Understanding a new home

Who: Doc and Dylan
Where: Marten's house
When: After school

Dylan's day had been a slow one. School hadn't been bad, exactly, but it hadn't been good either and the afternoon had dragged out until he was sure the clock must have stopped. When class had finally let out, he had to walk home and while he didn't normally mind the distance, the cold ruined his mood. He was from California, what was this 'snow' thing people kept talking about?! At least when his dad was around, his brother had a car.

Dylan let himself into Doc's house and headed into the kitchen. He dumped his bag down on the table, shed his father's old coat on top of it and grabbed a mouthful of juice. He still didn't know the house well enough to think of it as anybody's but Doc's but old habits died hard and nobody was around to see him drinking straight from the carton. He stared into the fridge for a moment but finally turned around and called out, "Anyone here?" Not that he really expected an answer so he headed out to the garage where he knew Doc would normally be.

Someone was there, as it happened. Doc didn't have many draws to leave the house beyond his work and the odd visit with Eva, but in contrast? He had endless ones to stay put. The twins, Dylan, his always-increasing research, and the forge all piled together to keep him constantly occupied. And today was a forge day, because really, the time was ticking down and he wanted to make sure he'd have all the time he needed for holiday gifts for people.

So there he was, seated at a work bench with a pair of magnifying glasses on, a fine wooden grip in one hand and a delicate etching tool in the other. Bad Religion buzzed low from the nearby stereo as he worked the tip with a careful patience, scratching thin lines into the grip. He looked over as the door opened, flipping up the lenses of his glasses and giving Dylan a welcoming grin, then swapping the tool from his hand for a waiting cup of coffee. "Hey Dylan, you just get home?"

Dylan hadn't been in the garage before, not while Doc was working at least. When he had heard him in there, he left him be because that was how things worked with Frank. Maybe that wasn't fair, Doc wasn't as grumpy, but as the only man he had ever lived with before this, it was also the only real masculine influence he had for a baseline.

"Yeah, just got back, where is everyone?" Dylan took a step further into the room but he stayed close to the doorway to keep out of the way. He swung his gaze around the room and jerked his head towards the radio with an approving smile. "Man, I thought you were kidding about being cool. Like grownups do it sometimes, I don't know why, but whatever, it ain't you." He smiled and started head over to the stereo, hoping there were some other CDs he could flick through, but then he stopped and looked at Doc's project. "What is that?"

Doc laughed quietly at Dylan's compliment, slipping the glasses off the bridge of his nose and setting them by his tools. "I never claimed I was cool, but thanks," he said, grabbing his cigarettes and lighting up. "Syn's down at her studio, I think. Seph's over at the book store he works at. It's a rare thing to get the house this quiet." There were no CDs for Dylan to inspect, but there were tapes stacked up one atop the other, most of them obviously dated. Elvis Costello, Nick Cave, NOFX and more all waited in an odd chronicle of the thousands of things that could be called 'punk'; the little indulgences in music Doc managed to hang onto over the years.

"This?" he asked, picking up the piece he'd been working on, "Well, keep it secret, okay? I'm working on something for Seph, it's just a little piece of it. But I get a little anal when it comes to craftsmanship."

It was more than a little weird to hear an older adult like Doc saying things like 'anal' but it appealed to Dylan's immature sense of humour anyway. He'd probably never grow out of it either. "What is it," he asked as he peered a little closer at the wooden grip Doc held then kept moving.

At the stereo, he ran his fingers over some of the cassette cases and looked thoughtfully down at them. When he found one labelled NoFX, he grinned and held it up over his shoulder. "Hey old man, aren't you a little old for them? They're from the 90s, I kind of pictured you liking early punk from when you were young. This is, I don't know, my age and stuff." He set the case down and turned back around to face Doc. He leaned back against the counter and looked at the older man with a curious scrutiny, eager to see what else they had in common. "You heard of Tiger Army? Offspring, they're awesome by the way, Green Day? Love them or hate them, those guys have never made a bad album. I grew up in Berkeley, home of punk or something. I don't know but it's ful of musicians and stuff. Rancid, Green Day AFI, Op Ivy, you know?"

"The home of punk is a much-debated thing, Dylan," Doc mused with a grin, "And NOFX isn't much my speed, but the first time I heard 'The Decline' they earned some points in my book." He chuckled at the barrage of inquiries, tapping ash from his cigarette and steadily shaking his head. "Honestly, I've heard of a few of those groups, but I'm not really familiar with their stuff. You're mostly right, I prefer earlier punk and classic rock, but I also just don't have much time to try and keep up."

But really, any common ground was a good thing in Doc's book, so he'd take what he could get. "As for the wood? Well, it's a grip," he eventually elaborated, rummaging around on his work table and moving a few things to uncover the eventual destination of that grip. Doc closed his hand on thin metal, thumbing back the elbow-lever as he brought his hand up and unfolded a shimmering straight razor in a smooth gesture. "Metalworking's always been a passion of mine, but I never tried anything like this. I figure Seph's got a complexion that'd benefit from a classic shave, y'know?" Which was a lie; Seph would be using this for anything but shaving, in all likelihood.

"Home of new punk anyway," Dylan declared with a shrug. He glanced back over at the different albums then straightened up and pushed himself away from the counter. He walked over to Doc and looked over the other man's arm at the razor. He'd seen straight-razors before but only in pictures, actually seeing one up close was intimidating. It was smooth and violent, too easily used by a killer and the old urban legend about the British barber came to mind. But it was only going to be Seph's and that guy didn't seem dangerous, that made it a little less scary. He looked back up at Doc and gave him a grin, "So what's it for, Christmas or something? You should tell him not to shave until then so he has something to hack off with it on the day."

Laughing richly at the thought of Seph with a bushy beard, Doc nodded at Dylan's question. "Yeah, Christmas indeed. I wanted a headstart in case I messed up and had to try again." And he knew he'd need the time to attune the blade properly, not to mention just working with the consecrated silver of the blade was dangerous for him, it burned to the touch. "I think Synnove would drive him crazy if he tried to grow a beard, really. And I'd never hear the end of it if I planted the idea." He folded the blade shut again, tucking it back in the hiding spot and giving Dyl a curious look. "You using a razor regularly? I've got an old straight one, if you ever wanted to learn. It really is the smoothest shave you'll ever have, ladies love it. And I think you've got the face for it."

Dylan laughed at the image of Syn fussing about her brother/ He hadn't seen her much since he'd moved in but he could imagine it easily enough. He was still thinking about it when he realised Doc was asking him something and he snapped out of his thoughts. "Huh? Yeah, kind of. Just those plastic disposable ones though. Couldn't use a straight razor though, I'd be too scared about slitting my throat and, no offence old man, but I can get my own girls." His cheeks flushed a little but he grinned proudly anyway. After all, Nate had said she didn't like him but they were going out on the weeend. "Asked one out today, well, last night but we had lunch today. I don't even know if that counts but... Shit, that reminds me, can I go out on Saturday? It's just with a small group; me, Leija, Kavin, his girlfriend."

Dylan kept the laugh going on Doc's lips with all of that as he snagged a new cigarette, lighting up before considering all of that. "You've got a date? Hell yes you can go out. Same rules apply as before, what with calling to check in and all, but I'm not going to say no." And thankfully he was an old hand at keeping his expression even, since Leija's name was a surprise. Dylan was friends with her? That was ... interesting. "And I'm not trying to corral you or anything, but you and your friends are always welcome to hang around here too. Is this Leija the one you asked out?"

"Yeah, I didn't think she'd say yes because Nate liked her too but I asked her last night soo..." Dylan shrugged and luckily, he didn't notice anything unusual about Doc's body language or else he might have mistaken it as disapproval. Not that there was any or that he was even trying to find it, of course. Hewas too excited about the idea of going on a real date with his crush. His cheeks were still flushed but at least now he was thinking about practical things, about getting there and getting home again. "I can't drive so she said she'd borrow her dad's car and pick me up which is weird but whatever, better than getting you to drive us. Not that you're bad or anything and at least you'd have a cool soundtrack but it'd be, you know, dorky much? Hanging out here wouldn't be so bad but Kavin has his own place. But yeah, I'll call and let you know if I'm crashing there or not."

So he had a date with Leija? That'd make for an interesting encounter if and when Dylan decided to bring her over here, to be certain. "Just keep me posted, and promise that if there's any drinking, there won't be any driving," Doc requested evenly, remembering how it felt both to be that age and to be smitten. "And no worries about offending me, Dylan. Seriously, okay? I may not be like other guys over fifty, but I'm still over fifty," he went on with a reassuring grin, "You just have fun, use common sense if something seems like it might be a bad idea, and let me know what the plan is. You need any cash, if you're all hanging out?"

Doc was cooler about it than he expected, that was a plus. Dylan tried to think of how Frank would have reacted and, disappointed, he reailsed his dad hadn't cared much at all when he was around. All he'd ever really told him was to keep close to Nate which was sucky for the both of them - For Dylan because he needed his dad, for Nate because of the obligation to hang out with his dorky little brother. Doc was more like his mother, someone with rules and clear boundaries and who seemed to remember being young and not in that dorky way that so many men with a sportscar seemed to try.

But back to the matter at hand and Dylan's brows creased together as he thought about it. Did he need anything? Kavin hadn't mentioned it and as far as he knew, they were planning to stay inside watching movies or talking. Maybe there would be alcohol but it didn't sound like it would be out of control. At least Doc was okay with the idea and Dylan tucked that little bit of knowledge away for later. "Nah, I think I'm good. Kavin will have it all. He's only in high school too but the guy has everything. I think his family is rich or something, I don't know."

He just nodded with a little smile, figuring he'd make a point to head past the house at some point that night, just to be sure. Doc was damned good at going unseen, Dylan would never even know he was there. "As long as we're clear, that sounds fine. I've only got a few rules, and I'd rather we never butted heads over them," he assured Dylan. Having him here was good thusfar, Doc even felt like Dylan was starting to feel more like it was a home.

"Yeah, that's fair. I'm guessing they're all common sense ones, right?" Dylan said. He was used to rules, his mother had ones too. She wasn't strict about them but he respected her enough to never bend them too hard. It had been strange at his dad's house without many - 'don't touch the guns' didn't count - and it was good to have them again. He liked knowing what he could and couldn't do right up. He smiled at Doc then looked around the garage for Volitaire. "Hey, where's your dog? I haven't seen him today, could I take him for a walk around the block or something? We'd be back before dark, promise."

"Bring a baggy," Doc insisted with a chuckle, otherwise seeming encouraging of the idea. Really, it was one more little sign that Dylan was adjusting to life with the lot of them, even coming out of his own shell if he seemed excited to take Voltaire out. "And I'd bet he's sleeping on my laundry pile," he went on with another laugh, "You can poke your head in my room if you want, or just wait outside and whistle the opening chords to 'Should I Stay Or Should I Go'." Which had been a pain of a trick to get Voltaire to learn, but Doc had managed it.

Dylan gave Doc a wide grin and shook his head. "I can't whistle good and that's just the straight kind but tunes? I can sing it but whistling? No way, man." He laughed again and headed back to the doorway. "Thanks though, I'll be back later."