#saul001

[theromandaniels]

> The Pour House. For @saulweissberg

Though it was Ophelia who picked the neighborhood and the grossly oversized McMansion for two siblings to live in during their stint in the States (Roman not quite ready to live alone after all the shit he had been put through in the last five years), he did like it for the security that Oak Gardens had to offer. No weirdos hanging about, guaranteed privacy. It was like a dream.

That said, he'd always been fascinated with Weaver Ridge. A hot spot in his unversity days, playing the odd gig at O'Shea's, one of the few places not to card the gaggle of kids clearly under twenty-one. However, sometimes it was still a bit too much for Roman. It was trying its best to cater to the younger folk, which he admired (though he couldn't quite find the same enthusiasm to implement that into Re-Chording) but sometimes he'd prefer to nurse a scotch in silence.

That's how he found himself attending The Pour House more regularly. He had only been in there once or twice before his reappearance into town, getting kicked out both times for fighting. But he was a true pacifist now. And even if he wanted to fight, his hand didn't exactly let him. Besides, none of the regulars paid him any mind since his first day in, and now he was slowly becoming one of them. Even if barman cracked one too many jokes about British stereotypes.

So when he noticed fellow Oak Gardens neighbor and one of the banes of his existence, Saul Weissberg, enter the bar, he almost choked on his drink. The lawyer sticking out like a sore thumb, though if Roman knew him — and he didn't — he supposed that would be considered a compliment.

"I'd put that watch away if I were you. Not much can be done about the shoes except for trying to scuff them up. And something tells me you're against the idea."

[archived-thecjwelford]

> Thunder Road. For @saulweissberg

It wasn't often that CJ socialized on the track. His main goal was the drivers doing the laps, especially during training season. However, there had been a bit of a lull — the track getting ready for some amateur racing competition they held to keep it funded — so CJ took the time to chat with those faces he recognized in the waiting audience. Spotting the lawyer almost immediately, he headed over with a bright guy. "Saul, my man!" He greeted with a bright smile. "Didn't know race cars were your thing." Truthfully, he didn't know anything about Saul the Divorce Lawyer except his occupation.

[thephoebeyates]

Her eyebrows raised in amusement as Saul cut himself off, curious about the lawyer's past before he came to settle down in Blue Harbor. "Saul, if you were about to call yourself a slut," She said, eyes twinkling with mirth, "Please remember my mom had me when she was sixteen and has dated every man in town who so much as looked at her. Also," She pointed the fork back to him, "My best friend, who is legally married to his roommate who is your client, also sleeps around pretty regularly. Including once a girl and then her brother. This is a safe space." She gestured around her, hoping Saul understood the space space was metaphorical, even though Rise 'n' Dine wasn't exactly in a bad neighborhood.

When he admitted he didn't know who Sabrina Carpenter or Harry Styles were, she let out a soft gasp. "Okay, well, I need to educate you on that ASAP!" She declared, "I will be sending you song links, TikToks — you do know what TikTok is, right? Anyway, I can't have you not knowing basic pop culture, it's bad enough with Nilay." She joked, only gently ribbing at the anthropologist and her general lack of pop culture knowledge.

Hiring the host from My Cat From Hell didn't sound like too much of a bad idea, ignoring the fact that Saul was being sarcastic, and truthfully the lawyer — with years of cat ownership under his belt — probably knew what he was talking to. "Well, Foster isn't going to agree to us getting another cat anytime soon. But, like, maybe she can meet yours sometime? She met my friend Aileen's cats, and there was no incident or anything. I try not to pet her when she scratches, because then I'm worried she thinks I'm rewarding her bad behaviour." She had read that somewhere, but upon second thought, it might have been about dogs. "Pfft, tell them that my heart is big enough for all of them. Anyway..." She gestured to the near-empty plates in front of them. "Ready?" As much as Phoebe loved these breakfast meetings, and it ached her that they had to come to an end, both her and Saul were adults with other responsibilities ahead of them.

“you’d be surprised, cookie.” despite his wealthy upbringing and professional job, saul wasn’t exactly traditional himself. he had been a somewhat openly bisexual man in the early nineties when it was a turbulent time to be anything other than completely straight. at least he had the oasis of manhattan to escape to then, he couldn’t imagine growing up in a place like blue harbor in the same time period and not coming out through adulthood with some scars. “a lot of my college buddies and post-grad friends were very shocked when i showed up one day with a ring on my finger. they thought it would never happen to such a slu—” saul paused, grimacing slightly. if phoebe had any respect for him, he might lose it if he divulged just how… messy he had been when he was even younger than phoebe currently. it was part of the reason he felt such affection for someone like cj; he had been the same way, but he had been forced to grow up. cj seemed to be holding onto youth a little longer. “anyway, love makes you do stupid things, but it’s how i got my son. so i guess i can't complain in the end.”

saul laughed good-naturedly. “oh, everyone felt that way about george michael back then.” the flamboyance was just part of the fun when it came to wham!, but really, it was hard to find any popular music group in that period that wasn’t decked out in neon and spandex. his eyes squinted slightly. “yes, anthony edwards. i saw top gun because i would go watch any movie with tom cruise when i was a kid but i came away thinking goose was cute and that i’d never join the navy.” quite the opposite effect that it had on other moviegoers around the same age, but saul thought he was rather adept at recognizing propaganda, even as a young teen. having parents who were democrats who hated ronald reagan probably helped. as she listed her celebrity crushes, he shook his head rapidly. “yeah, i have no idea who those people are.” since he had been permanently busy with his career since law school, he never had a lot of time for pop culture unless it had to deal with reality shows like real housewives or below deck. most of his references came from the era he grew up in, but he personally thought eighties movies were intrinsically better anyway.

he nodded as she explained more about her cat’s clawing issues. “well, i don’t know if you’re ever going to be able to figure out psychologically why misty scratches you. not unless you hire the my cat from hell guy.” saul gave a small, empathetic frown. “it could be something simple like she’s overstimulated. are you petting her when she scratches you? or maybe bored. i got two cats so they’d be able to entertain each other while i’m at work.” which, granted, was pretty much all day. it was the exact reason why he never got a dog as an adult. that, and his apartments were too small back in new york, even when he was at the height of his career. “yeah, he got an apartment in town.” something that did bother saul slightly, since it seemed micah had moved all the way out to illinois just to not move in with him, but he had to be grateful micah was even within a fifteen-mile radius. there was an emotional distance that was hard to close, but at least they were physically close. that had to mean something. “well, thank you for understanding. i know how much you love them, though i’m sure they’re jealous now that you have a cat of your own.”

[atwicksend]

Rivera had counseled Wick, hard, the word unapproachable bandied about the lab like a projectile while they had gone over a fresh ice sample, wishing that Rivera would disappear. It was Alexander's third season with the program and he had a slight reputation that preceded him for it, there was a gap between the first and second, recommended and most of the time enforced to ensure a lack of cabin fever. It was his first over the dark.

Cod liver oil supplements, the circadian rhythm programmed by STACY, the personal phototherapy lights that came standard in each bunk so that they didn't Here's Johnny one another. Wick found the myriad of potential symptoms something of a personal challenge to overcome: Lack of energy, finding it hard to concentrate, not wanting to see people, sleep problems, melancholy, changes in appetite, being more prone to colds and infections, loss of interest in sex or physical contact or other signs of depression. 

It would be interesting to see how this fellow survived Alexander's rigorous lab protocol, as the last had asked for early extraction due to a hostile work environment and the one before moved around the space like a well-functioning ghost. He was rather looking forward to the opportunity to eat the incompetent alive. Unfortunately, he'd been tasked with welcoming them onsite, when Wick preferred to avoid the exterior corridors whenever they could.

The first words 'fuck me' were ones he instantly committed to never doing, out of pure spite. He waited an extra ten seconds to start the mechanism to open the door, also out of utter pettiness, if they got frostbite Wick'd be the one dealing with it anyway. As he tried to open his mouth the silence was stolen.

Who wore a penguin suit to the Arctic? Had he come straight from his nephew's Bar Mitzvah? Wick muscled his way back into the conversation with a hand cutting through the air like a knife.

"Touch me again without gloves and you'll lose fingers."

So much for playing nice. Rivera would not be pleased. This fool needed to get a hat before he died of exposure through the sad excuse of a combover.

"Welcome to Station 42." He spat, as acerbically as he could muster.

Lip curled in disgust, Wick turned on his heel and walked away without another word. Let the idiot die trying to find the lab, maybe then they'd stop sending morons who had a fetish for dying of exposure.

STATION 42; ARRIVAL

150 DAYS BEFORE MISSION END

He was intending to make a good impression on whoever ran this place - the impression of someone who knew where he was and was prepared for it, like he was meant to be there and this wasn’t some last ditch effort to be as far away from civilisation as possible. That means sprucing up — a clean shave, hair dyed, gelled and dragged over his scalp to form the illusion of no receding hairline. But then he’d been told there was no need for a meeting, and been handed the plane tickets without much fanfare after.

The cold had forced him to hide the expensive (second-hand) suit under layers of sweaters and thermals and a puffy coat. Saul was a man clearly accustomed to a better climate. Minuscule icicles clung to his eyelashes, to the tip of his nose, to his feet, to everything. Hell, it felt like if he sneezed he might send shards of slimy ice scattering across the snow. What had been a moist hair gel now felt like super-glue dried to his scalp. And all of this was while Saul was inside the snowcat ferrying him to the final destination.

Station 42, The Station, his new station, was sat squat in the expanse of endless fields of ice. The vehicle that had brought Saul there was already beginning to have a building film of snow atop its roof, the weather having come out in full force to greet him. The passenger door had swung open, the motor’s hum becoming a stuttered groan against the wail of frozen wind. A sharp look from the driver told Saul it was time to hop off. The man had to move quickly, waddling through knee-deep snow and cussing with every step. By time he reached the compound, Saul was ready to tear the door off the hinges to get out the cold. He’s gotten this far and, as far as he saw it, the only thing that was gonna stop him was an avalanche dropping on his head.

“Come on, come on, come on-“

Patience was never one of his virtues, and he stamped his feet in an attempt to get some feeling back into the tips of his toes.

“-Fuck me.. let me in! It’s fuckin’ cold out here! I’m gettin’ frostbite!”

It must have only been thirty seconds; the outer door was a reinforced hunk of metal, after all. But at this temperature, thirty seconds felt more like thirty eternities. And when it did open, only halfway, the way in was blocked. The man stood in the entrance was dressed in layers of flannel, tired looking eyes boring into his. It looked like he was more interrupted by the intrusion than excited for more company. Good. Saul wasn’t a team player anyway.

“Are you the new lab-“

The man doesn’t get to finish his question; Saul splayed his hand out and stepped forward, letting the base of his palm collide with the mans sternum to make some space. Whether it’s out of disgust for being touched or actual force, the small window of space there was became Sauls - and he was slamming the door behind him as quickly as possible.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’m the new lab.”

He flashed a cocky grin that he didn’t expect to get a warm response from. The man wasn’t a security officer, so he wouldn’t be a problem. Just as his new lab partner for 150 days opened his mouth, Saul stole the space again.

“Now. Important things first. Where the fuck is the AC here?”

Step one is to act like you’re the top dog, because otherwise you never will be.

( @atwicksend )

[theromandaniels]

“Chelsea.” Roman confirmed, and that was that. Whatever preconceived notions Saul had about that piece of trivia, he honestly couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. He had shared more than enough about himself, and if he began to give a shit what an uptight lawyer thought of him, perhaps he was worse off than he ever thought. “Guess it would.” Roman never claimed that sports logic made sense, but it was the laws of the land. His land anyway. 

The mention of the band caused a shiver to run down Roman’s back as it often did when he was forced to think about Amethyst, the grip on his scotch glass tightening. He was glad Saul had no prior knowledge of it, and had no idea what happened. He was trying to behave himself, trying to prove to this son-of-a-bitch that he could be more than what was expected of him; a perfectly stable man who could hold a conversation, not some uncivilized, anti-social troll lurking in the shadows. But it was simply the one conversation he couldn’t get through even with gritted teeth. “That’s what I played, yes.” And he noticed that Saul was probably one of the only people who used the appropriate past tense. He eyed him skeptically, as if he could tell from his sly fox face that Saul knew more than he was letting on.

“I don’t think we’re your type of sound, mate.” Not that they ever found a solid identity, not in the way Roman would have liked. All five of them drew inspiration from different places, all preferred different sounds. And sometimes, it’d work, it’d create magic, and other times, well, there were simply some songs on a few of the albums that made Roman roll his eyes heavily when management pushed them to release it. He downed the rest of the amber liquid, deciding he could crack open the bottle in the liquor cabinet at home if he desired. Putting a few dollars including tip down on the counter, he glanced over at Saul, debating whether to ask if he wanted to split a cab — they were heading in the same direction after all. 

But he decided against it, and just offered the attorney a curt nod as he stood up and walked towards the exit. “See you around, neighbor.” He muttered, half-sarcastic, half…well, not. If it made Saul Weissberg think he won this round, it was the least he could do. Roman could be charitable, on occasion.

End.

“chelsea?” saul repeated, arching a brow. for all the shit roman gave him about being some rich asshole, saul was pretty sure that area of london was rather fancy—or posh, he supposed, to use their terminology. he had visited england a few times throughout his life, but couldn’t remember if he had ever visited chelsea, so the name brought forth stereotypical images of the swinging sixties and the movie alfie in his mind’s eye. “interesting. i guess that’d make me a new england patriots fan then.” since he had grown up in connecticut and all, though he considered new york to be his true home. that hadn’t made him a jets or giants fan, mostly because he couldn’t give a single fuck about football and, if he were to be honest, he viewed sports as unworthy of his attention.

too busy for matches, hm? saul never tried his hand at music, though his twin brother had been the standard white-guy-with-a-guitar at campus parties when levi attended the university of michigan; luckily for saul, his twin grew out of that stage post-graduation. “i must admit i’m not familiar with your band—bass, that’s what you played?” saul asked half-heartedly. although he didn’t know shit about instruments, he knew all the jokes that were made about bass players, but refrained from making any. “i suppose i should look you guys up some day. since i’m neighbors with a rock star, after all.” and he knew elijah personally, though he figured the welshman found his ignorance of amethyst somewhat amusing.

[archived-thecjwelford]

In a way, CJ kinda felt bad for Saul. Not that he didn’t think the guy had an awful life or anything, but he felt he was like, wassit? Stringing him along? He was unsure if that was even possible with lawyers, but like, if he was a divorce lawyer and his client wasn't getting divorced, he wouldn’t be as chill as Saul was with him.

When asked about racing, CJ shifted his weight. Not out of discomfort, per se, just never really knew how to answer the question. “Iunno, man, I always liked racing movies, always liked just driving fast. Did junior competitions, y’know? Just…fell in love with it.” A love he sacrificed for family, but still, no need to get into the nitty gritty of it all.

“mhm, and don’t you forget it.” saul was joking, but there was a kernel of truth to it all. he wasn’t so vain that he thought he was the best lawyer of all time or anything, but just a few short years in blue harbor had served him well and he built up a client base that rivaled the one he had in new york. even if cj wasn’t in need of his services after all, he hoped cj at least felt at ease knowing saul would’ve gone to the mat for him if he had. besides, he didn’t just handle divorces—he could technically practice any area of law if the need arose, so in saul’s biased opinion, it was a good idea to keep him on his legal team anyway. 

he had an inkling that cj hadn’t heard of his nephew’s book, but he couldn’t blame him—saul hadn’t read it himself. rather, he hadn’t finished it. there just wasn’t enough time in his schedule to allow for leisure reading; when prompted, he would always answer ‘the silence of the lambs’ if asked about his favorite book, and that was simply because it was the last book he remembered reading for fun. that, of course, had been in the early nineties around the time the movie came out. and, well, maybe it was unkind, but cj classified as a jock, didn’t he? not exactly a subculture known for reading. quickly, the conversation turned to racing. again, saul didn’t know much about sports—he was forced into playing tennis when he was in high school per hamden hall country day’s bylaws—but he enjoyed listening to any passionate professional’s disquisition, even if he couldn’t exactly relate. “interesting. how exactly did you discover racing? did you just see it on tv one day and decided you wanted to do that?” 

[theromandaniels]

Even when you win, you lose. Oddly poetic, coming from the lawyer. But Roman once again only hummed in response, because he couldn’t quite let Saul know such simple words had an effect on him. Hadn’t he lost, in some way, after each battle? Not the physical fights — though once the adrenaline subsided and he could feel the dull ache of the bruises and cuts, the embarrassment that treacled through his sore bones made him feel like a loser in reacting that way. But more so the battle of everything else. The multiple surgeries that seemed to make his hand worse, waking up each day and hit with the knowledge that Harrison was no longer here, that Elijah was also no longer here in a different way. To get himself up in the morning and live. 

It wasn’t a conversation Roman ever wanted to have, especially not with someone he could barely digest as a neighbor, and whilst the monotonous conversation of sports lacked appeal, it was a safe topic, all the same. “Chelsea.” He replied, “Grew up there, sort of have to be.” The politics of club loyalty based on your geographical location rather than talent was something Roman noticed existed across all cultures, especially over here in America. It was similar with music; how people who dared approach Roman admitted they only got into Amethyst because of their start in this very town, and a few compared it to Scousers devoted admiration to The Beatles. The difference was that, thankfully, there were no landmarks of the history of their band dotted around this small western town, unlike Liverpool’s countless references and homages to the legendary band. He didn’t know if he could cope with his history splashed onto every corner of every street. The painful reminders that had his heart aching.

“I didn’t go to many matches, I always passed it off in favor of practicing the bass or going to gigs.” If they were going to participate in this dance of socialization, Roman might as well prove he knew the steps.

“hm, well, even when you win, you lose.” saul responded with a simple shrug. it wasn’t so true in his professional life, but personally, it seemed any win for saul was a pyrrhic victory. he could argue with his son until they were both blue in the face, but in the end, he’d be hurting micah again. he could—and had, many times—go toe-to-toe with terry, only to further damage their already tenuous co-parenting relationship. cassie let him get his way most of the time and thalia just pushed him away further the more that they fought. there was no point in it anymore.

he had made a career out of fighting tooth and nail for his client, so was it such a crime that he didn’t want to engage in arguments outside of the courtroom? sometimes, and this might come as a surprise to the surly roman, but saul did want some peace and quiet. it was part of what convinced him to move to blue harbor—as much as he derided all the nature and fresh air, it was a very different environment than the concrete jungle of manhattan. all the greenery in the spring felt blinding, while the stark coldness of winter came as a surprise despite living there for three years. life was slower, in a way. in others, it felt busier than ever.

it was a slow night in the pour house. saul wanted to imagine the whole bar cleared out once roman darkened its doorway, but the reality was that it was summer and some small town folk wanted to spend it on the river or hanging out in their backyards rather than in a bar. if it hadn’t been so dead, he doubted roman would’ve entertained him any longer. saul could go on, though. he was tired, but not enough to stop. not enough to let roman win. when he won, he lost. they were just torturing each other, weren’t they? he fixed the brit with a long, bored stare. “whatever. the point is that talking about sports is what people do.” saul took a long swig of his drink to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “so, tell me about football then. your favorite team? or club, isn’t that what they’re called over there?”

[thephoebeyates]

Whilst her own knowledge on etiquette was limited to the dining room scene from Pretty Woman, Phoebe tended to think she had some manners. She ate with the appropriate cutlery (unless it was something that required hands, like burgers and pizza), didn’t talk with her mouth full, and tried not to interrupt people in a sentence. Basically, the opposite of any behaviors Seb exhibited. “You can be the Professor Higgins to many, many wild Eliza Doolittles.” She joked. 

The first part wasn’t something that Phoebe hadn’t heard before. From Foster, from Seb himself, so she just let out a resigned ‘hmm’. She debated letting Saul in on the reasons why she was…protective to the point of control with Seb. Their fucked up childhoods, the way they had to parent themselves. But, as much as she trusted the lawyer — as fond of him as she was — she didn’t want him knowing that part of her. So she latched onto the second part of his comment. “I don’t think CJ knows what taxes are, honestly. That's why he has his whole team.” It was one of the many reasons she had been happy to hear that Seb would be moving in with CJ; the one person in town so well looked after by a whole slew of people, she’d be guaranteed the bills and rent would be paid on time, and perhaps weekly groceries bought as well. Even if she were a hypocrite on the latter, fully surrendering that task to Foster.

When he glanced up, giving her the advice to not do anything society expected of her, Phoebe offered a soft smile in response. Her entire existence was going against societal norms. She was a product of a teen pregnancy, she grew up destitute, she was a girl, and bisexual. She had more passion and talent for art-based subjects instead of academia. Anything that the concept of society frowned upon, she had checked the box. “I don’t think the traditional thing is my speed.” She told him. Kids were forever off the table, and considering how she got Foster to use the boyfriend/girlfriend label, she highly doubted marriage would be on the cards in the future. If ever. And that was also something she was unsure she wanted anyway.

Whilst she hadn’t heard of the actor that had stolen Saul’s mother’s heart, she couldn’t help the little snicker that left her. “One of my friends from college, her mom felt that way about George Michael.” Just a little bit before her own mother’s time, but she supposed there had to be someone from Lisa’s generation who was closeted back in the day but still a massive heartthrob to the masses. She was curious about Saul’s comments on the actors, wondering if he was speaking objectively about their looks in the same vein of a father trying to bond with his teenage daughter about boy bands, or if his opinions were genuine. Phoebe never tried to speculate about sexuality, was extremely fortunate to grow up with two other people figuring out their own identity so that when she came to her realization in college, she wasn’t alone. And, as much of a crappy mom Lisa was in the other aspects of her life, at least she was an ally. “Anthony Edwards, huh?” She asked with a quirk of her eyebrow. “Harry Styles is my all-time crush. But, Sabrina Carpenter is my number one at the minute. What can I say? I like them short and blonde.” 

Trimming Misty’s nails had indeed been the first thing on the list of suggestions of what to do with her. But after that experience, the groomer wouldn’t answer her calls anymore, and the vet had given Misty a strike. And she had been worried that Misty would just chew at the caps. Plus, it wasn’t like it was the cheapest option. “It’s not so much the scratching as the reason behind it.” She explained, even if Foster would say it was very much the scratching. “Micah, right? Yeah, he’s staying with one of my neighbors.” He was nice, even if things were a little awkward between them, neither of them quite knew the right thing to say to each other. “I understand you picking family for that, Saul. It’s not an issue.” Phoebe assured him, punctuating her sentence with another bite of pancake.

“ah, yes, that explains it.” saul gave a sage nod. “i’m a hero to the wild children of america. i should teach etiquette classes, honestly.” he was just joking, but he did know a bit more about high society rules than most people in blue harbor. he grew up with the blue bloods of connecticut and spent his adult life attending various galas and charity benefits that were the rich people equivalent of getting a drink at the local pub with a friend. his upbringing was much different than phoebe’s, at least what he could assume from the way she spoke about her past and how the rumor mill of blue harbor was never shy to let newcomers know who the bad families in town were. 

he was used to having more money than his friends, though, so that never bothered him; most of his wives had middle-class backgrounds, and he had taken great enjoyment in showing them how the other half lived. he enjoyed spending any amount of money on his friends, and he never wanted anyone to worry about covering the bill when he was around. after all, he used his money effectively for quite a while with micah; buying him whatever video game he asked for or taking him to any movie he wanted to see, regardless of parental warnings or if they had terry's permission—micah was his son, too, damn it. so if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it… except his relationship with his son was absolutely broken, but still. like flattery, money opened doors that were closed to others and held wide open for saul to dance on through.

the topic of seb and cj’s marriage seemed like it was going to be waved away with a line that definitely sounded forced, like a child reciting a line in a school play, but phoebe apparently couldn’t hold her tongue. his brow quirked at that, head tilting sideways. “you’re right. someone’s always going to end up hurt at some point in every relationship, but like you said, they’re adults. no one can make them do anything they don’t want to do, and until they decide they want to end their marriage, you just have to let them be. besides, benefits come with marriage. like a tax break.” saul privately snickered at the thought that cj and seb probably didn’t even know that, something so adult and boring would probably make their eyes glaze over. he liked cj, though, really. he had something in common with him, too: “you know, my first marriage was an elopement. we weren’t drunk in vegas or anything, we just loved each other enough to think we would always be in love.” saul looked down at his plate, frowning. “it was just what you were supposed to do. get married, have kids. that’s how you were supposed to become an adult.” he brought his gaze back up to phoebe. “don’t do anything that society tells you to do unless you actually want to do it, okay?” there, some more unsolicited advice.

he shrugged at her question. “i think that’s a pretty normal mom thing. she loved frankie valli but no one would ever compare to her true love, richard chamberlain—they called him the king of the miniseries when i was a kid. she was obsessed with the thorn birds. no one knew he was gay until, like, twenty years ago, though.” he doubted phoebe even knew of the actor or his acting credits, but he figured she’d be happy to know her mother wasn’t an anomaly in that sense. “george clooney was a big deal back then, though. i never really had time to watch er but i thought anthony edwards was cuter. more my type.” was there any resemblance between dr. mark greene and a certain surly bartender? the height, maybe… “who's your celebrity crush then?” he asked, ignoring the explanation on kim’s surprise birthday party.

her defense of his cat’s stomach made him laugh, head thrown back. “i reserve the right to call his tummy fat and stupid when he eats fucking buttons.” and hair ties, but that hadn’t been a problem since thalia moved out. he scrunched his face up in thought. “well, have you tried trimming her nails? you’ll probably have to get a vet to do it but it will help it from hurting so much. you could try nail caps, too.” saul figured these were solutions she probably already thought of, but he tried anyway. “speaking of cats, though… i’m going back to manhattan for a few days soon. usually, i’d ask you to look over them, but my son is in town for the summer and he’s going to keep an eye on them.” saul gave her a small frown. phoebe always took excellent care of his cats whenever he had to leave town, but he was sure micah would never forgive him if he asked someone else to watch them instead of him. “maybe he’d let you come over and visit them?” 

[archived-thecjwelford]

CJ had met his fair share of injury attorneys. Never he had to use, thankfully, unlike a few of his teammates or associates on the tracks. Some of the accidents unfortunate enough that it was a big pro for the 'retiring early in full health' camp. "Yeah good shout." He said instead, because whilst a lot of people would call him stupid, CJ knew not to fuck with dangerous stunts with people unqualified and undertrained.

Being told it was hard to prove a reason for annulment almost seemed like a reason to shrug the whole thing off as if to say 'welp! I tried!' but something was telling CJ that Saul wouldn't appreciate that, so he decided to just affirm his amazing status as a lawyer. "Sure, dude. Best lawyer this side of the Illinois river!" As far as CJ knew, that was the truth. It wasn't like he met many lawyers, after all.

The name sadly wasn't that familiar to CJ. Maybe they met, maybe they hadn't, he had met a lot of people in his time. "Oh, yeah!" He supplied, hoping his enthusiasm sounded genuine, not having the heart to admit he hadn't heard of the book. In fact, he hadn't read a book since The Outsiders in his high school English class, and he didn't get through it past a few chapters, because he kept laughing that one of the dudes in it was called Ponyboy. Which was probably better than the characters named in Of Mice and Men. Curley. Candy. Slim. Like weird names for vibrators, he remembered one of his classmates at the time saying. "Oh, I mean, I like going fast and stuff, and y'know, doing stuff 'for the bit' like my brother would say, but Iunno man, just always enjoyed it. But I missed being home, you're like gone a good portion of the year otherwise."

a smile spread upon his face at their commonality; it was an ease to his heart that if he there was anything he shared with the younger man, it was an appreciation for tom cruise. saul couldn’t recall just how many movies he saw in theaters simply because it starred the actor. luckily, most of cruise’s films were actually good. he glanced back at the track when cj went on to explain the difference between the two, then shook his head vehemently when he even mentioned offering a spin. “oh, yeah, that’s no problem. i've known enough injury attorneys throughout my career to be healthily risk averse.” when it came to sports and potentially dangerous situations, at least. especially now that he was officially an old man. in his youth, though, he wasn’t as cautious when it came to trying any drug offered to him or attempting a lucrative dare from his college buddies. those days were mostly behind him. 

“that’s right. getting an annulment isn’t nearly as easy as getting eloped, it's a hard thing to prove.” saul didn’t want to harp on the marriage topic for too long, but it was his duty as cj’s lawyer to keep him informed. and, well, he thought maybe cj had a hard time conceptualizing long term consequences, so he wanted to make sure that cj truly understood his options. he could relate to that, though, being young and thinking nothing would ever catch up to him—it was exactly why his relationship with his son was so disastrous. he stupidly thought he’d have more time and everything was fixable. time proved otherwise. “and i happen to be an amazing lawyer.” saul quipped with a sly smirk.

just like cj didn’t want to talk about the marriage anymore, saul would do anything to sidestep any conversations about his son, even if he had been the one to bring up micah in the first place. he responded with the offer to hang or whatever with a nod, though didn’t verbally confirm anything. saul never had any qualms about meeting up with a client off the clock—in fact, it was a large part of his job—but the younger man was just… trouble. he didn’t know cj well enough to make that determination, but still, he knew it. “gideon schwartz weissberg.” he supplied his nephew’s full name with a haughty raise of his brows. saul never got the new england rich kid treatment of two last names, something he was always a little bit jealous of, but he had to thank g-d that maureen schwartz was not his mother, or even legally part of his family, anymore thanks to his brother's divorce. “maybe you went to one of his book publishing parties or something back when he was doing his tour—he wrote a book last year called silver tarnishes.” a lovely little tale about a jewish family growing up in ‘50s hell’s kitchen, the schwartzes and the weissbergs had been fighting all year about which family member inspired the story. saul declined to comment whenever the subject was brought up. “how interesting! are you an adrenaline junkie or is there some deeper meaning to it all?”

[theromandaniels]

Depending on who you asked, Roman was either someone who would never hurt a fly, or someone with a wicked, violent streak. He had always been opinionated, always stood up for what he thought was right. This very bar had been the backdrop of many fights in his university days, jumping out in defense when some of the locals would insult the band — not for their talent that was forever being worked on and fine tuned, but for the unnecessary comments made. The smears that would fall from slurred lips, until a crack of jaw would wipe the smirks off their faces. 

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize why Roman was so triggered by certain comments. But it would take one hell of a talented psychologist to get him to even admit that to himself, never mind ever utter it aloud. 

Regardless, hearing from Saul that fights were rarely worth it earned a mirthless hiccup, a phantom laugh from the former bassist. “Those who say that are usually the ones that lose the fight.” Maybe he had some energy left for some light goading in him, just enough that if the lawyer was desperate enough to, could write it off as almost-friendly banter.

He motioned for the bartender to come over, refilling his glass of scotch the way they did in the movies, which once upon a time might have been a novelty for Roman, opting for the route of silence as Saul yammered on, though the baseball comment earned an unamused sigh. “You do realise I’m English right? We don’t do baseball over there. All I can offer you is football talk.” He pulled a face, taking a well-earned sip. “Soccer.” He added in a mock-American accent that used to drive the band mad. It wasn’t half-bad, and Roman used to get away with convincing fans he wasn’t really from London at all. But it had been a while since he tapped into it, the syllables not quite sounding right.

saul had a blindspot. when it came to his loved ones, he could never really read them all that well, like the closer he got the blurrier the picture became. when it came to strangers, clients, and acquaintances, however? he could read them like a fucking book. something clearly overcame roman, a private emotion that saul couldn’t decipher and didn’t really care to attempt to. there was a beat of silence between them, only the background music of the bar and the barback refilling the ice well interrupted the atmosphere. saul felt vaguely uncomfortable, intensified by roman finally answering. “hm, well, fights are rarely worth it, i must inform you.” it sounded like a lie coming from a lawyer, but he had meant it. at least partially.

it was different for saul—despite roman’s own musical success, he considered the brit to be a layperson—as it was all part of the job. the best part of the job, maybe. in his personal life, however, saul didn’t like to fight as much as people believed. he had grown up in the kind of family where their voices were always loud, even in the most casual of conversations, and joyous occasions like high holidays and birthdays always devolved into some sort of debate before long. the kind of family where no one really talked about anything, like uncle reuben losing his money to bernie madoff’s ponzi scheme or why his cousin judith was sent to live with their great aunt in california for nine months when saul was seven, but they could argue until the sun came up about jurisprudence or clint eastwood’s best movie or how long it would take to swim the english channel. it was a tiring childhood, magnified by the loss of his father at fifteen, so he tried to separate his personal life and his professional one into two. a shark at work, laidback at home. unfortunately, they bled into each other often, to the point that saul wasn’t sure there was a difference anymore.

still, though, sometimes, after a long day of getting his clients the best outcome he could achieve, he just wanted to have some fucking fun. sometimes, he just wanted to get a little drunk, maybe dance a little, engage in pleasant conversation. all things that roman seemed to be morally opposed to. “i wouldn’t underestimate me, roman. i can be a very good time.” saul shrugged, head cocking. there was a smirk on his face, but it was half-hearted and didn’t reach his eyes. “don’t worry, i’m not going to force you into having fun, or even into talking to me—though i’ll remind you again that you’re the one that called me over—so we can drink in silence, if you want. or, perhaps we’ll even engage in small talk like civilized people do. i hear the chicago cubs are... a baseball team.” were the good, though? saul had no fucking idea.

[thephoebeyates]

Age. Sure, Phoebe could buy that excuse. Feeling young was much easier than feeling poor, after all, which was something she was struggling to cope with as of late despite it being a burden she carried her entire life. It had baffled Seb upon him discovering the tax brackets of the people she had began to become affiliated with, that Phoebe wasn't milking her troubled childhood in Weaver Ridge and taking every handout bestowed upon her. But Phoebe had to remind him what morals were during that conversation, and that she didn't spend time with the likes of Nilay or Saul to get money or freebies, but because she genuinely enjoyed their company. And provided her a safe space and parental attention that only neglected children would seek out. "See, wild children like me don't know about pancake buying etiquette, it's why I keep you around, to teach me these things." She teased, deciding it was all easier to make it out like it was all some sort of joke.

Taken aback at the question, Phoebe raised an eyebrow at Saul's curiosity of her opinion on the marriage of Seb and CJ. She couldn't imagine that the latter was an easy client (as she liked to say, easy on the eyes, an absolute headache to talk to), and if Saul had had the displeasure of meeting her childhood friend, he certainly was a stronger man than she assumed if he wasn't a little bit unnerved by Seb's overall personality. "Seb and CJ are both adults who are free to make their own choices." Came out her rehearsed reply, a little mantra her and Foster had been working on drilling into her whenever the two did something stupid and she had to fight against her nature to clean up the inevitable mess it would make. "That said," Because even if there was nothing she could do about it all, she still had an opinion, "What I think they did was dumb, irresponsible and considering how they spend their time socially, someone is going to end up heartbroken over it all." Her money was on Seb's heart, unfortunately. "But, even if there was some hypothetical law where you could force people to legally separate, those two would find a way to avoid it. So I'm trying to keep my side of the street clean."

She scoffed at his final insistence that Cats was worth it, but let out a resigned sigh. "Fine, agree to disagree. I like Grease, I hope the community theater group do that one again. Do all moms have a male celebrity they're obsessed with then? My mom's is George Clooney but, I never knew if it was a mom thing or just a my mom thing." Because Lisa Yates was an unhinged, obsessive woman, so it was hard to decipher what and what wasn't normal behaviour amongst parents.

"Oh, yeah, she rented out a whole private island. I think it was when she was, uh, still married to Kanye. Apparently it was a surprise." Which she didn't buy for a second. But regardless, there would be no private island or even a private event at the nicest function room in town, but she supposed Saul would have to feel what it'd be like to lose even just once.

"Hey! Smokey and his tummy aren't stupid or fat!" She declared with a frown, willing to defend Saul's cats to the death, if need be. "Misty just...scratches a lot. Like, my arms are her favorite scratching post and Foster's ankles are constantly cut into ribbons. But, it's not even like she's playing with us, it's like she's on the defense or something. He thinks it'll be better when we spay her, but like...we adopted her so I don't know what her life was like before the rescue found her. Is cat therapy too much?" Not that she could necessarily afford it.

it wasn’t as if saul thought phoebe was destitute; though he often tried to play daddy warbucks to her orphan annie without much luck, he was quite aware of the wealth gap between them. between him and most people in general, actually. he grew up extremely privileged, more money behind his family name than necessary, and it wasn’t something he was ashamed of—he wasn’t impolitely proud of it, but saul had always thought there was nothing worse than a rich kid that tried to play that they were poor just to seem cool. they were a dime a dozen in manhattan during his college years, as if they all weren’t attending an ivy league school. sure, there were scholarship students that attended columbia, but the paying students weren’t fooling saul when he remembered a lot of them from high society events his parents made him attend in his childhood. point being: saul wasn’t blind to plight, and wasn’t afraid to spend on those that he loved. “it’s not ancient gendered standards. buying your breakfast every week has nothing to do with gender—it has to do with age. it would be improper for you, a youngin', to buy me a meal.” didn’t these kids know anything about proper etiquette? damn.

the topic of seb and cj made him narrow his eyes at her. technically, though he wasn’t actually doing anything for cj currently, he was still a client. he couldn’t speak on cj’s case, or even if cj was his client, without breaking confidentiality. cj, however, was free to mention that saul was his lawyer to anyone he liked; that client-attorney privilege only applied to saul. “well, i’ve done what i can in regards to that.” even that, vague as it was, could get him in trouble. he had to assume phoebe wouldn’t turn him into the bar association, nor any eavesdropping fellow customers, but he was still cautious. “do you… want them to not be married anymore?” now that skirted the line just fine, since he was asking her opinion on her friend’s marriage and not divulging any identifying information. 

“oh god, i’m not going to argue with you on this anymore.” of course, saul was a lawyer and argued with people all day, every day, but how much more could he defend andrew lloyd webber’s magnum opus? “cats is a good musical and you’ll have to deal.” he nodded with finality. “my mom loved the four seasons, though. she dragged me and my brother to see grease for frankie valli even though i wanted nothing to do with musicals at that time.” boys weren’t supposed to like musicals back then, but clearly saul had gotten over that. maybe it had something to do with olivia newton john.

he was slightly surprised to see her take on the bet, though he had a hunch she wasn’t taking him very seriously. saul knew he could find a way to get foster to relax on a night out, and he had never been opposed to drinking with a client. he used to do a lot worse with his clients, mostly illegal substances in nightclubs, but as he had told phoebe months ago, drugs were bad. he was older now. he had to restrict his drug use to an occasional weekend throughout the year where he had the entire next day to sleep it off. saul took her hand and gave a firm shake. “deal. i have no idea what you mean about kim kardashian, but deal.” saul definitely had money, but not private-island money. 

the topic turned to actual cats. “marmalade and smokey? no, they’re too old now to do much besides sleep and eat. they still get into epic fights sometimes, but they mostly just lay around and act like they own the place.” they kind of did, since saul spent the majority of his day at the office. “smokey used to chew the buttons off my dress shirts but that thankfully stopped once i started locking my closet with a zip tie; it looks terrible, but it keeps me from needing to spend another two-thousand dollars at the vet to remove it from his stupid, fat tummy.” it kept saul from having a fucking heart attack from worry, too. “why? what does little misty get up to?”

[archived-thecjwelford]

"Days of Thunder is fucking awesome, man, peak hot Tom Cruise too!" CJ agreed with a grin. No Vin Diesel, but he could see the appeal, if you didn't think about his weird personality. When asked about the difference, CJ nodded. "Yeah, completely different cars, NASCAR is heavier, these cars are faster." People were always confused why CJ went toward the less popular option in the States but, honestly, it was due to the speed. He liked going fast, even though it was dangerous. But that was like a train of thought he didn't enjoy to go down, swiftly moving on. "I'd think my investors would yell at me if I offered to let you take a spin, it'd affect the insurance and all but like, we do have a karting section for the kids that isn't like as fast, but like, totally more safer and stuff!"

When racing in Barcelona in 2019, there had been a dude on the McLaren pit crew who had been terrified of the government, and CJ couldn't help but be reminded of him by the way that Saul was going on. "But neither of us lied or were forced into it, so maybe we wouldn't have been granted an annulment, right? I mean, I'm not saying you couldn't have done it because like, I've heard you're like a super good lawyer but..." Truthfully, CJ was bored about talking about the specifics of his marriage, and was glad to move the conversation along.

"Oh dude, I wouldn't but like, I'm sure he wouldn't! Iunno where you'd even get poison from." When Saul declined the invite he couldn't help his little groan of disappointment. "Well, man, if you are ever up to hang or whatever, with or without Micah, lemme know, yeah?" He lit up when Saul mentioned Gideon's name, "Huh, what's his last name if you don't mind me asking?" At the follow-up question regarding his career, he sucked through his teeth, math never being his strong suit. "Uh, I started when I was eighteen, retired like, two years ago so like, a long time, really. I might get back to it, there's like, uh, a lot of factors, to make the final decision and all."

no, not a racing fan. until archie begged him to go to thunder road, saul wasn’t even sure he knew there was a race track in blue harbor. maybe he had retained that information somewhere in his brain, but it had never been pertinent to his daily life, so he never needed to remember until that day. “you caught me.” saul admitted sheepishly. “i don’t know much about it. i saw the movie days of thunder when i was in college, but that was mostly because i idolized tom cruise back then.” the wayfarers on his face proved that he hadn’t completely rid himself of that idolization, modeled after tom cruise’s character in risky business, but it was mostly out of brand loyalty—he had been wearing the same style of sunglasses for over forty years, he couldn’t just switch up and buy a pair of oakleys after four decades of exclusively wearing ray-bans! “this isn’t the same as nascar, though, right?” the cars looked different to saul’s recollection, but again, he didn’t know much.

saul sighed heavily. this was what made cj such a tough client: he didn’t know what he wanted, and what he did know about the law rivaled what saul knew about racing. “oh, they absolutely can do that. there’s very little that the government can’t do, and what they aren’t allowed to do, they do it anyway.” and when they couldn’t, they used lawyers to get around it. some people derided family law attorneys for making a living on breaking up families, but saul considered his specialization a blessing to the world; if he worked in a different area of law like a few of his cousins, like politics, he’d be the worse for it. “basically, annulment is saying your marriage wasn’t legitimate or shouldn’t have happened because someone lied, you were forced into it, all those reasons i told you last month when you came by the office. divorce is saying your marriage happened and ended for various reasons. you can only wait so long for an annulment, so just keep that in mind.” he couldn’t stop himself from explaining, even if they weren’t formally meeting.

he nodded happily once recognition hit cj. micah was awesome, even if he spent most of his time rolling his eyes at his father. saul tried not to take it personally, but what about it all wasn’t personal when it came to father and son? “i’m sure he’d love that—just don’t mention that i brought him up to you. he’d probably poison my coffee.” he certainly didn’t need to set up playdates for his adult son, especially since terry had always taken care of that when micah was little, but he wanted micah to have many friends in blue harbor, like saul did. “oh, thank you for the invite, but he’d prefer it if i wasn’t there, too.” besides, hanging out with drunk thirty year olds had only been fun when he was also a drunk thirty year old. the question about his nephew had him shrugging. “i think gideon is a fan of himself most of all. he wrote a best selling book a year ago and it’s all gone to his head, but if i need an update on what the youth are talking about, he’s the first person i call.” his nephew, or phoebe. “how long did you race for?”

[theromandaniels]

Feeling othered was a sensation Roman was so used to it was basically just who he was at this point. At home, he was the only one who didn’t have the artistic vision that his family members shared. He could play the bass, sure, after years of schooling making him sort-of decent (and it was an afterthought that plagued his deep subconscious late at night about the universe in which Harrison found someone better), but his parents and sister seemed to just be so in-tune with their creative side with little effort. Plus, they were optimistic, a trait that once again skipped over. And carried on to the isolation in other factors of life. His nihilistic view on life was a far cry from what his school-chums cared about, and his reputation in Amethyst had labeled him the ‘black sheep’ of sorts. That, on top of his disconnect with relationships; his love for Kaya, the confusing jealousy of watching her and Harry interact, how he truly thought he knew and loved Matilda but felt suffocated by the times he felt they were going through the motions to keep the media happy. How the label of ‘boyfriend’ didn’t seem to fit, how even ‘bandmate’ or ‘friend’ to the others in his life felt like he was imitating someone he had no chance of being. Then there were the other labels, things he didn’t think about really, especially not late at night, that felt akin to a noose slowly tightening around his neck…

 There was the bond with Elijah, at first; both hailing from the UK — even if the pianist made his US debut a lot earlier in life. Both navigating their awkward introductions to the band and Harry’s attention divided amongst them, sharing jokes about American cuisine and their funny spelling rules.

But that bond, much like the nerves in his right hand, had been severed with the fucking car crash.

He didn’t know why Saul’s mentioning of his nationality rubbed him the wrong way, made him dredge up shit he’d rather not think about, but he had brought it on himself by engaging with the lawyer in the first place. Made him once again feel like he was somewhere he didn’t belong, reaffirming that returning to Blue Harbor had been one massive mistake. It was filled with specters and haunts and everyone explicitly on Eli’s side, and what was home to the former was a graveyard to Roman, and the most honorable thing to do would be throwing the towel, and let his former best friend win. 

“Guess I was looking for a fight, but I lost the will to…” Care? Live? Regardless, he let it hang in the air, completely ignoring Saul’s brag about his earnings. It was some unspoken factor amongst those in Oak Gardens; they weren’t exactly the cheapest houses on the market. “This is one of the few places in this godforsaken town that doesn’t have a pulse, I highly doubt anything is entertaining enough to change that.” He mainly addressed the amber liquid sloshing in his glass, only cocking his head to give Saul another once-over. In another life, he supposed, they could have been civil. Maybe friends, if Harry were still around to keep Roman in check. That thought alone had him slinging the rest of his drink back, the burn in the back of his throat a welcome discomfort.

there, that was exactly why he was entertaining roman. the man’s sardonic attitude was enough to ward off any other blue harbor citizen, but saul was argumentative to a fault. to some, he was downright fucking annoying. he wasn’t scared off by roman’s demeanor, didn’t cower in fear of his furrowed brow or clipped tones. it made him push further, get under his skin a little more. it was easy to do, evidently. roman looked tired of his presence already, but he had been the one to call him over. they could trade insults until the sun came up if roman wanted. even if roman won the last word, it’d be a pyrrhic victory where he’d leave the bar irritated and saul would just have a story to tell all his friends tomorrow about his epic squabble with roman daniels. he laughed a little and shrugged. “ah, i guess i’ll claim the pot if you’ll be the kettle—you’re the brit between the two of us, after all.” besides, he wasn’t at the pour house in order to drown his sorrows like he presumed roman was, he was there to find someone to fuck.

making millions. hardly. “please, roman, i make thousands in a day.” saul corrected, smirking tauntingly. “i make millions every year.” he doubted he actually cared about his salary, but he felt no shame in bragging right then. what else was he supposed to talk about with his neighbor, anyway? they weren’t friends, and roman barely qualified as a true enemy. his wealth seemed to bother the other man, and saul was sure there were no people in the world better at bothering others than those that were born a twin—saul and levi, like any pair of twins, were best friends since birth but could irritate each other more than anyone else on earth. it was practically instinctual. he exhaled harshly. “so, you must have something you want to say to me. you’re the one that called me over.” saul gave a cursory look over the rest of the bar. “i suppose it is pretty dead in here tonight. i can be very entertaining if you let me, roman.”

[thephoebeyates]

Lonely child. Even though it was unintentional, it felt like a gut punch to Phoebe, chewing slowly on her pancake. She wasn't always that lonely in her childhood, she guessed. She always had Seb and Linc, but Seb also had a penchant of seeking out attention and trouble and Linc actually had a family to go home to; the three Weaver Ridge brats often peeling off to live out their own misadventures. For Phoebe, that usually meant being sat alone on the couch, reruns of The Simple Life or the latest Real Housewives playing, as she listened out for the sound of her mom's key turning in the door. Saul could probably sense the shift, so when he told her — nay, commanded — herself not to think that way, she just offered one soft "Okay."

Labelling her past wouldn't exactly change it anyway.

When he mentioned paying for breakfast, the intern let out a resigned groan. "Saul, I can afford a few pancakes y'know. You're the one who's upholding, like, ancient gender standards or whatever." It was easier to pretend Saul was old fashioned than to admit that lately she had been struggling for money. The tutoring was fine, even if she felt bad overcharging families in a certain zip code of town, but the intern was only given crumbs in terms of payment from the paper, barely crossing the legal parameters. And experience didn't exactly cover rent. Why did she give up her cushy job as Nilay's assistant again? For her stupid dreams?

At his ideas for creating scandal, she snorted. "Maybe your new law will actually light a fire under CJ and Seb's asses." She knew Saul didn't talk about his clients — anything discussed with Foster about his dad's estate was not shared with Phoebe — but CJ made it known who exactly he was paying to do nothing, and Seb often tried to harm her if she brought up their marriage. So, even though Saul couldn't confirm or deny the process of their annulment from an ethical perspective, it was a sort of open secret that the lawyer and his clients were at some sort of impasse.

"That. That's why I hate Cats." She used her fork to point at Saul, as if the lyrics he sung were floating around his head like cartoon birds. "Jersey Boys is a good musical, I got into the 'Can't Take My Eyes Off You' song from Ten Things I Hate About You. It's decent, and a true story. Not weirdo cats singing about...y'know, I don't even know what the plot is." She wrinkled her nose.

At Saul's proposition, Phoebe chewed thoughtfully for a minute. Sure, Foster wasn't exactly on Seb's level when it came to having a good time, but he could enjoy himself when with the right people. Decidedly, Saul wasn't, and she knew the chef wouldn't be able to unwind if out with the lawyer. And he respected Phoebe's opinion on how she wanted to celebrate her birthday too much to even feign having a good time for the older man to win a bet. So, with that in mind, and feeling confident about her odds, she held out her hand for him to shake. "You, Mr. Weissberg, have yourself a deal. One successful night out with Foster, and you can throw me a birthday party that rivals Kim Kardashian's 40th birthday on her private island." She nodded, "Yeah, things are good. Though we're like stuck on what to do about Misty a bit. Do either of yours have behavioural issues?" They didn't, she knew that. But she also needed advice for another cat dad, with a mental reminder to also text Eli.

“ah-ah, you said yourself that you were raised by wolves. ergo: wild child.” saul countered, lifting a brow. her next question had him mulling, cogs visibly working in his head as his eyes looked towards the ceiling in thought. it took him a few seconds, but he returned his gaze to phoebe and shook his head. “not that i can really think of. elnt kind, maybe? i’m pretty sure that means lonely child, but that’s not, like, a term that people use or anything. not in my family, anyway.” his expression softened, “i don’t want you thinking about yourself that way, though.” even if, to borrow phoebe’s next phrase, the shoe fit. saul tried his best not to bring up difficult subjects to people in his personal life—namely, his relationship with his son—and he knew enough from phoebe’s own mouth and the blue harbor rumor mill that her relationship with her mother was equally as thorny.

he shook off the softness and went back to teasing. “besides, we’ve already established your vilde chaya status.” he nodded sagely, then returned to his meal. “oh, whatever. just remember that my work-life balance is the whole reason why you don’t have to pay for breakfast here.” not that a weekly meeting at rise ‘n’ dine was breaking his bank, but it might’ve for phoebe.

“oooh, yes, i like this idea. let’s give them something to talk about—or write about, rather.” saul mulled again. “maybe we should start a rumor that you were… raised by wolves? would that take?” he gave a sly wink to prove he was just joking. “or, maybe we’ll say i’m running for mayor, and under my mayoral reign, the whole town will be required to divorce, even if they’re happily married, or never been married at all. they’ll have to get married and then divorced, just to line my pockets.” shit, he could be creative when he wanted to be! the lies he came up with as a young boy, allied with his twin brother, they used to lie about the color of sky and laugh uproariously when their parents or older cousins went to check—it didn’t occur to saul until he was in his twenties that they were all just humoring him and levi, but he still thought fondly about the memory.

his face contorted into an offended expression. “how can you possibly hate cats? y’know, skimbleshanks the railway cat, the cat of the railway train?” saul softly half-sang; he was feeling diplomatic and didn’t shout it out for the whole restaurant to hear for phoebe’s sake. “i like jersey boys, too. do you have a problem with that musical?” he sighed dramatically, shaking his head. he didn’t know what she meant by flowers and didn’t care to ask. “listen, if we can get foster to—and i say this affectionately, i do like foster—get the stick out of his ass and have a bit of fun, you’ll let me throw the birthday party of your dreams. my dreams. our dreams.” at any rate, saul was known to get a wallflower to open up and out on the dance floor; maybe dancing was beyond all hope, but he was sure he could get her boyfriend to crack a smile in no time. “things are going well with ol’ boy, i take it?”

[archived-thecjwelford]

Racing had always been a niche thing. How CJ got into it was really simple: The Fast and The Furious came out when he was ten, and his dad managed to sneak him into the movie theater. The cars went zoom, his brain went brr.

That said, it was a bit harder to find other people into it, even though Blue Harbor commissioned the whole race track thing.

The race track he now owned in fact.

Regardless, it was fun to see Saul's reaction to it, taking it all in, taking a moment to understand CJ's references. "Not a racing fan?" He confirmed with a grin, soft, only slightly teasing. Perhaps there was some joy in the cool lawyer dude not being one hundred percent comfortable, like he was in the office. Or even now, when the subject of the marriage was brought up, noticing Saul look more sure of himself than he did mere moments ago. "What? That's insane, I feel like they can't do that right? It's like...a legal thing, not like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly." Because that analogy made perfect sense.

When Saul mentioned Micah's age, it clicked for CJ then. He had been picturing a little dude the same age as the kids Saul brought with him today, but the image of the guy he had seen both at the office and in the apartment with Seb suddenly came to mind. "Oh, that Micah!" He murmured, mostly to himself, turning his full attention back to Saul, "Yeah he seems awesome, I'll like invite him to my birthday party — you coming?" It'd be rude not to invite your divorce lawyer to your thirty-third birthday at the bowling alley, after all. "Oh, uh, I kinda was, back in the day. Your nephew's a fan? I mean that's totally sweet and stuff, just...well, haven't heard it in a while."

“the guys?” saul took a quick look over the race track behind his sunglasses. “oh, the drivers. i’m sure the kids would’ve loved that.” though, if saul was to be honest, he didn’t really get the whole racing thing. he figured it was probably more fun to do than to watch, but he stopped trying to understand what the youth were up to decades ago. once upon a time, he had been the youth—his mother didn’t understand why saul spent all his time in grimy clubs and basement bars, or why he had owned two different mesh shirts in college; just like he didn’t understand motorsports, edna weissberg wouldn’t have understood early nineties gay club culture. his mother hadn’t much understood his elopement to katie, either. “cj, i’ve had thirty years of experience in family law to know it’s not just a piece of paper.” not to mention his three previous marriages. “but like i told you, no one but you can decide when or if you want to end your legal ties to seb—there is a time limit on annulment, however. you’d be getting a divorce if you wait more than a year.” even if cj had no intentions to get one, he still felt it was his duty to keep cj informed, officially his client or not. “ah, okay. you guys are just similar in age. i’d ask you to keep an eye on him but i think he’d kill me for even suggesting it.” and, well, cj was certainly entertaining, but he had to wonder if he would be a good influence on micah (not that saul considered himself to be a good influence on his son, either.). hopefully, his own disastrous history when it came to marriage would put micah off any random vegas elopements. “my nephew told me you’re kind of a big deal, though.” he gestured towards the track as if cj would somehow be confused.

[thephoebeyates]

Ah, so that’s why it didn’t sound too familiar. “Excuse you, I am one of Nilay’s kids so you shouldn’t be calling me that either.” And truthfully, the phrase didn’t exactly apply to Hattie. Rhiannon, on the other hand… Phoebe suppressed a shudder at the thought of the toddler’s chaotic ways. The intern herself didn’t think she was ‘wild’ per se. In fact for someone who didn’t have a curfew, or ground rules growing up, she was actually pretty boring. Probably the lack of rebellion of it all. ”Is there a phrase that’s similar to a ‘latch-key kid’?” She asked Saul before she really considered what she was asking, what she was inadvertently revealing about herself. When he dropped his fork, she merely raised an eyebrow. “If the shoe fits.” Was all she said. Honestly, it was up to the person on how they lived. Some people enjoyed their work, some people saw it as a means to an end. Saul was the former, Phoebe was the latter. If he was happy with his schedule, that’s all that mattered. 

A spiteful part of Phoebe — the Lisa gene, she dubbed — wanted to point out that if they all loved journalism so much, why didn’t they go somewhere with shit going on, like Chicago. But then, she remembered that a lot of people might have had similar life circumstances to her. Family to care for, bills to pay. And maybe some people enjoyed a slow-paced life. She certainly did, only ever braving Illinois’ most famous city for concerts in her youth, with Sebastian as her guard dog. “Yeah, you’re right.” She conceded instead, “Maybe one of us should cause a scandal, get the town talking about something interesting!” Though nothing would be interesting in Phoebe’s life unless her mother returned from…wherever. And Saul being married multiple times wasn’t exactly hard-hitting news, unless he had the same pattern as Henry VIII.

Which he didn’t…She glanced suspiciously at him for half a second over the pancakes, taking another slow bite. No, definitely not Henry VIII material. 

“Saul, you literally lived in New York. You had Broadway at your fingertips, no way you’re giving Cats the flowers it doesn’t deserve!” She wasn’t a big theater kid by any means, having a lot more contemporary tastes based on shaky bootlegs uploaded to YouTube: Heathers, Six (again, the Henry VIII comparison popped into her head), Waitress…Then the classics she had only seen the movie versions of (or the occasional Blue Harbor Community Theater production); Grease, Phantom, Les Mis. All the popular stuff, but enough to know Cats was outrageous and she didn’t want to bear seeing a bunch of theater kids who never grew up in leotards and cat ears bought en masse from Spirit Halloween. 

When he mentioned marriage, she tried not to freeze. She hadn’t even gotten Foster to say he loved her back (and maybe he didn’t, maybe that was fine) so the idea of anything further than what they were made her unnecessarily panic. “I’m always up for dinner, but I will give you whatever you want if Foster ever joins us and doesn’t sit in awkward silence for the majority of the night.” She knew her boyfriend, knew what he was comfortable with and his boundaries. It was why she had been putting off a dinner with Nilay and Eli — though come to think of, all three were rather strange about each other — and knew inviting Foster for a night out with her pseudo-uncle who was also the lawyer he was working his regarding his father’s estate would be a nightmare situation for the chef.

hm, so nilay hadn’t passed down that particular phrase. “wild child.” saul clarified through bites of pancake, brows lifting. “just don’t use it in regards to her kids.” though it was usually meant in a loving way, it wasn’t always intended fondly by the older generation. saul shuddered at the thought that he was now the older generation, but that meant he could use the word with impunity. sometimes, it was nice to settle into his old ways; sometimes, it terrified him. he dropped his fork down when she spoke about how it was just a job to her. “was that a veiled criticism against me? i do have a healthy work-life balance, if you must know.” in his opinion, it was good to be obsessed with your work. he thought of it as passion, and he was glad to still be passionate about his career after thirty years—the worst part was how it eclipsed his child and his marriages. other than that, he had no regrets about how hard he worked.

at least she seemed receptive to his advice. as a dedicated professional, he had some knowledge on the subject, even if journalism was a whole different ball game. “well, to them, it’s not just a job. it’s their livelihoods, and probably what they’ve been wanting to do since they were little kids. it’s not their fault that blue harbor doesn’t have much going on.” or, that print was dying a very long, slow death, but he felt she wouldn’t want to hear that as an aspiring novelist. he would’ve offered to have phoebe get in contact with his nephew, gideon, a published author in his own right, but he knew better than to let her anywhere near that particular weissberg—gideon seemed to inherit every womanizing, emotionally stunted trait that followed his family for generations. 

he was briefly taken aback by her sudden reaction to his question. “goodness, cookie. i wasn’t suggesting that i throw you a wedding ceremony.” he didn’t understand her aversion to parties and celebratory dinners, but saul was the type to celebrate that it was friday, or that the sun was still in the sky. “and i like cats, by the way! there was a reason why it ran for eighteen years.” taking a sip of his coffee, he regarded her with suspicious eyes. “one of these days, you’ll allow me to take you and foster out to dinner. in a non-client capacity, in his case.” which might've been a bit awkward, since foster still hadn't reached out about his father's estate.