Cristobal Rodriguez ♦ Coyote (coyoti) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-02-01 07:26:00 |
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Entry tags: | ares, coyote |
is it hard to wait?
Who: Chris & Daniel.
What: A quick elevator run-in that might lead to more.
Where: Pax Letale elevator.
When: Early morning.
Chris pulled his apartment door closed behind him, locking it with smooth and quick gestures. He tried the knob once, a true test to ensure that the lock was indeed holding up to its promised skill. Once he was assured the door was steadfast, altogether wasting only a moment of his time, he turned to his left and headed down the hall toward the Pax Letale elevator. His limp was subtle, the brace underneath his pants outlined each time the fabric pulled taut over the metal bars that allowed him the structure and reassurance that he'd be able to remain standing under his own power.
One added boon he hadn't realized upon signing the lease for this particular complex was the fact that his floor was entirely empty, which meant that he had more time to compose himself when it came to preparing for the outside world. His apathetic features showed nothing as his eyes rolled upward to take in the numbers that dinged past after he tapped the call button. Arms rose to cross lightly over his chest, his whole form stilling as he paused to wait for the box that would carry him down three floors. In some ways, he found it irritating -- he should've been able to walk down those three floors, but that would have cost him more time.
He shook his head to clear of those thoughts, and pressed forward once the doors opened. Taking up a spot near the back, in one corner, he pulled his cell out of his pocket to start checking on messages and emails in the short span of time it would take to reach the building's lobby. But the doors opened again after only one floor, and a tall, lean man stepped in.
He was dressed in low-slung dark jeans and a fitted white button-up. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his top two buttons were undone, showing flashes of honey-brown skin. He grinned at the elevator's sole other occupant.
"Well," he said. "I guess this place isn't totally dead. You just movin' in?"
Chris frowned, at first, in reply. Then he nodded, tapping the screen of his phone to black it out and then tuck the item into his back pocket. "Been here about a week. Thought most of the first few floors were completely empty. How long have you been here?"
"About a week here, too. I've got one neighbor on my floor, but I think that's it for now." He shrugged. "Crazy to me. This place is the nicest I've been able to find on my budget since I moved out here. I was surprised there wasn't a wait list." He stuck out his hand. "Daniel Ciin."
It was only a moment's hesitation before Chris took a small step forward -- his pants tightened around his brace, but only momentarily -- and accepted Daniel's hand with a firm grip. "Chris Rodriguez. And likewise -- they're very discerning, in a strange way." He folded himself back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Where you coming from, Daniel?"
"Atlanta. Moved here fairly recently, actually… just a year or so ago, which I guess makes me as good as a newbie. But I think I fit in okay." He smiled. His gaze slid over Chris, appraising, and clearly finding nothing wanting. "What about you?"
Chris glanced at the door, as though willing the elevator to move faster. It shouldn't take this long to go between three floors, should it? Just then, the elevator came to a shuddering stop, jostling its passengers.
"The fuck?" Chris stumbled forward, banging on the doors. "For as much as I pay for this place, this shit shouldn't happen. Is there a fire department button or something on the keypad?"
Brow furrowed, Daniel moved to the front panel. He crouched in front of the long rows of buttons. There was one emergency call button, and below it the narrow slits that marked a speaker behind the brushed steel. He pressed the button and looked to the speaker, as though doing so might hasten its response.
"Yeah," he said, pressing again. "And I hope somebody's listening. I got shit to do."
The speaker was uncaring toward the demands on Daniel's time, as it remained silent. Chris crowded into the other man's space.
"Are you sure you're hitting the button? Is it the right button?"
"Dude, it says call right there on it," he said, pointing directly at the button, then pressing it a third time. "I dunno what else to do. But knock yourself out." He stepped out of Chris's way, gesturing toward the panel. He leaned back against the wall to Chris's right. "Better settle in," he said. "I don't think anybody's answering that. But I'm not that bad company, I promise."
Realizing the awkward position he'd put himself in, Chris made a show of examining Daniel's handiwork and then stepping back. His brace wouldn't allow him to squat, and he wasn't going to make himself look a fool trying.
"Believe me, I've been stuck with worse," he muttered under his breath, moving back to his corner of the elevator as they settled in to wait. Clenching his jaw, he leaned against one wall trying to find a comfortable position as his leg started to complain about the lack of movement and continuous standing. "To answer your earlier question, I'm local. Born and raised. What was so alluring about the golden state that you left your Georgia peaches behind?"
Daniel laughed. "They are good, I won't lie. And that goes for figurative ones and the literal. But nah, I came out here for work. I do prisoner transition counseling. I needed a change of pace. I was starting to feel like I couldn't make much of a dent in Georgia. So… get outta my comfort zone, see how other folks are doing the work…" He spread his hands. "Here I am."
Chris nodded, his expression feigning being impressed but mentally he was making a note about Daniel's profession. It put him just a few steps above law enforcement, and certainly in bed with them. He was certainly less than pleased to not only be trapped in an elevator with said would-be cop, much less living in the same building as him.
"California can certainly use your help. Are you making much of a dent out here? There're certainly a lot of places to try to make a dent..."
"Tryin' to," he said. "There's an antifascist rally I'm going to at the end of the month, and I've got some work contacts attending that. None of my clients are going -- can't risk gettin' into trouble again, most of them are pretty fresh out of the system -- so I'm gonna try to make some connections for them. Hopefully while pissing off some neo-Nazis, but we'll see how well I multitask."
Amusement colored Chris' smile. "Seems like a prison transition counselor ought to stay away from those kinds of endeavors. Aren't you setting a poor example for your transitionees?"
"Fuck no." He gave a firm shake of his head. "Civil engagement is vital, even if they can't vote. Maybe especially when they can't vote. They have to stay safe, but they also need to stay engaged and make sure their voices are heard. The worst thing they could do is detach themselves from the process." He grinned: a decidedly mischievous look. "They can leave the actual fascist-kicking to me. I can be that steel-toed boot for them."
Chris gave a slow nod, his smile unabating. "I'd say be careful that you don't end up being one of those transitionees, but I guess you're in a good position to have connections on the inside. So when you're not counseling convicts and attempting to single-handedly reform our government, what do you do for fun? Assuming that neither of those is what you already do."
"Both are, actually," he said, only half-joking. "Aside from that, I don't do much. Netflix and chill, mostly. Why?" His grin stretched wider. "You interested?"
"I don't have a Netflix account, so maybe I'll take you up on that. I never have enough time to watch movies these days," Chris replied easily, his answer belying the fact that he understood quite well what Daniel was implying. Still, he moved on, though his mouth echoed Daniel's expression. "I was thinking more out of the house activities, especially with your outsider's perspective. I've lived around here my whole life, so sometimes it's hard to know what's still interesting versus what we've all already gotten tired of."
"Oh, I think it's all pretty interesting," Daniel said, smoothly passing over Chris's answer, choosing to assume the response was ignorance rather than rejection. "But I'm easy to please. I like the beaches best, really. Southeastern beaches are nice in their own way, but Jesus, the water here. I've been thinkin' about learning to surf." He paused only a beat. "I drive up to L.A. now and then, too. There's a shitload to do all the time. I don't know how you get tired of that."
"Believe me," Chris replied, sounding tired. "There're ways." The surfing brought up unpleasant memories, and he said nothing toward that topic. "I'm not much of a beach person, if you couldn't already tell from the fact that I'm lily white. I guess you could say that I work too much." He moved side to side, grimacing as he tried to work out the inevitable knots that appeared in his leg as it protested his continued standing. "Try the button again, maybe they need some encouragement."
Daniel made a small sound of uncertainty, but he pressed the button again all the same. He held it for a moment, only to release it and try it once more. The speaker remained dead, but he kept close to the panel, ready to attempt again soon. He chanced a look to Chris's leg, but made no comment on the pained expression that waxed and waned as the other man moved.
"So what do you do," he said, "that keeps you so busy you can't enjoy a little sun? Especially with so much of it all around you. Seems a shame to let it all go to waste."
"Real estate," Chris offered easily, the answer practiced so often that it almost felt real. He tried to lean back against one wall of the elevator, hoping the slant might provide some comfort to his leg. Most of him wanted to sit, but without a chair, the whole process of sitting down and standing up would be far more complicated than it would've been for someone without his injuries. "Mostly acquiring and renovating. It requires a lot of supervision, so I don't have much downtime to do anything else."
"Mmhm." Daniel pressed the button again. "I guess out here the money's good enough to make that worthwhile. The market is absurd. You wouldn't believe the kinda house you could buy, even in Atlanta proper, with the same money. I was hoping to get a place out here, myself, but that's looking less and less likely by the day."
He tipped his chin toward Chris, at last acknowledging his strained leg. "You okay, man? You need to sit or somethin'?"
"No," was the automatic reply, groomed by years of doing whatever he could to get people to not acknowledge his injury. A moment later, that same injury made him regret his words. "Yes," he hissed in reply, feeling ridiculous and ashamed in the admission. He was already sliding down the elevator wall, his brace holding his leg too straight to truly be bent normally. His pant leg was soon stretched taut over the metal structure, and try as he might to slow his fall, his left leg at least gave him some kind of grace with which to catch himself before his ass hit the elevator floor. Too late, Daniel tried to reach out and assist him.
"Of all the fucking days," he swore under his breath, rubbing one hand over his face as an excuse to not look up and at Daniel.
Daniel chewed the inside of his lip, for once considering his words as he pressed the emergency call button again. Then he moved just in front of Chris, looking down to him, hands in his pockets and a sheepish look on his face. He wanted to help, but didn't know what help looked like in this particular instance, to this particular person. It left him feeling oddly ill at ease. "What do you need?" he asked. "Is there something I can do? Other than keep banging on this button." He looked at the panel again. The only other option was a red emergency stop button: useless. So he pressed the call button again, holding it until Chris responded.
Chris let his hand linger over his face for a moment as he composed himself. Then he put both hands to the floor, sliding backward a little until he was in a slightly more comfortable position.
"If you can jedi open those doors or something, that's about all I can think of right now. Unless you've got a pillow." Fuck, this is embarrassing.
"I wish." Daniel glanced around the little car, as though it might have been hiding something soft in its small space. "I mean, I've got this…" He plucked at the collar of his button-up. His motion showed a faint flash of white, a thin tank with a deep neckline; it wasn't much, but he wouldn't be half-naked in relative public. "It's not a pillow, but it'd be better than your ass on the floor, I think."
Chris was slow to accept Daniel's offer; for one, the shirt wasn't going to add much cushion, and the other part of him, the one that gave a shit about taking care of expensive material goods for their own longevity, blanched at the idea of using the shirt for his ass. But it seemed ruder to not accept the gesture, so he did. He only slightly frowned as he bunched up the shirt and lifted himself high enough with his good leg to shove it underneath his seat.
"Thanks," he offered. He glanced up at Daniel, then back down, then up again. "Maybe sit? We're obviously not going anywhere anytime soon, and you're making me feel like a pleb by having to look up to look you in the eye."
Daniel chuckled. "Well I definitely don't want that." After one more press of the call button, he lowered himself to sit, crossing his legs beneath him. A thin silver chain dangled down toward the neckline of his tank; it winked in the low light as he shifted and settled in. "So where were you off to, before this? You said 'of all days', I'm just curious. You got a house showing or something?"
If only. "Something like that." It never looked good to be late for a buy, and Chris was tense just waiting for his phone to start buzzing. He didn't want to take a phone call from anyone, either from the vapid coworkers his father had saddled him with or a customer, inside of an elevator in front of this man. Daniel's calm demeanor, however, did seem to be rubbing off on him, and Chris slipped his phone out of his pocket for a moment as though checking it for messages. He quietly turned it off, willing to deal with the consequences later. "Just going to have to reschedule things later. And yourself? Off to put your steel-toed boot in someone's ass?"
"Nah. Today's the velvet glove. Supposed to meet a newish parolee, start talking about job hunting, interview skills, that kinda thing. He'll understand, though. I'll take him out to dinner or something to make it up to him." He tipped his chin toward the phone Chris had procured, his eyes on the dark screen. "Any service in here? Maybe we can call the front desk."
"Nada. What about you? Could always pull up Netflix on that thing and make good on your offer." Chris's brows rose, his sarcastic remark implying that he wasn't entirely talking about the streaming service.
"Oh yeah?" Daniel's grin flashed broad and quick. He shifted again, sliding a slim phone -- its screen cracked, held in place by the clearly too-late addition of a shatterproof case -- from his back pocket. There was no service at all, as he had expected, but he thumbed through a few menus all the same. "Not exactly, but I may have downloaded some stuff." He rose to a crouch, moving over to sit beside Chris rather than across. The screen went black, then opened on what appeared to be a gold-tinged dream sequence. "Ever seen this? The absolute best kinda trash."
Chris's brows climbed his forehead in judgement, but he decided to let Daniel try to convert him. The opening song was a little too soft for his tastes, though it did remind him of the corridos his abuela enjoyed, and he hoped the nursing staff were letting her play them. He jerked his mind away from his family, instead repositioning himself for more comfortable viewing, not at all unnoticing the other man's closer proximity. Whatever kind of aftershave Daniel was using, he liked it.
"You're the last person I'd expect to be into period dramas," he finally replied once the costumed actors filed out. His lip curled at the long hair on so many of the men -- it was a touch too woman-ish for his tastes, but then again, the thing was set in France of all places.
"Thank Game of Thrones for that," Daniel said. "Who knew there was so much fucking in these things? It's all blood and dick and tits. You'll see. My teenage self would've kicked a puppy for this." He settled in closer, peering at the damaged screen. An overhead light cast a glare across the broken seam; he leaned over, drawing nearer to Chris, presumably for a clearer and less obstructed view. He moved the phone a bit, propping it slightly up on his knee where it pressed to Chris's leg.
Chris didn't move away, for the moment fine with the close proximity of Daniel's voice and body. His attention, however, was on the phone, his brow furrowed as he processed what he was seeing. The straight sex scene between this "Louis" and the woman with the white afro did little to titillate him.
"Is that it? That one scene? Mierda there's more porn in my abuela's telenovelas." Just as he spoke the camera panned into a blond obviously in the middle of oral, and Chris's brows shot up as the giver was revealed to be a man. "Christ, could they look more like women? Did they not have scissors back then?"
Daniel laughed. He cut a look to Chris, his gaze flicking over his dark, scruffy features. His impish grin reflected in his eyes. "You'd have worn all the same shit if you were there," he said. "You're fashionable now, why wouldn't you have been then? I bet you'd look good with long hair. I know I would. Already did that once before."
"Ugh," was his only reply, disliking the idea of long hair not only for how it looked (modern sensibilities or not), but at the idea of how much longer he'd have to spend in the bathroom attending to it. His close-cropped hair and beard didn't just look good, it was sensible. "I doubt I would've been there. My family's from Mexico, so if anything, I at least would've been Spanish. And you would've been...wherever your ancestors came from." He left that slightly racist remark where it lay, turning the conversation and focus back to the show.
"So which is there more of in this show? Gay or straight? Because that says a lot more about you than it does about the show if that's what you're into." He kept his voice level as he asked, not at all attempting to imply anything though the implication was there all the same.
"There's plenty of both," Daniel said, "and don't be an ass. It says more about you that you're getting your panties in a bunch about it." He was still watching Chris as he leaned back against the elevator's wall. His smile had not dissipated, but there was something hungry in it now, something almost predatory. Like a dog with a bone, he would not let that small comment go. "You're too young to be a prude. And too hot. You're really closing yourself off to a lot." He waved a hand, dismissing the defense he already suspected would come. "And don't give me that traditional family spiel either. My dad's a preacher. Doesn't mean I drank the Kool Aid."
Chris solely grunted in reply, though his eyes did not leave the screen. After a minute, his gaze shifted to Daniel's face, which was suddenly all too close.
"Thanks for informing me of how I should and shouldn't feel. You give the same spiel to your transitionees? Take part in the process, but make sure you adhere to just this one viewpoint? For someone so liberal, you sure aren't very accepting of other people's ideas." He shifted in place. "And I never said I have a problem with gay people. I am gay, I just don't go around waving a rainbow flag everywhere. Do you think everyone should be outed against their will?"
Daniel's dark eyes snapped wide, his smile broadening in the same motion. "'Course not," he said. "Damn, dude. You do know how to throw a man off his game." He chuckled. "I apologize. Okay? But you gotta admit, you did sound a little like you were bagging on gay folks. And yeah, I do tell my clients not to be that way. Not in front of me. Preferably not anywhere."
Chris offered a shrug in reply. "I don't give a shit that they're sucking each other's cocks, I'm saying I don't like their hair. I don't know what's more gayer than that." Daniel laughed aloud at that. He crossed his arms over his chest, then unwound them again to reposition himself as he felt his ass starting to fall asleep; on top of that, his leg did not enjoy the fact that it was still caged. The brace was making sitting in this position uncomfortable.
"This is also the worst possible viewing experience for this sort of thing, but it is taking my mind off of everything else. Where the fuck is the fire department?" Part of him itched to reach for his phone, but a larger part of him was all too willing to prevent that smaller part in favor of not seeing the various messages he was sure were stacking up. "I am lodging the biggest complaint up management's ass when we get out of here."
"You and me both," Daniel said. "If this is gonna be a regular occurrence they need to at least get this thing WiFi-enabled. But listen. The fire department will be here any minute. The elevator's been stuck too long for somebody to not have noticed. Just stay cool til they get here, right?" He lifted his knee against Chris's, faintly jostling the phone balanced there. Not enough, of course, to disrupt the racy images currently lighting up the screen. "I'll happily keep you distracted in the meantime."
Chris wanted to bite back, tell that to my fucking bullet wound, but he kept his thoughts on that particular subject to himself. Before he realized it, he was leaning against Daniel's side, which was far more comfortable than leaning against the elevator wall.
"So am I assuming correctly that you're gay too, or are you just really comfortable with everything that's happening right now?"
"Bi," he answered. "And also extremely comfortable with what's happening."
It seemed impossible for Daniel to keep from testing every boundary the moment it was put up. His arm slipped around Chris, a move easily explained away by simple comfort, given the other man's slow encroaching and subsequent lean. But his fingers pressed too insistent to be so easily written off, tracing the hard line of a rib and the taut muscle beneath. Chris stiffened, feeling Daniel's adventurous fingers, before relaxing and settling more firmly into the other man's embrace. For a moment, it seemed like they were removed from the rest of the world, and if only his leg didn't ache, he might have made more of the situation.
But he was fine with things as they were. Part of him wondered how far Daniel would try to go, especially with a stranger.
"So what got you into this show to begin with?"
"The trailer came up on Netflix," he said. "One of those auto-play deals. I didn't think much of it til I saw all these totally pearl-clutching, scandalized reviews about it. Sounded too good to pass up." His hand raised enough to gesture vaguely toward the screen, almost instantly lowering to the warmth of Chris's side again. "Then I saw the torturer guy, Fabien? And c'mon." His head canted to look at Chris. He smiled again, his lips a single small motion from a tousle of dark hair and the soft plane of Chris's temple. "I wasn't about to turn that off."
A low grunt was Chris's reply, though his rapt attention on the figure Daniel had pointed out spoke to his interest. Whether it was his own or the fact that Daniel had spoken so highly of him was debatable. "I'd definitely be more interested in his job than anything else anyone is doing. At least he's doing something." A small note of bitterness permeated his words. His head turned, looking at Daniel, his stomach dropping out at how close he was, how good he smelled, the fact that he was being touched after such a long time. It took only tipping his head forward to close that small distance between them, to bring his lips to Daniel's. He'd said he was comfortable, after all. And Chris had never been poor at taking things he wanted.
Daniel's hand tightened around Chris's hip. His tongue traced the seam of the other man's mouth; he pushed, tentative at first, then more insistent when Chris did not immediately draw away. He sighed at the taste of him, delving deeper, wanting more. His free hand moved to the stubbled line of Chris's jaw. His shoulders rolled to slide him subtly up against the elevator's wall, gingerly pulling Chris closer with the motion.
Chris pressed his mouth harder against Daniel's, greedily drinking up the taste of the other man. His arms parted to wrap around Daniel's waist, holding himself aloft with the grip as each hand took a bundle of shirt. As far as distractions went, this one was a knock-out; Chris had all but forgotten the ache in his leg, the fact that he was sitting on the elevator floor and essentially making out with a complete stranger whom he'd just met. Not that he hadn't pulled such shenanigans before; that's what clubs were for, but this ran the risk of complacency. Normally, he didn't shit where he ate, but the situation was different.
His tongue thrust into Daniel's mouth, inviting the other man's out to play, tracing teeth and gums and deeper. Daniel opened his mouth to him, sliding his tongue beneath Chris's own. He shifted again, and the phone clattered to the floor. Distant, muffled moans drifted to them from the tiny speakers, but were soon drowned out by Daniel's own voice.
His hand fitted to Chris's jaw, holding him in place as their tongues slid together again. At Chris's side, short nails dug into cloth, hitching up his shirt, seeking bare skin. His hips shifted, his stirring arousal faintly outlined beneath the dark cloth of his jeans. His eyes opened, slow and heavy-lidded, as he drew Chris's lower lip between his teeth.
Chris moaned with the movement, his head jerked back only slightly to make that small stretch of flesh taut in Daniel's mouth. Then he freed himself, his mouth tracing a line away from Daniel's lips and over the man's jaw. His hands pushed Daniel's shirt up, fingers pressing into the man's backside and lower, over his lower back and along the edges of his pants. If there was any notice of the sound of scraping, of metal on metal implying some sort of rescue, it was completely lost on the two men trapped within the elevator.
Daniel's attention was entirely elsewhere. His throat was arched to Chris's teeth, his hips raised to accommodate his hungry touch. "Jesus," he moaned.
Then a sharp crack sounded the elevator doors being forced apart. Daniel started, but did not pull away, did not so much as loosen his hold on Chris's hip. His head lolling against the elevator wall, he watched, detached, as a head -- bald, gleaming, and adorned with flawless makeup -- peeked in through the widening gap. A smile that was not entirely pleasant followed soon after.
"There's two gentlemen in here," Stephan Waters, the outrageously tardy and now entirely unwanted concierge, called out. "Hurry. I'm not sure how long they've been trapped." He stepped aside and the gap widened further, pushed open by two firefighters wielding heavy tools.
Chris pushed Daniel away almost immediately, his face reddening with the sudden appearance of multiple outside parties. He vaguely recognized the first man from the handful of viewings he'd done of the apartment complex before renting. The firefighters were, of course, a completely new entity, and handling the situation was going to be something else. He grabbed onto Daniel's wrist.
"Help me stand up," he hissed, hoping the man would act more on his sympathy instead of any frustration the interruption had abruptly caused.
"Yeah, of course…" Daniel took his hand, giving it the faintest squeeze as he stood. Slowly he guided Chris up from the floor, while beside them the doors were pried fully open. The firefighters flanked their only exit; Stephan stood just behind them, neatly framed by the uniformed men. Daniel leaned down and retrieved his shirt and phone.
Chris did his best to subtly stretch out his leg without making the brace beneath his pant leg too obvious, but the damage was clearly done. Once the elevator doors were open wide enough, he limped his way forward into the lobby, casting a glare in Stephan's direction.
"Took you long enough. I assume this is going to be addressed, since we've already signed our leases?"
Stephan's grin was wolfish, a sharp thing framed in Kat Von D's Hellbent red. Golden chandelier earrings sparkled and clinked like wind chimes when he nodded. "Oh, it most certainly will be," he said. His eyes glinted, too bright, as they flicked from one man to another.
"Just get Wi-Fi in there or somethin'," Daniel said. He strode smoothly past the firefighters, shrugging into his thoroughly wrinkled shirt. He left it hanging open, embracing the rumpled look he now could not avoid. He fell into step not a pace behind Chris. He spoke only when Stephan turned away from them, his attention on the firefighters and the repairs now required.
"Hey, so… about all that."
"About what?" Chris rolled his shoulders, straightening his spine and meeting Daniel's height inch for inch, or nearly. Without waiting for the other man's reply, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and turned it back on. His brow furrowed as a number of messages crossed the screen, a mixture of texts and voicemails, all from the same group of people he'd been expecting. He glanced back up at Daniel, expressing none of the shallow warmth or friendship that they'd kindled momentarily in the elevator.
"Guess I'll be seeing you around, neighbor." The reply was gruff, and Chris turned on his heel to head out the door toward his appointment, doing what he could to move without emphasizing his limp.
Daniel blinked, as stunned as if he'd been struck; perhaps more. "Are you fuckin' serious?" he called, making no effort at all to modulate his tone. "Really?" He folded his arms across his chest. He might have followed after him. He could have easily caught up. But pride and anger overcame him, and instead he merely swore again, and rolled his eyes as he stamped off toward a side door and out to face the day.