Re: Trailer Park: Brett T & Cris M
Nah, Cris wasn't trying to cow nobody. It wasn't intentional. It wasn't even habit, and it wasn't an act, the way he stood. 'Cause under the brandinga 'city cop,' came 'barrio banger.' And that was how he existed. He was a guy who took up space, like maybe the world told him too many times when he was a kid, that a kid with his skin color, with his background, didn't deserve a place in the world as it was, and in response, he took up as much of it as he could. He sat the same, sprawl and knees wide, chairs wedged under his thigh and a foot planted where your ass was s'posed to go. Cris just took up space. He got real stubborn about it. It wasn't no different here, but maybe he shoulda thought about that, about it coming off as some kinda alpha thing, dominance, with a guy who'd fallen from the force. But, he didn't—not now. (Though he was awarea the subtle reflection, he thought nothing of it.)
He tipped back the brimma his hat with his index finger to black, and he considered Brett Trent. Still, if he read things in his inspection, he didn't mouth 'em, that was for sure. He was prepared to go too, but then the guy shook his head and Cris' gaze followed the other man's down siding and into the park at large.—Everything seemed quiet now and he took a moment to weigh whether his attention was still needed, huh? Maybe he'd just have a look around.
"No ideas, huh? What'd it sound like? It was outta the usual enough for you to notice on a Saturday night. It musta been distinct, or maybe just loud." He didn't smile, but there was amusement in his voice. There came a pause and Cris held out his hand. "Martin, by the way. Cris Martin." This guy mighta had his hands dirty in something, but as far as Cris could tell? Everybody in this damn town did. You get kicked, you prolly just crossed the wrong people who were paying the right people. Either way, he liked to form his own opinions and there was a helluva lot to read in a handshake.