him not being a part of their team. he still has to work, make money, do things to get himself through life. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
➤ muqatil
the trouble is that only tends to work every so often and then realization rushes in and he remembers what he's done. he's alone. he's alone and that's deserved.
he tries to keep doing good things to atone for what he's done but even that falls off after awhile and he finds himself drifting, moving from place to place and doing the occasional odd job to keep money in his pocket.
he's found his way to new york city and he regrets. it's bright and loud and he ducks into the first bar that he finds, thankful for the quiet and the people that turn away at his presence.
booker takes a seat in the corner, back against the wall, so he can watch the door. he thinks of his team, he thinks of his family, and he thinks about how he's ruined it all.
the dour, depressive mood is shrouding him when someone familiar steps through the door and booker can only laugh because of course this would happen. of course.
he doesn't get up but he knows eventually the other man will see him. booker was here first though. he isn't doing anything wrong. )
hope this is ok!
Nicolo's silence following his departure made it all the more distressing. Each one of them felt the loss, and in quiet moments so did Joe. Booker had become as much a brother to him as he had to the others. He felt seen by him and found wisdom in his words and the life that he'd lived, despite his being younger. In Booker and Andy, he found a family that he hadn't yet experienced and they fought alongside each other, helped each other through hardship. The knife of deception left a lasting sting but he still hoped that he was well and using his time wisely instead of doubling down in his despair.
It's rare that they stop in a heavily populated city like New York, but he found himself stopped here while waiting for another transport to somewhere more coastal, a new safe haven that Andy had scouted for and found with Nile. He fell back to meet with Copley, to ensure that their deal was well-met and understood, it hadn't very long since his arrangement with Merrick and checking in with him had been part of their rapport. Hearing the chain reaction of things as they happened, tasks he might have found, it didn't require all four of them. Still, he never went there empty-handed and still wasn't any nicer than he had to be.
His trip to the bar was only because this tavern had an atmosphere contrary to the loud and vibrant nightlife on every corner. It was smoky, calm, and the thrum of voices drowned out the music playing on the overhead speakers. He approaches the bar first, orders a double when the familiar cut of shoulders and fringe of hair catches his peripheral. It's been a while, but not long enough that he's forgotten the suffering that he'd caused all of them. No more gruesome than the suffering he imposed himself, but troublesome and dangerous nonetheless. When he's given his drink, Joe folds his arms over his chest and doesn't move, but his jaw tightens and the muscle in his cheek flexes from the tension.]
it's fine!
( he can feel the weight of joe's glare on him and while he knows he deserves it, he also knows that he hadn't sought the other man out. he'd been here, drinking his night away, and joe had just happened to show up.
he takes a sip of the amber liquid in front of him and then finally turns to face the other man full on, sighing and refusing to be kowtowed and walk away. )
If you're going to try and hit me, let's just get it over with now.
hurricane sally kicked my teeth in hey hey
[Not for you. It's a painful thing to say, even after years of absence because Booker is like a brother to him. He could've died on that table next to Nicky, or had to endure the loss of Nicolo with no way to help him. Those things weigh heavy on his mind when he thinks about forgiving Booker, or going back on their decided path.]
What would hitting you do? [Besides temper rage that had long since been diluted into disgust, pity, and discomfort. He didn't hate Booker, he couldn't hate him but he also wouldn't ever had done the same. Not even if his circumstances were similar.]
no problem! i'm on the east coast, i understand hurricane messes
( it wouldn't be the first time someone's hit him to make themselves feel better and booker knows it won't be the last either. not that he particularly wants to be hit but hey, he thinks he's nice to offer. )
Give you the satisfaction of seeing me in pain? I don't know, I figured I'd offer.
( is joe going to be the bigger man and refuse? booker thinks, if they're positions were reverse, he'd punch the guy. )
lol this thread already :'D
[Where did the anger stop and then become violence? Joe was prone to outbursts, of course, but only because he felt deeply. The problem with that was that it made him all the more aware of Booker's absence, of the state of him, and the sadness that must have been behind such a selfish choice.]
I have already seen you in pain. You would just drink it away, and even if I did land my blows would you not just recover?
[The truth of being what they were. No amount of physical vengeance could ever replace what had been done emotionally. Satisfaction didn't exist in that way for them.]
I would gain nothing from it. Your masochism is exhausting.
no subject
You know, that high and mighty look isn't very attractive.
( because that's what booker sees it as. lording his mistake over booker's head and using it to give him about a million little papercuts. )
That make you feel better? Acting like you're the better man?
no subject
You want me to punch you?
[It would behoove Booker, to be thrown out of the bar, maybe to get Joe in some trouble on the way out but he was tired and as much as he might want to brawl, to scrap and fight with him until his throat was hoarse from yelling it would do no good. It wouldn't stick and they'd wake up and commence all over again. That kind of vitriol had died out of him a long time ago. Now, there was just pity, and a churning sadness in his gut for the loss of someone he thought he'd known. Someone he'd come to love and trust.]
I am the better man.
no subject
( he is the better man. they all know it and booker's not going to try and explain or rationalize what he'd done. when he'd done it, he thought it was the best thing to do, a way to help people but he sees the error of his ways now.
he knows that what he'd done had been a betrayal on a level that he can't come back from. )
What are you doing here, anyway? Got a job in the city?
( small talk isn't going to help anything but it keeps them away from touchy subjects. )
feel like the worst person ever for continuously taking so long.
[There would be no sense in arguing it. The truth of things was layered and deep, deeper than Yusuf wanted to get. His grief was paired with sorrow, and while he resented Booker for his choice he missed him the way a person might miss family. The ramifications of his decision had left a ripple effect they all felt in the wake of his absence.]
Reconnaissance.
[It's a simpler way of saying that he was following up on a lead and scouting a possible job. One that he may elect not to take so that Booker could do whatever it was he was here for in peace. Even if it was as simple as drinking himself into a stupor.]
And you?
[Yusuf could hazard a guess, but if there were going to humor small-talk it would at least behoove him to keep up with the pace of the conversation.
His teeth itched to insult, to lament on how it looked like nothing had changed but that felt like pushing the pads of his fingers into old bruises, salting old wounds. He couldn't bring himself to do it.]
no subject
I'm meeting someone.
( that wasn't too out of the realm of possibility even with him not being a part of their team. he still has to work, make money, do things to get himself through life. )
He's late.
( so, booker takes another drink. )
I'm passing the time.