maskormenacelogs | {You'll keep on fighting to remember...

[ Luther's started going for long walks around the neighbourhood.

Jogging through the outskirts of Nonah, getting re-accustomed to this human-shaped body again, to its weight and balance and new center of gravity. Morning jogs have become a way of anchoring himself back in his skeleton, more than staying in shape (even when his shape wasn't his own, Luther was always still in shape). It's a quiet, brisk morning, with the soothing chatter of birds and people going for their coffees, their breakfasts, waiting for the bus. It's peaceful.

Which, of course, means something is about to go wrong.

Suddenly there's the screeching grind of metal in the distance, and the rending noise of a collision. Luther pauses mid-step, glancing towards the noise like a dog that just heard a whistle, summoning him. Without further hesitation, he starts haring towards it (marveling at how much much faster he can move now, how swift on his feet he feels, less clumsy and lumbering).

So a few moments later, a tall, blond man arrives at the scene of the crime. He's expecting killer robots, but it's actually just a car crash today: although there are still people screaming, people trapped in the wreckage, the potential of an explosion. It looks like someone's hovercar has malfunctioned, soaring right above the traffic before it landed right on top of it, and others smashed into the pile-up. Luther heads straight towards the crash, not noticing that there's another imPort also making a beeline for it until they're standing practically elbow-to-elbow, both surveying the damage. He glances over to the side, takes her in.

(There's something vaguely familiar about the young woman's face, he thinks, but there isn't time to think about that just yet—) ]

Hey. I can lift some of these out of the way. Can you help?

Diego has lost the friend that he started the tradition with, but regardless, he still comes here, to this bar in particular, every Friday night. He sits in the same booth (unless it's taken, which is always annoying when it happens), alone. Every week. It's an easy pattern to pick up for anyone who might be a regular.

He could go to a bar in Nonah, given that's where he lives. Where he works. That would make more sense, wouldn't it? Keep it all in the same city. But it's habit. A routine engrained in him quicker than he would have liked to admit, and it was one of the only things he could keep remotely the same after he showed back up in this world. Gone for three months and over a year, all at once, with memories clashing for what was right, and how time should work.

It's kind of a pathetic sight, if you don't know the logic or the story behind it, but Diego doesn't even consider that anyone might have picked up on the pattern or the frequency at all. Mostly, he assumes people in this world ignore him (he likes it that way, anyway).

He's been waiting for the other shoe to drop.

That feels like a decent summary of his life since he'd left Xavier's. Something good comes along and Josh enjoys it just long enough to be comfortable, and then something goes wrong. Someone gets hurt. Someone dies. Something wrecks the status quo.

The alternate universe they'd gone to felt like a terrible omen of what was to come. And so - he'd started veering into old habits. Pour Decisions isn't really his bar of choice - Josh prefers clubs with pulse pounding music or whatever weird esoteric hole in the wall Kavinsky's managed to find this week - but it's close to work and sometimes you just need a minute to get your bearings.

And so he's here. Often enough to recognize the faces. Most of them greet him with a smile, or clump into their usual circles. Nobody really comes to a bar like this alone, or if they do they certainly don't stay alone.

But that one guy in the back? He sure is.

"Get me what he's having, and another one for him," Josh chirps to the bartender, dropping into the seat across from Diego. "Sup, dude?"

Diego is used to being alone. He spent thirteen years on his own, no family to speak of with as disconnected as they all were back then, and the only friend he'd made practically hated him more than half of the time she ever had to deal with him. Alone was his status quo, and it doesn't really bother him.

What does bother him is someone unceremoniously inviting themselves to his table.

Diego isn't the best at social cues, the Hargreeves were hardly socialized as kids other than with each other and it didn't lend to knowing much about social interactions in general-- so his read of this could entirely be wrong. But that doesn't stop his mouth.

"I'm not interested," he remarks, eyebrow arched. Honestly, the behavior aligns one-thousand percent with something Klaus would do in efforts to hit on someone, so he'll just blame his brother who isn't even here to defend himself, for it if the assumption is wrong.

Josh laughs in response, a grin spreading across his face.

"Dude, you're hot and all, but my girlfriend'd have a problem if I started picking up randos at the bar." He sticks out a hand, the smile still firmly in place. "Josh Foley. You looked kinda lonely so I thought I'd come say hi."

"My bad," Diego huffs a slight laugh of his own, "but to be fair, usually when someone's doing random approaching at a bar..." he voice lifts at the end as he trails off; the tone speaks for itself without the end of the sentence attached.

Momentarily, he completely forgoes introductions. Why does that name sound familiar. His head cants slightly to one side as he tries to place it. And then the lightbulb turns on. "Oh. You're...the guy that helped Luther, right?" It was right, he was sure of it, but something else lingered all wrong in those words, too. Like there was another reason his name sounded commonplace in his mind, something just out of reach of actual memory.

Right. Names.

"Diego. Hargreeves." he offers in return, finally.

"Usually." He grins, because a year ago he would've been doing exactly that. Amazing how time changes things. How... settling down was something he was suddenly capable of doing, rather than chasing whatever distraction he could get.

Diego Hargreeves tickles something in the back of his mind. Familiarity. A brotherly bond. The same one he'd felt with Luther. Josh's brow furrows momentarily.

"Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you, Diego."

{You'll keep on fighting to remember...

early jan → rey; big dumb heroes.

Early Jan » Josh Foley » De Chima, Pour Decisions

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