Entry tags:

freyr, loki

take your time again
Who: Rafe & Nish
What: Rafe gets some fresh air, and some help breaking his lease.
Where: Santa Anita Park
When: Sunday, July 2nd, 6 p.m., and Monday, July 3rd
Notes: Complete!


The 626 Night Market had long been a staple of Rafael's summers in Newport Beach. In many ways it reminded him of festivals back home, of crooked alleyways filled with loud music, raucous crowds, and the heady smells of a thousand freshly prepared dishes. His was but one face among thousands, unrecognizable, unnoticeable, easily passed over. That he had come alone meant he could easily wend his way through the thick mass of people, stopping at vendors' booths and food stalls as he wished, sampling wares and making small purchases as the mood struck him. In this way he killed the nearly two hours that stood between his arrival and his appointed meeting-time with Nish.

As six o'clock drew near Rafael still lingered by a small plant stall, perusing a selection of succulents and air plants. He was lost in thought, considering whether or not Alice would care for such a thing, and if a gift of one might aid Isobel in recovering some of her memories. His tanned fingertips had scarcely brushed the edge of one thin-walled, suspended globe before he realized the time. He chewed his lip and fished through one deep pocket, withdrawing his mobile phone. Nish's number was still there, and he looked at it for one long moment before opening it to compose his message.

@ booth d40, he sent. I'm sorry, I got distracted. (:

Nish looked down at her phone and smirked. Me too, I’ll head over now. she sent back. She’d gotten distracted by the Art Walk, admiring the various pieces and chatting with local artists. She reluctantly moved on, but as she headed over to where Rafe was she was taken in by the smells of food and reminded that she hadn’t had dinner yet. A lemonade and cup of popcorn chicken in hand, she found her way through the various stalls to where Rafe was looking over various succulents. She smiled, pleasantly reminded of Thomas who had kindly brought her one a few weeks ago when she was nursing her broken heart with copious amounts of ice cream.

“It’s the only plant I haven’t managed to kill yet,” she commented behind him, smiling happily at him. “Bear even leaves it alone.”

Rafael turned, smiling as he watched her approach. "Good," he said. "Maybe that means I could keep one alive." He tipped his head toward one spiky plant, a riot of blazing reds and yellows. Its colors were no match for the betta he had lost, and it certainly had less personality, but something about it drew Rafael all the same. Surely Alice would be pleased with this one small addition to her space. "They call this one Campfire Crassula. It's pretty, isn't it."

She smiled down at it. “It's beautiful. Mine looks more like flowers, pink and green, but this seems more you.”

He slid his hands into his pockets. He was sober, for once, and it showed on his face. Shadows pooled like ink beneath his eyes, but the play of the lights around them blessedly kept this from being too obvious. He could feel them like bruises. He cleared his throat and willed a smile to his lips. "Thank you for meeting me. I wasn't sure who else to call."

She had noticed the slight dark circles under his eyes, but thought it was nothing more than the result of a sleepless night. Last night had been a strange one for her too; weird sounds jolting her awake, but when she turned on the lamp there was nothing there.

“Ahh, I need to get out more,” she said with a dismissive wave. “‘All work and no play’ and all that.” Looking back on it, he last two weeks felt like a gauntlet she'd finally managed to finish. The dark cloud that had been following her around seemed to have finally dissipated, and now she felt lighter than she had in weeks.

“You wanna get something to eat? There's literally everything to choose from,” she said, offering him her popcorn chicken if he wanted some, but not before she tossed one in her mouth.

"Oh I know," Rafael said, chuckling quietly. "I think I've stopped at almost every stall between the entrance and here. Did you try the mochi waffle a few stalls down? It's really good.” She shook her head, her good humour showing, though she didn’t interrupt. “I was thinking about trying the macarons over there next, though…" As they walked, Rafael reached for safe topics of conversation. He latched onto her subtle suggestion. "So… how's work, then?"

She nodded and swallowed the piece of chicken in her mouth. “Good I guess, as much as defending criminals can be called ‘good’,” she added with a smirk. “I’m finally able to be a bit more choosy with who I take on as clients though, so that’s a plus.” She paused, hesitating before saying it, though it was the logical next question. “What about you?” she asked carefully, watching his face to gauge his reaction. “How are you doing?” She was asking as a friend, not to be nosy. She’d been worried about him, and frustrated at their new distance when he was clearly in need of someone to talk to. She hoped he had that, but she was also slightly jealous that that person wasn’t her.

True to form, Rafael smiled and shrugged as though everything was perfectly normal, only the slightest hesitation in each motion betraying the truth. "Oh, you know," he said, although very few could possibly begin to. "I'm taking some time off work. Trying to figure out what to do about the apartment, answer whatever other questions the police have, that kind of thing. I thought I wanted to move completely out of Pax, but… maybe just a different floor." He cut her a sidelong look, hoping she would not ask too many uncomfortable questions. "Maybe the eighth? Do you think that's doable?"

She nodded slowly, though the uncomfortable feeling that popped up when he mentioned leaving Pax hadn’t yet dissipated. “If that’s what you want,” she said carefully. “We can definitely ask for that; they might be more likely to agree if you’ll still be paying rent, just on a different unit. The eighth floor is more expensive, but I’ll try to negotiate cheaper rent for you...at least the same as what you’re paying now.” She took a sip of her lemonade and then looked over at him. He nodded, pausing at the end of a line for stand selling kebabs.

“The main point I want to make when we sit down with them is that none of this was your fault; you’re a victim of circumstance, and because of the….trauma of what happened, you feel you can no longer live there. The fact that you still want to stay in the building is a point in your favour...it gives us something to negotiate towards. If we say you want to leave, they’ll most likely offer you a better place so that you’ll keep paying rent, even if it’s on a larger place.” She paused, watching his face to gauge his reaction, “but of course, if you want to try a different angle, we can do that too.” She didn’t want him to feel as if she was dictating the way things would happen, but she also wanted to give him his best chance of getting what he wanted out of this.

Again Rafe nodded. Some of the color had drained from his face as worry began to overtake him; the very thought of re-entering that first floor apartment mortified him. Abel's violation alone was enough to elicit that reaction, and Chad's grisly death only exacerbated it. He shuddered, and hoped that small slip would be unnoticed in the relative dark.

"I can pay more," he said. "I'd rather not, but I can. And I can't be there anymore. Not that floor. If… if you think there's a better way to handle it I will, but I have to get out of there."

Nish shook her head and took a step when the line moved up. “You shouldn’t have to. This wasn’t your fault, so you shouldn’t be penalised with higher rent.” She popped another piece of chicken in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “We’ll see what their position is first, lay out our case, and then ask them to make an offer. I’d like to say ‘I’m sure they’ll be reasonable’, but...I don’t know. That guy is hard to read.” She had thought at first that Stephan was a pretty easy going guy, but lately...it seemed to her that ever since the building had changed that week, he’s been more mysterious, harder to judge. Or maybe it was just that her perception of him had changed.

Rafael nodded. Stephan had been genial enough to him, but it had not passed beneath his notice that the concierge always seemed to be missing at the most inopportune times. He had expressed concern and neighborly feeling enough after what had happened in Rafe's apartment, but at no time had he ever offered anything like a real solution. Rafe frowned to think on it. But rather than focus overlong on this, he turned to Nish instead, well aware that she had no real reason to provide this help to him.

"Thank you, Nish," he said. "I really appreciate this. And I'll pay you for your time, I promise. I don't want you to feel like I'm some charity case, or… like you're obligated, or something."

She immediately shook her head. “Don't even try. You're a friend. Your money is no good to me.” She paused and then looked ahead of them to what else the stall was selling and her brows rose. “Or wait...buy me one of those and we'll call it even,” she said with a smirk, pointing at a display of rainbow cotton candy for $2 each.

Rafe chuckled, and they drew a few steps nearer to the cashier. "If you insist," he said. "But if you change your mind let me know. I wouldn't want to take advantage of anyone, and especially not a friend." He couldn't help but smile. That she still considered him so was a blessing; the circumstances of their breakup had been far from ideal, and even now he felt a lingering guilt over that. So when they arrived at the counter, he did not hesitate in placing his strange order of lamb kebab and cotton candy, handing Nish her portion of the order the moment they exited the line. He blew on the still steaming meat, glancing sidelong to her as they took up their ambling walk once more.

Nish knew she wouldn’t change her mind. The fact that he’d acknowledged her friendship and not rejected it made her happier than she’d been in a while, and she didn’t want to do anything that would make things awkward between them. She’d had a lot of time to think after he’d broken it off with her, and she realized that what she missed the most was just being around him. His mere presence in her life was comforting, and it might be completely selfish motivations on her part, but she missed the way he made her feel. Jen knew how she felt about him, and she was supportive of her still somewhat carrying a torch for him, but she also knew that right now she was wholly hers, without either of them outright defining their ‘relationship’ beyond ‘she’s my girlfriend’.

"So… when do you want to try to talk to Stephan? I don't want to rush things, but I'd rather take care of it sooner than later."

She smiled and accepted the mound of spun sugar from him, tearing a piece off and happily popping it in her mouth. “I’ll get in touch with him today and see when he’s available for a meeting. I’m sure getting him away from that desk might be a challenge,” she added with a smirk, “but I’m sure he’ll want to discuss this in a more private setting. She looked over at him. “Are there any days that you’re not available?”

Rafe shook his head. He waited to reply until he had swallowed his current, still piping-hot bite. "Not at all," he said. "Just say when, and I'll be there."

---

---

Rafael had dressed for the occasion: white button-up, pressed khakis, broken-in but pristine dock shoes. He brushed a hand down his front, self conscious for no reason, and stepped out into the lobby from the opening elevator doors. He lingered in the little foyer in front of the elevator, waiting patiently for his advocate and confidante.

Nish had also dressed for the meeting, wearing one of her outfits she wore to court. A navy jacket and matching pencil skirt paired with a cream blouse. Heels, even though she didn’t need them, would give the subtle impression that she was slightly more intimidating than usual.

She met Rafe in the lobby and gave him a smile, though it would probably be the last one for a while. Game face - she had to put on the expression of a no-nonsense lawyer who would do anything to get justice for her client. It was rare that she acted for a plaintiff, but did occasionally she wear that hat. “Ready?” she asked him, assessing his emotional state. She’d had clients who were so nervous they needed a pep talk before even walking in the room, but Rafe didn’t seem to be one of them. “I don’t want you to talk; even if he asks you a direct question. I’ll answer, or I’ll let you know that it’s okay for you to answer, okay?”

He nodded, already slipping into his role. He followed along behind her, and as they drew near to Stephan's desk, Rafe felt his expression softening into something almost apologetic. He tried and failed to steel his resolve; the thought of the mess in his apartment, of the atrocities that had occurred there, helped somewhat.

Stephan looked up from a thick hardback, his pink-painted nails an admittedly attractive contrast to the green and blue swirled dust jacket. He peered at them, lashes fluttering, though the gleam in his eye betrayed more awareness of the situation than he cared to let on.

"And what," he asked, "may I help you with?"

Nish wasn’t fazed by this feigned ignorance on his part. “My client and I had an appointment to speak with the building management,” she stated, as if he didn’t already know. “My understanding was that we would be speaking with you,” she said, though part of her was curious if there was anyone else. Surely Stephan had a boss somewhere? Should they not be involved with these talks, rather than the...doorman? But as far as she knew, he was the only ‘representative’ of the building management any of them had ever seen which, now that she thought about it, was strange in itself.

"An appointment," Stephan repeated, incredulous. "Well let me see…" All too slowly he set the book aside. His nails clicked softly as he reached into a nearby drawer, withdrawing a pair of half-moon reading glasses affixed to a beaded chain. With great care he settled these on the bridge of his slender nose, looking back over to the tenants only after this was done. "I can take care of that, Miss Bariss. What is it you and Mr. Atala need?"

Nish bristled at Stephan’s condescending tone and his use of ‘Miss’, as if she was twelve years old, but forced her reaction away from her expression, keeping it cool and neutral. “This was already arranged when I called yesterday,” she insisted, “We are here to discuss Mr. Atala’s lease, but this is not the proper setting for disclosing details,” she said, glancing around the lobby which was fortunately quite empty at the moment. At any time, other residents could come through the front door and overhear confidential information. However, that might actually work in her favour for the moment.

“Unless you would like other tenants to overhear about your deplorable treatment of Mr. Atala after the unfortunate incident that occurred in his apartment at no fault of his own,” she added, not bothering to lower her voice. She was exaggerating a little; the management wasn’t responsible for anything that happened inside a rented unit, nor were they obligated to automatically offer any kind of compensation because of what happened, but if it was enough to get him out of his chair and into a meeting room, it was worth it.

Rafael shifted uncomfortably behind her, made thoroughly anxious by the combative turn the conversation seemed ready to take. A small frown began to turn down one corner of his mouth, but he quickly schooled it away when he noticed Stephan's gaze lowered at him. The concierge seemed to consider him for a moment. Then his piercing gaze was drawn back to Rafael's acting representation.

"It is management's opinion," Stephan said, "that we have been nothing if not accommodating and understanding toward Mr. Atala's situation. We're allowing him residence another tenant, though his name is not on her lease. He still pays his own rent—lower than his current, ah, roommate's, I might add—and enjoys all the complex's amenities. So how, precisely, have we treated him deplorably?"

Rafe winced. He pressed a hand to Nish's arm, leaning forward to whisper to her. "He's probably right," he said. "It's okay, we can just go…"

Nish leant into Rafe to hear what he said and then subtly shook her head, her hand grasping his briefly below the concierge's desk in what she hoped was an encouraging squeeze before letting him go. “My client suffered a major trauma on your property, which resulted in lasting psychological effects,” she reminded him, not bothering to lower her voice since he seemed adamant that he didn’t want to budge from the front desk. “He had to move to a friend’s unit in order to mitigate the damaging effects that trauma had on his mental health. Whether or not you ‘allowed’ it is irrelevant; he is still paying rent on his unit, even though he cannot make use of it.

“According to State law, you are obligated to allow him to break his lease if continuing to reside in his rented unit has become intolerable due to post-traumatic stress. At no penalty,” she added, before he could rattle off the exorbitant fee for breaking a lease early. If Stephan pressed the issue and they ended up in court over this, they might lose; that law was intended for victims of domestic abuse, though in her opinion, this was still within the spirit of the law, if not the letter.

Stephan's painted mouth pursed to a thin, bloody line. "And I suppose you have paperwork from a licensed psychiatrist or psychologist, verifying that Mr. Atala does indeed have PTSD?" He arched a drawn brow over Nish's shoulder, back to the man spoken of but not to. "Well, Mr. Atala? Do you?"


Again Rafael shifted on his feet, one to another, visibly uncomfortable. "I…"

“We can provide that paperwork if and when it is subpoenaed by the courts, if you choose to let this go that far,” Nish answered firmly. He wouldn’t be getting anything from them right now; as far as she knew he was just a bottom-rung employee in the building, and would only provide evidence to the building’s management or their attorneys, not some...lackey. But she was gambling that he didn’t want it to go that far, because she certainly didn’t.

“We can make things very uncomfortable for you and your employers,” she continued, playing hardball in order to have somewhere to dial back from to get what they wanted. “There have been a lot of questionable events that have happened in the building, which we have witnesses willing to attest to,” she bluffed. “I don’t think anyone here wants the police or the health department scouring the building, do you?” she asked. “All we want is for Mr. Atala’s current lease to be transferred to a different unit on a different floor, preferably several floors away from his current unit,” she said. After her thinly veiled threat of legal action, the request sounded downright reasonable.

But Stephan's lips remained tightly drawn. He rose up to his full, not particularly impressive height, crossing his arms across the brightly patterned kimono that folded across his chest. "Do you have witnesses? Photographic or video evidence of whatever wild claims you plan to make? I don't believe you do, Miss Bariss.

"Further, we are inspected, quite regularly." Here he dropped his hands with a flourish and a flapping of cloth. From a drawer he withdrew a slim binder, holding it up where the pair of them could see. "We pass with flying colors, every single time. So if you have another card to play I suggest you do so."

“It’s very easy to pass a planned inspection,” Nish said evenly, a hint of derision in her voice, “not so much for one that is unannounced.” She knew full well there was no evidence of the floor changes or any of the other strange happenings in the building, but the fact that he pointed that out indicated he may be involved in that lack of evidence, and that they definitely had something to hide. “And several sworn Affidavits of witness is often all a judge needs, at least for a search warrant,” she countered. The type of accusations they were discussing might require more than that for any judge worth their salt, but Stephan didn’t need to know that.

She let that sit for a second and then shrugged, as it it made no difference to her. “Well, if you aren’t willing to be reasonable, I’ll draft a Cause of Action this afternoon. Should I address it to your attention?”

Stephan's jaw tightened. His gaze flicked from Nish to Rafe, a look that cut sharp as a knife. It took Rafe a moment to collect himself, but he managed to straighten his shoulders and return that hard look—or at least an approximation of it. That small sign of backbone appeared to be what Stephan was waiting for. He uncrossed his arms, shaking his head, his expression softening to something just shy of welcoming.

"Very well," he said, a bit wearily. "I'll get the paperwork together. If Mr. Atala could return later this evening, say around four-thirty, I'll have the documents and a list of available units ready." He looked back to Nish. "Is that acceptable?"

Nish finally turned to look at Rafe to see what he thought of this, the silent question in her eyes, and then nodded to him. “Yes, that is acceptable. We will see you at four thirty,” she said, emphasising that she would also come with Rafe. She didn’t want to know what Stephan might try to talk him into if she wasn’t there. Her presence would ensure that Stephan would stick to what he’d agreed to, and not try and take advantage of Rafe while he was vulnerable.

Rafael nodded. He very nearly smiled. His posture relaxed as he slid his hands into his pockets. "Thank you," he said, his gaze directing his gratitude toward both Nish and Stephan.

Nish wanted to smile at the relief in Rafe’s voice, but forced herself not to, not until she nodded to Stephan and stepped away, pulling Rafe with her away from the concierge's desk and out of earshot. “I’ll meet you here later; I don’t want you alone with him until you have a new lease signed and he gives you a copy.” It’s not that she didn’t trust Stephan, it’s that she didn’t trust Stephan.

Now that the tense negotiation was over, she allowed a smile for him. “Also...that cotton candy was only my retainer,” she said, a hint of playfulness in her eyes. “The new season of Game of Thrones is starting in two weeks. You can cook me dinner,” she said with a smirk.

Chuckling, Rafael averted his eyes, more self conscious about this suggestion than he cared to admit. But he nodded, smiling softly. "Of course," he said. "I'll be there."