onebehind | magician's apprentice | we've come a long way from where we began (rp for the_death

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magician's apprentice | we've come a long way from where we began (rp for the_death_card)

The place Miranda picks for their lunch date is meant to be neutral ground, Dylan is sure. She has them come out to Chicago, and while she is doing a show here, sometime this weekend, if her website is to be believed, it's still not home, not for either of them. It's also not one of the dozen places around town that might have required a reservation and no escape, if either of them thinks this is going south. No, it's just a diner, a literal hole in the wall, in a strip mall between a chiropractor and -- something else, Dylan's not sure, as he misses the sign, etched into the wall as they head in, but either way, the effort all adds up to a massive relief. He's not sure this will go badly, that he needs to think in terms of advantages and disadvantages as if he was playing chess, considering he's changed in the last twenty years, twenty months, twenty weeks, but still. He lets out a breath of relief, as they step into the building and he takes a look around.

It's a little less reminiscent of a dive bar, inside, even if the floors are bare, the ceiling open, and Dylan takes a certain amount of comfort in that, too. He glances to Jack briefly, to gauge his impression of all of this, and then steps up to the hostess's station as he looks out over the tables, trying to spot Miranda in the dwindling late-lunch crowd. When he doesn't see her, he's not surprised (she never could be on time for anything), and so he gets them a table for three, by the window, and settles into a chair. He expects Jack will take up his side of the table, too, and that's fine with him.

Once he's settled, Dylan pauses a beat, before, "Have I mentioned the part where she'd be late for her own funeral?"

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Jack snickers more at Dylan's assertion and at the fact that he pops up off the table as the waiter appears. He sobers a little when it comes to his turn to order, reaching again for the menu to confirm which burger he's decided on, passing it back once he's ordered.

He's finally to a point where he's mostly stopped worrying about overstepping boundaries with Dylan, and one of the ways even he's aware that it's showing is the fact that he's stopped being weird about food - either in ordering his own meals or requesting things for dinner or the fact that he's stopped hiding food in his room.

Dylan glances over his menu again, too, before ordering a burger of his own. Miranda, meanwhile, orders a salad with chicken. They both pass their menus back and as the waiter departs, Dylan looks as though he's seriously considering sinking back into the table for a minute and largely for effect, before he gives up on it.

"So, where were we before the two of you made me start seriously questioning my life choices?" he teases. He reaches out to Jack with a brush of warmth, that said, so he knows he's not serious, if it wasn't clear enough.

"Uh," Jack begins, shooting Dylan a grin in answer to the warmth he gets. "I think that's pretty much all this conversation's been, actually?" he returns lightly, his grin going even more shit-eating.

"Okay," Dylan drawls. Jack isn't wrong, he doesn't think. "Can we get off of that, then, and onto something else?"

"Mm, I don't know, honey," Miranda answers, glancing over to Jack as if asking for his opinion. They should probably stop busting Dylan's balls at some point and actually talk about -- anything else, really, but that time might not be now. Maybe in a few minutes.

"I bet me asking her for embarrassing stories doesn't count as changing the subject, right?" Jack asks, apparently in earnest, though he's still teasing, too.

"Or, uh..." he adds a moment later, and he is more serious, now. "I can ask you what you're working on?" He looks to Miranda, then. He's been looking up some of her videos, after all, and he's curious.

"No," he tells him, leveling a glare at each of them in turn.

Miranda hums, amused. If she planned on volunteering anything despite Dylan's protests, however, it dies on her lips at Jack's question. She makes another small noise, a just a second as she leans away, reaching for her purse. From it and impossibly, she produces a program for her show, holding it out for Jack. "This, mostly. I haven't really had the time, lately, to workshop anything new."

The show's been taking up all of her time.

Jack snickers a little at Dylan's denial - and then sobers, too, as Miranda produces the program. He reaches out to take it, flipping through it. "Cool," he says after he's a few pages in, and he means that as more than just a basic platitude. There's definitely more than a little awe in his tone.

"I could probably get you tickets to the show tonight, if you two were planning on hanging around for a bit," she tells him after a moment, looking between Jack and Dylan. Dylan shrugs and looks to Jack. If he wants to go, that's fine by him. He's not worried about anyone from the FBI suddenly showing up to wonder how he got from Vegas to Chicago and back again fast enough to see a show and get home and go to work the next morning.

Not yet, anyway. Give it about ten years.

Jack looks to Dylan hopefully - and then grins at the shrug. "Oh, man, that'd be fucking awesome, thanks," he says quickly and excitedly. He's watched some crappy videos of her shows online, but seeing it all live will obviously be another thing entirely - and he's one thousand percent on board with it.

Miranda hums in lieu of a you're welcome, smiling, now, herself. A gesture to the program follows, and then she tells them, "I'm at the Oriental Theatre over on Randolph. Come by the will call, tonight, and I'll have a couple of tickets waiting for you."

"Awesome," he says again, because holy shit. Theaters are one of the places he's always had more trouble sneaking into, if just because the tickets are assigned to certain seats and because there's so much activity even behind the main scenes. He's managed a time or two here and there, but actually seeing something live without having to worry about getting caught will be amazing.

"I'll even sign your program for you, after," she continues after a beat, something in her tone creeping towards teasing, now. She really wouldn't mind signing something for Jack, if that's what he wanted, but he's family, now, as far as she's concerned. Has she mentioned how good he seems to have been for Jake, how good they seem to be for each other? It's sort of mind-blowing.

Jack snorts at the teasing, since yeah, he does recognize that for what it is. "Not that I'm saying no," he admits before going on, "but pretty sure I don't have to, like... wait at the stage door or whatever now."

She's practically his aunt or whatever. It loses a little of the impact somehow - though again, he's still not saying no.

"I could make you, if you're looking for the whole experience," Miranda suggests, still obviously teasing. Funny as it might be to pretend he's just another fan, she won't really make him wait.

Jack makes a face, shaking his head. "Uh, nah, that's really okay." He might be a fanboy, but he's less willing to show that in a crowd than around people who already know he is. He has to at least pretend to be cool.

"I tried," she answers with a shrug. If she has anything to add to that, however, it dies as she catches sight of the waiter headed in their direction. That in mind and instead, she says, "And I think your seventeen orders of cheese sticks are here."

"Next time, I'm actually ordering seventeen," Dylan threatens.

Jack reaches out to move his drink out of the way as the waiter sets down the appetizer and plates to go along with it. "That'd be a lotta cheese. That'd feed like... me and a couple friends, maybe?" he jokes in return as he actually takes one of the cheese sticks.

"I swear to God I'm dragging him over to Moapa River, one of these days, and getting them to give him an Indian name," Dylan starts by way of agreement. As he reaches for a mozzarella stick of his own, he adds, "He Who Sucks the Life Out of the Refrigerator."

"He's a teenage boy," Miranda argues, never mind the fact that it's on the heel of a laugh. Regardless, Dylan waves her and her 'argument' off.

Jack snickers at Dylan again as he reaches for the sauce, to pour some out on his plate, and then nods to Miranda's comment as he picks up his cheese to drag it through the sauce. "Yeah, Dad," he drawls in return.

He's improved a lot when it comes to food since he's been living with Dylan. It's only recently that he's been able to bring himself to stop hiding food in his room, just in case. He's still working on slowing himself down when they do eat, on not eating as fast as he can in case someone decides they want what he's eating.

He also doesn't realize the full weight of the fact that he is willing to joke about food, now. He's just chalking that up to the fact that he's more comfortable with Dylan and their whole situation.

Dylan's aware that Jack's been hiding food in his room; he's aware he's only recently stopped. The gravity of all that doesn't escape him, nor does the weight of Jack actually being comfortable joking about it, now. He flashes him a smile, that in mind, even if Jack misunderstands the reason for it. The fact that he calls him Dad, joking or not, doesn't hurt.

"Alright, alright, fine," he growls, tone at odds with his expression. "I get it. Now eat your damn cheese sticks." He's going to eat his, sans the sauce.

Humming, pleased by all of this, Miranda reaches for a mozzarella stick of her own.

Jack snickers again as he takes another one, looking up at Miranda after a moment. "So, uh..." he begins after another moment. "We could go back to those embarrassing stories."

He's trying to get them onto talking about something else but doesn't really know how to do it.

Dylan picks up on that; it's hard to tell whether or not Miranda does, too, but either way, she launches into, "Well, there was that one time, in Central Park, with those Muslim women ... "

"We were six, Miranda," Dylan protests after a second of sputtering around his mozzarella stick. His face immediately lights with color. "I didn't know, and neither did you."

"I'm not the one who started screaming about ninjas," Miranda answers, shrugging.

Jack sputters, too, though it's mostly because he almost chokes on the drink he had just taken, and he raises his eyebrows at Dylan. "Sorry, man, but that's hilarious," he manages after a moment.

Tell him more, c'mon.

"No," Dylan responds firmly. "No, it's not."

When Miranda starts to open her mouth, either to offer more of the goods or something else entirely, Dylan waves a hand at her, shaking his head. "Hey, no, huh uh. You start, I tell him about the time Dad took us to the zoo in Central Park."

"Oh, God," Miranda breathes, looking horrified, now, herself. "I give. You win."

"That's not fair," Jack complains. "You can't start with that and then not tell me the rest of it."

He's trying very hard not to start laughing and not doing a very good job of hiding how much he's about to.

magician's apprentice | we've come a long way from where we began (rp for the_death_card)

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