ArchivedLogs:Cajuns and Private Schools

Cajuns and Private Schools
And Douche Tasers.
Dramatis Personae Doug, Alexandrine	2013-02-01 In which both Doug and Alexandrine meet a neighbor.
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Lobby - East Village
Bright and sunny, the lobby of this apartment building is clean and unassuming. Requiring an electronic keycard for entry, the pair of elevators dings cheerfully when one arrives. A small sitting area has bright yellow couches and small coffee tables, though the nearby vending machine is perpetually running out of /something/. Tall windows let in plenty of light during the daytime, and the building maintenance keeps the common areas spotlessly clean. The sunlight is waning in the west, as the redhead struggles against some of the gusty winds in the streets. Those same winds have pulled red locks free of the low bun she had secured it in before work. She manages to get her keycard out with gloved fingers so she can get inside, but the wind is her enemy, giving her a last shove that has her losing her balance. Her reusable grocery bag hits the floor, sending some apples rolling across the floor, a loaf of bread halfway escaping. There's some low cursing in French, as she goes to close the door before attending to her wayward edibles. The elevator bings then, signalling the car's arrival on the ground floor. The doors open, and Doug steps out, his sneakered toe catching an apple and unintentionally soccering it back in the girl's direction. Murmured French catches Doug's ear, and he smiles as he dips to snag up a couple of apples. "~Such a pretty lady to use such strong language,~" he admonishes lightly in near-flawless French. "~Luckily, the French tongue covers it with its lyricality.~" He holds out the apples as he steps towards the girl, shifting to English. "I think you dropped these." Alexandrine looks up from putting her keycard away, blushing hotly in a rush, hoping her cheeks had still been flushed with enough cold to hide it. "Ah did, thank you." She murmurs, taking off her gloves before she accepts the apples. " Ah was thinking if there were any kids around, the percentage was in my favor that they didn't speak French. " She glances up at him as she picks up her shopping bag, checking for anything else that had been wily and escaped. "~Hope you were not offended.~" She adds, a twitch of a smile as her bag is slipped over her shoulder again. "Well, you're in luck," Doug says with a small bow, presenting the apples. "I don't even think there are any kids that live in this building. I don't think I've seen any." When relieved of the apples, he moves off to fetch one more that's rolled behind the trash can. "~I wasn't offended,~" he says as he bends to pluck up the errant fruit. "~I've heard worse.~" Returning with the apple, he holds it out. "Besides, I'd probably use that language, too. I'm sorry I wasn't a minute earlier. You might have unbruised fruit." He shrugs as if to say que sera sera, and grins. "I like your accent. Louisiana, right?" "Ah heard some people have some. Better safe than irate parents. Besides, prettier in French." Alex takes the apple with a smile, tucking it into her bag with the others. "Wind was just being pushy today. And don't worry about the apples. Just cutting them up for a crisp, most likely." Her head cocks to the side just a touch. "Very astute. Alexandrine." Her hand is offered politely, her gaze slightly curious. "Probably wise," Doug agrees. "And educational. They could use those words and get away with it. Apple crisp sounds good, actually, on a day like today." He grins, and takes the offered hand with a nod. "Doug Ramsey," he says, closing his fingers gently around her slender hand before releasing it smoothly. "I'm on the fifth floor." He tilts his head, folding his arms over his stomach lightly. "Where in Louisiana are you from? I lived in Baton Rouge for a year or so, before we moved to New York." "Well, Ah am a teacher, after all." Alex laughs softly, blue eyes lighting up just a little bit." She glances back towards the door. "The cold and wind may have inspired a menu that requires oven time, yes." Her smile flashes again, fingers up to tug the bun free and let red loose, before they slide through her hair to try and make it a touch more presentable. "Second floor, myself. Ah was born and raised in N'awlins." Her voice softens just a bit, at the mention of home. "Oh, hey, really? A teacher?" Doug's eyebrows hike in pleasant surprise. "That's cool. I'm a student, myself. Freshman at Columbia." He lifts a shoulder, and quirks a half-smile. "So I guess I better be on my best behavior, huh?" The revelation of her home town gets another surprised look, and the blonde offers a stunned sort of grin. "Huh. I just met a guy the other day who was from New Orleans. I know New York has people from all over, but that's kind of a neat coincidence." He moves to the mailboxes, which seems to have been his original destination. "Where do you teach?" "Ah promise not to rap your knuckles." Alex says warmly, with a hint of a smirk. " Ah'm a dance teacher, currently. Though Ah recently earned my certification to teach secondary education here in New York. " Eyebrows lift, a sound much like a 'hmm' in her throat. "Ah met someone likely from my area not too long back. A Cajun gent, caught me off guard by..well, addressing me in the Cajun patois." "Well, that's good," Doug quips as he unlocks his mailbox and pulls out a wad of envelopes. "I bruise easily." He closes the mailbox, relocking it and putting his keys in his pocket before leaning against the metal surface. "Secondary education? LIke high school?" The corners of his mouth pull down in a mildly impressed look before his eyebrows shoot up at the description. "Yeah! This guy I met was Cajun. Real slick. Good-looking, in a hate yourself for looking way." He grins. "Wonder if it's the same guy?" "A problem Ah am familiar with, fair skinned as Ah am. Every bump seems to leave one." Her hand undoes the buttons of her long peacoat, the belt tugged open. "Yes, high school level. Pretty well ready to teach anythin', if Ah can find a position. Had a couple interviews, but no luck so far." There's a shrug and a turn of her hand as if to wave it off. "Sunglasses even indoors? The so good lookin' he's a little bit cocky about it kinda guy? Ah can't imagine there's too many fittin' that description." "Have you tried private schools?" Doug asks helpfully, his eyes on the mail in his hand as he scans it quickly. Looking up, he shrugs. "There's a few upstate, and those kind of schools always have dance as an elective, don't they?" He wrinkles his nose. "I don't really know the name of any...except the one near my folks' house. Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters." He moves towards the elevator, then, coming up to stand next to Alexandrine. "That's the guy!" he confirms with an emphatic nod. "Has that 'mysterious rogue' persona damned near perfected, doesn't he?" "A couple, but it's slow going, finding any that are even willing to let me know they got my resume. A lot of the private schools want the real experienced teachers. Ah'm just a newbie." There's a faint smile, then as she glances towards the elevator door. "Xavier's? Didn't come up on my searches. Think they might be lookin'? Assumin' it's not too terrible far. Ah'd hate to leave my friend who gave me the job teachin' dance in the lurch, after all." There a shrug of her unladen shoulder, hand pushing her hair behind her shoulder. "Ah guess? Ah didn't read into it too much. He got a cell call shortly after he introduced himself an' disappeared. But the slick, silver tongued types don't interest me, terrible much." "That must be rough. But Xavier's is in Westchester," Doug explains as he punches the call button. "I don't know very much about it. But they're supposed to be really good. Couldn't hurt to look them up, right?" He wrinkles his nose, glancing up at the numbers as they count down to the lobby. "Yeah, he didn't stick around very long when I met him, either. Those slick guys don't do anything for me, either. It's like they're trying too hard." He rolls his eyes. "It's like, we /get/ it. You think you're charming." Alexandrine nods in agreement to looking the school up, a glance at the numbers herself before she's looking at Doug. A laugh bursts free, her hand lifting to cover her mouth a moment, surprised at herself. "Exactly. He just... he made me think he was one of those guys who tries to pick up anyone remotely pretty, and wears too much cologne. Even if he wasn't wearin' too much cologne, that was the mindset, ya know?" Doug laughs. "Yeah. Like if it was the 70s, he'd have a shirt open to his navel and a bunch of gold chains." He waggles his shoulders in an exaggerated swagger. "~Hey baby, what's your sign?~" There's another laugh, stifled a bit as she shakes her head. "If Ah didn't know better, Ah'd think you were readin' my mind, Mister Ramsey." Alex is smiling brightly, though. "If a man ever actually asked me that, Ah'd tell him Stop." She responds in English. "Nah," Doug says with a chuckle. "I can't read minds. Body language, though...that tells volumes, and he was talking a blue streak." Alex's response gets a bark of laughter from the blonde; one that lands firmly in the face of the matronly woman getting /off/ the opening elevator. Doug offers an apologetic smile that's ruined by his continued chuckle. "Or 'Do Not Enter'," he deadpans, motioning for the woman to precede him into the car. "Though that one seemed like he'd be cocky enough to accept a challenge. You should carry a taser. A douche taser." Alex bites her lower lip, lashes downcast before she murmurs an apology to the woman, stepping into the elevator to wait for Doug. "He might. An' a douche taser, huh? Does it beep to alert me to the presence of a douchebag?" She gives him a grin, settling back against the wall after pushing the button for her floor. "Ah know enough mean moves for self defense. Ah even know how to use a gun. Daddy was a cop." "Oh, man, that would be sweet," Doug says, punching the five button and leaning on a side wall. "Of course, around here, it'd probably drive you crazy with all the beeping." He grins, and begins to roll his eyes, only to lift his eyebrows. "No kidding?" he asks in an impressed voice. "That's pretty cool. I don't know that much about it, but the gym a couple blocks over offers classes. In self-defense, not guns." "No kidding. N'awlins isn't always the safest, either. Daddy taught me young." Alex explains, a glance at the numbers. "Well, it's time to make apple crisp an' some etoufee. If ya find yourself hungry, Ah'm in 215." The invitation is offered lightly, as she resettles her grocery bag. "I don't think anyplace is entirely safe," Doug says with a trace of regret in his voice. "But Westchester is nice. You should definitely at least submit your resume." He stands as the doors open, nodding brightly. "I'll do it! I love etoufee. And feel free to drop by our place, sometime. 503." He lifts a hand to hold the door open until Alexandrine settles the bag. "It was nice meeting you." Alexandrine smiles up at him, a chuckle. "Shouldn't tell me that. Ah always make too much, you'll get leftovers on your doorstep." She steps forward to leave the elevator. "Nice to meet you too, Doug. Don't be a stranger now. Remember...apple crisp!" She teases, laughing as she heads down the hall to go unlock her door. "There are worse things to find on your doorstep -- especially in New York!" Doug's voice is also laughing as the doors slide close, the binging in the hall all that's left in his wake.