Evan McCartney | 4 of Clubs (
bluntforces) wrote in
houseofcards_rp2014-01-08 07:23 am
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[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fights with cousins who look down their noses and young idiots who need to get their heads out of a generation far too outdated to still be crafting culture.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.'
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fights with cousins who look down their noses and young idiots who need to get their heads out of a generation far too outdated to still be crafting culture.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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"That's not fucking up though, is it? That's being a sick bastard."
There's a difference, see.
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That shouldn't be such an accurate point to this conversation.
"Which... would fuck things up if a girl thought you weren't."
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Snort, "now you're just being stupid. There's fucking up." You know, doing something idiotic or ill-advised or badly thought out that can hurt or upset the person you're with. "And there's making things fucked up." Which is being rather more intentional about it.
He doesn't figure Evan is the latter.
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Inquiring minds. Not that this is Evan's problem. No. Surely not.
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Justin sets the bottle down and has to think about that one. "....say that again?"
Maybe in better words that make more sense.
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You're asking somebody who lived on the street for years, Evan. The skeptical are you fucking kidding me? look is back.
"Who died and gave you the right to stop all the bad guys? There a spandex superhero suit under there somewhere?"
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Pause.
"You planning on getting arrested?"
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Without first going back.
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"Don't get caught."
Because don't commit a crime doesn't really have the same ring. Also it doesn't mean they won't catch anyway, if they want to.
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"...you say that like it's easy."
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He grins, "you haven't been practicing?"
Then a shrug, "guess not, I hear you McCartneys are squeaky clean."
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"So what is this sorta thing then? I'd say trust me I won't tell but it's more like trust me nobody's believe me anyway."
Only funny because it's true.
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Not something to put out there.