Garrison and Adrienne - Sunday Afternoon Golfing

[x-adrienne.livejournal.com]

Crankiness and frustration ensue, as usual.



"Wanna make some sort of little wager before we begin?" Adrienne asked, raising an eyebrow as she set her (well, Emma's) bag of clubs down at the first hole of the golf course and drew out her nine iron. It was a beautiful day out, the perfect day for a round of golf, even if one had to carry one's own (well, one's sister's) clubs. "I haven't played in years. 'Pretty rusty. You could possibly have a chance here." She examined her profile in the reflection of the club, running a hand through her hair even though the slight breeze was making any ministrations she performed pretty pointless.

Kane scowled at her. "If you need to borrow money, just ask." The Canadian had been decidedly grumpy since returning from Genosha, even after his hair and beard had largely regrown. He wasn't even sure why he agreed to play a round of golf with Adrienne. He hated golf. Except... he knew exactly why he agreed to play golf with her. Because being around her reminded him that she was alive and safe and wasn't lost in off in the brush of the Genoshan countryside or dead at a Magistrate's feet. And he was grouchy because he was ashamed he couldn't just tell her that. Or any of the people he cared for. It was as if a wall had dropped down separating him from every that wasn't immediately necessary to stay alive in Genosha, and it still was there.

"Oh, I don't want money," she chirped pointedly, grinning. "I want... bragging rights." Except it wasn't as if she was going to keep quiet if she beat him without the stipulation that she had bragging rights, so that probably wasn't a great bet. "Or possibly something food-related. Or a bottle of cognac. I've been drinking cognac recently." That was what came with spending a lot of time with Emma. "Do you drink cognac? It seems like you could use some right now," she teased, her not-so-subtle way of pointing out that he'd basically been acting like he lived in a trash can on Sesame Street lately. "And I'm sure you'll be needing some after I wipe the course with you."

"You drink shitty beer out of a can while golfing. Everybody knows that." He had stuffed the six pack into his bag earlier. He pulled out his driver and examined the ball to make sure that Hudson's kinetic damper was on. Without it, Kane could drive the ball into the next state with one swing. His tees were all stolen from the Department H tournament, and he set up the ball on the maple leaf painted on the top. "But fine, if you win, I will buy you a bottle of cognac and present it to you somewhere suitably public where you can brag about it."

Kane swung, the club connecting hard. He had caught the ball, driving it powerfully into the air. But as it flew, it started to twist, slicing away from the fairway and disappeared into the trees on the rough. "Shit."

Adrienne had been about to ask him what sort of alcohol he wanted if he happened to win, but the question died on her lips as she watched his ball sail into the trees. She tried not to laugh out loud, seeing how grumpy he already was, but she couldn't stifle the smirk and snort that escaped. "You hooked it. Try keeping your left arm straight," she offered, teeing up and demonstrating, her own shot landing twenty feet away from the hole on the green. "Maybe I should start drinking now to give myself a handicap?" she suggested innocently. "You're right, shitty beer out of cans is definitely the way to go while golfing." She pulled a can out of the bag of Emma's clubs. She'd just brought the one beer, though, still trying to keep a bit of a rein on her alcohol intake, especially around Garrison.

"I wish I'd asked Mack to put a GPS in these balls." Kane groused, tramping through the rough looking for his ball. He finally found it at the base of a tree and pulled his 5 iron. Hopefully, he could just punch it back on the fairway and chip it to the green. Instead, his shot hopped oddly on the rough ground, and tumbled sideways into the bunker. He sighed and pulled out a can of High Life.

"Never mind GPS, you should have asked for remote controlled balls," Adrienne pointed out in the innocent tone she figured she'd be using for most of this day. "'Shoulda used your pitching wedge instead of the five iron. And, sorry, I'm gonna stop telling you what to do right now," she added, remembering that men didn't normally respond well to being told what they should do, especially when it came to sports. Or hobbies. She wasn't sure what golf actually was.

"Pitching wedge would have put it into the trees. I wanted to keep the ball low." Kane pulled out his sand wedge. Readying his third shot to Adrienne's one. He swung, arcing a pile of sand, but the ball struck the top edge of the bunker, and rolled back to where he was standing. Fourth shot now.

Adrienne wasn't entirely sure he was in a position to be criticizing the club she'd suggested for him, but she let it go. "Dude," was the only comment she made, and went back to sipping her beer. While he readied his fourth shot, she set dug around in her bag for her cap to ward off the sun and the breeze which was annoying the crap out of her for what it was doing to her hair. It was the Blue Jays cap he'd given her at Spring Training years before, the one that had been his sister's.

He finally lofted a shot out of the bunker, which hit the green and rolled into the rough grass at the edge. At least he was closer. Kane took a long sip and left his beer on the grass, pulling out his putter. "This is the problem with golf. Putting. It's like only being able to drive in runs with bunts."

"I'd never thought of it that way before," Adrienne commented. "It is kinda like that, yeah. But hey, your team's actually not that bad at playing the short game anymore, as much as it pains me to admit it. They seem to finally have realized this year that you can't just drive the ball all the time to win games, you gotta putt sometimes. And you just keep picking up more speedsters. Plus, it sort of fits because your boys are much better at playing golf than baseball, from what I hear."

"From the woman who roots for the Fried Chicken and Beer rotation, I feel confident that I can ignore your opinions on the Jays. Who are leading the Sox right now." He tapped the ball, but it fetched up two inches short of the hole, giving Adrienne the turn for her shot.

"You're still on that Fried Chicken and Beer thing? Jeez, get a new insult," Adrienne teased, setting her own beer down and going for her own putter. She lined up the shot, doing the math on the trajectory in her head, took the breeze into account, and sank the putt. "Besides, I'm wearing your hat. That should give me a pass. Especially when I was complimenting your boys about the small ball thing! You really wanna ignore that opinion?"

"That's not opinion. It's fact. Like John Lackey's waistline." Garrison tapped in his putt for a crowd pleasing triple bogie on the par 3 course. Off to an auspecious start indeed.

"Hey now, the man isn't even playing this year. Razzing players on the DL doesn't count," Adrienne pointed out, stooping to pick up the balls and hauling her gear to the next hole without complaint. "Pick on somebody else. Like... Dice-K. He was supposed to be back in June. Is he back playing yet? I haven't completely caught up yet, after... Genosha."

"I noticed. The we're not exactly setting the fantasy league on fire." Although Kane had to admit to himself, he found it hard to care. The ballgame last night had captured his attention for less than two innings before he switched it off in favour of staring out the window over the grounds.

"No, we're not, are we?" Adrienne agreed, driving the ball on the next hole, except just barely hitting the fairway this time. "And yet I'm not all that upset about it, to tell you the truth. Funny how your priorities sort of change when you've been kidnapped and have to break out of a foreign prison and you're forced to wear a skinsuit with a 'recycling component' to it; for some reason you care less about your fantasy sports team beating the fantasy sports teams of a bunch of strangers on the computer."

"Something like that." Kane nodded, and set up his ball. He caught it in the screws, where it arced gracefully over the fairway, the bunkers and the green, coming to rest with a neat 'plop' in the middle of the water trap. He sighed and fished around for another ball.

It wasn't like Garrison was an open book when it came to his emotions or what he was thinking, and Adrienne was really bad at talking about that sort of thing too, but she figured she'd at least try to get him to try to talk. "'Something like that?' Well, how would you put it?" her tone was curious and light.

"It was a giant shitshow that makes you re-assess your priorities in the face of a near civil war and a comic book monster. What do you want, a sonnet on it?"

"Do you do haikus?" Adrienne asked teasingly, giving him her 'don't get pissy with me, I didn't do anything' Look. "I'd prefer a haiku, unless you can do something in trochaic tetrameter, because that's always cool."

"I don't even know what that means." He dropped his ball after marking the penalty and squared up for another shot. But he wasn't taking his time, and instead topped the ball, sending it rolling maybe twenty metres down the fairway. "Shit."

Adrienne couldn't contain another amused snort at his profanity. "I dunno what it means either. I'll have to ask Sefton some day. So what priorities are you reassessing; anything in particular? I've got my career, mainly, the whole 'some of those kids were at that rally because of me, should I be anywhere near children?' thing going on. Wanna show me yours? Or are we not doing quid-pro-quo?"

"I thought we were hear to play golf, and not have a sharing session?" Kane snapped as he stalked up to his ball, 5 iron in hand. "Yes, baseball standings seem less important following nearly getting killed a dozen times in the last month. That's as far as it goes. I'm sorry that you're blaming yourself for this, because absolutely no one else is or possibly could. We got kidnapped out of the middle of a protest surrounded by cops in downtown Manhattan. That's like blaming yourself for not properly preparing for the chance that a 747 is going to fall on your house. I'm tired, I'm pissed and generally feel like I want to punch something. I'll get over it, so you get over it." He topped the ball again, bouncing it merrily up another dozen feet and into the rough. "Shit."

"Fine, no sharing. Christ. That's why I asked if we were sharing. I was just trying to help," Adrienne grumbled. "Sometimes I'm supposed to try to be supportive and get people to talk about their shit and be comforting. Sometimes I'm supposed to pretend there is no shit and everything's fine." She sounded genuinely confused. This emotional stuff really wasn't her strong suit. "Sometimes one's healthy, sometimes the other's better because it's what someone needs in that moment. How the hell am I supposed to know which one I'm supposed to do when? And I am getting over it. Contrary to your obvious belief, I'm beginning to think, what with you wanting to punch something, that I'm actually the more okay of the two of us right now. Weird, I know."

"I want to punch something out of frustration. It's called an outlet, and it is a healthy and natural reaction." Kane said. It was funny how few people remembered that he had a degree in psychology. "So I will ruin some heavy bags venting. Unlike others, beyond some healthy prison stompings and the crazy bugshit monster at the end, I got off pretty light. I don't blame myself for not being able to do more. I just don't want to join in everyone's very focused 'we'll all get through this together' parade because I don't need to. So if you want to win your free bottle of booze, go take your shot."

"Who's parading?" Adrienne asked, sounding surprised. She took her shot, landing it within a few feet of the flag. "Is it Wilson? Or Kurt Sefton? I bet it's them. You can't be talking about me, because I do not parade. Well, okay, I really do, but only when it's about clothes. Or beating people at something. I don't parade about togetherness." Even though she'd sort of been trying to, but that was only because that was what she thought she was supposed to do to be a good friend. Clearly, that had backfired spectacularly on her. Damn, the man was confusing sometimes! "No one invited me to any damn parade," she was still muttering under her breath, jokingly. "I didn't get a sash or a tiara or a spot on a float in the shape of a turkey or anything."

"Obviously all it takes is one beer these days." Kane shook his head as he traded clubs, finally landing a decent shot, although on the back end of the green, away from the flag.