Doug and his dad (backdated)
Mar. 28th, 2010 08:06 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBackdated to March. Doug and his dad watch basketball and chat together while his mother and sisters are out shopping.
"You want a beer, dad?" Doug called from the kitchen as he rummaged in the refrigerator. He'd picked up a six-pack of some local microbrew in preparation for the visit, since Marie-Ange's tastes rather naturally tended towards wine (and high-end wine at that). At least their refrigerator had actual food and so forth in it since they'd moved in together. Doug fished out a container of hot salsa and looked around for a bag of tortilla chips while waiting on the reply.
"That would be fine, son, " John replied, picking up the remote and settling in front of the TV.
The women would no doubt be gone for awhile, and it gave him a chance to spend quality time with his son. Perhaps even to assuage some of the guilt he'd been feeling since sending him to that school. John had hopes that this visit might be a new start.
"Looks like there's a basketball game on,"
"Oh, that's right, the Sweet Sixteen is this weekend," Doug noted as he sat down and lay back on the couch, passing one of the bottles to his father and keeping one for himself. He wasn't all that invested in college basketball, but pretty much the entire nation seemed to catch the 'March Madness' fever. And besides, it was a comfortingly normal thing to do with his dad.
John was silent for a time, eyes following the game on the screen as he took an occasional drink of the beer that Doug had handed him.
"Nice beer, son. A Local brewer?" he asked after a long time.
"Yep. One of the nice things about living in New York City," Doug said with a grin and a shrug. "Seems like any kind of food or drink you can think of, there's a good local place a short walk or subway ride away. We've got this globe at work, whenever we can't decide on where to get food from, we spin it and see where our finger stops it."
"You're happy then?" John asked, glancing sideways at his son to watch his response. "I can see you've been building yourself a good life here, son."
Doug took time to think about the answer, not wanting to just give a glib, immediate one. Certainly his life hadn't always been easy. He put life and limb on the line on a far too regular basis, cut up, bruised, shot, and swallowed whole by a Russian meat computer. "Yes," he said after thinking. "It's not always easy work, but it's important work. And the people I work with are good people."
"Your mother and I weren't always sure how you would do," John said, turning back to the basketball game.
"Why's that?" Doug asked after a long pause. He suddenly felt like he was in the middle of a 'very special episode' of a soap opera or something. Father and son, watching a basketball game with a beer in their hands, uncomfortable pauses and 'guy talk'...it seemed pretty cliche. But he wasn't sure at all how to react to his father's statement, or quite how he'd meant it either.
"It was no one thing, son. It seemed as if you a hard time when we sent you to Xaviers, I'm glad to see that wasn't entirely the case," John replied, suddenly uncomfortable.
It was difficult to reach a certain age and suddenly realise that your only son was a stranger, and that the fault for that lay squarely in your court. He knew Mary was hoping that this trip would help, but John wasn't entirely sure.
"That's true," Doug admitted. And some of those hard times his parents had no clue about, and hopefully never would. "But I've managed, with help."
"That's good, Doug," John replied, turning back to the game and taking a drink from his beer. "Marie-Ange seems like she's had a beneficial effect on you."
"I guess so?" Doug said questioningly. "I mean, it's not..." He ran a hand through his hair. "Not really something I think about?" He shrugged.
"We rarely do, son." John noted, thinking of Mary, and the way she'd changed his life. "Try not to take her for granted."
"I try very hard not to," Doug agreed fervently. He remembered the fight they'd had in the lobby of the mansion, and the subsequent breakup. He wasn't really interested in a repeat of that. "I was surprised that mom didn't freak out more about the fact that we'd moved in together," he said with a shake of his head.
"You know your mother, she doesn't freak so much as worry. I think however that she's more worried that Marie-Ange may not approve of her," John replied, taking another drink of the beer in his hand. "She's hardly been the most conventional of mothers."
Doug cocked his head. "Mom? Worried about Marie-Ange approving of her?" That rather blew his mind. "If anything, I was thinking the opposite. Angie is..." He trailed off. There wasn't much he could say that would properly encompass the ups and downs they'd had without telling a lot of secrets that weren't his to tell.
"Your mother is full of surprises," John said, glancing back at the television. "So, what's it like to work for Emma Frost? I'm told she's a hard woman to please."
Doug barely kept from spraying his beer across the coffee table at his father's comment. He cast a sidelong look, trying to figure out if the double entendre had been intentional or not. After a couple seconds' analysis, he found he wasn't sure. Maybe it was a function of being a lawyer, maybe it was just his personality, but John Ramsey's body language was quite reserved and guarded.
Doug took another sip of beer to calm the brief choking fit and to ponder his response. "Emma is...different," he said. "Sometimes it's like she's made out of diamond," he explained, stifling an internal chuckle at the aptness of the metaphor given her secondary power, "and sometimes she does something unusually thoughtful." He waved a hand to indicate the apartment. "The building's rent-controlled, and she owns at least a part of it, which is why we all live here."
"Rent controlled, hey?" John responded, looking around. "Perhaps your mother and I should apply to work for her. I must admit, Doug. I'm impressed. You've done very well for yourself here."
Doug chuckled at the thought of his parents working for Emma, then pursed his lips thoughtfully. He wouldn't necessarily put it past Emma to quietly direct business in the direction of people she was interested in seeing succeed, or even their relatives. He certainly knew better than to guess her motivations. "Thanks, dad," he replied feelingly, and they turned their attention back to the basketball.
"You want a beer, dad?" Doug called from the kitchen as he rummaged in the refrigerator. He'd picked up a six-pack of some local microbrew in preparation for the visit, since Marie-Ange's tastes rather naturally tended towards wine (and high-end wine at that). At least their refrigerator had actual food and so forth in it since they'd moved in together. Doug fished out a container of hot salsa and looked around for a bag of tortilla chips while waiting on the reply.
"That would be fine, son, " John replied, picking up the remote and settling in front of the TV.
The women would no doubt be gone for awhile, and it gave him a chance to spend quality time with his son. Perhaps even to assuage some of the guilt he'd been feeling since sending him to that school. John had hopes that this visit might be a new start.
"Looks like there's a basketball game on,"
"Oh, that's right, the Sweet Sixteen is this weekend," Doug noted as he sat down and lay back on the couch, passing one of the bottles to his father and keeping one for himself. He wasn't all that invested in college basketball, but pretty much the entire nation seemed to catch the 'March Madness' fever. And besides, it was a comfortingly normal thing to do with his dad.
John was silent for a time, eyes following the game on the screen as he took an occasional drink of the beer that Doug had handed him.
"Nice beer, son. A Local brewer?" he asked after a long time.
"Yep. One of the nice things about living in New York City," Doug said with a grin and a shrug. "Seems like any kind of food or drink you can think of, there's a good local place a short walk or subway ride away. We've got this globe at work, whenever we can't decide on where to get food from, we spin it and see where our finger stops it."
"You're happy then?" John asked, glancing sideways at his son to watch his response. "I can see you've been building yourself a good life here, son."
Doug took time to think about the answer, not wanting to just give a glib, immediate one. Certainly his life hadn't always been easy. He put life and limb on the line on a far too regular basis, cut up, bruised, shot, and swallowed whole by a Russian meat computer. "Yes," he said after thinking. "It's not always easy work, but it's important work. And the people I work with are good people."
"Your mother and I weren't always sure how you would do," John said, turning back to the basketball game.
"Why's that?" Doug asked after a long pause. He suddenly felt like he was in the middle of a 'very special episode' of a soap opera or something. Father and son, watching a basketball game with a beer in their hands, uncomfortable pauses and 'guy talk'...it seemed pretty cliche. But he wasn't sure at all how to react to his father's statement, or quite how he'd meant it either.
"It was no one thing, son. It seemed as if you a hard time when we sent you to Xaviers, I'm glad to see that wasn't entirely the case," John replied, suddenly uncomfortable.
It was difficult to reach a certain age and suddenly realise that your only son was a stranger, and that the fault for that lay squarely in your court. He knew Mary was hoping that this trip would help, but John wasn't entirely sure.
"That's true," Doug admitted. And some of those hard times his parents had no clue about, and hopefully never would. "But I've managed, with help."
"That's good, Doug," John replied, turning back to the game and taking a drink from his beer. "Marie-Ange seems like she's had a beneficial effect on you."
"I guess so?" Doug said questioningly. "I mean, it's not..." He ran a hand through his hair. "Not really something I think about?" He shrugged.
"We rarely do, son." John noted, thinking of Mary, and the way she'd changed his life. "Try not to take her for granted."
"I try very hard not to," Doug agreed fervently. He remembered the fight they'd had in the lobby of the mansion, and the subsequent breakup. He wasn't really interested in a repeat of that. "I was surprised that mom didn't freak out more about the fact that we'd moved in together," he said with a shake of his head.
"You know your mother, she doesn't freak so much as worry. I think however that she's more worried that Marie-Ange may not approve of her," John replied, taking another drink of the beer in his hand. "She's hardly been the most conventional of mothers."
Doug cocked his head. "Mom? Worried about Marie-Ange approving of her?" That rather blew his mind. "If anything, I was thinking the opposite. Angie is..." He trailed off. There wasn't much he could say that would properly encompass the ups and downs they'd had without telling a lot of secrets that weren't his to tell.
"Your mother is full of surprises," John said, glancing back at the television. "So, what's it like to work for Emma Frost? I'm told she's a hard woman to please."
Doug barely kept from spraying his beer across the coffee table at his father's comment. He cast a sidelong look, trying to figure out if the double entendre had been intentional or not. After a couple seconds' analysis, he found he wasn't sure. Maybe it was a function of being a lawyer, maybe it was just his personality, but John Ramsey's body language was quite reserved and guarded.
Doug took another sip of beer to calm the brief choking fit and to ponder his response. "Emma is...different," he said. "Sometimes it's like she's made out of diamond," he explained, stifling an internal chuckle at the aptness of the metaphor given her secondary power, "and sometimes she does something unusually thoughtful." He waved a hand to indicate the apartment. "The building's rent-controlled, and she owns at least a part of it, which is why we all live here."
"Rent controlled, hey?" John responded, looking around. "Perhaps your mother and I should apply to work for her. I must admit, Doug. I'm impressed. You've done very well for yourself here."
Doug chuckled at the thought of his parents working for Emma, then pursed his lips thoughtfully. He wouldn't necessarily put it past Emma to quietly direct business in the direction of people she was interested in seeing succeed, or even their relatives. He certainly knew better than to guess her motivations. "Thanks, dad," he replied feelingly, and they turned their attention back to the basketball.
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