ArchivedLogs:Jerkfacing

Jerkfacing
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Shelby
In Absentia	2013-02-18 Lucien and Shelby run into each other. It goes predictably well.
Location <NYC> Spin - Harlem
Half record store, half music shop, Spin is a music lovers' haven. The record side of the store holds everything from vintage vinyl to the newest releases, both new and secondhand, with miscellaneous paraphernalia -- posters, t-shirts, pins -- held in bins along one wall. On the other side of the store, dedicated musicians can find a wealth of sheet music, from modern rock guitar tabs to classical violin and piano pieces. Behind the counter, higher priced rare items are secured away behind the glass. In a departure from the usual bent of this type of store, the shelves are kept meticulously organized. Lucien is, really, pretty overdressed for a record store. His dove-grey suit is neat and tailored; he even has a tie. It's a little out of place among the other browsers in various combinations of jeans-and-t-shirts, but he doesn't seem particularly bothered by standing out. He's over by the sheet music, brow furrowed in contemplation as he slowly thumbs through a few pieces, all for solo violin. He's plucked one out of the shelf, a Bartok sonata, and is looking over it with his frown unwavering. The bell above the door rings. Someone's just entered. Who could it be? They're short, since they aren't immediately visible above the shelves. But they /are/ interested in sheet music or something like it, and so in a moment Shelby rounds a bin of vinyl and directs herself to that area of the store. She's dressed suitably for her environment, in street-baggy khakis and a cropped tank top with a heart and "DREAMLAND" bisected to show off a little bit of freckled stomach, courtesy of her unzipped jacket. The look of mild boredom she'd been wearing shifts to something startled when Lucien is spotted--for just a moment, she looks tempted to spin and flee. Then it's covered in her usual bravado and she saunters closer to position herself beside him, hands extended to begin flipping through the booklets. Lucien is already frowning, so the fact that he is still frowning as he looks up at the approaching motion and notices Shelby is not a change, really. The slight tightening of his jaw and compression of his lips is, perhaps, not /thrilled/. He sticks the Bartok back on the shelf. Picks up some Paganini instead. "Is school treating you well?" he asks, at length, eyes skimming the music slowly. Shelby, for her part, is doing her very best nonchalant act. And it's a /good/ act. It involves picking up a 30 Seconds to Mars playbook and idly leafing through it until Lucien opens the floor for conversation. "Sure. Full scholarship, allowance and they're getting me new clothes this week," she says without looking up. "Everything else there is bullshit but..." An oh so casual glance is flicked up at him. "How's bein' a jerkface working out for you?" "Lucratively," Lucien answers, still not looking up from flipping through the music. "More lucratively than it is for you. I can afford my own clothing." "People are suckers, they'll pay for anything," Shelby pops back. "Dunno why you got such an attitude, you're just like me, dude." Apparently the music she's scanned meets muster because she rolls it up, sticks it in a pocket for safe-keeping and returns to scanning the shelves. Lucien's expression doesn't change, still blandly scanning the music before he, too, decides it is acceptable. He tucks it under his arm and continues browsing. "Shelby, perhaps your memory can't reach back as far as /ten seconds/ but I started out this conversation polite and you started calling me names. I don't know what I actually did to you except /not/ be suckered by your constant bullshit. And I am nothing like you." "Sure you are." Figures she'd focus on that last bit first. Shelby ticks through the music. Tick tick tick. Nothing else is leaping out at her but she continues the search. "You just jacked the price up, that's all. Me, I go for couches, maybe a dinner now and then. You're dinging folks for two grand an hour." Cue a dramatic pause. "And I didn't call you names. I /said/ you /act/ like a /jerk/. If people buy that, more power to 'em but I don't." "I am nothing like you, Shelby, because I am honest about what the exchange is. But more importantly, I am nothing like you because I am doing this for people other than myself." Lucien glances up, towards Shelby, but only briefly. "People buy all kinds of things, Shelby, you should know that. And given that you think actually trying to help you is /being/ a jerk, forgive me if I don't weigh your estimation of /anyone/ all that highly. Your perspective is slightly skewed." Shelby is doing a far better job of keeping her emotions in check this time around. Sure, there's a muscle jumping in her jaw, making the freckles flex and shift. But she's keeping it on the down low, yo. "Think what you want. You ain't any different, dude, you just charge more. Guess you have to, since you got /family/." She says this as if it's something dirty, something to be ashamed of--but she drags her tone back into something tolerable immediately after. "How's Matt, anyway?" Lucien doesn't argue. He looks kind of too bored to argue, his frown even faded off into bland neutrality. He plucks a small booklet of Prokofiev from the shelves, skimming it thoughtfully. His tone is flat when he answers. "Dying. As he has been." There's a conversation stopper. Shelby doesn't even /try/, which means Lucien wins the round. She goes for some Elton John instead--Tiny Dancer--and studies it before adding it to the stash in her pocket. And then back to the search, which takes several moments. Time spent, no doubt, considering what to open the next feint with. "The doc's letting me stay, y'know." Lucien has spent these moments going over the Prokofiev carefully. Apparently finding it lacking; he trades it out for a /different/ Prokofiev, to look over it with the same careful thoughtfulness. "-- Yes," he says, unsurprised, when Shelby speaks. "Of course I know. Why would he not?" "'Cause he knows someone who likes getting in other people's business." Ooh snap. Shelby tosses her head, sending her hair back over her shoulder. That seems to signal the end of the charade. She drops the sheet music and turns towards Lucien, face set in a grimace. "Y'know what? I wasn't gonna tell you this shit, because why bother, right? That day I came to your house? I was gonna fucking /apologize/. For giving you shit. 'Cause I thought maybe I was /wrong/. But you can just go fuck yourself, okay? You're not better than me so you can suck my dick." Lucien still doesn't look up. He looks impassive through this outburst, and only once he tucks the music under his arm as well does he bother glancing up at the girl. "Shelby," he says, blandly calm, "me trying to get you /kicked out/ of his house is a fiction you invented in your own mind. I had a conversation with him about how to /help/ you, and you turned that into an attack. You can think whatever fantasy you want about me, but it is just that. Fantasy." "No one asked you. You wanna help me, you come to /me/, asshole, you don't go behind my back. You don't /do/ that shit," Shelby huffs at him. "That's against the fucking rules." "Coming to you, Shelby, turns out like --" Lucien's fingers uncurl towards Shelby and her huffing and insults. "It is not as though I sought him out to talk about you. You came up in conversation. We discussed things that might help your future. Somehow you turned that into me trying to ruin your life." "Because it's /my/ life!" Shelby's voice rises. Heads turn, but she ignores them. "You guys don't get to decide what's gonna make /me/ better behind my back, put ideas in his head about /me/. You're not my fucking father, you're not my fucking family." Having vented this hot piece of resentment, she yanks the two pieces of sheet music from her pocket, rolls them in her hands like a club and turns to stalk off towards the register. Heads turn, including Lucien's; /away/ from Shelby. He has already turned back to the sheet music before the girl even finishes this tirade. He continues looking through the violin pieces, his frown set just a little tighter than before. Wonder of wonders, the girl produces money from a pocket to pay for the music. Bills and change are exchanged, though Shelby waves off a bag. Everything goes back into her pocket as she proceeds to the exit, the tinkling bells signalling her departure a few seconds later. A few patrons glances towards Lucien but soon, they too return to browsing the stacks.