Hopefully (Doyle)

[Brandon Doyle]

Doyle watched him, for a moment almost as distracted as he seemed. His sharp eyes staring at his hands from behind a darkened lens. He closed his eyes briefly and listened to him speak again. He raised an eyebrow and sat forward slightly as if suddenly alerted about something. He wasn't giving him a no and what he did say ended up sounding a little too suggestive for his tastes. But what would he even tell him? No I don't get weird on anybody I hate everybody equally? Yeah that sounded right, didn't it? He opened his mouth to say it but instead of saying it he just sighed in an annoyed way. Suggesting it rather than saying it. For whatever reason.

"Probably. I don't know. I find it unlikely, though. The child doesn't like anybody" he said after a moment. Leaving too much space between what he said and what he eventually said in return. He wasn't entirely sure what the space was for but it seemed longer than it had been. The lingering silence had been something he had been wishing for but between him and Deon it seemed to be suggesting something that he didn't mean to suggest. Like he had been thinking about it. Considering it. Which was something that hadn't happened a little bit.

"Anyway. I'm just saying don't get any weird ideas, dude" he added, leaning back once again. His arms staying crossed. He looked away from Deon though he would never even notice now that he thought about it. Then again, if he kept looking at him OTHERS might think they might actually be having a conversation and... Now that he thought about it, two people talking usually kept others from trying to join, right? Maybe he should look back at him. Keep talking. Because he was pretty sure Deon wasn't the worst that could happen to him tonight.

[Deon De Soto]

Ah he did get it. Deon smirked slightly at that, attempting to stifle it as much as he could, but he wore his heart out on his sleeve most of the time- he couldn't hide much of anything, let alone that quiet satisfaction that he was apparently known for. Anthony had told him that once, that he radiated a quiet confidence that was absolutely infectious, but Deon wasn't sure if he agreed with it or not. In truth, he doubted himself a lot- he doubted himself right now hanging around with a teenager that was desperate to convince everyone that he hated company. He doubted himself when he sang, doubted himself when he cleaned or attempted to organize- what if he was doing it wrong, what if an object wasn't what he thought it was, it took him so long to do everything with his blindness, what if he was too slow for everyone, too slow, too blind for the world to accept him, what if?

What if Doyle really did hate him? What if he sat across the table, fuming, cursing his name in every way, shape and form? Deon wouldn't know, he probably wouldn't let him know, and it was so easy to keep secrets from a blind man.

But Deon shook his head. He doubted himself a lot- he doubted where he stepped, doubted where his hands were and what he was touching at any given moment, but if there was one thing that you don't need eyes to understand, it's people. Doyle couldn't hate him, not completely anyway, he was here on his own accord. Deon hadn't threatened the boy with a knife, hadn't grabbed him by the collar and demanded. He'd only asked, and though Doyle said no, he'd clearly meant yes because here they were, together, chatting casually without shackles or chains, without blackmail or threats. This was an interaction that was built on many things, but hate didn't seem to be one of them. Despite this realization, Deon resolved to back off some and sat back slowly in his chair. He raised his hand in the air harmlessly, showing Doyle his palms in the universal symbol of surrender, before dropping it back to the table.

"No ideas here." That wasn't entirely true, he had lots of ideas, as most human beings did. But Doyle seemed to prefer limited disclosure so limited disclosure he would get. "I'm just looking to spend my time with someone with a little more depth than my bandmates, who are shallow as sidewalk puddle. They're boring and you're interesting, that's all there is to it."

[Brandon Doyle]

Doyle hesitantly retracted his claws when he claimed to have no funny ideas. He hardly believed him, but he hardly believed anything anybody said, really. But there was a small part of him that wanted to be confident that Deon wouldn't try anything. Even if he did, though, it wouldn't get him anywhere, right. He nodded slightly, not thinking anything of the sentiment going unseen. He didn't say anything else on the matter but still quietly had his doubts.

"So, for a social event involving you and your musical group, you seem to be currently being ignored mostly" he pointed out, unsure as to what that really meant. He wasn't terrible torn up about it, obviously. The less attention Deon got the less he will even be noticed and his goal over all was to play this whole night as a wallflower and not be engaged in any sort of conversation by anybody. Current company excluded. Though he could live with him being quieter too.

He took this chance to look at Jimmy-6, really impressed by how well he seemed to be trained. If this had been Scott he would have been everywhere already, greeting and sniffing everybody. Probably knocking people and things over in excitement. This dog was bigger than him and could do a lot to ruin a get together. He was a service dog, though. So it was to be expected. He idly pet the dog on the neck, tired eyes going back to Deon.

[Deon De Soto]

The dog turned appreciatively, giving the boy a hardy sniff and attempting to lap in a friendly gesture at the hand that was answering all of his silent canine prayers. But the contact was so brief that he missed and had to return to his usual position, sitting still, silent and forever forlorn by the fact that he could not be patted constantly. An everlasting scratch beneath the chin, was that so much to ask? The dog sighed heavily and shook himself briefly. Deon reacted by turning his blind eyes to where the dog's chain clattered against the buckles of his seeing-eye harness, but seeing nothing, he did nothing specific, just pretended to watch for a minute before turning back to the spot across the table where Doyle's voice seemed to emanate.

"I was thinking the same thing actually. I kind of expected them to walk up while I was bad mouthing them, that's usually how their timing is." Again, more for show than with any real purpose, Deon turned and looked over his shoulder, looking- listening actually, for any sign of familiar voices. He found them, literally across the room from them. Alex's deep voice resonated off of the floors and walls, not loud but more of a droning, a quiet buzzing that surpassed all of the buzzing in the room in severity but not in volume. It was timed with someone else, someone Deon didn't recognize. The second voice was louder and more shrill, though everyone seemed shrill when chatting with his manager. Turning back in his seat with the assumption that the second voice belonged to some record company representative, he resumed his conversation with Doyle. "I assume they'll come find me soon enough. Until then, there's plenty of sushi to eat."

He gestured with one hand toward the buffet table along the back wall behind them, which he could locate based on the noise of plates clattering, the sound of utensils scraping large quantities of food into hollow tin dishes and the orders being barked by a chef about platters. Deon went to say something else, leading forward with a bit of a grin but the sound of footsteps to his right gave him pause. A server had shuffled over and promptly asked the two young men if they wanted him to fetch anything for them, but Deon smiled pleasantly and took hold of his attention.

"Thanks but I think we can fetch it all ourselves. Though, since I doubt you have any of these stacked at the buffet table, a bowl of water for the dog would be lovely."

With a nod and a bow, the server scurried off again in a rush.

[Brandon Doyle]

The server that had wondered over caused Doyle to tense rather noticibly, hearing him and about ready to reply when Deon did. He sighed quietly, a little relieved he didn't have to say anything to the staff. He realized that they were paid to walk around and help people out so he would have only used light sarcasm mostly aimed at those they were serving; the people far too lazy to get up and get whatever they needed. But he would still have come off as a bit of a deuchebag and that he could deal with like he always did. But he was grateful for the oppertunity to not talk to somebody. To not have to deal with strangers that didn't know anything and who... smelled strange but not in a bad way. He tilted his chair back slightly, usual teenage behavior, as he watched the server leave.

He had also noticed that Deon did take pretty good care of the dog and most people would probably not even think about getting Jimmy-6 a bowl of water. He paid attention to that detail and stored it away. He could always appreciate a person who takes good care of a dog. Not in a friendly kind of way, though. In a 'I don't totally hate you' from a distance kind of way. He didn't hate Deon, to be honest. He didn't particularly like him but he didn't hate him. He was at a point where he felt no real way toward him. He was just there being a person and Doyle happened to also be here being a person. Two very different people in very different worlds with even more different social interactions.

"I'll have to take you up on the sushi, actually" Doyle said as he moved the chair back on to the floor with a noise that was louder than he had intended. But not loud enough to really draw any attention which he was very thankful for. He wanted to go alone but at the same time he was under this almost paranoid impression that if he did somebody just might try and play nice and start a conversation with him and he was about as willing to do that as he was to shoot himself in the head. Though the latter almost seemed like a better option than talking to somebody about something trivial like oh wow look at those napkins or why do you carry around chopsticks and why are you wearing a hoodie are you like ten get out you're ridiculous. He lingered there for a moment too long before deciding that he would go only if Deon decided to go. He didn't want to be attached it him in any way shape or form ever but at the moment it was vital.Also because he feels like after saying that he should have left right away and since it seemed too late for that he wasn't going to. He didn't want anybody to know he have been thinking about this too much. Planning a trip to a buffet line like it was some kind of complicated operation that were to be handled with stratagy. Even though it kindof was.

[Deon De Soto]

Deon smiled warmly up at Doyle, hearing him push his chair out and listening as his shoes scuffed the floor. He had a very distinct footfall pattern, it was a little like shuffling- low and fast with a tendency to scuff the floors, it was not unlike the footsteps of a terrified child, but wasn't exactly the same. He stepped with more force, each step long and reaching, almost purposeful in its propulsion, as though he was constantly in a hurry. Perhaps, Deon realized, that was his own fault. Though Doyle didn't sound particularly shorter than him, his voice when standing always seemed to come from an area directly across from Deon's ears, there was no downward motion or suggestion at all, it was still possible that Doyle had difficulty keeping up with his leggy and athletic companion. Deon didn't walk particularly fast but his proportions favored a natural sense of speed that maybe had Doyle scurrying to keep up. He made a mental note to test this the next time they were walking somewhere- he'd hate to be rushing the poor boy everywhere.

There was a short pause between them that hang in the air for the moment it took Deon to notice that Doyle was waiting for him, at which point he nodded apologetically and sort of scrambled up from his chair. He slid his back more confidently, not flinching or shying away from the noise that it made, but it still seemed to attract little to no attention from onlookers, so he had no reason to fear it. He took hold of the handle on Jimmy-6's leather harness and smiled at Doyle again as he waited for the mastiff to stand.

"Of course." He said with some flourish and made a gesture to the buffet table that invited Doyle to lead the way. He kind of had to. Deon could figure out where the table was in the room, but deciphering which end was the beginning was a little more complicated for a blind person. He'd normally ask for his companions to make his plate for him and such, to lead him over by hand so they could tell him everything that was on the table and what it looked like and such, but he didn't want to give such a monumental task to Doyle so, dog in hand, he followed the young lad's lead instead, without giving too much instruction. They'd figure out the details once they got there.

[Brandon Doyle]

Doyle did take the lead without much thought about it. He was blind, after all. He didn't feel like he had to help him do everything, though. He didn't have that kind of sympathy for him. It just simply didn't exist. He was blind and he seemed to be dealing with it like a fuctioning adult. Even seemed to be humorous about it. So he wasn't going to baby him. That would be pretty stupid. He looked at them before heading to where they were going, digging in his pocket again for his small case of travel chop sticks he had used earlier to avoid touching things. He really just didn't like his hands touching things off of him. And he happened to really love chopsticks as to him they were far more convenient than forks. For whatever reason.

He didn't say anything to Deon, but was assuming he would end up saying SOMETHING soon enough anyway. He mentally was prepared for conversation that he didn't want, but he wasn't going to start it by any means. Any moment of silence between them was to be cherished for however long it was there. Though he didn't MIND him talking as much as he wanted to. He wasn't dumb or anything he just talked a lot and was far too friendly to strangers and for somebody like Doyle that just didn't sit well and was very offputting. He kept his walls built high and thick, daggers standing at the ready though he found he hadn't needed them yet.

He was actually almost surprised to be honest. He began picking his food from the buffet with moments in between to identify what he was putting on a plate. There did seem to be a rather wide variety of sushi which he was ALSO surprised about. They had light options and very iffy options. Things like toro to uni. More well known things like hamachi and different types of Nigiri to rarely seen in the US things like Anago. Which he had never had any desire to try, not having a big taste for eel. Conger eel being the lighter type of eel but still being eel. He got lost in all the finer details of the sushi and was completely distracted from his companion for a moment. Lost in an asian seafood heaven for a moment. Plate filling rather quickly.

[Deon De Soto]

Deon followed the sound of Doyle's shoes against the tile like a bloodhound follows a scent, Jimmy-6 was really a formality at that point, his hearing was so keen. He had no trouble shadowing his companion to the buffet table, nor did he seem to need much help while he was there. He asked Jimmy to "walk up" to the table and gently placed his free hand on the front edge of the long serving table, stretching his fingers out along its surface, allowing just the tips of them to tickle things as he went. He found the plates in this manner, and let go of Jimmy-6 in order to take one, and then carefully went about his business, finding trays of food in the same manner. The hard part was identifying the food in the trays however. Using his soft exploratory touches, Deon traced the edges of the tray until the back of his hand met the side of a serving utensil of some kind, a spoon probably, which he would then lift onto his plate and sniff briefly. Something made with tuna and rice was first, Maguro Nigiri probably, a pretty common dish at these gatherings and one that Deon liked so he spooned a little more onto one side of his plate. Then he moved to the next one- Salmon this time. Deon took a little of that as well. He moved slowly down the table, having to find each tin and each spoon or spatula every time, which took careful hand movement and precise attention.

They got back to the table without Deon saying a word, too wrapped up in the arduous process of making his plate that he barely had time to contemplate conversation.

As the pair returned to their table, Deon still obediently following the sound of Doyle's shoes, another sound caught his attention. Someone was calling his name, from a distance it sounded like, so though he lifted his head to show that he'd heard them, he didn't cease his movement to the table. As the person neared, the sound of shoes slapping tile with a force unlike any other immediately told Deon who it was, long before this mystery person was in ear shot. Putting his plate down, the singer and songwriter didn't bother to sit down, he simply turned, straightening the front of his shirt with an idle hand while the other rested on the back of his chair.

"Thomas, good god man, is the building on fire?"

Tom Danner was a youthful looking lad in his late teens, tall and thin but much shorter than Deon with much narrower shoulders and a more sinewy build. He had a chiseled angular look to his face and his skull was topped with a head of short light brown hair that lightened at the tips. He was probably the most appropriately dressed of the three of them, sporting a designer sweater that he wore over a collared shirt and a pair of light gray slacks, but like Deon he skipped the fancy shoes and just wore a pair of black and white sneakers.

"Alex has been looking everywhere for you, he's getting all kinds of pissed off. Thought you'd skipped town on us or something, I dunno but man is he fiery." The boy panted heavily from running across the room, his hair tossed and thrown by the wind. He paused to slick it back into place with one hand, gathered himself and went to say something else, but it was at that moment, he noticed Doyle sitting across the way. Immediately, his eyebrow quirked skeptically. "Who's this?"

"This is Doyle." Deon smiled warmly at his bandmate, gesturing toward the table where he assumed Doyle had sat down again, if Tom could see him he must be nearby. "If you ask him, we're not friends but I happen to thoroughly enjoy his company so I keep getting him to tag along with me to places. Doyle this is Tom Danner, our back up guitarist."

"Pleasure." Tom just nodded to Doyle respectfully before turning his attention back to Deon. "You've got to go talk to Alex mate, I'm serious, he's either going to skin you alive or chop you into bits and feed you to the dog. No offense Jim."

"I'll talk to him in a minute. Let me eat first." Somehow Deon must've known that such an answer would not satisfy his extremely nervous friend, who shifted his weight from one foot to the other anxiously and ran his hands together as though sitting still would cause him to burst into flames. "Tom I promise. Just avoid him for the next ten minutes. I'll be there in a bit. You are being impatient as dicks right now, cool your jets man, or whatever it is you Americans say."

[Brandon Doyle]

Doyle flinched when he heard another person, a dark discomfort crawling through him at rapid speeds. Spreading from his toes to the tips of his fingers and the tip of his nose. His muscles tensed and his eyes shot to the approaching voice. Listening without looking like he cared too much, though. He didn't look as tense as he was. He heard Deon introduce him and he just rolled his eyes and looked back at his food. They were not friends. And he still didn't understand the other's fascination with him but it was tolerable. That was the extent of this. Tolerance. But this was not as tolerable. He waved rather dismissively, not saying anything to the stranger.

He did snort quietly to himself at the final thing Deon did say, however. What he said sounded out of his place with his rather interesting accent. Not that it was interesting. But it was kindof interesting. Deon was surprisingly interesting for somebody so annoying. Maybe that was why he was here. Yeah. That.

[Deon De Soto]

Deon took a slow and deliberate seat in his chair as the boy introduced as Tom decided to take off again, disappearing into a throng of people making their way toward the stage. A band was setting up- someone dropped a snare while another dragged microphones into place, the sound of his fabric rubbing the receptors creating some loud thudding interference over the speakers. Fortunately, they were turned down at the moment so it was far from overpowering, even for Deon's sensitive ears. He waited until Tom's footsteps disappeared into the masses, faded into the background and became unintelligible again before turning back to Doyle. Jimmy-6 had been brought his bowl of water and he lapped at it hungrily while they ate.

"Sorry about that, Tom's a bit of a worrier. He thinks the band is going to fall apart at any moment, like it's up to him to keep everyone together." Deon rambled casually, pulling in his chair and making himself comfortable. He took some time to smooth down the front of his shirt again, which seemed to like to wrinkle anytime he bothered to bend over or lean forward. How he knew about that though would remain another of his little secrets. "He doesn't realize that the band is rather like a pack of dogs- it's better to let them loose, let them fight a little, rough house a little, it gets their energy out and they're much more docile for the performance that way."

He used a fork to spear a bit of sushi from his plate. It took a few attempts for him to catch one, a little bit of his gentle fishing techniques to triangular the location, but once he found it, he had no trouble scooping it into his mouth. He made a bit of a face at first, as though surprised by the flavor, but almost immediately went back for another.

"You know, I don't much like fish but this, this is delicious." He punctuated his statement by popping another bit of salmon into his mouth. "Delightful. Do you eat sushi often Doyle?"

[Brandon Doyle]

"Bands do fall apart all of the time for many different reasons" Doyle pointed out. He didn't want to defend the stranger but he did understand why he would worry about such a thing. It was worth worrying about, really. But he was also a fan of many older bands that had fallen apart for many different reasons, so he was probably not the best source here. "The Moody Blues are still together, though" he said but mostly it joining in with his own thoughts.

He listened to him talking about the Sushi now and shrugged, but then remembered he couldn't see it. He finished chewing the bite he had taken before finally answering him. "I used to live close to this really good Sushi place when I was living in Chicago. So I did, but moving here I am having a lot of trouble finding anywhere worth my time and money. So I've been eating a lot of pizza and things like that." He always found himself alone at night and his parents tried to encourage cooking by keeping the fridge and cabinets stocked with ingrediants but he always went out of his way to actually avoid any cooking. Always ordered pizza instead.

[Deon De Soto]

"Pizza is delicious, especially around here." Deon quipped, pausing briefly to pop another bit of salmon into his mouth. Every time he did so, he was surprised by the flavor. This outing with Doyle was the first time he'd bothered to actually eat the served sushi at one of these events, it always just sounded so unappetizing, he'd never had any desire to try to eat raw fish. Until it tuned out to be something Doyle liked, he was always interested in getting to know his friends- and his not friends, apparently, he reminded himself of how badly Doyle wished to avoid that title. He always wanted to try his friends favorite foods. America was so unique in its diet, its loud and boisterous culture mirrored in its bold and mostly savory flavors. It was a fascinating adventure in food, trying American dishes, and it turns out their sushi was no exception. "When I arrived in this country, I landed in New York City and I thought that flat flimsy stuff was the entirety of the pizza experience. But Chicago really destroyed that notion."

Deon cocked his head to the right, turning his ear to his back and listening as a loud voice sounded out in the crowd. It was clearly loud and obnoxious, the kind of shouting that was typically accompanied by wild gesturing, but he seemed to be unphased by its presence and went back to eating casually. Tom wasn't lying- Alex was definitely going to tear him a new one once his patience ran out, but Deon remained remarkably unconcerned.

"Where did you live in Chicago? I only visited briefly."

[Brandon Doyle]

A door quickly closed in Doyle's head by the time the other had stopped talking, and before he knew it he was shrugging and saying "somewhere", avoiding giving away any personal information on the matter like it mattered. It really didn't. It's not like his own home in Chicago was, like, his password or something. He looked down at his plate, pushing things apart now that he had the room to do so.

"I lived close to Naperville. My mom wanted to stay closer to the Suburbs so I would go to a better school" he forced out after a moment. Deciding that there was no reason not to, other than him not wanting to "my dad doesn't care about that stuff so he put her in charge. He just had to be in the area. Still not sure why" he picked up another piece of sushi, turning it slightly before setting it back down.

"Where are you from, exactly?" he finally asked, mostly as a way to distract him so he didn't have to disclose anything about where HE came from and anything about his home life. He simply wasn't comfortable giving away personal information to strangers. He never had been. One reason he hated talking to people longer than a second because he runs the risk of them asking questions. Well that and his inability to tolerate most people. That too.

[Deon De Soto]

"Gaborone, Botswana." Deon responded after a moment he spent finishing a mouthful of salmon. He didn't really bother to look down as he poked and prodded his plate, searching for more- it wasn't really necessary given his eye situation, but he usually liked the formality of it. Other people, rather, liked the formality of it. Humans were a species driven by their eyes and their eyesight, they lived for eye contact, used it as a marker for things like attention and interest, so usually he was very keen to move his useless gaze around accordingly to keep up the entirely useless charade. But Doyle didn't seem the type to be bothered by it and, momentarily engrossed in their conversation, he straight up forgot. Upon remembering, he looked down hastily. "Or at least I was born there, but I grew up just south of that in Pretoria, which is in South Africa. Right near the border of Botswana."

He paused, as though fishing for more to say. He was kind of, part of this response was so robotic to him- he wasn't really from Gaborone and he didn't exactly grow up in Pretoria, but that answer was so much simpler than the truth that it was almost automatic, and Deon found himself realizing far too late that he had no only lied to Doyle but actually had no intention of doing so. The young man was smart, as obscure and ridiculous as his reasoning was, Doyle would probably figure out that his see-through companion was being less than 100% truthful and would probably hold it against him. But the truth was a little convoluted and a little bit terrifying, so rather than reveal it for what it was, Deon ran one of his large sturdy hands through his choppy black hair and moved along.

"It was all right next to a huge game reserve, the area was full of animals, lions and the like. I've so far found the United States very tame by comparison. No hyenas or baboons or anything." He laughed a little, gesturing with one of his hands. "The people here are more interesting though."

[Brandon Doyle]

Doyle listened with a vague interest, not knowing where either of those places are. Not to lie. He hadn't done any research on the different parts of Africa or really anywhere. He was required to know the different countries, the states of the country they were in and the capital cities and where the President was but that was about it. He learned what he needed to get the grades he needed to get out of highschool and into a good college but otherwise he didn't really care much. Knowing things was nice but why bother looking up everything in Africa? Maybe if he had a character from Africa. Maybe he could make and anthro hyena character or something. He had never made a hyena character but he had seen it being done around the internet. He followed a couple artists that used them as their 'fursonas'. And they were pretty neat looking.

He snorted when he said that people here were more interesting. That was the biggest lie he had ever heard come out of somebody else's mouth. People here were bland. So far the only person he has hung out with in the entire town was this guy from however the hell you pronounce that. "I think I would prefer the animals." he said, leaning his chin onto his hand that was propped up on the table. He continued eating while not looking at his companion, though he would never notice. He instead opted to people watch. Like how that guy had mustard on his shirt. From where he didn't know. And that girl was wearing a pretty colorful space dress and he couldn't not notice it. It was pretty glaring. He wasn't any kind of fashion critic, and honestly who was he to say anything? He was wearing a hoodie literally all of the time. But man that dress and tights combo was very hipster-trash.