The Dragon's Den

New Friends Old Friends

Wed, 20 Jun 2007 20:10:41 GMT

WHO: Benedict, Emma, Frankie
WHAT: Benedict gets into some betting with Emma and later Frankie joins them.
WHERE: Boar's Head Bar and Grill - Lower East Side - Manhattan
WHEN: June 17

What better way to unwind after work than a cold one at a known watering hole. Benedict is seated at the bar working on his second bottle of beer. The empty bottle of his first also sits in front of him on the bar. With no television showing sports in this sort of establishment, he's left to watch the other patrons. While keeping his head down over his drink he's currently watching out of the corner of his eye as a couple of guys down the length of the bar argue, their voices getting more and more heated.

Emma too needed to unwind a bit. While she could have easily gone to a local bodega and gotten some beer for her to drink at home, she actually wanted to go out and get a change of scenery. The door to the bar opens, and in walks the blonde woman. This didn't seem to be the type of bar she would normally go to, but she actually liked the change of atmosphere compared to other places. Finding an open spot at the bar, she waits for the bartender to notice her, which doesn't take too long, before ordering something on tap. After she does, her attention is drawn towards the men at the end of the bar as their voices raise. An eyebrow arches upwards, but then Emma looks away, pre-occupying herself with watching the man behind the counter get her drink ready.

Whether it's the blonde female part of things or the fact that she looks a little out of place here, Benedict can't help but notice when Emma comes in. Arguing men aren't so interesting as to hold his undivided attention. Instead, he watches passively as she joins them at the bar, now splitting his time between the two things to watch. Though his expression is rather intense as a rule, nothing about his watching suggests he's being lecherous or rudely staring outright. "Think it'll come to blows?" he asks ambivalently in a voice low enough to keep the men in question from hearing him. It's more to strike up conversation than because he's spoiling to see a good fight.

When she hears the man nearby speak, Emma's attention is turned towards him for a moment before her blue eyes flit back towards the men at the end of the bar. "Not too sure," she notes back in a lowered tone, her English accent - mixed with ten years of 'New Yawker'. "At least it would be entertaining if they did." She then offers him a smile before her beer is placed down on the bar top in front of her.

"Probably be half the fights in here if they'd spring for a television," Benedict says by way of agreement, smiling just slightly before taking a pull of his own beer. It's just some cheap domestic he hasn't even bothered having poured into a glass. Done with it for the moment, he sets it back on the bar and then leans in a little to look down the length of the bar towards the potential fighters. "Then again, nobody else seems to mind the fighting."

"Honestly, if people were looking to stop it or not see it, they'd be going somewhere else," Emma shrugs before she takes a sip from her beer. Once her glass is placed back down on the bar, her eyes look back towards the arguing men and a smirk appears upon her face. "If they do fight, I've got twenty dollars on the guy in the blue." Looking back towards Benedict for a moment, the smirk shifts into a smile. "See, entertainment."

Benedict cants his head to concede that point before turning a scrutinizing gaze down towards the men. "He's got size but I bet the little guy is quick. I'll take that bet," he agrees. He returns his attention to Emma with a small smile of his own. "I'm entertained already." He picks up his drink and takes a sip. "So is this," And here he gestures towards the argument with the neck of his beer bottle, "What brings you here?"

Emma falls quiet for a moment as she regards the man and his words. When she does speak up again, she offers another half shrug. "Nah. I mean, if fights happen, all the more entertaining. People here aren't as - scummy as those you'd find in other places that are more expensive, believe it or not. Plus, the beer is pretty cheap, which is always a plus..." Her eyes motion down towards a spot on his shirt. "I'm guessing your name's Benedict?"

"In one," Benedict replies with a rueful smile and a glance down at his name tag. "Do I have to guess yours in return?" He finishes off the bottle, setting it out for the barkeep to see and provide another when he gets the chance. "As for the rest, I guess I can understand that. Or at least folks around here wear their scum on their sleeves so to speak. Know what you're getting. Not that I've spent much time in more expensive locales. Well, not -much- more expensive anyway."

"Emma," comes out easily enough, but that is all that comes out about her identity, especially since she is a publicly known mutant as of a few months ago. "Other places leave you guessing which is the scumbag of the place. Is it the lawyer that's trying to impress you with his court jargon? Is it the college jock that is boasting about his football career?" She shrugs and takes her beer into her hand again. "Here, you get it a lot less - at least from what I've seen." Her eyes motion again towards the fighting men at the end of the bar. "You never know what you'll get though..."

"Nice to meet you, Emma," Benedict replies while nodding once. If there's any recognition it doesn't show in his features, but then he doesn't always tend to be the most expressive person. "Probably not a lot of lawyers in here, and if there are any former student athletes I'm sure they're long washed up by now." He looks down at the men down the bar as well and his eyebrows lift just slightly as the argument escalates or at least grows in volume. "Never know. As long as it's the sort of excitement where you can sit back and keep your hands clean."

Pulling the headphones out've her ears, Frankie steps into the bar, lugging the heavy tote bag no more. She's taken that damn exam, coughing and weezing the whole time. Her hand briefly pushes some hair out've her face as she checks out the place. A little bit more shabby that her usual, but she's never complained if it involved a drink. Ironically, she spots a familiar blonde at the bar, and immediately makes her way to the woman. "Hey," she smiles at her friend as she slips into the stool next to her. She looks over to Benedict, even more surprised. "Oh! Uhm! You...uhm," she snaps her fingers crying to remember the name, "Pope....pope...Benedict! Right?"

When she hears the familiar voice, Emma turns to see Frankie enter. Her face lights up suddenly at the sight of her long term friend. "Frankie, you've been hiding from me!" She then motions to hug the other woman, but then turns and arches a blonde eyebrow towards Benedict. "Pope? Quite a nickname," she teases towards him. The blonde woman is about to say more, but her cellphone starts to ring all of a sudden. "Damn, sorry," she comments towards the two before answering it, smiling instantly when she hears who's voice is on the other line. Emma then turns back towards the two. "Sorry, I need to get going. I'll catch you later, Frankie." Her blue eyes scan over Benedict. "And the guy in the blue would /so/ win that fight." There is a final smile before she then leaves the bar and the two on their own.

"Frankie, hey," Benedict recalls quickly, a little surprised that the two know each other. "Small world," he murmurs more quietly. "Guess it is true what they say about the big cities." Emma's teasing just gets a knowing smile from him, before he looks over at Frankie. The bartender comes by and drops off a new bottle of cheap beer finally spotting Bennie's empty one. "You want anything? I think I owe you one anyway," he asks of Frankie. The cell phone ring gets a look from him and he nods as she makes to leave. "I still say the guy in green has more fight in him," he calls after, before turning back to Frankie.

"Don't ask, its a looooong story," Frankie deadpans to Emma. She grabs for a napkin to blow her still stuffy nose in and waves her friend as she heads out, "Well that was short lived. Catch ya later Ems." Hearing each one's comment on the bar fight she looks over herself and concludes, "How bout they both end up killing each other and we all live happily ever after? The end." Of course the smile that follows this statement shows the humor behind that statement. "You can get me a beer. I'm not up for anything too fancy tonight," she says, "So how've you been Bennie?

"Guess at least then we'd all break even on our bets," Benedict comments as though that would be the important thing of the two men doing each other in. He turns back to the bartender and just gives a nod of agreement to get the lady a beer. "One night of drinking this swill and you'll be running back to your fancy martinis," he comments wryly as he takes a sip of his own drink. "As for me I've been well enough. Not much to tell. How are you? Got home alright the other night, I assume."

Frankie grins and says, "I always come up with good endings." She does indeed blow her nose, but continues on, "I'm not that much of a sissy. Besides, what'd that chick writer Gertrude Stein say? A beer is a beer is a beer?" The bartender quickly slides her, her poison. "As far as I got all my fingers and limbs in order, so yeah I'm guessing I made it home alright," she nods and takes a sip from her bottle, "Thanks for watching my ass back there. That's the last time I do something like that." She tips her bottle to him as if to seal her promise. "Uhh, and the events of that night are kinda shady. I didn't do anything too stupid, did I?" she asks.

"That's a good talent to have," Benedict replies with a smile and a nod. He doesn't seem put off by the nose blowing. "And hey, here's to beer then. I like the way you think. Because it's very much like my own view. You have enough of 'em and they all taste the same anyway." He gives her a quick once over as though to assure all her parts are indeed in order. "As I recall it, you weren't the one wearing a little paper hat for the better part of the evening, so I think your dignity is more or less intact. Never seen martinis hit someone quite so fast before but then martini bars aren't so much my scene."

"Hey hey hey! What'd I tell you? I was heavy on the meds," Frankie says in her defense, "Don't be fooled. I can take much more than that." A longer sip is taken this time from the bottle. "So if I remember correctly," she begins, "we only got to your name, and the origins there of. But that's it." Frankie places the bottle back down and says, "I was too much in a drunken stupor to ask if you were from around here."

"Nothing wrong with a good drunken stupor. Or medicine haze. Whatever your story," Benedict teases slightly. He takes a swig of his drink before getting around to answering the implied question. "Born and raised in Jersey but I'm sort of from all over these days. Been around anyway. Like a stray. How about you? Proper Manhattan socialite or are you here for . . . school, I'm guessing?"

"Ahhhh Jersey. New York's dorky fraternal twin," Frankie smiles, "I'm kidding, I've only been to Atlantic City, so I wouldn't really know what its like there." She grabs at another napkin just incase she needs it again. "But a stray, huh? Where else've you been?" she asks. In reply to his question she nods, "A little bit of both. My mom's the socialite, so she's always around here for charity events or whatever. But yeah, I go to Columbia, with Emma (she points to the door where the blonde exited)." She smirks, "You'll never guess for what though."

"No, that's probably about right," Benedict agrees with a laugh. "Grew up right across the river, so I'm about as close to being from around here as you can be without -actually- being from around here." He shrugs his shoulders as he worries with the label on his beer. "Spent some time down south for awhile. Never quite made it all the way out to the other coast but I came close a few times. Nowhere and everywhere, if you know what I mean." As he's put to the challenge of guessing her major, he gives her another close once over. "Hm. Art history?" he takes a wild stab. "English?"

"Oh wow, that is pretty damn close. You might as well have lived in the tunnel or something," Frankie says. But when he mentions down South she smirks and asks, "Texas or something? Heh, can you do the accent...right now?" She seems pretty interested in this. But she shakes her head at his guesses. A quick sip is taken, and with her lips freshly off the bottle she says, "Medicine."

"They tend to frown upon that," Benedict replies deadpan about living in the tunnel. "I passed through Austin at one point, though I don't think I was there long enough to pick up an accent." Still, he can't resist giving it a try and manages passably at a generic Southern drawl though it's more likely taken from some old Westerns than any actual experience, "That's mighty kind of ya, ma'am." He even pretends to tip back his cowboy hat at the end. She earns a low whistle for her choice of major. "Impressive. Too smart for me. How's that going for you?"

Frankie puts down the bottle to laugh as she places a hand over her face. "S-stop it! Please! I think I just got some beer up my nose," she says still trying to control her laugh while squeezing her nose, "/Wow/ that was horrible." But she does ask, "So what exactly is there to do down South?" She clears her throat and says, "Eh, hopefully its not a total train wreck. I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm not some super genius like those people you see on TV or something. But I'm managing."

Benedict can't help but laugh a little, raising his hands in surrender. "Told you it wasn't long enough. But I'm all about being a good sport when asked by a beautiful woman." He shrugs his shoulders easily enough. "Not much to do down South, truth be told. But there's not much to do anywhere. I just needed some time to get my head together and I thought moving around would somehow make it easier." He takes a long swig of his drink. "Oh, I'm sure you'll manage just fine. You got in, that has to be at least half the battle. Taking the opportunity when it comes along."

"Oh, what a charmer!" Frankie smirks and says, "You should watch who you say that to, because one day a beautiful woman might actually /stomp/ all over that." She sighs and smirks, "Yeah.../only/ half the battle. Now I still gotta worry about the rest of it." Frankie listens intently as he speaks and nods, "Understandable." She empties out the last of her beer and turns to Bennie asking, "And did it work? Is your head cleared?"

"These are the chances I take," Benedict agrees sagely before offering a smirk of his own. "But so far they seem to turn out well worthwhile." He takes another sip as he considers her point about med school. "If it were easy, everyone would do it. But the occasional bout with gravity aside, you seem very capable to me. Not many who walk into this sort of place who can quote Stein at any rate." He sits back on his stool slightly. "Good question. I don't know. Seems to be the nature of life that you get your head clear about one thing and two more come up to take its place. So why medicine anyway? Noble profession but it's got to be pretty demanding."

Frankie has nothing to say to his first words, so she settles with a silent smirk. "I think you might be the millionth person to say that to me. Maybe I should actually start believing it," she shrugs and then she scrunches her nose in realization, "Oh man, I did quote Stein, didn't I? I feel like such a loser." Its followed with a short laugh and a sigh as she stretches her arms in the air. With the air still coming out've her lungs she says, "Or maybe whatever you wanted to get rid of by leaving didn't really go even though you thought it did. And so, something new came along and the old thing arose again and now you stuck with two things." She pauses, smiles and says, "I can repeat that if you didn't catch it." To his question Frankie gives a dry, stereotypical answer which was still truth in some tiny way, "I like taking care of people."

"That might be an idea," Benedict agrees with a small grin. "Throw tradition to the wind and dare to have some confidence in what you do." He lifts his bottle in a mock toast to that, before tossing back the last of the drink. "Nah, not a loser. It was impressive really. And at least the quote was relevant." At her rather winding suggestion he looks at once a little perplexed and intrigued. "I feel like I should draw a flowchart. But hey, who knows. Skeletons in the closet do have a way of sticking around. Trust me. So do you think the new thing wouldn't have come up if I weren't running from the old one?" Purely hypothetical of course. "Taking care of people. That's a good reason. Better than liking the money though I'd have bought that too."

"I'd draw one for you but," Frankie runs her hands over her pockets, "No pen. Guess you gotta use your brain for this one." Luckily, he gets it and no diagrams are needed. She thinks a moment about his question while leaning against the bar. "Maybe. I'd need to know details, but not only do skeletons stick around like you said, but they like to form snowballs too," she shrugs, "and may even form into a big...skeletal...avalanche!" Her hands wave around to emphasize the power of that said avalanche. "I suppose money works too," she shrugs.

Benedict watches her hands wave around as he considers this. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Who knows. Still sometimes you just gotta split. Skeletal avalanches or not. Bad things just have a way of happening. And then they turn into skeletons pretty damn quickly if you're not careful. At least in my experience. I kind of hope it's unique though." Something about this definitely calls for another drink and he indicates as much to the bartender with his empty bottle. "You seem awfully ambivalent about the money," he points out. "Big house, fast car, flat-screen TV. Isn't that what all the kids are going for these days?"

"Hm, guessing you must have a lot of skeletons, but everyone had their share," Frankie says, "Hey, who knows. If I were in your position whose to say I wouldn't have taken the first plane outa here." She looks over at him slightly confused at his last statement. "Ambivalent?" she tilts her head, "I think I missed what you meant. Can you put it in moron terms for me?"

"Yeah, who doesn't have skeletons nowadays," Benedict replies though he's gone a little more taciturn again, fiddling with a bottlecap someone had left on the bar. He twirls it between his fingers a few times and watches as he does so. "I guess I didn't do too good a job at running anyway since I wound up back here in the end." He looks back up at her now before putting on a bit of a smile and shaking his head. "I was teasing mostly. You just didn't sound all that concerned about the money is all. Which is a good thing, don't get me wrong." He casts a quick look at his watch and then frowns. "It's getting late. I should probably cancel that beer. Work tomorrow and all that. Sucks being a responsible member of society sometimes."

And despite his silence, Frankie laughs lightly, "Funny how that turns out, huh? End up where you started. Eh, whatever." She looks back at him and shrugs, "Oh hmm, well I suppose I don't. As long as you don't find it bad, then I suppose I'll keep doing what I'md doing." When he head out to leave she nods and offers with a grin, "I'll take that beer off your hands. I think I'm gunna stay a while longer." She then adds, "Oh and Bennie, nothing wrong with frowning every now and then, but personally you look cuter when you smile. Even /if/ you smirking."

"Yeah, seems like there's something very deep and profound in that but I'm too lazy to figure out what," Benedict replies, pocketing the bottle cap as though out of habit. "Nah, not bad at all. Refreshing really. So many out just to make a quick buck. Yours truly included I suppose." He gets to his feet nodding as he tosses a few bills down on the bar to cover his tab. "It's all yours. Enjoy it for me." At her parting comment, he pauses and then summons up a bit of a smile. He did say he'd do anything asked of him by a beautiful woman. "I'll keep that in mind. Some days there's more things worth smiling about." And from the quick wink he tosses her way before turning to go, perhaps she's one of those things. "Run into you again soon, Frankie," he calls back as he starts for the door.

Frankie smirks and catches the beer that's slid to her. "Much better," she holds two thumbs up in approval, and even laughs a little when he adds the wink. "See ya around Bennie," she nods and turns back to her beer and the brawl that is /still/ going on.

Canadians and Catholics

Wed, 20 Jun 2007 20:01:43 GMT

WHO: Benedict and Brianna
WHAT: The two run into each other at the club, flirt mildly, and discuss mispent youths.
WHERE: Club Diablo - West Village - Manhattan
WHEN: June 8

A Tuesday night isn't the busiest of nights in the club, but several regular denizens mill about. There are several people on the dance floor, several at the bar and a few scattered about at various tables. A goth band has taken up a make-shift stage at the end of the dancefloor in front of the DJ booth with a petite woman with two-toned hair fronting it. Her vocals aren't bad and she moves about the stage with a bit of a limp but for some reason it works with the hardcore look. They're just finishing off a song, by the looks of things, so the DJ seems to be ready to pick up the slack. As the song ends, the small singer shuffles off the stage and grabs a cane leaning against a speaker. With that, Brianna finds her way off toward the bar area, waving off a few interested dancers.

This clearly isn't quite Benedict's usual scene, and it no doubt shows. For one thing the work shirt isn't some vintage find worn ironically but a real honest-to-god uniform. Still, the place serves drinks and that's about the most he asks for these days. He hasn't been here too long, but long enough to snag a spot at the bar and get himself a beer. He watches as the group finishes up before turning back to his drink when the finally leave off.

Combat boots carry Brianna over to the bar pretty swiftly as she weaves in and out of the crowd, avoiding 'groupies' or whatever the goth equivalent might be. Approaching the bar, she nods at the bartender and orders, "Blue Rev. Bottle. I don't want it watered down this time, thanks." She then adds, "Put it on my tab." It seems that she, unlike others hovering over their drinks, is a denizen, not a spectator. She then glances down the bar, casually checking out the various people lined up, pausing briefly upon Benedict with some curiosity.

"A woman who knows what she wants," Benedict remarks with a tight smile as he looks up from his drink to offer her a cursory nod in greeting. "You were good up there," he adds with a slight sideways inclination of his head towards the stage. He leaves it at that for the moment, clearly open to further conversation but not about to foist it upon her if she'd rather just get her drink and go.

The nod is returned and Brianna raises the ante with a slanted smile. With a quick glance in the bartender's direction, she notes that he'll be a few moments, so she moves over toward Benedict, replying, "In a place like this, you have to know what you want or you get stuck with the dregs." Coming to stand a conversational distance away, she leans against the bar and offers a gracious, "Thank you. I try." Curiously, she states in a half-question, half-statement, "You don't come here often. I'd recognize you, I'm sure."

"Should I take that as a compliment, insult, or merely observation?" Benedict asks deadpan yet not really serious. "First timer. Didn't realize there was a dress code," he remarks as his gaze flickers around on some of the more elaborate costumes. "You must be quite the regular I'm guessing. Perform here a lot do you?" He turns sideways to face her with one elbow still resting on the bar.

Grinning, Brianna replies easily, "Hmm, could be a compliment or an observation. Depends on your own preferences, I suppose." She then turns to look at the bartender as her bottle of bright blue fluid is set before her. Picking it up, she looks back at the newcomer and nods, adding, "Dress code is hardly enforced and besides, there are guys who spend their paychecks in thrift shops to pull off your look, except they do so badly." A shoulder hitches up. "Yeah, I come here quite often. Though the caterwauling, well, that just started up more recently. Call it a side-project, if you will. I'm taking you don't usually come to places like this, however, so where's your usual hangout?"

"Hm. Compliment then, if you're leaving it up to me," Benedict replies with a considering nod. He eyes her drink as it's handed to her, remarking, "Almost matches your hair." He glances down at his shirt with a wry shrug. "Leave it to the hipsters to spend money looking poor. Much more efficient just to be poor." But at least he does have a job. His attention returns to her. "Oh, I get around. New enough in town not to have a usual spot. And so, the branching out. Never been much of a dancer, but I guess the music's okay. Was better when you were caterwauling though," he adds with a fleeting smile.

His choice seems to please her if her grin is any indication. Taking a sip of her drink, she quietly listens to him for a moment. Lowering the bottle, Brianna replies with a glance at it, "Hm, I swear I don't base my drink choices on the colour of hair dye I use. I'm not that shallow, honest." A wink is offered as she chuckles. "And hey, in this city, almost everyone's poor. Or they're really really rich. It's hard to be somewhere in the middle. But anyway, Club D's not a bad place. But if gothed-out punks writhing on a dancefloor isn't your thing, you might want to consider avoiding the weekends. It's hellish here on those nights." She then blushes just the tiniest bit while she grins, adding, "And thanks. I do try to liven the place up a bit. DJs are okay, but they can get boring."

"A happy coincidence then," Benedict replies easily about her hair and drink matching. "Yeah, guess you're right. Not a friendly place for the middle class. Rent alone will put you in the poorhouse. But I guess that's just the price you pay to be in the middle of everything." There's a slightly ironic bent to that last statement. "I'll keep that in mind though, avoid the weekend. One thing this city's got going for it - not a lack of alternatives. Still, the company definitely accounts for something." He lifts his beer bottle off the surface of the bar, inclining the neck towards her in a shorthand for a toast. "You definitely liven things up. I'm Benedict, by the way. Bennie."

Chuckling a little, Brianna replies, "Ah well, we do what we can, right?" She shrugs a little and agrees with his assessment of the city, "Anyone who claims boredom in this city isn't looking around them, I think." She starts to raise her bottle for another sip but hesitates as she hears his compliment and sees the small toast. She pauses, then mimics the motion of tilting the bottle toward him a bit. "Well, you're too kind. Thank you very much... Bennie. It's good to meet you." She takes a sip of her drink, then sets the bottle down on the bar to hold out her hand for a shake. "I'm Brianna. Most people call me Bri."

"It definitely isn't boring," Benedict agrees. "Expensive, confusing, and overwhelming at times, yes, but never boring." And yet he chose to live here. When she returns his small toast, he flashes a quick smile. "Nice to meet you, Bri. So you native to these parts? Must have been here awhile, I'm guessing, to know your way around this joint so well." He waits to see if his guess is right.

Shaking her head, Brianna replies easily with, "Not native, no. I got transplanted from Canada to Buffalo when I was about ten and then a few years after that, I got landed here for school... and the rest is history, really." Grinning, she adds, "And I've been hanging out here in this joint for a little while at least." She won't admit how long she's been going to the club.

"Someone else who's been around a bit. We went up to Canada on a school trip once," Benedict recalls in passing but quickly shakes it off. That's probably not what he meant by being around, one hopes. "As for this place, I guess when you find your fit you might as well stay put. I just got into the habit of roaming. Of course there's something recommend to it. If I'd stuck with my first watering hole, I wouldn't have met so many interesting people. Case in point." He nods at her.

"Yeah, you're looking at a born and raised Canuck right here, so I guess I'm a bit away from my original home, but that was a long time ago. This is home now," Brianna replies, then checks herself, "well, not /this/. The city. Where in Canada did you end up?" With a grin, she adds, "You have a point there, honestly. I stay here mostly because, well, I like the music, the crowd isn't bad and the pay's okay enough... and now the company, yes, is pretty good too." Nodding back at him, she adds, "So, colour myself lucky that one of the pair of us travels a little."

"Be it ever so humble," Benedict remarks with a slight smirk, regarding the idea of making the club her home. "Wound up in Toronto for a few days. Think we went through Buffalo, come to think of it. But that was a long time ago. I was just a dumb kid back then." His grin grows some as she considers herself lucky and he nods his head a little in acknowledgment of the compliment. "Nothing wrong with staying put. Otherwise, you might not have been here for me to run into."

His first remark causes her to chuckle and glance away momentarily. "Such as it is," comes her wry comment. Brianna's attention is regained easily by the mention of Toronto. "That's my hometown, actually. Toronto. Sometimes I miss it, but like I said, I was ten when we came over to the red, white and blue side, so I don't remember all that much." She then grins broadly, showing her pearly whites a little. "Well, there's some wisdom in that, I'll say." She holds up her bottle again, then takes another sip.

"Question is, do you still say aboot?" Bennie teases, expecting fully to get hit for that one. "Really though, from what I can remember, it seemed a decent enough place. Gotta admit, we didn't really pay that much attention to all the education and cultural stuff we were supposed to be soaking up." He shrugs his shoulders. Such is the very nature of a field trip. He follows suit with another swig of his own drink, finishing it off. "Can I get you another while I'm at it?" he offers.

Perhaps because she only just met him, Brianna only swats him ever so lightly in the shoulder, making a bit of a face. "No. I never said that. But I do have a bad habit of saying 'eh' apparently, according to some friends." Though she hasn't said it once since they started talking. Shrugging, she adds, "At least you went to Toronto and not Ottawa. Much more interesting." As he makes his offer, she looks pleasantly surprised and gives a little bit of a look down at her own bottle which only has a few mouthfuls left. Offering a nod, she replies, "That'd be very kind of you, and, frankly, I'm not planning on going anywhere just yet, so..." She might as well?

"Ah yeah, the world-famous eh," Benedict replies with a sage nod, utterly undeterred by the swat. "Is it? Glad the teacher picked that one then. Honestly, I don't even remember what the point of the trip was supposed to be. I remember having to get dressed up a few times and sitting through really boring shows about stuff. But we also got to see the Yankees play the Jays, so that made it all worthwhile." For a moment, his usually stoic face becomes much more animated, like he still is that kid, so excited to go see the big names in baseball. It doesn't last long though. "Okay. One ... blue thing, coming right up." He makes a gesture to the bartender, indicating two refills over here.

Smirking, Brianna at least doesn't swat him again, but replies, "I do try to curb it." She then nods regarding his class' choice in cities. "Well, in Ottawa, you would have walked for hours around stuffy old parliament buildings. Better to go watch boring shows and a ballgame or two," she reassures him with another nod. She watches the interplay on his face as he mentions the game, but doesn't question him, perhaps picking up on the fact that it might be something he's even unaware of. All things in due time, perhaps. She then offers, "Blue coloured Rev. It's pretty good. Couldn't get it in the U.S. for a bit. Hyper-caffeinated stuff. But thanks. So.." She pauses, considering a moment before she grins at him, "You spend your time buying drinks for the girls?" She's obviously teasing at this point.

"Nothing wrong with a well-placed eh, if you ask me," Benedict assures her. "I see. We get enough boring architecture trips staying close to home, so I'm glad they decided to mix it up a bit. Then again, we probably would have spent our time the same way, mostly looking to get into trouble." He does seem oblivious to any changes in demeanor. At her teasing question he offers a slight smirk. "I spend my time buying drinks for -me-. But now and then, I'm willing to make an exception." As the drinks are finally brought over, he quickly handles paying for them and then offers her violently blue drink to her. "Really, I work and I wander and I kill time in places like- Well, not quite like this, but you get the idea. Haven't been here long enough to find anything better to do. I'm open to suggestions though."

Grinning a little, Brianna replies, "Getting into trouble? That's something I used to do... drove most of my teachers batty. I was always getting into trouble." Yeah, she might look like the type who might have been a bit of a handful. She quickly finishes off her first bottle and finally reaches for the second, thanking him swiftly for it. This is raised toward him again before she takes another mouthful. Then, she remarks, "Hm, well, I suppose yet again I should consider myself lucky if I'm the exception of the evening. Cheers to that." Nodding a little, she asks, "Well, if there's anything I can do to liven things up a little, just holler." As though realizing that sounds a wee bit stronger than she intends, she inserts the qualifier of, "Even if it's just making suggestions of places to hang out. in"

"To getting in trouble then," Benedict smirks as he returns the toasting gesture. "Always thought it kept the teachers young, keeping them on their toes like that." He starts in on his second beer now. "So I take it you're more the type that prefers to be the exception than the rule," he observes. "Keeps things interesting, I'm sure." At her initial offer, his eyebrows do inch upwards slightly but he gives an understanding nod at her clarification. "If you know of any must-see watering holes or restaurants around here, I'm always looking for new stomping ground. Of course, I might just stomp back this way again one day."

There's a smirk still playing on her lips as he toasts the act of getting into trouble. "There's some logic in that, though I doubt the teachers would agree with us," Brianna adds before taking another swig from her bottle. That pierced eyebrow of hers arches upward as she considers his observation. "Hmm, yes, I suppose you're right about that. I'd rather be the exception than the rule, the one that stands out. Remember Sesame Street with that song about how one of these things just isn't like the others? That's where I stand, usually, and I'm proud of that, frankly." She catches the eyebrows raising on Bennie, considering whether or not to respond to it. Instead, she moves along and replies, "Lee's Dim Sum in Chinatown is great if you like Chinese food. Watering holes, I prefer this place. But you know, if you stomp back here, you'd certainly be a welcomed sight."

"Guess it's just as well we never thought to ask them," Benedict replies a little mischievously. "What would you say is the worst thing you ever did to a teacher?" he asks with idle curiosity. He then considers her point about standing out, giving her a more appraising once over. "Yeah, I'd believe that. You definitely stand out. Caught my eye, anyway," he admits with a grin which is smoothly transitioned into a swig of his drink. "Lee's Dim Sum. I'll keep that one in mind. Don't eat out that often but next time I do..."

"The worst thing I've done to a teacher? Oh gods, you didn't just ask me that, did you?" Brianna replies, laughing fully. "Oh, man. Let me think," she says, stalling a little with a swig from her drink. "Hm. Well, there was the time we glued Miss Hennesy's underwear together... to the flagpole," she admits. "Just little kid's stuff when playing pranks, but they'd get so mad and we'd get into /so/ much trouble," she adds. "Other stuff we did... well, drinking and smoking underaged, sneaking out for parties after dark... that sort of thing, you know? How about you?" As he agrees with her about standing out in a crowd and then compliments her, she smiles and glances at her drink momentarily. "Well, nice to know someone noticed." She leaves off the topic of Lee's for now.

"The worst? Hm. Off the top of my head..." Benedict really should have expected this to turn back onto himself. "My buddy, he was good in autoshop, so you know that thing in the movies, where they take someone's car apart and put it back together inside? We tried that once with the VP's car. Didn't -quite- work. Turns out it's a lot harder to put one of those back together than to take it apart." He pulls a face and washes it down with another swig of beer. "Drinking, smoking, wanton destruction of public property. Stupid kid shit. Still, those were the good old days. Getting into honest trouble, so to speak. Before consequences became real." He shrugs his shoulders, trying not to turn the lighthearted conversation more serious. "Oh, someone noticed," is all he comments to her last.

Laughing a bit harder, Brianna replies, "Oh no! You guys didn't! Hah, that's great!" She's obviously getting a bit of a kick out of this. "Did you guys get caught?" She just /has/ to know, apparently. A smirk crawls across her lips. "Sounds like you and I have some similarities as far as our wanton trouble we used to cause," she points out in an amused tone. Her grin slants a bit as he confirms she was noticed. Tucking back some blue and black locks behind an ear, she replies, "Good to be noticed."

"And how," Benedict replies with a chuckle, wincing a bit as he recalls that particular reaction. "Red handed you might say. Wound up having to mow lawns the whole summer to pay for the repairs. Not to mention all the detention we got while school was still in session." He shrugs his shoulders, the sting of the punishment long gone by now. "Of course, these days I've at least learned to keep my head down if not my nose entirely clean." He just returns the crooked grin with a nod and one of his own before innocently sipping his drink.

Brianna laughs a bit more, adding, "Oh man, that's bad. But hey, at least you earned the punishment, right? I think the worst punishment I got was having to do a teacher's laundry for a month." She then pauses, adding a brief explanation, "I went to a private school." Smirking, she comments, "Well, I suppose we have to behave as we get older, eh? Ah well. Such is life." She then knocks back a bit more of her drink, getting close to the bottom of this second bottle.

"Ah," Benedict replies with an understanding nod. "Private school girl. So the things they say -are- true," he teases with a roguish grin. "Gluing the underwear makes more sense now. Was wondering how you got ahold of it but thought it better not to ask." He picks up a bottlecap that's been left on the bar, fiddling with it absently. "Such is life," he agrees with a sigh. "Consequences get a lot more real when you hit a certain age. Betting if I took apart someone's car now I'd be facing a lot more than a lost summer of yard work."

Leaning back against the bar with her back and elbows against it, Brianna glances sideways at Benedict and smirks. "Hmm... perhaps. Depends on what rumours you listen to," she teases him back, pursing her lips a little against that smirk. She laughs a little and adds, "Well, I could have just been truly industrious... but no, it was the whole private school scenario." She idly watches him toying with the bottlecap, then glances away with a chuckle. "Yeah, I suspect if you were doing yard work, it'd be next to guys called Bubba."

"I usually only listen to the rumors I hope are true," Benedict replies without missing a beat. "Were kilts involved in any way?" he just has to ask, though it's more joking than lecherous. "I wouldn't put it past you to be that industrious but somehow getting the underwear off your teacher, that'd take some work. And a great deal of bravery, if they were anything like our teachers. Then again, ours were mostly nuns and I'm soundly of the believe that they are born in those habits and nothing else is involved." He flicks the bottlecap between his fingers rolling it deftly over the backs of them, before just quietly slipping it into his pocket. "Yeah, I'd really rather avoid that whole scenario. Can't imagine me and Bubba would get on too well."

Smirking, Brianna replies, "Kilts? No. Mine wasn't a private /Catholic/ school. Strictly non-Catholic here. Though, that never stopped me from wearing one." Now who's being mischievous? "So, no nuns with us, but some pretty strict teachers with eyes in the back of their heads." A figure of speech, right? That bottle cap seems fascinating for the time being as she focuses upon its movement until he finally pockets it. Glancing back up at his face, she smirks and adds, "No, I can't imagine you would. So... no taking apart anything bigger than a lawn mower, okay?"

Again his eyebrows twitch upwards slightly at the sound of that. "Well, that made my night," Benedict comments with a slow grin. He can't help it if he's an honest boy. "Yeah, you do -not- want to cross a nun. Didn't stop us, but they've got the power of God on their side so you know you're going to pay for it sooner or later." He isn't too worried though. He doesn't even really notice what he's doing with the bottlecap, just continuing the conversation without pause. "Now, is that a riding lawn mower or one of those ones you push?"

Now really, that makes her quite curious and amused at the same time. "So, kilts, eh?" Grinning devilishly at him, she snaps her fingers and adds, "I knew I should have wore the kilt tonight." Nevermind that she might look a little odd clomping around with a kilt and cane; but when has that ever stopped her? "Remind me never to mess with nuns at some point then... especially when I'm just about to do so," she asks of him wryly; as though it happens regularly. She doesn't say a word about the bottlecap, perhaps figuring it's not her business for the time being anyway. Instead, she chuckles, contemplating the mower issue. "A small riding one you might actually get away with..."

"Must be the Catholic schoolboy in me," Benedict replies with a shrug and a brief yet devilish grin. "Sadly, our school nipped the whole thing in the bud by having the girls wear these really horrible jumpers. Such a waste." He heaves a sigh for all the lost opportunities and puts a hand over his heart as though it pains him. "You plan on messing with them often? We could always tie a bit of string around your finger in case you forget and you're on your own." He finishes off his beer with another long swig and then eyes the bottle as thought contemplating another one. "If I come across any small riding lawn mowers in this city, I will be keeping that in mind. Now, do we do the sensible thing and leave it at two or throw caution to the wind?" he asks, glancing over at her.

That is a shame, sadly," Brianna replies almost sympathetically, though her grin kills it a bit. She continues to grin a bit as she watches the little 'pained' act. Shaking her head, she adds, "Oh no, I don't think I want to mess with someone as scary as nuns. Really, I swear that they'd be all we'd need to beat terrorism. Send a few of them out... problem solved." Although, she does seem horribly amused by the concept of tying some string up on her finger. Glancing down at her bottle with just a few mouthfuls left, she considers his offer even as she chuckles about the lawn mower. "Ah, I'd like to stay but this is actually about the fourth or fifth of the night, since I needed a bit of good old fashioned bottled courage to get up there tonight. First time in a long time, you see. So I'm thinking my liver's probably going to stage a revolt if I try another drink. Perhaps... another night if you decide to stomp on by again?"

"A crying shame," Benedict agrees sagely, tsking under his breath as he slowly nods his head. But the act is not maintained for long. "You might be onto something there. You get rapped over the knuckles with a rule a few times and you really learn to at least get sneakier about what you're doing. Car disassembly aside, anyway." He's a touch disappointed when she turns down his offer for another but he can't really argue with her logic. "Fair enough. My liver gave up trying to talk any sense into me a long time ago. But yeah, I think I can safely say I've found reason to swing back around this way again," he comments with a small smile.

Offering him a little bit of that devilish grin again, Brianna replies, "Fear not... it's not for a lack of interest, but simply self-preservation instincts kicking in. Nothing more, I assure you." She seems rather pleased by his suggestion that he has a reason to come back by the club, though it's not usually his scene. As such, she replies, "Well, then, I look forward to the next time you pop your head in through the door. There will be plenty more caterwauling to be witnessed and perhaps some good company." With that, she knocks back the rest of her drink and calls out to the bartender, "Call a cab, please? Thanks!" Turning her attentions back to Benedict, she finally adds, "It was a pleasure to meet you, Bennie. And I do really hope our paths cross again. I had an interesting time."

"Good to know I didn't fail to hold your interest then," Benedict replies with a subdued smirk. He pushes aside his empty bottle, waving off any offer from the barkeep for another one. "I look forward to caterwauling and company both. But maybe one a little more than the other." He offers a hand to shake then. He has no plan of pulling the Smooth Guy thing and trying to kiss hers, but just a sincere handshake, if accompanied with a slightly suggestive grin. "The pleasure is all mine. I'm sure our paths will cross. Sooner, I hope, than later."

The handshake is accepted as she returns his grin with a friendly smile of her own. "Not at all. You seem very interesting. I'll see you around, Bennie," Brianna reassures him, apparently pleased by the prospect of maybe seeing him again and potentially soonish. Withdrawing her hand, she then steps away from the bar a bit, offers a finger-wave and then heads out apparently in search of her taxi.

Unsolicited Advice

Tue, 29 May 2007 03:23:34 GMT

WHO: Benedict and Jameson
WHAT: The two men meet in a Starbucks and chat.
WHERE: Starbucks - Greenwich Village - Manhattan
WHEN: May 27

Sunday evening - not exactly primetime for coffee-drinkers but somehow Starbucks always seems to pack a pretty full house no matter what time or day of the week. Jameson has managed to snag one of the few open seats, one of two chairs that sit at one of the tables next to the store windows. There's a bookbag at his feet and a book spread open one hand - clearly this one likes to read. In his other hand rests a steaming cup of... well, something. Unless one smells it or asks directly, it's often difficult to tell exactly what resides in the cups - particularly with the coffee shop's gigantic menu.

It's been a long night, and Benedict is topping off an evening at the local watering hole with some coffee. Not that you'd know he'd had a few to look at him. He waits patiently in line while the other patrons order their drinks and steps up to the counter when his turn comes. "Just a regular coffee, big as you've got it," he puts in when his turn comes. It takes a little doing to get something without foam, flavor or frills, and the production behind the counter does get the attention of a few people in the joint, but Bennie holds firm. Finally he has his drink and he turns to find a place to sit. His expression doesn't shift much but hints at a grimace as he finds the options limited. "This spot free?" he asks after making his way over to the empty seat across from Jameson.

"Hm?" Jameson finishes the sentence he's on and looks up for his book a moment after the other man speaks. "Oh, yes. Go right ahead." He gestures invitingly with the hand bearing the coffee cup. For his part, he seems to miss Benedict's slight grimace. Setting down the coffee, he takes up a bookmark to mark his page before setting his book to one side. "It's surprising how many people still want coffee at this time of night, isn't it?"

Benedict pulls out the chair with one hand before dropping down into it heavily. "Thanks," he replies simply as he takes a long pull on his coffee not minding the heat of the scalding liquid. He glances around again as Jameson makes note of the crowd in this place. "Yeah. Guess we're not really ones to talk though," he observes, his tone wry but his expression unchanged. "They say it's the city that never sleeps. Maybe this is why." He gives an indifferent shrug of his shoulders as he settles back again and takes another sip of his drink. "So what's keeping you up?" he inquires conversationally.

Jameson gives a little nod to the thanks, sipping again at his own cup. "Yeah, maybe you're right. The City That Drinks Too Much Caffeine, eh?" There's a little laugh to that and he leans back in his chair as he considers Benedict's question. "Nothing's really keeping me up, per se. I'm a natural night owl. But seeing as one of my dorm-mates snores with enough force to make the furniture shake, I thought this might be a better place to read, packed or not." Once again, he punctuates with a soft laugh. "What about you?"

"A student," Benedict deduces from this, giving his head a nod as though this makes it all fall into place. "I don't really like to sleep," he replies simply and rolls the coffee cup between his hands. "And I work late hours," he tacks on, tilting his head in a sideways nod at that. His hours aren't -this- late however but he leaves that part out. He lapses into silence then, staring down at his coffee cup thoughtfully before he takes another swig of it. And then his eyes lift again to watch through the large window making note of those passing by. "Snoring though, that's a killer."

Once again, Jameson nods as Benedict pegs him as a student. "Ah," he says simply to the other man's explanation. "Well, night shift can be pretty tough as well. It can take a lot out of you if you do it for a long time." Somehow he sounds as if he might be speaking with experience of some sort to back him up. "At least I could buy earplugs to help with that - if I really cared enough to. After all, just leaving the dorm altogether is easier and fool-proof anyway." He leaves it at that, falling back on nursing that coffee of his.

"Yeah, I guess that's true," Benedict agrees with a nod for the working man's woes. "But it- I was going to say pays the bills, but 'round here, that's not quite the case, is it. Let's you get comfortably into debt, then," he amends with a faint smirk. He looks back over at Jameson. "Big city, lots of excitement, so they say. Might as well get out and enjoy it. Even if it's just reading a book in Starbucks. Prefer the quiet life myself."

"True," Jameson replies to the talk of settling into debt, accompanying it with a smile that's slightly bittersweet. He shakes the expression off with another sip, however, and listens to the rest of what Benedict has to say. "If reading a book in Starbucks is your idea of excitement, my friend, I'm beginning to wonder what your 'quiet life' is like." This time the smile he sends across the table is considerably less troubled.

Benedict notices the fleeting expression and looks vaguely curious for it but holds his tongue. "Maybe not excitement exactly, but I've had enough excitement to last me a lifetime." He lifts the corner of his mouth in a smirk and shrugs his shoulders. "I'm old enough to appreciate the peace and quiet." He slouches back in his chair, taking another swig of coffee before setting it down on the table.

"Fair enough," Jameson says with a faint smirk of his own. He gives a brief nod of his head then lets his eyes wander about the shop a little in the silence, from one face to another without lingering on anything for any particular length of time. "So," he starts again after a bit, "What sort of job keeps you up so late at night? If you don't mind my asking." He looks back around to Benedict with an attentive expression.

"I sweep floors at a factory," Benedict replies without much hesitation. "It's about as glamorous as it sounds. So,uh, stay in school." He directs a little nod down at the book with that. "But it's an honest living, they tell me." He takes a moment to look out the window again, his brow furrowing slightly and then smoothing back out as someone walks past. "What do you study?" he asks and his attention returns then to Jameson. Whether or not Jameson minds his asking he doesn't seem much concerned.

"I'll do that, thanks," Jameson says with only a slight edge of humour to his voice as Benedict renders his advice. He watches as the older man turns out the window, then looks down to the cup in his hand. Wherever his thoughts have drifted, they're pulled back by the sudden question. It takes an instant for him to return to the present. "Mm? Oh... Law. I'm only just starting at university, of course. It seems to me the world is always in need of more lawyers, judges, lawmakers - that sort of thing." He shrugs his shoulders, eyeing his cup again as he scoots it back and forth a little on the table.

Benedict gives a small nod of his head, content that his duty as a warning to others is complete for the moment. "Mm, right side of the law to be on if you've got the choice," he muses with a considering nod. "Good luck with it. Don't let anything stand in your way of doing it." He's just full of advice tonight and it even seems to surprise him a little. "Things have a way of coming up in my experience, but you don't always get a second shot."

"Yeah, that's what I figure. If this is what I'm going to do for a living, I can't allow anything to get in the way," Jameson agrees with a curt little nod. "But, you know, though you might not always get a second shot, it doesn't mean there isn't something more out there for you." Just in case Benedict starts letting that floor-sweeping gig get him down. For what it's worth, he's not trying to be patronizing, he's just trying his hand at the whole 'advice-giving' thing. "And anyway, thanks for the luck. I just might need it if NYU is as much a challenge as I'm counting on." Not that he seems dissuaded from this academic path, of course.

Benedict lets out a quiet, wry chuckle at the advice, shaking his head slowly. "Yeah, plenty out there but not much worth doing. Let's just say law school isn't in the books for me." He glances down at Jameson's book. "No pun intended. Sometimes you just hit a dead end. But if I get bored, I'll find something else to do." He tips his cup up on one edge and then up on the other, tilting it back and forth a few times before picking it up to take a sip. "Ah don't listen to me. I'm old and grumpy." He gives an up-nod of acknowledgement. "I'm sure you'll find lots there to keep you busy."

It takes a moment for the pun to register with Jameson but he affords it a grin when it does, glancing from Benedict to his book and back again. "Well, as long as you're happy. That's the important thing." He gives a shrug of his shoulders, once again sliding the cup to and fro a few inches. "You aren't really old, anyway," he says with a faint grin. "My grandparents are old. And you don't look half their age." Perhaps he missed the 'grumpy' bit. Still, he doesn't seem to have any clue that he might be pressing his luck by elaborating needlessly on simple phrases.

"Oh, I'm ecstatic," Benedict replies very dry and deadpan. "Let's not overshoot. I'm . . . satisfied for now I'll say." He shrugs as he eyes his coffee thoughtfully and then lifts his eyes to look out the window again. When Jameson speaks again, he looks back at him. "Sometimes people grow up before their time, kid. Some days I -feel- 70. But I get to skip the arthritis so it could be worse." If it's a joke, he doesn't bother to crack a grin.

"Well... There's the bright spot, yes," Jameson replies cheerfully, though he's not quite able to muster up a grin this time, seeing as Benedict isn't showing any indication that he's joking. Instead, he looks over at the older man for a long, thoughtful moment and raises his cup again. He still doesn't speak once he lowers it again, taking his time to savor and swallow the coffee. Or perhaps he's just buying himself time since he's not sure what to say now. "So have you lived in the city for long?" Well, it's /something/ even if it's still small talk.

Benedict doesn't seem to notice he's bringing the room down with his doom and gloom. "You're big on bright spots aren't you," he observes. It's neither a compliment nor a complaint. Bennie seems content to sit in silence as Jameson studies him not being made uncomfortable by it. "Hm? No, not long at all. But I grew up in Jersey so I'm not entirely unfamiliar with the city. Moving around a lot you get used to filling in the details quickly." He takes a sip of his coffee, nearly finishing it off now. "You come here for school?"

"I try," Jameson says with a mildly sheepish shrug. As the conversation changes direction he seems to grow comfortable again, although he's oddly focused on his cup - more specifically on the rhythm he's tapping out against the cardboard container - as he gives his answer. "No, I grew up here. Well, not /here/, obviously." It's supposed to be a joke but his delivery is a little flat. He continues on regardless. "Over in Brooklyn. Where're you from originally?"

"There's worse things," Bennie decides. "If I haven't used up all my unsolicited advice time, stay an optimist as long as you can." There's a quick flash of a smile with that. "New Jersey," he replies with a slight gesture of his head in that rough direction. Actually he has no idea if it's the right direction or not from where he sits, but it looks good anyway. "But I've been around. Sort of come full circle or close as I dare to get."

Jameson returns the smile, however fleeting. "I suppose it's like they say," he murmurs over the brim of his coffee cup. "No matter how far you roam, you always come back home. Er, well. Sort of. Close enough, as you said." That didn't come out exactly as he'd planned, but perhaps that's close enough as well. He sloshes his coffee, trying to judge how much is left - probably only enough for another swallow or two. He pauses a moment, glancing over at Bennie and then out the window as he tips his wrist again.

"Yet they also say you can't go home again." Benedict shrugs his shoulders at that. "Then again I guess in a way they could both be true. You try to come back home but you can't." The late night ramblings of a man. He watches Jameson for a moment before draining off the last of his own drink. Still he doesn't seem to be in a hurry to leave just yet. "I'm Benedict, by the way," he offers abruptly when it occurs to him they haven't been formally introduced.

"Jameson," the student offers in return, holding his free hand out to shake. "It's a pleasure. So do you always hang around Starbucks, giving out various bits of good advice to the young and eager when you're not sweeping up? Or am I a special case?" He takes a moment to finish up his own drink, then sets it to rest alongside his book.

"Special case. I'm bored tonight." Benedict shakes the offered hand firmly. "Usually I prefer my places a little seedier. A little less-" He looks skywards as a fancy ringtone goes off. "-yuppie. But it'll do in a pinch. Caffeine is a necessary thing." He nods just once to affirm that. "You come here for the ambience or just the lack of snoring?"

Ah yes, the ever-popular custom ringtones. Jameson purses his lips in a little smile. "Well, I guess I should consider myself lucky. And, well..." He glances around, taking in the still-present crowd, the displays of canisters and coffee beans, the tacky wall 'collage' that's clearly meant to be hip... and he shrugs. "A little of both, I suppose. Though perhaps a little more for the lack of snoring. Any port in a storm, eh?"

"Lucky. Or in the wrong place at the wrong time. Depends on how much you like my advice." Benedict flashes a brief smile before his expression settles back into his usual stony one. "As ports go, I guess it . . . goes." He looks around and then shrugs. "I should set sail. Good running into you. Maybe our paths will cross again." He moves to his feet, chair scraping back over the floor. The cup is disposed in the garbage with an easy lob.

"I hope so," Jameson says, sounding sincere enough, though he hasn't really spent enough time with the man to be /too/ invested. "Take care of yourself." There's one more friendly grin to that as he watches Benedict rise and pitch the cup at the garbage bin. "... Nice shot." One hand slides to his book as he speaks, which he's already starting to open back to the page he'd bookmarked.

"Thanks," Bennie replies. He nods once by way of saying goodbye and then promptly turns to leave the establishment.

New in Town

Tue, 22 May 2007 18:03:52 GMT

WHO: Benedict and Pat
WHAT: Pat plays Welcome Wagon at the Boar's Head to see if Bennie is good people.
WHERE: Boar's Head Bar and Grill - Lower East Side - Manhattan
WHEN: May 21
NOTES: I'm going to keep posting logs here at least until my membership is approved for the logs group.

It's one of the few places that the Street Rat feels at least moderately comfortable in these days. The Boar's Head. It's not exactly known for it's charming atmosphere or it's fine cuisine but when you are in need of a tall cold one that isn't going to cost you an arm and a leg it's a good place to go. that is if you can fend off the cockroaches and rats. As it is Pat sits at a table near the back, elbows on the table, head hung low somewhat as she nurses a tall glass of cheap beer and a cigarette. "Turn that up." she hollers at the bartender, hearing a song she likes on the old radio he has sitting on the bartop.

The door opens to admit a stranger to this hole in the wall. Benedict has just gotten off of a long lousy day at work. Passing this place by, he could not deny its many charms, namely that it appeared to serve booze and didn't look like the sort of joint to charge more than a working man's wage for it. He makes his way inside, looking around as he goes. His head is kept down in a visible indication that he doesn't want any sort of trouble here. Yet steely eyes regard everything and everyone with just the slightest edge of anxiety. He edges up to the bar to put in an order for something hard but cheap. As Pat hollers, his eyes immediately move to her and assess the situation before letting it pass. His drink in hand, he heads in that general direction after having spotted an empty seat there in his earlier scanning.

Pat nods her head as Clem the bartender does just that, turn up the song. It's some old rock in roll tune by AC/DC that most would expect to hear in some biker joint but it's one she likes. Her head bobs a few times to the guitar riff and the beat as the singer squalls out something about being back in black. Those almost too-large eyes of hers are half lidded from the amount of alcohol she has consumed so far and they turn slowly to watch as benedict takes his seat nearby . There's a bit of a half sniff, half laugh as she looks away and drains her glass. She stands and walks to the bar and sets the glass three. "Gimme a pitcher and a couple o' shots. I'm 'bout to play welcome wagon for ya Clem." she says to the bartender.

Benedict settles in with his back against the wall. Though pretty much as soon as he's settled, he tosses back the shot with a look of pleasure and pain as the cheap booze burns all the way down. He hasn't missed the woman getting up from her seat being as watchful as he is. He's at least a little more relaxed about it between the combination of a drink and having given the place a pretty solid once over. The music is noted as he absently rolls the empty shot glass between his hands. His attention is split between the light refracting off the spotted glass and the other patrons in the bar. Relaxed but still wary.

Pitcher in hand and two shot glasses balanced on the palm of the other Pat walks over to Benedict's table and sets the pitcher down. Shortly there after a shot is placed in front of him and one on the opposite side of the table "Damn." she says as she turns without a word to the man and walks back to the bar, "Two glasses too... and make 'em clean ones this time." Is she serious or just tryin to frighten the new guy? Who's to say but once they are in hand she is sauntering back over to the table, snagging her pack of smokes on the way.

"What, we're not going to chug straight out of the pitcher?" Benedict deadpans taking this rather well in stride though it would be lying to say it doesn't have him at least a little bit curious and confused. Though such formalities don't appear to be necessary, Bennie still takes the trouble to gesture her welcome to join him should she like. But assuming this a foregone conclusion it's done with a cursory wave of the hand. He sits up a little straighter now, giving her a better look. "Free drinks and a lady to share with - I win some sort of contest?" It's a joke though you wouldn't know it from his utter lack of smile.

Pat looks offended as she sets the glasses down and turns the chair around backwards to sit in it, leaning forward against the back of the table. "Who you callin a lady?" she says in a half joking, half angry growl. There's a bit of a smirk as she reaches for the pitcher, pouring beer out in both glasses. "Me? I'm just makin sure you're quality people. Can't be lettin my favorite place circle the drain by letting a bad element in here now can I?" And with that she picks up the shot glass, holding it up in a psuedo toast before downing it.

Benedict doesn't miss a beat when he gestures to the bartender by way of answering her offended question. "Him. But you'll do in a pinch." The corner of his mouth twitches upwards slightly before he looks down at the alcohol she's laid out before him. He picks up the shot glass and returns her toast so that he can toss back that one too. "There's a worse element?" His eyebrows lift a fraction of an inch as he looks around with another considering gaze and then nods. "Let me know how I measure up then. I just hope some sort of curve is involved." There's an undertone of suggestiveness to the statement though it's restrained as such things go.

Pat looks up and smirks again, her head nodding once as she answers succienctly "Yuppies." to his question of there being a worse element. She laughs a bit to his tounge in cheek jest about curves and leans back a little, taking her beer with her as she goes and taking a swig of it. The glass set on the table she picks up her packof smokes and pulls one out, firing it up. A plume of blueish-grey smoke exhaled later brings forth the reassurance "Oh don't worry I will. An if ya don't measure up.. I'll be sure to see ya shit canned out onto the sidewalk." Again, another joke.. poorly presented but said one the less.

Benedict has to grant her that one, conceding the point with a nod of his head. "I guess this place could turn out to be very ghetto chic," he responds having no idea how to gauge whether or not something is chic. "The name tag's not just a fashion statement. I'm definitely not mobile in any sort of upwardly direction, don't worry." He sets this second shot glass aside now to take up his beer. "Been turfed out of worse places than this. Still, here's to hoping I make the grade." He lifts the beer glass in a mock toast to that wish before taking a long swig of it.

Pat grins slyly as she listens to him. "You mean there's worse?" she quips and flicks her ashes in the tray on the table. there's a raise of the chin as she nods to him "What's your name buddy? Or is the tag correct? Benedict, like the eggs?" His shirt is gestured to with her glass as she looks across the table.

And again Benedict has to grant her that one after a brief look around. "You've got a point there." He takes another swig of his beer before cracking his first genuine if subdued smile at the eggs comment. "Like the eggs, the traitor, and the saint all rolled into one," he replies with an ambivalent shrug. "Bennie, if you prefer that sort of thing. How about you? You got a name to go with that face?"

"Well I don't know about no traitors and I sure as hell don't know about any saints but the eggs are pretty nice." Pat answers as she sticks her hand across the table. "Name's Pat." She considers a moment "yeah.. I think I like Bennie better." she says and shakes with the man if he takes her hand.

"I'll be sure to pass along your compliments to the chef," Benedict replies with a crooked smirk as he does reach out to take the offered hand. "Bennie it is then," he agrees easily. "Nice to meet you Pat. Couldn't ask for a better Welcome Wagon." He lifts the beer slightly to indicate it. "Much better than coupons for neighborhood businesses."

Pat laughs that husky whiskey and cigarettes laugh of hers at that and makes a face "Who need coupons when there's beer." She takes a sip and considers it.. making a bit of a face "Not good beer but beer is kinda like sex.. even when it's bad it's good." Nope.. not a bashful bone in this one's body it seems. She's right at home in this dive. Likely just as at home in some rough and tumble roadhouse or biker bar too.

"I'll drink to that," Benedict says with another fleeting smile before doing just that. "Anything that blurs the edges, right?" There's a little too much truth in that so he takes another swig to wash down the words. "I'd say I've had worse, but I think we've hit the lowest common denominator here. Just makes drinking more of a challenge to see how much of it you can stomach."

Pat grins and takes a puff of her smoke "Tastes liek shit but it gets the job done." she says in agreement "Sometimes you just need to ste out of the sober world and live life a little lighter ya know? Forget about all that garbage that brings ya down." There's another long pull on her beer as she considers. "You a mechanic or somethin Bennie?" nodding to his shirt.

"Yeah, forget that shit," Benedict agrees with a solemn nod. He glances down at his shirt before giving his head a rueful shake. "Nothing so glamorous. I sweep floors and empty garbage cans, mostly. Pays the bills, except not even that's true. Expensive city. What about you? What's a professional Welcome Wagon committee of one pay these days?"

Pat laughs again "This? Hell, this aint no job.. it's an adventure." she says lightly and moves to refill her glass, topping his off as well. "I'm just not in the mood to be drinkin alone. I get that way sometimes." she settles back again, her arms draped over the chair back "Me? I don't reall y hold no 9 to 5. Never could get the feel for it. I'd rather set my own hours. Side jobs here and there. Aquire things that people need and deliver them.."

Benedict gives a brief nod of thanks as she tops off his drink and then gets to work on the newly-filled glass. "Glad for the company, whatever your reason. New in town and I haven't had the chance to meet many folks yet. None so charming as yourself, that's for sure," he adds with a flicker of a smile. "Nice work if you can get it," he goes on to her description of what she does. "I thought I'd give the honest living thing a try. Bites the big one, as it turns out."

Pat smirks a bit. Yeah, she knows how 'charming' she can be. About as charming as a pit bull. She tips her glass to him on his last comment "That it do." she agrees before taking another healthy swig of her own. The glass considered then sat on the table she looks at it a bit before looking back to him "Gotta say though... not a lot of people in this town worth knowin'. Hell not a lot of people in any town worth knowin' really. Most folks?...." she pauses a bit to flick her ashes "They're just people to pass the time with and the others ... well you don't wanna know them at all."

"Guess I can't be that discerning since I spend most of my time in my own company. But when I start talking to myself, I know it's time to branch out," Benedict comments with a dry smirk though he's not really joking. "Still, guess you're right about most folks. Town this size, if most aren't worth knowing, that's a frightening number of people. Wish I had a hard time believing it. Anyone in particular to steer clear of?" Not that he really expects her to provide him with a name or for it to do him much good if she does, but he asks anyway.

Pat chuckles a bit as she reaches for her beer. "You can talk to yourself," she says pointing one finger of the hand holding the beer glass at him and leveling a look at him as she goes on "You can even answer yourself. It's when you're talking to yourself and answering and you catch yourself going 'Huh?' that you're in trouble." She flashes a contagious grin at him, well in her cups as her Irish father used to say. "But yeah... you see a big guy lots of blond hair and cats eyes... probably best not to piss him off. He's a pretty mean character if you get on the wrong side o' him."

Benedict smiles briefly at the grin, nodding his head again. "Some sense in that. If I start having trouble following myself, it will definitely be time to get out of the apartment for awhile." He listens to her describe the man in question and watches her over the top of his glass as he downs a little more of the beer. "Not exactly looking to piss anyone off. But sounds like this guy I could afford some extra caution. Had enough experience getting on the wrong side of the wrong type of person," he adds a little more morose.

Pat nods "Yeah well.. trust me.. you'll know who I'm talkin about if you ever run into him. He tends to leave an impression." she informs Bennie. "Goes by the name of Creed." There's a bit of a grin at that "But me? I just call 'im Tiger." She winks and shrugs a bit, taking a drink. Setting the glass down she goes on "Definitely the guy you want on your side of a fight though."

"Like I say, not exactly looking to get into any fights. But should the shit hit the fan I'll keep that in mind," Benedict replies with a rueful chuckle. "Probably best I don't call him Tiger I'm guessing," he adds with that dry humor. In one long go, he drains off the last of his drink and then sets the glass down. "Unfortunately I have to be going for now. But assuming I passed the entrance exam, I'm sure I'll be back here far more than my liver would like."

Pat laughs and nods "Yeah.. don't think he'd like that too much." she says in agreement. Sitting back a little in her chair she gives him a once over "Hmmm, I suppose you pass. No references to some foo foo music or talk of politics. And, you seem to have a decent head on your shoulders." She looks over her own shoulder and hollers at the bartender again "Yo Clem.. he seems like a good egg." she says, giving her stamp of approval and tossing in a bit of a joke about his name in the process. Looking back to the man she nods "Good ta meet ya Bennie. See ya around."

"Check, no Tiger," Benedict makes note, before sitting back and listening to her assessment with some faint traces of amusement. "With a glowing recommendation like that, I must be doing something right," he states with a smirk. Clem gets a brief look as he's addressed before he gets to his feet and returns his gaze to her. "Nice meeting you, Pat, the Welcome Wagon. Be seeing you." There's another one of those abrupt nods of his before he starts to the door.

Pat chuckles a bit, turning in her seat to watch the man go. She shakes her head a little as she turns back, downing the rest of her beer and picking up her cig form the ashtray that is mostly burned away while she was talking.

Reminiscing and Looking Forward

Fri, 18 May 2007 21:36:51 GMT

Growing up we hopped a bus here once, Vinnie and I, without telling our parents where we were going. They told us it wasn't safe here. But I haven't run into any problems yet. Just keep your head down and your eyes on the road ahead. No one's bothered me yet. Not sure what I'd do if they did. I don't want trouble.

I did get lost in Spanish Harlem for awhile. There are better places to get lost. But there are worst ones too. Stayed out of trouble and got some directions back to the park. Got a sermon out of it too. Sort of took me back between the ambience and the sentiment. Not sure I want to be taken back. Not looking to find the One True God in El Barrio that's for sure.

There's a line on an apartment now. I could get out of this flea bag motel and into a flea bag bachelor. Can't say it costs much less but it would mean less travel time. Don't know if I'll be able to cover the rent for long without getting creative. Been trying to be good. But good pays worth shit. Still I'd like to think I'm being a good example even if no one gets to see it. Maybe that's just sentimental folly.

I'm Not Oppressed

Fri, 18 May 2007 05:30:07 GMT

WHO: Benedict and Plain
WHAT: Benedict seeks directions from Deacon Plain and gets introduced to a new religion as well.
WHERE: El Barrio - Manhattan
WHEN: May 18
NOTES: I wasn't certain if I would post logs here or not but in the interest of adding to the little content that's here I present Bennie's first scene.

The twisting alleys and sidestreets of this part of town are never easy for newcomers to navigate. Fortunately for him, the man with the stack of pamphlets in his arm is no newcomer. He's fairly handsome, in decent shape, and wears simple, black clothes, a button down shirt and slacks - for those familiar with the religion, he seems to be dressed like an off-duty priest, only without the white collar. Every once in a while, he pauses at a convenient spot to place a small stack of pamphlets, then moves on.

Benedict is indeed a newcomer, though he doesn't exactly look to have fallen off the back of a turnip truck. Still, world-weary or not, it doesn't help him with the winding streets any. He's been wandering awhile now and though he's not in any great hurry to get anywhere, by his third time down the same stretch of street, he's getting impatient for some progress here. There don't appear to be many approachable types willing to give directions to lost tourists, so when Benedict spots a man who looks a little more approachable than most, he jogs casually across the street to catch up. "Excuse me, uh, Father?" Coming up from behind, it isn't until too late that he notices the lack of collar causing him to hesitate slightly in his address.

Plain turns from his latest pamphlet-placement and glances at Benedict. Despite the apparent mistaken liturgical rank, he smiles warmly. "Deacon, please. Deacon Plain. How may I help you, sir?" At this point, Benedict can clearly see the bright pastel pamphlets in his hand, and make out the biggest font - "UMCC - The United Mutant Church of Christ".

"Ah, my mistake," Benedict says flatly, nodding his head as he makes note of the correction. "I was wondering if you could perhaps point me in the direction of, well, anywhere but here. Times Square would be a good start. Or the nearest bar." It's now that he truly notices the pamphlets, having taken note and disregarded them earlier. Canting his head a little to one side, he quickly reads the large font before his expression shuts off and becomes even more inscrutable.

Plain continues to smile warmly. "Ah, you're actually pretty close." He points to a cross-street. "If you head to that street and take a left, you can follow it to Central Park... from there, you can find signs to Times Square pretty easily." He does notice Benedict's eyes traveling to the pamphlets, so he plucks one off the top of the stack and offers it forward. "I don't suppose you're interested in hearing more about the United Mutant Church of Christ?"

Benedict's steely gaze looks off down the street, mentally following the directions as they're given. When he's made a note of it, he gives a short nod of comprehension. "Left, Central Park, got it." It is pretty easy to get. His eyes return to Plain as he's offered a pamphlet. There's some hesitation before he reaches to take it. "United Mutant Church of Christ. That's a new one." It neither a yay nor nay on hearing more about it, but rather a humourless observation.

Plain nods in agreement. "Well, mutants aren't exactly old hat, are they?" He continues to proffer the pamphlet. Aside from the ugly pastel shading - all religious pamphlets come in ridiculous pastel colors, it's just a rule - it looks pretty nicely laid out, as if someone put a lot of thought into it. "If you are interested, you can take a pamphlet, or I can answer any questions you have."

"That's the rumour," Benedict replies in a non-committal tone about mutants. Certainly he wouldn't know from personal experience is the implied undertone. But he does shrug and then agree to at least taking the pamphlet, silent as he gives it a cursory once over. And then lifting his gaze, he asks tersely, "So what's the catch?" There's enough cynicism in his tone to suggest he's too familiar with organized religion, but no outright hostility.

Plain continues to maintain that warm, friendly smile. If it's fake, he's apparently good at faking it, since it certainly looks sincere. "Catch? Depends if you call fulfilling the will of the Lord, Our God a 'catch.'" He chuckles slightly. "If you mean our beliefs... well, we of the UMCC believe that mutantkind is more than a mere biological coincidence. Only God could have granted mere mortals such powers - and it is our goal to determine how, through prayer and studying of the Scripture, God means for us to use his Gifts."

"I might. Depends on what fulfilling his will these days entails," Benedict replies without a trace of humor. But as Plain speaks, he does listen like the good little Catholic boy he was raised. "So finally religion has come up with its newest argument against evolution," he muses, not particularly directing that towards Deacon Plain or expecting an answer. There's a grudging sort of respect to it. "Still, a bunch of mutants, organizing together, that has to be setting off a few alarm bells."

Plain waves a hand dismissively. "Now, now, we -are- a modern faith. We have no problem accepting the findings of science - even the -Catholics- recognize that if God created everything, that includes natural laws." There's something about the way he says "Catholics" - he's trying to keep his tone polite, but even behind that mask of propreity, the word drips with malice and disgust, an unsettling break from his otherwise friendly demeanor. "As for setting off bells... well, the 'United' part is admittedly a bit of more hope than reality. There aren't all that many who embrace the UMCC's teachings just yet."

He doesn't miss the change in tone as Catholicism is brought up, and though the change is slight, his expression does change to one of mild curiosity. Still Benedict seems reluctant to fully engage, instead choosing to remain on the periphery of the conversation. "It sounds like a hard sell. As I understand it, your target audience isn't one looking to reveal themselves as... followers of such a faith."

Plain renews his smile. "Hence the pamphlets." He gestures to the stack in his arm. "They provide a listing of the basic tenets of the faith, so that even those reluctant to join a community effort can, at the very least, have some guidance as they seek God in their own lives." He glances around, verifying that the two of them are alone for the moment. "...Of course, a show of solidarity every now and again never hurts." And with that, Plain outstretches his free arm... and it begins to glow. Not particularly brightly, but there's a definite, visible glow to it, a yellowish-white color. "I am not ashamed of my Gift."

Benedict flips the pamphlet around to confirm that in fact the tenets are there, though he still hasn't committed to the extent of actually reading the information. Instead, he looks back up with a nod, his brow furrowing as Plain holds out the glowing arm. "But you still checked to make sure no one else was looking," he points out though he doesn't seem to care too much about proving his point. "I'd heard there were a lot of mutants here." He might not be so casual about tossing around the M-word in public but it's already been confirmed they're alone and that particular discretion seems silly when he's holding a flyer with the word right on it.

There are indeed tenets there, most with obscure Bible quotes to back them up. Plain smirks. "I can be -discreet- without being ashamed. And not every passerby is as... reasonable as you or I." He tilts his head slightly as he looks at Benedict. "Of course, you don't seem to be flappable in the slightest." The glow in his arm goes out.

"I've been around. Seen weirder things than that," Benedict understates the matter. "Grew up in Jersey," he adds, actually cracking a joke, can it be? And yes, there's the slightest hint of a smile as the corners of his mouth twitch upwards almost like a tick. And then he's back to that lack of expression. "Still, can't say I fault you for not wanting to tell the world. Of course, Deacon of a Mutant church, people might make the logical leap on their own. Doesn't worry you? People being suspicious?"

Plain shrugs lightly. "I don't generally go shouting my message to huge crowds at once. Individually, I find most people are intelligent enough about the subject, if approached the right way. It's the mob mentality that results in... well, some of those ridiculous riots we've had lately." He sighs sadly. "Almost like the Israelites in Egypt... God's Chosen never walk an easy path. But I am fortunate enough - my Gift is not only under my control, but also hardly frightening. I wish I could say the same for the rest of our kind..." Does Plain include Benedict in that 'our'? It's hard to say.

"I've known some pretty messed up individuals," Benedict observes and again there's that sense that he's understating matters. "But I've been fortunate enough to avoid riots. Read about them in the papers though." And yet he still chose to come here. Ben lifts an eyebrow slightly, wondering the same thing about whether it's an inclusive 'our' being bandied about, but he doesn't rush in to deny. "I've heard of some that are pretty frightening, yes. Not the sort of thing likely to sway those who think it's too dangerous." He might not deny, but he won't come right out and confirm either, sticking to vague generalizations that are probably all too transparent.

Plain smiles briefly, as if to relieve the tension of the moment. "But it is because I am so lucky that I consider it my duty to spread the Word as much as possible. When faced with despair, many turn from God and use His Gifts selfishly, for evil purposes. The more hearts the UMCC can reach, the fewer souls will abandon God and succumb to temptation." He thumps his little stack of pamphlets. "If I even help a little bit, I am proud of that."

"Seems to me what's meant to be a gift often turns out to be more of a burden," Benedict notes passively, regarding Plain with that inscrutable gaze once more. "You've got your work cut out for you then." The pamphlet gets a final look before he precisely folds it once in half and sticks it in his back pocket. "You pick up many doing this? The pamphlets, chatting up the everyman on the streets?"

Plain nods solemnly at Benedict's first statement. "I won't deny it. But it is the Oppressors - the ones who scorn us, who try to restrict us simply because we are different - who turn these Gifts into a burden, not God." To Benedict's questions, he smiles faintly. "I'm sure you can imagine that I get mixed results. If I'm lucky, they'll stay and chat, and I'll get a chance to explain myself. If I'm REALLY lucky, they'll attend the occaisonally sermon or prayer meeting. All too often, I just have to hope that my words at least gave them fodder to think and pray about."

"I bet that one's a popular view. Maybe you should open with that," Benedict suggests of blaming it on the Oppressors. "But some of us, we make our own burdens. I'm not oppressed." He says it simply as a matter of fact, lifting his shoulders in an ambivalent shrug. He considers the response to his questions before nodding. "Then I guess today was a lucky day for you." There's a pointedness to him not stating it a REALLY lucky day, implying he's not personally planning on attending any sermons or meetings.

Plain smiles. He saw that Benedict kept the pamphlet, and he had a civil conversation. He's had this go worse. Much worse, in fact. "I guess so. Well, if you ever have any questions, just ask around for Deacon Plain. I'm always open for discussion."

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks," the man replies with a simple nod, before offering a polite hand to shake. "It was nice to meet you, Deacon Plain. I'm Benedict, by the way." He might not be the warmest sort but he was clearly raised to have some manners, especially towards clergy.

Plain shakes Benedict's hand back, firmly and politely. "A pleasure to meet you, Benedict. God be with you."

"Thank you," Benedict replies succinctly. "Now, it's a left and through the park, correct?" But he doesn't bother waiting for confirmation before he starts off in that direction.

Entry the First

Thu, 17 May 2007 20:34:20 GMT

I rolled into town early this morning. The sun was barely up. I watched some kids playing basketball on an urban blacktop until things opened.

I've checked into some flea bag motel. I forgot how fucking expensive everything is here. If I'm going to afford food I'm going to need to figure out a better solution than this. Something a little more permanent maybe. Guess I'll stick around for awhile. Had enough of the road.

It's weird being back so close to home. I remember coming over as a kid. Getting stuck in the tunnel in a traffic jam for hours. Mom would even pack a lunch for the ride.

It's been years and I'm still tempted to go back sometimes. Maybe that's why I ended up here. But what would be the point? There's nothing left for me there.