[Mason Lancaster]

Go with this, why do you wanna throw it away like this?
Such a mess, why would I wanna watch you

CW: alcoholism / suicidal ideations

---

Since she woke up this morning Miranda felt depressed, more so than usual. The past Sunday was Mother’s Day, and she was having a hard time dealing with the emotions that it brought up for her. It served as a reminder that she failed as a mother. While she lived with Mason now, she was lying to him every day. She promised him that she would stop drinking, but she couldn’t do it. She wasn’t strong enough. The itch in her throat and the shake in her hands when she tried to stop was just too much for her. So she hid her drinking from him as best as she could.

Tonight, she lied to Mason again. She told him that she was going to an AA meeting, that she felt like she needed the group support right now. She left the house, but going to a meeting was the last thing on her mind. Instead, she drove to Pat’s bar. She had never quite been a regular there, so the staff didn’t know her and her antics as well as some of the other bars in town did. And, more importantly, the bartender wouldn’t call her son as soon as they saw her walk in the door. That had been an experience that she didn’t want to go through again the first time it happened, and then she went through it several more times over the past couple years. Mason always looked so disappointed in her, but he never really said anything negative. It was almost worse, because she knew he was upset and disappointed, but yet he still supported her and took care of her when she needed someone. He was too good to have come from her.

If Elijah was still here, he would tell her it didn’t matter what the kids thought, that they are both adults now and they didn’t need their mommy. As complicated as things were with him, Miranda missed Elijah. Days like today made her wish that she had died with him, that she wasn’t still here, without him. As much as she had Mason to lean on, he was always so busy out there trying to save the world, on top of taking care of her and being there for his sister. She felt guilty with how often she was a problem for him.

Since she’d been such a bad mother, Miranda was desperately clinging to hope that she could be a better grandmother, that someday she would be able to redeem herself in the eyes of her children. Maybe be more than just a part of their trauma. Mason was too busy to settle down, so she put all of that hope on Maddison’s shoulders. It had become just one more source of contention between them. They couldn’t be in the same room anymore without getting into a shouting match with each other. Miranda knew that it bothered Mason, but she didn’t know how to fix it.

It had been a couple hours since she’d arrived at the bar. Miranda was sitting at the counter, chatting with other patrons as they came and went, downing one drink after the other. The more she drank, the more it felt like the weight was lifted from her. If she kept drinking, could she just dissipate out of existence? Maybe it would be better than feeling like this, better than being a failure and a burden.

”Can I get another?” Miranda called out to the bartender as he was walking by.

”I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t serve you another drink at this time.” The bartender refused, politely, and set a glass of ice water down in front of her, instead of another vodka in cranberry juice. ”I think some water will do you good.”

”Hey, fuck you!” Miranda yelled at the bartender, unaware of how incomprehensible her own words had become.

”Okay, if you’re going to start yelling you’re gonna have to leave.” The bartender was not about to put up with her crap.

Miranda began yelling, unintelligibly. It didn’t take long before another employee behind the bar called the cops, and the bartender enlisted the help of a couple regular patrons to move her to a booth in the corner to wait. She was too far gone for the bartender to just kick out, he was worried she’d be a danger to herself or someone else, especially if she tried to drive. Once they got her shoved in the booth, the bartender made sure the water was on the table for her. She switched from yelling to crying. The bartender sighed and went back behind the bar, keeping an eye on her to make sure she wasn’t going to take off or escalate the situation before the cops got there.

-----

The dispatcher glanced over the call seconds after it came in. Great, another unruly barfly. She assigned the call, sending the information to the officer’s computer before keying up her radio.

”Officer Savino, you are responding for a civil disturbance at Pat’s Bar. Information has been sent to your terminal. Advise if you need back up.”

After releasing the foot pedal to transmit over the radio, the dispatcher turned to her partner. “I hope it isn’t like this all night. I am not here for this shit today.”

---

Christian Savino
Let me know for changes! Feel free to move/use Miranda however you want. Sorry she’s so much.
I couldn’t help adding the dispatch in there, since I’m currently at work (even though I’m dispatching for fire/ems and not law)

[Christian Savino]

[nospaces]

I KNOW YOU FEEL THE COLD

same old patterns, same old standards, different chapters

[break]

[attr="class","quailfoot-text"]The streets of Los Eurosia were wet with rain. On the sidewalk and in the gutters, the city's streetlights glimmered off of gathered puddles. Traffic lights caught in the droplets on Christian's windshield, multiplying their shine and making the night seem somehow brighter. He loved it. The nights were getting dependably warmer and the air was charged with the promise of a storm. The shift from spring to summer meant more crazies on the street, but his shift tonight had been thus far unordinary. Almost quiet. [break][break]

Even when the call came in, dispatching him to Pat's Bar for a civil disturbance, it still didn't seem to break the electric stillness of the night. It wasn't necessary to consult his computer for an address or route; he was more than familiar with the various bars (and other places that could be depended on for nighttime trouble) in this part of the city. He didn't bother with the siren or light bar as he turned his vehicle around and made the short drive to Pat's. He parked along the curb, let dispatch know he'd arrived, and stepped from his car. [break][break]

When he entered the bar, Christian was quickly approached by one of the bartenders. "Hey, Johnny," he greeted amicably, knowing the man well enough — not only from having been called in to wrestle belligerent and bloodied brawlers apart on occasion but also having spent a fair share of plain-clothed nights in the place as well. In a low voice, the man let him know what had happened and pointed him to a booth in the corner. No broken noses. No destroyed property or brandished beer bottles. Just some raised voices, angry insistence, and a bit of caution on the bar staff's part. It was a pleasant change of pace and Christian joked so — earning a level, unamused look — before he thanked him and stepped across the room. [break][break]

When he approached the booth, he slowed, taking a moment to watch the woman huddled despondently in her seat. Dark hair framed a face made blotchy by tears and drinking. She was snotty and bleary, with a hint of ruin about her. He had the impression that she'd been very pretty in her youth — the implications were there, not difficult to see — but her face, even under the more immediate dishevelment of intoxication, hinted at years of hardship. Immediately, he had the sneaking suspicion this wasn't just a one-off bad night. That this wasn't a wholly unfamiliar situation for her to be in. [break][break]

His chest panged and the corners of his mouth tucked, lips momentarily tight against his teeth, as he scooted into the seat opposite her. "Ma'am," he acknowledged while he settled, clasping his hands together on the table between them, fingers loosely entwined and one thumb smoothing absently over the other. When she lifted her tear-shot eyes to him, he blinked as he recognized her. [break][break]

Miranda Lancaster wasn't a complete unknown among the patrol officers who frequented the bar district. But Christian knew her as well, to be the mother of one of his brother's friends and fellow fire-medics. He wasn't too familiar with Mason, personally, but could recognize him; could picture him laughing among the firehouse crew, exchanging blows to shoulders and daring one another to shots, when the whole lot of them gathered in places like Pat's to celebrate someone's big promotion or commendation. [break][break]

"Miranda," he amended, letting one corner of his mouth curl into a slight smile as he leaned the tiniest bit forward, trying to seem more imploring than accusing. "I'm Officer Savino. What's going on? Is there someone I can call for you?"

[break]

same old habits, same old tablets, different status

Tag: Mason Lancaster [break]
Let me know if you need more, if any of the Miranda-bits are unfitting, or if you'd like any other changes!

[newclass=.quailfoot-text b]color:#3B3F88;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Mason Lancaster]

Go with this, why do you wanna throw it away like this?
Such a mess, why would I wanna watch you

CW: alcoholism / suicidal ideations

---

After her outburst, Miranda was tired. It was more emotional than physical, and she just wanted another drink to make the feelings go away. She hoped if she stayed quiet enough in the booth they ushered her into, maybe they would reconsider getting her another drink. It was a long shot. She remembered someone mentioning calling the cops, but that was a frequent, often empty threat. Most of the time, bar owners didn’t want too much cop involvement inside their establishment, it would be bad for business. But Miranda had forgotten that she wasn’t in the sleazy little hole in the wall, she was at Pat’s, and they didn’t put up with her brand of bullshit.

Miranda hardly noticed the officer who sat across from her, until he spoke. She looked over, vision blurred from too much vodka and the tears that had clouded them moments before. She felt indignant that the staff had indeed followed through on their threat and called the police on her. It wasn’t like she hurt anyone.

”Of course they called you out here to harass the riff raff.” She slurred her words, without cognizant realization that she was doing so. In Miranda’s mind, she was just fine. She wasn’t the problem. ”I’m a paying customer, they have no right to judge me and treat me like trash.” She was getting herself worked up again, angry with the staff. It helped her rationalize her behavior when she placed the blame, the anger, and the shame she felt on someone else. She didn’t take the time to analyze the emotions or separate them, she just focused all the negativity outside of herself. She wasn’t the problem, they were.

Miranda didn’t recognize the officer. He had the same vaguely familiar look that was interchangeable with every other young cop, setting out to prove how compassionate they could be by being the good guy. Undoubtedly, he was about to try to talk her into getting help or offer some kind of resources, like this was her first time in this position . The first sign was him sitting down. If they sat down, they tried to be helpful. It was even worse than the ones that just said to beat it or threatened to take her into the station until she sobered up.

When her name reached her ears, Miranda groaned. This was going to be worse than she thought. ”I take it you know my son.” She tried to take in a breath, but hiccuped instead. No matter what she said at this point, she knew that this was going to get back to Mason. ”You might as well just call him then.” She crossed her arms, feeling hostile towards the young cop across from her.

Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Miranda was aware that she caused this. It wasn’t the officer’s fault he got called out there, and it wasn’t the bar staff’s fault for calling the authorities in the first place. She’d caused this. Not only did she have a problem, she was a problem. But she couldn’t admit that to herself, not yet.

”Doesn’t a grown ass woman have the right to go out and drink if she wants to?” She blurted out. ”And not this!” Miranda intended to shove the glass of water that had been left on the table for her to the side. Instead, she knocked the glass over, wetting herself and spreading water all over the table as the glass rolled off the edge and shattered. ”Oh, for fuck’s sake..”

---

Christian Savino
Let me know if you need more to work with or for any changes.

[Christian Savino]

[nospaces]

I KNOW YOU FEEL THE COLD

same old patterns, same old standards, different chapters

[break]

[attr="class","quailfoot-text"]Miranda's demeanor was markedly unfriendly when she lifted her face to meet his waiting gaze. Her eyes were glassy and red, with the bleary, unfocused look of someone who'd been crying and was far past their limit. When she spoke, her words were slurred and indignant and what she said was typical of any scorned drunk who'd been cut off. Unwilling to reason that it was for the best but simply finding it unfair and grudging. She put together that he knew Mason immediately, which wasn't surprising given their occupations. But if she was unfriendly before, the idea of contacting her son turned her off even more. She crossed her arms and settled further down in her booth, posture becoming closed-off and even somewhat accusing.[break][break]

Christian didn't react but only watched her coolly, his thumbs continuing their methodical soothe over one another. He hadn't expected her to be receptive to his presence — why should she, when he was there to throw a stick in her spokes? But, just as he wasn't surprised at her bristly regard, he wasn't particularly bothered by it. She didn't have to like him. But they were stuck with each other now. And, really, it was better for her to take the frustrations out on him than with someone else. [break][break]

He opened his mouth to speak but another vehement complaint from Miranda stopped him short. She flung out her crossed arms and upturned her glass, sending water pouring across the table to drip into her lap. Christian reflexively lifted his arms, narrowly avoiding getting the wrists of his shirt sleeves soaked, and his mouth tucked when the glass rolled from the table and crashed to the floor with a tell-tale shatter. A general hush came over the bar at the sound and his gaze briefly traveled over the few faces that turned appraisingly toward them. Then, when they turned away and the chatter resumed, he plucked some napkins from the holder tucked against the wall and offered them to her.[break][break]

"Yes, a grown-ass woman certainly does have that right. And you did. But when the bartender's mad and your lap is wet, maybe it's just time to call it."[break][break]

For a brief moment he wanted to suggest there was a difference between want and need, but the desire was quickly clamped down. Alcoholics heard it all the time. He didn't need to be another voice in that choir. And what did he know, really? Christian could recognize habit and knew what an addict looked like. Could guess what they'd do and surmise what they were considering. Knew, even, that there was a genetic component to addiction. But he'd never struggled with it himself. [break][break]

Life could be rough. He was fortunate. It had been kind to him in almost every way. But he knew that wasn't the case for everyone and that people coped with things differently. Once they found that one way to cope — the way that worked "best" for them and that hushed everything else — it wasn't such an easy thing to be told to stop seeking out that blessed quietude. He didn't know Miranda. He barely knew Mason. He couldn't assume what their lives were like or what drove her to drink to excess. The line that divided want and need — that divided drinking for fun and drinking as a crutch — was thin. Indistinct. Different for everyone. It wasn't really his professional place to comment on it. Only to deal with the fallout when the line was crossed or about to be crossed in such a way that warranted intervention. [break][break]

The bartender approached the table, broom in one hand and a fistful of dishtowels in the other. "I've got it, John, thanks," he reached for the towels that the man held out but, when he gave them a pull, John kept them firmly in his grasp. Christian raised his eyes to meet a stern stare — a hard, warning look, as if to wordlessly remind him that he'd been called in to prevent an escalation. Christian lifted his other hand slightly, bobbing a flat palm inches from the tabletop while he lifted his brow. I've got this. The grip loosened and John allowed the dishtowels to be pulled free. Then he propped the broom against their table and turned away, giving a single shake of his head. [break][break]

"I'm not here to judge you, Miranda," Christian started, voice even and matter-of-fact, as he swiped at the water on the table. Not trying to argue, comfort, or to even plead his own case and humanize himself to her, but simply speaking his intention. There were some officers — most of them older than him with plenty of "drunk" stories to tell and to whom these situations had grown old and boring many, many years ago — who would escort her out and be done with it; take her back to the precinct and nudge her into a cell to sleep off the rest of the night, largely ignored. And he would do the same if she grew unignorably belligerent and provided no alternative. But at this point, at least for now, there were alternatives. Even if none of them were what she really wanted in the form of an eventual black-out. (And even if John would much rather the whole matter be dealt with already.) "Just to keep everyone safe." His eyes raised briefly to her face. "And that means you, too." [break][break]

He moved from his seat, crouching to collect the large pieces of glass into the broom's dustpan and using another towel to sop up the puddle. "At the end of the day," he shrugged, speaking lightly now. "Pat's is a private business. They have every right to refuse to serve you and kick you out. But you know that." He swiped everything into the dustpan and straightened, blowing out a breath and sitting on the edge of his seat, body angled perpendicular to her. "You don't have to like me and they don't have to like you." [break][break]

"Now... I don't know Mason as well as you might think. If there's someone else we can call, that's fine. But I can't leave you here." He couldn't just walk her out and let her be. It would just be a matter of time before the next bar called to drag her from another booth. And it was obvious she was already past her limit — he didn't think the chase would be long before she got herself or someone else hurt. It was his responsibility now to deliver her to someone who could keep things from getting worse.[break][break]

"So we can call someone, I can take you home, or I can take you in. It's up to you." At least for now, while she was being tolerable. He hoped remaining cordial and providing her options would keep her from escalating things to a point where he had to force his hand. "Do you want to make the call..." he let the suggestion hang, wondering himself which would be worse received; a call from an on-duty patrol officer or a call made heavy by slurred words and drunken indignation. "Or would you like me to? We can step outside, if you'd rather wait in my car or sit on the sidewalk instead of being in here." John would probably be happier if they were both simply out of sight but, if she wanted to remain holed up in the booth, with everyone chattering and enjoying themselves around her, then he was more than happy to force the bartender to be patient.

[break]

same old habits, same old tablets, different status

Tag: Mason Lancaster [break]
Sorry, this ended up being stupid rambly! [break]
Give me a nudge for any changes!

[newclass=.quailfoot-text b]color:#3B3F88;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Mason Lancaster]

Go with this, why do you wanna throw it away like this?
Such a mess, why would I wanna watch you

---

To say that this night had turned from bad to just straight up embarrassing would be accurate. Miranda knew that she didn’t have anyone other than Mason to call. She could be insistent that he doesn’t get a phone call to come get her, but then she would likely be having to call him to come get her from the police station in the morning when she was sober enough to be released. Or she’d have to get a ride back to her car. None of these thoughts were fully formed in her mind, just fragments of how this situation was headed. She was trying to decide what would be worse.

Miranda knew that she was escalating the situation. She knew that her reactions were neither reasonable nor helpful. She just couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to be this person, she didn’t want to be a problem or a burden for her son. She didn’t want to be judged even more harshly by her daughter. She just wanted to disappear. It would be better for everyone if she no longer existed. Mason wouldn’t support the thought, but she was sure her daughter would agree with her about that, at least.

The young officer said he wasn’t there to judge her, but she didn’t believe him. Everyone judged addicts. Miranda had made peace with that fact long ago. This wasn’t her first brush with the law and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Even if they said they weren’t doing so, they always judged her. He was already cleaning up the physical mess that she had made, surely he had as much right as the rest of them did to pass judgment on her. At the very least, he must have some opinions of her behavior. But to his credit, his demeanor was neutral. He tacked on that he was there to keep everyone safe, including her, and Miranda felt the pit of guilt in her stomach deepen.

”I don’t need anyone to keep me safe.” She retorted reflexively. Even as the words were coming out of her mouth she was already regretting them. Staying silent would have been the better choice. She let out a breath and watched as he moved around the booth. She should have been the one cleaning it, but the last thing any of them needed was for her to make a bigger mess of it, or cut herself and get blood all over the place.

Miranda hated that he was making sense. She knew he was right. She knew that she’d caused a scene and even though she didn’t like it, the business was well within their rights to refuse her service and ask her to leave. Now, she’d be lucky if they didn’t slap her with a trespass warning that would ban her from returning to the premises in the future.

Officer Savino offered to call someone else if she didn’t want him to call Mason. She wished there were other options. Someone who wouldn’t be so disappointed. Someone who she wouldn’t burden with her drama. He went on to list options - call someone, drive her home, or bring her to the station. Really, the only viable and reasonable option was to call Mason. She knew it, even if the officer wasn’t fully aware of her situation like he’d claimed. Maybe he was telling the truth and didn’t know her son all that well. Maybe he wouldn’t give him every embarrassing detail of the evening.

”There isn’t anyone but Mason to call.” She looked around. There weren’t as many people looking now that she’d quieted down, but there were still eyes on them, from staff and other patrons alike. It was like being in a fishbowl. ”I guess let's go outside. And no, I don’t want to be the one to call him.” It would be better if the officer made the call. He’d be calm and just tell him what he needed to know. Miranda was self aware enough to realize that she’d ramble, she wouldn’t get out what was going on. Mason would be more worried if she was the one to make the call.

---

Christian Savino
Let me know for any changes.

[Christian Savino]

[nospaces]

I KNOW YOU FEEL THE COLD

same old patterns, same old standards, different chapters

[break]

[attr="class","quailfoot-text"]After a moment, in which she almost appeared more sullen than surly, Miranda claimed there was only Mason they could contact. Christian nodded, then when she answered that they could go outside and that he should call, he offered a faint, thankful smile — grateful she was being cooperative — and stood. He waited until she'd gathered herself from the booth, then grabbed the broom and dustpan and followed behind her as they made their way across the bar toward the exit, watching her carefully in case she stumbled or needed to be steadied. [break][break]

John met him at the door and Christian handed off the clean-up supplies, thanked him with a nod and a handshake, then pushed open the door for the both of them so they could step out. Immediately, the cool, night air was a relief. He might have tipped into it and breathed deep, reveling in the scent of recent, almost-summer rain above the stink of the streets, but refrained — understanding Miranda was likely feeling far less happy about the night's outcome and not wanting to seem too briskly chipper in light of her own, personal distress. He kept his face mostly composed, friendly and neutral, as he let the door close behind them and moved toward his parked patrol car. [break][break]

"Can you give me Mason's number? Or I could use your phone, either way works fine." He supposed, if he needed to, he could text one of his brothers and request they send him the information, or ask dispatch, but he hoped it wouldn't be necessary. He hoped that Miranda's streak of cooperation would outlive any desire to be stubborn or to prolong the inevitable. Once the necessities were sorted, he dialed Mason's contact and lifted the phone to his ear, leaning against the side of his car with his other arm folded across his chest. As the tones rang, he let his eyes drop from Miranda and to the sidewalk, tracing cracks as he waited.[break][break]

When the line picked up, and a voice on the other end sounded, Christian lifted his gaze and began. "Hey, Mason. This is —" he hesitated for a split-second, Officer Savino catching in his throat. "Christian Savino." He wasn't sure why he bothered. It wasn't like Mason wouldn't get the full picture once he arrived and saw Christian's car and uniform, nor did he think the lack of transparency would hinder or better Miranda's case in any way, but the informality left his lips anyway. "I'm here with your mother. Everything is fine."[break][break]

Another thoughtless line, spoken as to prevent any sudden leap to alarm, but still, he doubted it sounded true. And in reality, everything most likely wasn't. But in a more immediate way, and as far as Christian's involvement went, it was. There were no battery charges, no public intoxication, trespassing, or anything else he had to report. The family bit — that was admittedly beyond his station. "But she's going to need a ride home. Are you available to pick her up if I send you our location?"

[break]

same old habits, same old tablets, different status

Tag: Mason Lancaster [break]
I took massive liberties here, so don't hesitate to let me know if tweaks are needed. Also kept it vague as to whether Christian would be calling from his own cell or Miranda's. Give me a nudge for changes!

[newclass=.quailfoot-text b]color:#3B3F88;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Mason Lancaster]

Go with this, why do you wanna throw it away like this?
Such a mess, why would I wanna watch you

---

The world was on tilt as Miranda stood up. She felt like her head was spinning, or the room was moving around her, but she took a steadying breath, and after a couple seconds the feeling subsided enough for her to make her way to the exit, young Officer Savino right behind her. She was surprised by the brisk, damp air when they stepped outside. When had it rained? She didn’t remember hearing it rain, and it had been dry out when she entered the bar.

She followed Officer Savino toward his car, and leaned against a tall planter to steady herself when they stopped. ”Yep, that’s wet.” She mumbled to herself, but didn’t move. She was already wet from spilling the water inside, so what difference did a little more water make?

”Five fourty-” Miranda frowned. She could even tell her numbers were slurred, and she was having trouble remembering her son’s full phone number at the moment. She pulled her own phone out of her pocket, used her thumbprint to unlock it, and pulled up Mason’s contact before handing the phone over to the officer. If he didn’t already have Mason’s number, maybe he had been telling the truth when he said he didn’t know him all that well. At this point, she wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

-----

Mason was off tonight. He had almost picked up an overtime shift, but his lieutenant reminded him that they were having a going away party for Jenni, one of the EMTs on his shift. She was moving back to Utah, where she’d grown up. She’d already secured herself a job with the local agency there, and their next shift in two days was going to be her last with them.

Whoever planned to have the party on the first of their two days off was a genius, because Mason knew there were going to be a lot of hangovers tomorrow. He wouldn’t be one of them. His last hangover was still far too fresh in his mind for him to make that mistake again so soon.

They had invaded the house of one of his coworkers. He had a pool and the party was supposed to be a backyard barbeque. However, the weather had other plans, and had driven them all inside the house or under the covered back patio for most of the party. But when the rain subsided, most everyone ended up in the pool, Mason included.

Mason was still in the pool when his phone lit up on the table he’d left it on. He could see the screen, Mom flashing on the caller ID. Mason got out of the pool and made it to his phone before it could go to voicemail.

”Hey, what’s up?” Mason answered, unsure what to expect his mom to need. She hardly ever called him, usually she just texted.

It wasn’t his mother on the other end of the line. Instead, he was speaking with Christian Savino, the little brother of some of his coworkers. In fact, Mason was looking at one of his brothers right now, dunking Jenni under the water in the pool. Mason knew that Christian had followed the rest of his family into emergency services, though he took his own path and became a police officer.

He was an officer and now, he was calling from Mason’s mother’s phone. He assured Mason that everything was fine, but something must have happened.

”Yeah, man. I can come get her.” Mason kept the sigh from escaping his lips. If she needed a ride, Mason could guess what happened. This wasn’t the first time, and likely wouldn’t be the last time, that he’d received a call to come get her. ”Which bar is she at this time?” Mason asked, sure he wouldn’t need an address. He was familiar with most of the bars, between responding to them at work and dealing with his mother’s frequent incidents.

Mason grabbed a towel and dried off haphazardly, then pulled his tank top on and grabbed the keys he’d left next to his phone. He waved to a couple people on his way around the house to his car. He was trying not to be mad. He didn’t know the whole story yet. And baby brother Sav hadn't said she was in any trouble, just that she needed a ride.

A groan slipped out when Mason got to the driveway, and he turned around to go back to the backyard. ”Yo, Adrian, you got me blocked in and I gotta go.” Mason waited as the older Savino brother got out, dried off, and grabbed his own keys to move his vehicle from behind Mason’s car.

”Thanks, man.” Once the path was cleared he got into his car and headed to his mother and Christian.

---

Christian Savino
Lemme know for changes or if I should take out any of the Adrian stuff.

[Christian Savino]

[nospaces]

LISTEN TO ME, BUTTERFLY

there's only so much wine that you can drink in one life

[break]

[attr="class","quailfoot-text"]When the call connected, the voice on the other end was casual. There were the muted sounds of an ongoing party beyond it — people laughing and screaming joyously. Immediately, Christian was suddenly more aware that he really didn't know the Lancaster that well. He'd told Miranda as such but, with the beat of expectant silence that followed Mason's greeting, he actually felt the truth in it. He was used to being able to picture the person he spoke to. To understand the subtle timbre of their voice; the slightest tensions in their words, the elevation of their tone and how they spoke and what it meant. But Mason was just a voice, unreadable because he wasn't who he expected to be speaking to. His lips parted to begin explaining, then closed again. The moment was brief and, when he opened his mouth again, he was confident and sure. [break][break]

He didn't need to know Mason to be able to pick up on the stifled exasperation in his pitch and, when he asked "which bar", without needing any sort of context to draw such conclusions, Christian felt his chest give a tiny dip. It affirmed what he already knew — this wasn't a new situation for anyone. He couldn't keep his gaze from flickering in Miranda's direction as he pressed his lips together. "Pat's." He replied steadily, knowing full well she would know — probably already knew — her son hadn't needed anything spelled out. [break][break]

The call ended and Christian lowered the phone from his ear. Sucking in a deep, level breath and moving quickly, lest she try and stop him, he tapped around on the screen and pulled up her address book. "Well. He... is... on... his way." He spoke distractedly, entering his own information in a new contact before closing everything out and handing the phone back to her. When she reached for it — much like John had done to him earlier — Christian kept it firmly in his grasp, waiting for her eyes to lift to his. Waiting for her attention. "You said there was no one else to call." He released the phone, then moved to position himself on the planter beside her, ignoring the feel of cold rainwater seeping through the seat of his pants. "If that's true... I put my number in there. You can delete it if you want, but I say keep it. Just in case Mason is unavailable one of these days."[break][break]

He could have said more — that she didn't have to hesitate to text or call him, that it would be off the books, that it didn't matter the time of day or night, that she could call him to just talk if she wanted — but he left it there. She could do with it what she would. He didn't think she was the type who would reach out, even if she was out of options, and a part of him felt that making a big deal of out of it would make her even less likely to consider it. So he pressed his lips into a tight line and cradled his hands in his lap, content to just wait if that's what she wanted. He'd play it on her terms while she was being manageable.



[break]

and it will never be enough [break]to save you from the bottom of your glass

Tag: Mason Lancaster [break]
Give me a nudge for changes!

[newclass=.quailfoot-text b]color:#3B3F88;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Mason Lancaster]

Go with this, why do you wanna throw it away like this?
Such a mess, why would I wanna watch you

---

Miranda was quiet while Officer Savino spoke with her son. There were fewer words spoken than she expected between them. This officer didn’t tell Mason how much of a scene she’d been causing, or that she was too wasted to get herself home safely. He just said she needed a ride home and told him where they were. Miranda expected a more humiliating description of events after her past run-ins with law enforcement. Even with so few things actually said, it was telling that he didn’t have to say more. Mason would know, even without the details, that she was drunk and there had been some sort of incident.

The officer stated Mason was on his way. Miranda wasn’t paying much attention, but when he held her phone back out for her, she reached out to take it absently. When he didn’t let go, she looked up, bloodshot and bleary eyes meeting the officer’s steady gaze. She kept her eyes on him as he leaned against the planter beside her. He’d apparently added himself to her phone. ”Okay..” She didn’t know what else to say. She knew, and assumed he probably was aware, that she wouldn’t be likely to ever call him.

-----

Mason was trying to keep himself calm on the drive to get his mother. He knew that whatever happened this time, at least she was safe with Christian and wouldn’t be getting into more trouble tonight. Since he’d been called to come get her, Mason assumed that she wasn’t already in trouble. That was the only good in this otherwise stressful situation.

It didn’t take long for Mason to get to Pat’s. He almost pulled up behind Christian’s patrol vehicle out of habit, but reminded himself he wasn’t at work and had to use a regular parking space instead. He pulled into a parallel space on the side of the road, not far from where he could see Christian and his mother waiting.

”Hey, Officer Savino.” Mason nodded at him as he walked over, then looked at his mother. She didn’t appear to be combative at the moment, which was an improvement from her usual state when he got these kind of phone calls. ”Mom.”

Mason joined the two of them and leaned against the planter on the opposite side of his mother from Christian. ”So, what happened?” He tried to keep his tone casual. The last thing he needed was to set his mom off right now, when she was actually calm. He watched her, waiting for an answer, but she just stared off in the distance, not meeting his gaze.

"Okay.." Mason ran a hand through his still damp hair and sighed, then looked at Christian. "Is she in any actual trouble? Or trespassed from Pat's or something?" If she had been trespassed, it wouldn't be the first time. He was waiting for the day when she caused a scene at one of the bars she'd actually been trespassed from. He knew that wouldn't be as easy as a phone call to pick her up.

---

Christian Savino
Sorry it’s kinda short. Let me know if you need more to work with.

[Christian Savino]

[nospaces]

I KNOW YOU FEEL THE COLD

same old patterns, same old standards, different chapters

[break]

[attr="class","quailfoot-text"]The pair of them lapsed into silence then. Miranda remained still beside him, gazing into the middle distance, subdued and unreadable. It wasn't uncomfortable and Christian simply let it be, bouncing a foot idly against the sidewalk as he observed the night around them. In the distance, more than a couple of streets over, he could hear a siren start a faint, melodic caw and wondered what summer, full-moon madness his unknown coworker was about to step in. If he had to hazard a guess, with the time and the part of town, it was probably much the same as him. He only hoped it worked out as well. [break][break]

When his gaze drew to a vehicle navigating into a space across the street a little ways away, he suspected it was Mason. And, moments later, the man was striding down the sidewalk in their direction. His hair was damp, his clothes casual, and Christian thought of the sounds of a presumed party in the background of their phone call. He suspected he'd pulled him from an otherwise nice night.[break][break]

He pressed his lips in a firm line and nodded when Mason greeted them both, then inwardly winced at the moment of silence (this one slightly uncomfortable) that followed the man's poised question to his mother. Miranda didn't so much as blink. Hardly looked in the other Lancaster's direction. It stretched. Lingered heavy on the air. Then it passed and Mason turned the line of questioning to him instead. [break][break]

"No, no trouble," Christian answered easily. At least not from us, he added silently, gaze flickering between son and mother. He supposed the pair were likely in for a tense night or discussion. One they'd likely exhausted times before already. But he didn't feel unease at the thought. Mason put out fires for a living and he knew his mother best. Though Miranda had obviously disliked the idea of calling him, Christian wasn't concerned about what might happen between the two when he left. "John's a good guy. Tends to call before instead of after." [break][break]

It'd have been easy enough to simply throw Miranda out. To toss her to the sidewalk and wash his hands of the ordeal entirely. But though John was stern (and could be believably flinty), Christian knew him well enough to know he'd called not only to retain the peace of his bar, but to keep Miranda from simply stumbling her way to the next one. And, barring the occasional and especially-belligerent exception, he didn't tend to forbid anyone from returning. Christian figured it was to keep a watchful eye over the worst of them; tending to the regulars and seeing them not only as a reliable source of revenue but as people who needed looking after. If he was the one to do so, then he didn't have to worry that other bartenders in other bars couldn't care enough to. [break][break]

Christian suspected it was all because John had been an alcoholic himself — "In a past life", he'd shared one night, smiling (just barely) as he flashed a double-digit sobriety chip from its safe place in the pocket of his shirt. Christian had grinned at him then, perhaps falling just the tiniest bit in love with the man, and his lips pulled faintly now at the memory. It spoke to the bartender's character — his strength and compassion — that he could do his job without temptation and could look into the faces of people he used to be with hardly a flinch. It was just the type of thing Christian tried to aspire to in his own job and life. It wouldn't make sense for John to care and him to not — to pull Miranda unkindly from the man's booth and simply dump her back in the street. In some way, it'd be a massive slight. A fumbled ball.[break][break]

Christian sucked in a breath and pushed from his perch on the planter, turning around to face both Lancasters and tucking his thumbs into his belt. Now that Mason had arrived, he was obviously the odd man out and he supposed his presence would be more hindrance than anything else. "Well, before I leave you to your night, is there anything I can do for either of you?"

[break]

same old habits, same old tablets, different status

Tag: Mason Lancaster [break]
Give me a nudge for any changes!

[newclass=.quailfoot-text b]color:#3B3F88;font-size:8pt;font-family:Open Sans, sans serif;[/newclass]

[googlefont=Poppins][googlefont=Open Sans]

[Mason Lancaster]

Go with this, why do you wanna throw it away like this?
Such a mess, why would I wanna watch you

---

Miranda wasn’t in the mood to talk. She was feeling like the world was shifting around her, like she was on a boat or a slow moving swing. She closed her eyes and focused on just breathing. She had to quell the feeling, or else she was going to throw up. That was the last thing she wanted to do tonight, the last piece of her dignity that she had to protect. She was thankful when the office didn’t attempt to make small talk with her.

When Mason arrived, Miranda continued her silence. Mason was used to her not cooperating, but it didn’t make it any easier.

At least she wasn’t in legal trouble. Mason wanted to apologize for her, to tell Christian that he would try to make sure it didn’t happen again, but he couldn’t do that. It probably would happen again. Which was unfortunate. Part of the deal when Miranda moved in with him was that she would stop drinking. He told her he’d help her with treatment if she needed it, which he had done. But now, she was out of control again and he didn’t know what else he could do.

”That’s good news, at least.” Mason watched as his mother leaned her head back, eyes closed again. ”She didn’t give you too much hassle, did she?” Mason knew that his mother could lash out at the people who were trying to help her. Anyone around her was fair game. At least her anger came out verbally, more often than not, so Mason didn’t have to worry about her getting violent.

”I still have ears, you know?’ Miranda opened her eyes again and broke her silence.

”Yes, mom, I know. You didn’t give the officer a hard time, did you?” Mason tried to keep the frustration he was feeling with her out of his voice.

Crickets. Miranda crossed her arms, staring off into the night again. Mason knew she had a tendency to be obstinate, and he didn’t want to get her riled up so he dropped it.

”Alright.” Mason considered pressing his mother for more information, but figured it would be a fruitless endeavor. When she was like this, there was no real winning. She would be upset with him for asking her questions. She’d be upset with him for not directing his questions at her. Either way, he was going to get flack from her. Instead of asking her again, he just sighed and leaned back.

”He’s nicer than most cops.” Miranda watched the officer stand up straight. Opening her eyes and moving her head had been a mistake, though. The world was on tilt still, and she could feel her nausea rise. ”Oh no… Miranda turned, trying to make it to the planter, but she was unsteady. Mason was behind her, catching her before she could tip over. He faced her away from Christian the best he could, but he was sure the officer was going to be close enough to get splashed when she vomited against the wall of the planter.

”Uh.. Sorry, man.” Mason apologized, and helped his mother to sit on the sidewalk, away from the mess she’d made. ”Would you mind staying with her for a couple more minutes? I think I have a couple rags in the back of my car.”

---

Christian Savino
Let me know for changes.