terribly sorry, officer (baelfiery) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-06-01 20:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, jonathan murphy, neal cassidy (baelfire) |
Who: Nealfire & Murphy
What: Giving the newest hellion a tour
When: Recent!
Where: The Jean Grey Outreach Center aka The Ranch
Rating/Warnings: Pretty low
Status: Complete
Murphy wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t been placed with another family after his last one. Apparently setting fire to someone’s garage and then getting sent to juvie for nine months made it so that most people didn’t want to take him in. Murphy didn’t care much though. Frankly, he was sick of being shuffled from home to home. He didn’t know how long this ranch place would keep him, but it was better than being stuck with some foster mom and dad who tried to act like actual parents or mentors or whatever weird kind of satisfaction they got from taking in strays. Part of him hoped he'd end up staying at the Ranch at least until he turned eighteen. He was tired of moving around every few months, and it wasn't like he had a ton of time to go before he was on his own. The rest of him really had no desire to stick around this place that smelled like animals. Lose lose situation. “We'll be checking in often,” his probation officer said. He'd just shown Murphy to his new room, and Murphy was now unpacking the one duffle bag he had brought with him - everything he owned. “So be good. We don't want to have to arrest you again.” Murphy kept his mouth shut, and instead busied himself with putting his clothes in his drawers. The probation officer waited another couple of moments in the doorway, as if the idiot was waiting for Murphy to ask him some questions or whatever, before the man finally left. “He's all yours,” he told Neal as he passed him in the hallway. “Thanks,” Neal remarked casually, as the probation officer left - though what the fuck, be good? They had some younger kids here, varying in ages, but this new one was obviously on the older end of the spectrum. A very difficult age of seventeen - not yet an adult, yet not really a child either. Even the kids who resided at the ranch and were on the younger side, they were jaded and had been forced to grow up way too quickly - they never got a chance to actually be kids - so Neal made a point to not talk to them like they were infants. When he was that age, and just as sick and tired of being tossed aside by people who were supposed to give a shit about him, he had never liked being talked down to either. He arrived at the door a few moments latter, rapping knuckles against it briefly, standing in the entranceway. “Hey Murphy, I’m Neal. I just came by to welcome you to the ranch - and I thought maybe I could give you a quick tour if you wanted? Whenever you’re set.” “I’m busy,” Murphy said, a little irritated. Mostly irritated by the fact that, while it was true, it was only true for a couple more seconds while he very slowly placed the last pair of his jeans in his drawer. He waited a couple more seconds before finally turning around. “So you’re Neal?” They’d mentioned him on the drive over here, though Murphy had pretended not to pay any attention. “Right, sorry - take your time.” Neal waited too, probably would have given it a few more seconds before interpreting the back-to-face as ‘fuck off’ and thus would have left the firestarter (yep, Murphy’s file had been read - he wasn’t the first hellion here to set a garage ablaze, believe it or not, and given the circumstances it was actually kind of warranted because any asshole who beat a kid deserved what they got but anyway) to his own devices. But then, once the jeans were set, he turned around - so Neal resumed his stance. “Yeah, that’s me. Started off as a ranch hand but now I run the place. It’s good to meet you,” he added, holding out his hand for a shake. Sometimes they took the offer, sometimes they recoiled - it really just depended. Murphy gave Neal’s hand a considering glance. He could ignore it, which was what he wanted to do. But why make his stay here more difficult than it had to be? Deciding he could at least play nice until he had a better idea of what kind of place this was, he took Neal's hand after only a moment's hesitation. “You mentioned a tour?” “Figured it might be good. You’ll know what’s available and can figure out what you want to do,” Neal replied, with a cant of his head toward the door. “Some really like helping out with the animals, but for others it’s not their cup of tea and they like the indoor stuff - we also have a couple gyms, for martial arts and boxing, things like that.” He headed down the stairs and out of the boys dormitory, hands slung in the pockets of his dusty jeans once they were outside - the views in Trabuco Canyon were pretty great, and Neal tended to find that even those quiet moments in nature helped a lot too; it was soothing and good for the soul, the way that being a part of something was. “So what kind of things are you into? Hobbies?” Murphy listened to what Neal said, though he acted like he didn’t, instead giving his surroundings a bored look. The view was impressive, but wide and empty and Murphy was more comfortable with the hustle and bustle of the city. He didn’t give much indication that he was listening to Neal until he asked the question. His father had started to show him his way around the engine once Murphy was tall enough to look over the hood, but that was a job, not a hobby. He’d also enjoyed wood carving once upon a time. Alex Murphy had started to teach his son the fine art of wood carving before his death, and Murphy had continued practicing until his mother died. But he’d done nothing with it since. “Getting into fights,” Murphy answered, a sardonic smirk crossing his face. “And tagging buildings. I doubt that’ll fly around here though.” Well, except for the fact that apparently they offered martial arts and boxing here, which Murphy hadn’t been expecting. In Juvie he’d heard stories of camps that were basically work camps, said to rehabilitate delinquent youths but designed to break them. This was beginning to look nothing like that, and he could admit to himself, even though he was doing his best not to show it, that this place was beginning to impress him. “Yeah, not so much,” Neal chuckled, a throaty sound. “Well, as for tagging, we’ve got a couple volunteers who teach art though,” he added, motioning to the particular building where it happened - and they were good people, some from the network and some who weren’t. There were a whole variety of classes taught, not just art - but for those who wanted to take the steps to get their GED, the ranch was an ideal place for it. Tutors were available, and also study aides and places where you could just take a book and read. It was quiet, overall - a place to build a new beginning. Neal was a big advocate for that - he believed in giving every troubled kid who came here a chance for a new beginning. “You might be able to go nuts with the walls in there.” All for creative expression, man. All for it. As they walked, he pointed out the gymnasium with the indoor pools - some of the younger kids went for games and coordinated activities like that, but the older more grown-up sports were elsewhere. The kind where you punched things to take out aggression. There were also the outdoor fields for games like soccer and baseball. “Cafeteria’s to your left,” he added, “And then back the other way’s the farm. We’ve got a variety of animals - cattle, horses, even donkeys we’ve rescued. My girlfriend started that program, actually.” Murphy’s gaze followed Neal’s motion despite himself, and he looked at the classroom building. This was all seemed a little too good to be true. There was a catch coming and he knew it. The other teens in juvie had prepared him for the worst, and, inexplicably, he seemed to be have given the best. There had to be some kind of mix-up here. “So what, just take a spray can and go to town on the inside of your classroom building?” he asked. He’d never taken art very seriously - doddling pictures in the margins of his notebooks in school, or sometimes absently sketching when he had nothing better to do, but there really wasn’t a lot to do in lockup and so he’d taken to the pencil then. Now he was being told that he could just drop in on art classes whenever he was bored. “So, we’re not the only strays you take in?” Murphy said, a smile briefly crossing his features at his observation. “You got a lot of them?” “Sure, I mean, why not? If it’s in the art building, then it’s art. It’d be boring to have bare walls in there. At least that’s how I look at it,” Neal responded, and hell, tagging was artistic anyway, wasn’t it? Sort of. It was just that not everyone wanted their building to be adorned with symbols, letters, or whatever else - but as long as the kid wasn’t spraypainting dicks on the walls or kama sutra, then he really didn’t see the harm. “Just maybe keep it to like, a PG-13 level,” he added, with a crooked grin. They reached the wooden fence that enclosed one of the ponds on the property, and it was full of fish - manmade, Neal had actually helped build this one himself - the water all sparkling and clear. “Fair amount - the donkeys were abused burros, or abandoned, but we get them and give them vaccines, a place to graze, trim their hooves, and they’re usually adopted out.” Actually, they were kinda cute - Neal never would have guessed, but the miniature donkeys especially. Come on. It was a little heartwarming. “I’m all about second chances though, for all sorts of strays.” He’d been given one essentially, in this life - so he was determined to not waste a moment of it. “Ruin my fun, why don’t you?” Murphy deadpanned. He wondered if a naked woman riding a rocket could technically be considered ‘PG-13’ and decided it probably could. He’d never done nothing more complicated than simple tags and stencils, but that was more so he wouldn’t get caught. Having permission meant he could get more creative. It seemed beyond strange that there was even such a thing as a donkey rescue. Dogs and cats he could kind of get, but donkeys were work animals, not pets. “Sounds weird,” Murphy muttered. His lips twitched when Neal mentioned second chances, but whether he was smiling because he thought second chances were bullshit and Neal was wasting his time, or because he’d been waiting for a second chance for years now was anyone’s guess. In actuality it was both. “So basically this is some kind of fancy resort for fucked up kids,” Murphy said, taking in the pond. A huge outdoors, swimming lessons for kids, painting the walls, a stable. “I should’ve gotten myself sent to juvie years ago.” “Well, I wouldn’t call you - or anyone else here - fucked up,” Neal amended, leaning against the fence for a moment. “I’ve been where you are, and I know that I really needed a place like this when I was younger. But it’s a good place, and we try to help the ones who come here turn their lives around. The thing about it is that we can only do so much, and the motivation has to come from within, too - so we’ll see how it goes, yeah?” Then he turned back, to start the return walk - they’d made a circle, basically. And he’d gotten to show the newbie where everything was so he had a good idea. Maps were available too, but most found their way pretty quickly, and got on some sort of schedule. “Oh yeah, we’ve got a lot in common, you and I,” Murphy said sarcastically. There hadn’t been anyone in juvie he’d really understood - not that he’d gone very far out of his way to make people understand - and he highly doubted this guy who rescued donkeys with his girlfriend had any idea what it was like to be dealt such a shit hand. “That’s it?” Murphy asked as they started to head back. The place was bigger than Murphy expected, yet he was still a little surprised that it was over. “We do, more than you think. I’ll tell you about it sometime,” Neal promised, and he knew about being dealt a shit hand - both he and his dream self, but the dreams? Yeah, those were a whole other bag of worms. He wouldn’t go over those unless Murphy started to experience them - depended on if he joined the network or not, probably. No one was really sure how it worked. At the mention that being all, well, it wasn’t too complicated - there was a lot of land, really great views, and the kid already knew the probationary in’s and out’s. “You hungry?” Neal asked. “We could take a walk to the cafe nearby. People go after horseback riding sometimes. They have a really great breakfast, if you haven’t eaten yet. And if you have any other questions, feel free to ask.” Oh good. Just what Murphy had always wanted. Stories from old man Neal’s old wild life as a teenager, where he no doubt smoked pot and fucked bitches or whatever it was old people thought made them sound cool. He tried not to roll his eyes, but didn’t quite succeed. “I’m starved,” Murphy admitted. He hadn’t had much time to eat that morning when he was leaving juvie and moving in. It had been a long time since Murphy had had actual restaurant food, and he found his mouth watering at even the thought of it. “How’re their burgers?” The eyeroll was to be expected - he had a teenage son, Neal knew the drill by now. Not to mention the rest of the hellions were pretty heavy-up on eyerolls too. "Pretty good, considering the cows are right here," he quipped - he was teasing, really. But the burgers really were good and sorry, Murphy. You were stuck with uncool grownup Cassidy and his stories - they really weren't so bad though? Maybe one day, the kid might even appreciate them. And the old man would shed a proud tear. |