houseofcards_rp | [ota] you're gonna go far, kid

There are very few people, particularly in the Deck, who wouldn't describe Evan McCartney as 'an annoyingly happy camper.'

And he is happy. He's happy to be getting his degree sorted out. He's happy to be looking at jobs which will allow him to be productive--to actually use what bit of a brain he has properly, the way it's meant to be used. He's happy to be in love and waking up every morning next to the woman he's in love with. He's happy to run with the dogs and spend afternoons with his parents and run errands for his sister. He's even happy to get into fights with cousins who look down their noses and young idiots who need to get their heads out of a generation far too outdated to still be crafting culture.

He's happy. He's Evan McCartney.

But he's quiet these days. He's not entirely certain why. He's been singing less. Shouting less. Simply moderating his voice far better than he ever has, as if the concept of 'an indoor voice' has sunk in more than twenty years after being introduced. It sits funny in his shoulders.

So he does what he can. He gets up early to study; makes Riley breakfast and takes the dogs on a run. He goes to throw punches at bags until it's time to ice his shoulder and suck on his lip so the bleeding will stop. And he goes, ultimately, to lie on his back in the snowed-upon Green, because he's not entirely certain where to go when a body feels pensive.

Someone should teach him how to do 'pensive.'

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"Promise?"

Which is a bit like a child too, perhaps, although much more like on trying to hold desperately on to the promise Santa is real.

"Promise, Ev."

And now for another hug as she ushers him into the cafe for a cookie and some hot chocolate.

There's a bit of a squawk for being pushed, but not much protest. Inside for cookies and cocoa is never a thing to protest.

"You gonna teach me t' be a better homebody, then?"

Which is why he's going to get the best of the best of both, of course.

"You bet I will. Soon enough you'll be tsking at adventurous young folk just as much as the rest of us."

"Doubt it." Because, weirdly, he was still working out why he was supposed to not want to go be shot at for someone else's money. It was an intellectual struggle. "But let's go for it."

"We will, then."

After they sit down and have a nice warm snack.

And he can absolutely wait until they've got cocoa and cookies and a nice quiet seat in a corner before he lets go of the next question gnawing in his chest.

"D'you-- think you gotta let go of old stuff when you're tryin' to do new stuff?"

She tilts her head contemplatively at that, taking a sip of her cocoa.

"I mean-- I guess, yeah. If it's keeping you from doing the new stuff right."

"How d'you know what's-- stopping you from doing stuff right?"

It's not that he thinks she's an expert, not really. It's just that thinking in his own skull isn't working for him.

She's really not an expert. She's never been torn between home and Outside in the same way he has. But she can muddle her way through, for his sake.

"I imagine if you're spending more time stuck on the old stuff than trying the new, it's probably not so good."

Hm. Time for a sip of cocoa for thinking purposes.

"So if-- you're worried that th' past might-- get up in the future an' wreck things, how... would you go about lettin' go? Just-- cuttin' it off? Or going back an' trying to-- cut ties proper?"

A thoughtful hum.

"I mean, if you're worried about it wrecking things, I guess'd make sure that I cut ties as-- nicely as possible. Not have it come after you for whatever reason."

"Nicely."

That's a word. It's a word that usually sets well on nice boys like Evan McCartney, but... now it's just got him swirling his cocoa and munching thoughtfully on a cookie.

"Huh."

"Yeah. Won't come after you if it doesn't have a grudge."

The tilt of her is head is partially because she's wondering what sort of past, exactly, he could be escaping to make him ask these questions.

Which means it's time to swing the conversation back around. Delicately and with grace.

"Probably shouldn'ta pissed off so many Terminators, then."

It's well done. It's got her laughing entirely brightly.

"Doesn't seem like it was the best of ideas, no."

"Didn't think they'd really all be back. Seemed like overkill." Can he steal one of her cookies? Yes he can.

He can indeed. Though she'll be stealing a sip of his hot chocolate in retaliation.

"I think they're fond of that sort of thing though. Aren't they big on explosions and all that?"

And so begins the war. The war and the unwarranted hand-swatting.

"Ridiculously. And not super fond of humans which, unfortunately, I am one of. 's a real problem for me." But, you know. "Thanks. Fer always listening."

All the hand-swatting. But also cookies and cocoa for all.

"'s a problem. But I'm sure you'll survive."

And also, with a squeeze of his hand, "You're welcome, Ev."

"Can't promise I won't be back for more advice, you know."

Because this had been a good first step. This had got his shoulders eased back into relaxation (one, of course, slightly favoured).

Next time he's circle closer. Maybe telling her would be a good second step toward telling his sister. His mother.

"That's all right."

Because she doesn't mind being someone he can get advice from. She wants to be there for him as much as possible, after all-- even if his past isn't entirely what she'd thought it was.

"You're the best."

Fact. As is it fact she's going to get her cheek pinched because she's a hair too far off to smack with another kiss on the cheek.

That gets a smile even though her nose will wrinkle at the cheek pinch.

"You are, too, mm?"

Someone else might argue against it. Someone else wouldn't be Evan.

"Makes us a pretty dynamic duo."

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