ArchivedLogs:Tourists

Tourists
Dramatis Personae Frank Lucas, Trib
In Absentia	2013-11-04 Welcome to New York.
Location <NYC> Central Park South
Central Park South is home not just to the park itself, but also to the Belvedere Castle, the Alice in Wonderland statues, and the Central Park Zoo. These areas tend to draw tourists like a magnet - it is, perhaps, for that very reason that places like Bethesda Terrace tend to attract more New Yorkers than not, if just to escape the press of tourism that infiltrates the whole city. Evening sets on New York -- earlier than usual, thanks to Daylight Savings Time. Already, the park is beginning to take on the gloomy half-shadows of the encroaching dusk, and the crowds are shifting from the daytime sun-worshippers to the seedier sorts who call this area home at night. Occasionally, a lamp post flickers in over-anticipation of the coming darkness, probably triggered by the leaves that are just now beginning to fall as the cold weather takes a firm hold. In this gathering darkness is a runner -- one of many, but it's this one that draws this narrative's focus -- big, meaty, and dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a blue sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off that looks somehow tight across his chest. Trib seems to be focused on his breathing as he pounds along the graveled path, his golden gaze snapping back and forth as he chugs forward. His hands are loose, the fingers of his left curled slightly while the fingers of his half-hand dangle limply against his stomach. He pulls up short at the sound of a puppy barking, and walks around in a small circle as he fishes out his phone and reads the text there, a hard half-smile coming to his lips. One benefit of being a newcomer to a city like New York is that it's kind of impossible to stand out. That's something of a feat, considering this particular newcomer's presentation. Walking through the park with the kind of singular focus that only someone with absolutely no idea of where they are going is capable of, Frank trudges down the same path that the big runner occupies. She doesn't cut nearly the same kind of dramatic figure, but in the dusky shadows, the bizarre lines of her formerly mohawked hair, in faded green and black over blonde is an eye-catcher. The young woman's also got some kind of weird spec-ops outfit happening, with a pair of BDU style pants with straps swinging from the pockets over boots and a gray tank top that's probably not appropriate for November tucked into them. Big black stars are tattooed onto her pale shoulders, outlined with vibrant purple, and one of those trendy messenger bags with one strap is slung over her shoulders. Probably the most pertinent accessory, however, is the cell phone she's staring into as she walks. GPS is fantastic for finding your way around. Not quite so good for watching where you're going. She stops probably half a step from walking face first into Trib, making a startled noise and looking at him with blue eyes wide behind her glasses. "Oh," she comments. "Oops. Hi. Uh, sorry. Yeah," she burbles, kind of trying all reactions at once. Trib is looking at his phone, which is just as bad an idea as looking at a GPS, and he mirrors the sudden full-stop, rocking back on his heel. In typical big city fashion, he narrows his eyes at the woman in front of him, and draws up his shoulders. "Why don't you watch where the fuck you're goin'?" he growls, ignoring his own complicity as his gaze sweeps over the woman with a slow, irritated narrowing of one eye to an almost-closed state. His accent is less New Yorker, thick with Jersey tones. "Fuckin' tourists." In spite of the fact that the girl in front of him is dramatically smaller, when he takes on the typical attitude of the angry pedestrian in some movie set in New York City, Frank looks up at Trib with her eyes squinted behind her glasses. "Dude, did you really just say that? Seriously?" She pushes her jaw to one side as she eyes him, projecting this air of disappointment in him. "Yeesh, man. I didn't even get my cooties on you," she insists. Of course, as she's being mouthy, she's also dropped her GPS app with a nudge of her thumb and has the phone pad up. Just in case. It also occurs to her that she should probably be sidestepping out of arm's reach, and she starts that process up as well. Just in case. "You heard me fuckin' say it, didn't you?" Trib growls, his brow lowering further as he leans in, ignoring the way the woman backs away. "Watch. Where. You're. Fuckin'. Goin'." he says, enunciating each word carefully, which only exaggerates his accent. "You're in the fuckin' /park/. Fuckin' creeps just wait for dumb-ass broads to come walkin' along with their fuckin' noses in their goddamned phone." He jerks s thumb at a group of rowdies further up the path, just a mass of shadows and the occasional raucous laugh marking who and what they might be. "An' they'll get more than their fuckin' cooties on you." The menacing lean is certainly not going to do anything to slow her retreat. However, when he finishes snarling each word syllable by syllable at her and launches into his explanation, Frank lifts her head up a little and looks confused anew. She leans her head forward and once again squints behind her glasses. "Are you telling me to be careful?" From cartoonish threat to probably the most coarse warning she's ever received in a matter of instants, the big man in front of her has Frank a bit off balance. "Thanks?" she says, adding a lingering, "I think...?" after it. "You some kind of slow thinker or somethin'?" Trib asks, pulling back with a more confused cant to his furrowed brow. He reaches up to scrub fingers through his lanky hair, pushing it back on his head. "How can you fuckin' look like /that/, an' not have no fuckin' street smarts?" He looks up and down the path, frowning into the gloom. He looks very much like this situation is highly annoying. Which it might be. "Just watch out for yourself," he grunts, jutting out his lower lip. "You ain't in the fuckin' midwest no more." For a good moment, Frank looks like she really has no idea how to reply. She purses her lips together for a moment before just shaking her head. "Yeah, well... Yeah," she says. It's quite the witty comeback. Being intimidated by the guy isn't helping her with her gift of gab. With a shake of her head that flips some of that faded green hair into her face, she turns and goes stalking away from Trib. However, he might note that she's not headed in the direction of the guys he pointed out. Her phone's also in her hand, and not in front of her nose. Trib's annoyed expression only lightens a touch when the girl acquiesces, one corner pulling tight into a near half-smile. He doesn't offer anything for her witty rejoinder other than a sharp jerk of a nod that pulls his chin into his chest. He watches as she makes her way off, waiting until she's down the path safely before he resumes his running. It's probably just coincidence that his route changes, taking on a new course that keeps him within sullen eyesight of the girl until she's safely out of the park. Probably. Maybe. It could also be the hot dog stand near the exit she chooses, since he stops there. Man's gotta eat, after all.