Re: In-person: Cris/Sam
[He should be in his blues or in a tie, but he ain't. He's in a camiseta and nylon pants, black with white stripes up the side. He got the bright idea, agitated, angry, and desperately fucking sad, to bring the standing punching bag into the office. He's shoved the chairs in fronta his desk close against faux wood grain to give himself some room. That's where he is when the door opens and Sam spills in, baby wriggling in a scarf tied around her. Sweat stings his eye and the air in the lil room is close, like a locker room.
Cris pulls off one black glove and tosses it, then the other. They both bounce to the floor. His arms and shoulders glisten. His shirt is wet, sticking to his chest and under his arms. He waves her in.] Ven, mami. [It's hard to tell if he's been crying or not, huh? With all the sweat. Maybe his face and eyes are just red from exertion. He prolly shouldn't be standing on his knee, but he is anyway. Using the backa the nearest chair, he guides himself closer to Sam, 'til they're close. He leans his hand on the door behind her, closing it as his chest bumps into hers (and Joey). He looks at her long. She knows him good enough to read the raw unsteadiness in his eyes, prolly. He thinks she looks flustered.] It's okay, huh? [He don't clarify more than that.]