<strong>Name:</strong>Gavin Brightman (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=264761.msg13077767#msg13077767)<br/><strong>Time / Location:</strong>Evening - St. Clair Residence<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong>Blue suit, white shirt, red tie, none of it ironed<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Corbin, Open<br/><strong>Content:</strong>Smoking Section<br/><br/><hr/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://i1180.photobucket.com/albums/x401/callmecapone/Setting%20and%20RP/article-2217762-157F7C5F000005DC-127_634x823.jpg?1490501433476&amp;1490501435219&amp;1490501437403)</div>"That was all?" Gavin asked, brow crinkled, hands held out before him. He opened his mouth as if to complain, a finger pointed up towards the ceiling, holding the pose a moment.<br/><br/>"Perfect," he smiled. To no one in particular, really. Everyone was already bustling about doing their own thing, and at this point Gavin was quite often talking to himself. Not whole conversations, of course. He wasn't<em>that</em>out of his mind yet. Just the occasional smart ass comment he had no interest in keeping to himself.<br/><br/>He stood, stepping back the way he came between the chairs, giving no greeting to anyone. "When are you going to clean my pool, Corbin?" was all he said to anyone in particular, and only on the way out. He didn't stop, just wanted to say it loudly enough to interrupt whatever private moment the young man thought he was having with Greg's ex-wife. Not that he wished her any negativity, either. While he was aware of the animosity she bore Greg -- and likewise bore him in return for daring to be on good terms with her ex-husband -- he held none in return. It was none of his business. But it was fun to make an ass out of himself, because even if he was only making himself look bad, he was still interrupting someone else's good time.<br/><br/>And sometimes, Gavin needed to share the misery.<br/><br/>He hastened his way across the St. Clair front yard, allowing his shoes to ruin the perfectly manicured lawn as he made his way back to his car. Nimble fingers procured a cigarette from his pocket, his face illuminated by the soft orange of the Zippo lighter in hand. Taking a quick drag as he placed the lighter back in his pocket, he took a glance back at the party across the street... and to see the back of Terry walking away from it, side-by-side with... hm. He was sure he knew the boy, just... wasn't sure he could remember from whose loins the child spawned from.<br/><br/>Gavin sighed and sat upon the hood of his car, watching as his nephew continued his own evening, oblivious to the observing eyes of his Uncle. He and Denise.... they were waiting. Waiting for the right time to have a child of their own. Her biological clock had been ticking but they waited nonetheless. In the meantime, she doted on her nephew whenever she could. She even listened to that dreadful noise he called "music", trying to get a sense for what the boy liked so that she could talk to him about it.<br/><br/>A cold shiver snaked up Gavin's spine, one that he sought to calm by inhaling the warmth of his cigarette. Was he doing the right thing, bringing Terry into this neighborhood? Was he trying to live something that was a lie? Something that was robbed from him?<br/><br/>"Fucking sentiment..." he cursed to himself, tossing the cigarette stub to the road and crushing it beneath his foot.