Who: Mark and Thomas. What: Discussing Mark's past. Where: Five Finger Burgers, on 9th. When: Thursday, 1 pm. Warnings: Possible language, drug references, discussions about slavery and racism.
Thomas hadn't really wanted to meet with his father, especially not after all the events of the night before. But he'd calmed down, for the most part, after spending time with his dad and step-dad before slipping out to see Bret. Still, he wasn't completely comfortable with being in the same room as Mark after knowing that his father had been a slave owner. And even with people, everyone talking at him and saying that the past was the past and Mark was a better person, there was still a knee-jerk reaction within Thomas. Slavery was bad. Slave owners were bad. Racism and racists were bad. He was too young to recognize the gray area, too young to really grasp the concept of evolution and how a man could change so drastically over the centuries, and definitely too young to react to the knowledge in a mature, dignified manner. So, he'd probably made an ass of himself and, yes, the First Family probably saw him as nothing more than a tantrum-throwing child, and that thought made Thomas grumpy as he slumped in the passenger seat of his bodyguard's car. It wasn't his fault! Then, though, Thomas realized that, by pouting about the injustice of it all, he was only making himself look and feel worse. He could mask his childishness, his emotions, right? Dad did it all the time, and once, when Thomas had asked him about it, Marijuana had murmured something about burying everything negative deep down inside him.
As Thomas looked out the window, he tried to do just that. He envisioned his childishness and pictured pushing it deep down within him, almost in the direction of his stomach, even if that didn't make much sense. It did work, however, and, for the first time since the night before, Thomas felt... settled, balanced. Maybe there was something to his dad's little mental tricks. The feeling of the car stopping abruptly, however, startled Thomas from his visualization and when his eyes focused back on the world around him, he saw that he was outside the diner. Sighing lightly and giving a wan smile to his bodyguard, Thomas slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and walked inside, sliding down into the booth in the corner and glancing up at the clock. He was a few minutes early, but expected that Mark would likely be a few minutes late, or more. Thankfully, he'd prepared for that, and Thomas dug through his bag until he found what he was looking for. Pulling a well-worn book out from the tangle of iPod earbuds and Thomas' favourite hoodie, Thomas settled back against the vinyl cushions of the booth to read. The words were calming, perhaps more calming than the visualizations, because it was something familiar, relaxing, and logical. Far more logical, of course, than his good, moral father having owned slaves in the past.
And even when he felt Mark enter the diner, Thomas didn't look up. It was only when his father approached the table that Thomas grudgingly sat up out of the slouch that made him look like a sullen teenager. It took him another moment to mark his spot in the book and yet another moment to finally look up. "Hi." There was really nothing else he wanted to say just yet.