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Post by MICHAEL CONNER BARTON on Apr 26, 2013 18:28:17 GMT -5
 --- i'll be there when you close your eyes ,. [/color][/size][/font] ( HOLD YOU TIGHT, SAY GOODNIGHT )[/center]
Michael fixed his gray sweater as he walked down the streets of Maple Hollow. He really didn't know what to do with himself anymore. He had stepped away from Morgan promising to call her back, but three years of routine dies hard, and he found himself avoiding contact with her for a few days before finally asking to meet her again. His parents hadn’t taken the news very well about Emmaline’s existence and the mess Michael found himself in now. His father was the most upset with Mike, which hurt even more since he had finally thought himself to be in his good graces. His mother was at least somewhat sympathetic and even offered rational advice.
He looked around the empty diner in despair because in his efforts to calm down. The Thunder ordered himself a meager breakfast of a single English muffin and orange juice and sat in the dining counter lonely and to put it bluntly, bored. Michael chewed on the bland muffin absentmindedly, thinking of how it felt to be alone for a moment. This would probably be the last relaxing moment of his morning before Morgan came in. Pushed to the side was a large orange envelope Michael had been careful to keep neat. It was his trump card faxed over by his mother who had taken the burden to legally advise and brush up her son on his rights.
Michael sighed, dropping the muffin down onto the plate in aggravation. He was trying to do the right thing now. Help Morgan and their daughter with what would probably be a rough ride. It was the only thing Michael could make out of his father in the background of his call home, yelling an onslaught of insults about his oldest child’s intelligence. Bran on the other hand still did know much, only that Michael had some important business to take care of that he could be included in when the time was right. Michael failed to see the point of convincing Morgan he was trying to be the "good guy" anymore. Trying to convince her of changing her opinion would be like turning water into wine.
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Post by MORGAN JANE FARREN on Apr 27, 2013 0:25:26 GMT -5
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Morgan hated the diner. She would have honestly hated any place with even the slightest relationship to Michael. But she hated the diner with an extra oomph. She worked there, part-time. Their pin-striped dresses and forced smiles were almost painful. And after so many hours spent tromping back and forth between the kitchen and disgusting plastic tables, the mere smell of the fried food made her queasy. And in her experience, the students of the Academy were lousy tippers. So all in all, she’d had nothing but negative experiences at the diner. But go figure, of course it was the place Michael would choose. It was just so utterly fitting of what they had become.
She paused outside the storefront. She’d left Emmy at home. Elizabeth had volunteered to watch the little girl (which was unusual for her sixteen year old sister who usually fled at the first chance of something social). Though her entire family had been walking on eggshells. After her encounter with Michael, it had been impossible not to inform them of the newest developments. And when Mr. and Mrs. Farren had heard of Michael’s threat to become legally involved, well Mrs. Farren had blown a gasket. In all honesty, Morgan had never seen her mother lose her temper. Jessamine had been against Morgan even meeting Michael, but Morgan had insisted that it was a painful necessity.
She pushed through the door, ignoring the pointed looks of co-workers who recognized her. She didn’t intend to inform Michael of how she lived, of the paychecks she’d been scrounging together in the hopes of finally gaining some form of independence, of providing a life for Emmaline. She spotted Michael immediately, it was difficult not to. He had an air about him of tortured artist, though there was nothing at all artistic about him. She slid into the booth, her arms crossed characteristically over her chest. She didn’t give a cheery greeting, but she didn’t stab him with a fork either. In her own way, she was on her good behavior. Her fear of him making good on his threat still clung to the air. But she refused to say a word. He wanted to meet, to talk. Fine. She would let him say whatever he wished. Didn’t mean she would make it easy though.
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Post by MICHAEL CONNER BARTON on Apr 28, 2013 21:51:01 GMT -5
--- i'll be there when you close your eyes ,. [/color][/size][/font] ( HOLD YOU TIGHT, SAY GOODNIGHT )[/center]
Unknown to Michael, the diner seemed like a decent place for the two to meet up. He wanted someplace public so neither Morgan or Michael were tempted to get into a physical fight with a bunch of witnesses looking on. The two had never gotten to that level, but they never had a child smack dab in the middle of their debates. This wasn’t a place Michael ever really came around to. He usually made himself know around the Northern Lights and Club Corrosion type atmospheres. Though his parents lived in Florida, they would not have him living uncomfortable with their youngest son in tow while they both received their education. They had a nice condo style apartment in their names that the boys lived in, free of charge. All Michael had to do was look after Bran and he didn’t need to be bought off like that when it involved the younger Barton.
He had heard before, and was once told - what seems... eons ago - that he should keep his friends close, but his enemies closer. So as to protect himself. And the first time that was told to him, by his father at the tender young age of five, he didn't understand how that really made sense. His father mean to tell him that he should let heartless bitches take a crack at making his life a living hell... on a daily basis? He didn't know how to curse at that particular time in his life, but he was thinking the equivalent of 'that's a crock of shit!' Michael think he'd meant it as a joke. Not that it really mattered, little kid logic demanded Mike ignore him in favor of further badmouthing my young evil nemesis that he felt like he’d gained that very day. He didn't consider the playfully-given advice until I was older, jaded and embittered by too many encounters in his life.
A lot of bad cards may have been stacked in his favor, but Morgan was his enemy, just as she no doubt felt the same about him. She gave no indication that she had seen Michael, no greeting, but she was here now, sitting in front of him with the same cross look she had given to him in the park. But she was silent. He wait for a moment of two before realizing she wasn’t going to dignify him with anything. Fine, he wouldn’t either. ”I’ve given it a lot of though since we last met up,” he began. Dropping the bomb about being a father was some heavy news and at the time he didn’t know what he wanted. ”I want to see her. Emmaline. I want to be able to see her.”
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Post by MORGAN JANE FARREN on Apr 29, 2013 10:39:02 GMT -5
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Morgan was in fact very tempted to get into a physical fight. Though honestly she didn’t like her odds. She had been held back two years for a reason. If everything had gone as planned, she would have been a Sophomore like Michael. But it hadn’t. And by this time, it would be almost effortless for Michael to overpower her. She far preferred her chances with a pistol. Shooting someone square in the forehead prevented them from striking you with lightning. But she knew the consequences of murder. And honestly killing Michael was almost a victory for him. Undoubtedly his family would win custody of Emmaline. They’d argue the family of a murderer was no fit for a little girl. And it would be accurate. So she kept her hands to herself, resisted the urge to throttle him, or set his pant legs on fire. She folded her arms across her chest, balling her fingers into fists out of sight. She wanted to appear controlled, threatening even. If he sensed weakness, if he even suspected that he had the upper hand, he’d destroy her. He’d do it with ease. He’d have all the cards, and toy with her like a cat to a mouse.
Morgan kept her lips in a tight line. For a moment, Michael seemed desperate to play her game. It would be a duel of wills, who would crack first. But the duel was short-lived. Michael cracked, and whether it was true triumph or not, Morgan counted it as a small but vital victory. She listened to him, struggling to keep her face a mask of irritation. If he saw how much she feared him, her racing thoughts, he’d use it to his advantage. From the moment he had approached at the park, his eyes settling on Emmaline, he had declared war. War was a game of wits, a game of betrayals and desperate battling for the upper-hand. Morgan waited for a long moment, refusing to answer. She needed to control herself, before she began screaming profanities. Doubtless the police would be called, she’d be hauled away for disorderly conduct. She took a deep breath, finally speaking. “You want visitation.” She stated it simply, really just relaying his own words back to him. She was surprised, to be honest. She had half-expected some demand for shared custody, that he would meander home and be preparing the perfect home for a little girl he barely knew. She narrowed her eyes slightly. Now came the back and forth, the debate, bargaining each other. She leaned back slightly. “Supervised visitation.” She paused, fighting to keep her voice calm. “No poisoning her against each other.” She said it to him, but to herself as well.
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