ArchivedLogs:Movies and Trust
| Movies and Trust | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae
Martin, Tess | |
| In Absentia
|
2013-11-30 Martin and Tess encounter each other. |
| Location
<NYC> Harlem | |
Harlem's gritty reputation has become less and less earned over the past decade or so as gentrification has set in. Its reputation as a hub of jazz and culture, however, is still very much earned -- throughout the years Harlem has been renowned for its contributions to music, from its swing dancing and jazz culture back when speakeasies were prevalent to the many hip-hop artists with Harlem roots in modern day.
Martin moves along the sidewalk at a decent clip, shoulders hunched some against the cold. He wears jeans and boots and a heavy tan jacket, and keeps his hands tucked into the pockets while he goes. What's he doing out and about in Harlem at this time of night? Well, who knows. He's here. That's what matters at the moment. And so is some kid sitting on a wall, apparently. He squints some her way when she comes into view, trying to sort out something that's not really all that sort outable: exactly what teenagers are up to at any given point in time. Tess notices Martin's gaze after a few moments and calls out to him, "What do you want?" She jumps down from the wall, her hand-made plastic bracelets making a slight clatter, it's pretty clear they're made from discarded plastic objects. Brows go up at the confrontational greeting, and Martin slows in his trek as a grin cocks at the corner of his mouth. "That the standard way of saying hello around here?" he asks, a taste of that humor laced through his voice. "Or are you some kind of gatekeeper for the sidewalk?" Tess replies, "It is my standard way of saying hello to people staring at me." She keeps a fair distance but has a kind of confrontational pose. She's underdressed, her clothes are rather torn, dirty and worn. "It's a habit I've picked up after I realized people who stare at girls like me rarely mean well." He sniffs and rubs a thumb over his nose, considering her in a way somebody might consider how to handle a porcupine in the house. "I wasn't staring," Martin says. "Just trying to figure out what you're doing out sitting on a night like this, considering everything that's gone down lately." With an up-nod of his head her way, he adds, "Especially in those clothes. You'll catch cold." Tess shakes her head, "I won't." She doesn't bother explaining at first, just stepping back. "So you're the well-meaning type, huh?" She sounds skeptical and keeps up that confrontational stance, fists balled. "And what I'm doing is trying to figure out where I'm gonna sleep tonight. There, happy now?" Instead of answering right away, Martin moves to sit on the close-by steps that lead up to a door that no doubt gives entry to some apartments or maybe even offices. He keeps his hands tucked in his jacket pockets while he does. "I think most people are, when you give them half a chance," he responds, once he's settled. "Don't have a home to go to, huh?" Tess remains standing however, still not budging her stance. "Nope." She stares Martin in the eyes, it's not a friendly stare, though. "Wouldn't be living like I do if I did." She steps closer to Martin, "Do I look like I dress like this as a fashion statement?" For his part, Martin keeps his gaze steady, blue eyes icy but not all that cold at the moment. He doesn't seem much bothered by her stare, or by her moving closer. "I've seen what some kids can do to a perfectly good pair of jeans," he says, humor brief and a little worn, mostly showing in the lines that wrinkle in at the corners of his eyes. "No family?" Tess shrugs, "What's it matter to you?" She seems to be unhappy with that question regardless, frowning and her fists balling tighter. She steps forward once again. "Why do you even care?" In order to rest his elbows on his knees, Martin finally pulls his hands free from his jacket pockets. He wears a pair of thin, black leather gloves. They look okay for the weather right now, but probably won't be much good when there's snow falling. "Why does it bother you so much that I might care?" he says, tone even. Tess stares at Martin, fists balling tighter. She's not wearing any gloves either. "What, are you my self-appointed shrink all of a sudden, now?" She sounds offended by the very notion. "I'm not gonna spill my entire life to some random stranger on the street." Martin gives a small shrug, mostly done with his gloved hands turned out and over briefly, instead of with his shoulders. "I didn't ask about all that," he says. "I just asked why it bothers you so much about me potentially caring." Tess puts her hands on her hips, "Because you don't know me, and my life shouldn't be any of your business." She jumps back onto the wall she was sitting on earlier, "And asking people stuff that isn't your business is rude." "Why not?" Martin counters. He rubs a thumb against his nose again. "How do you get to know anybody, then?" He glances after her when she hops back on the wall, and then looks out to the street, elbows on his knees again, hands clasped loosely. "Seems like it'd be kind of hard to, with that kind of policy." Tess laughs hollowly, "Those aren't 'get to know someone' questions, those are 'try to figure out what's wrong with the poor soul' questions. Well, surprise. I don't want your pity." She then continues, "When getting to know someone, you don't start with questions like that. You start by asking about hobbies, or favorite movies. Things like that." He weathers all this, sitting quietly, patient. Evidently, he has nowhere to go in a hurry, if he can just hang out like this, on some cold steps in the late evening. "Okay," Martin says. "What's your favorite movie, then?" Tess is getting a bit annoyed now, but she answers anyway. "Twilight." Well, she never claimed to have particularly good tastes. "See, now you're on the right track. What's yours then?" Martin's mouth twitches at her answer. But somehow he manages to keep any laughter, faces, or dry comments about sparkly vampires to himself. Honestly, it's a minor miracle. "You're gonna laugh," he says, when the question is pressed on him. He glances her way, and then rubs his nose again before finally answering with, "It's a Wonderful Life." Tess isn't laughing, she just makes a sarcastic comment. "And how wonderful it is. Got any other bad jokes?" She isn't amused, nope, not at all. "Perhaps you've got all the time in the world, but I'd like to find shelter at some point." A slight scowl shows on Martin's features. "It's not a joke," he says. He scrubs a gloved hand through his hair, and then gestures with it afterwards. "My family likes to watch it every year, together. It's kind of a tradition. Thing. I grew up with it." It's not like it isn't an easy tradition to keep, considering the flick runs on TV every single year. As for the mention of shelter, he says, looking out at the street again, "I can help you with that." Tess makes a doubting noise, "Really? You can help me with shelter?" She sounds rather paranoid here, "I'm not going to some kind of communal shelter, nope. I prefer to sleep alone. And I'm definitely not going home with you, if that's what you're proposing." Martin chuffs out a laugh at her obvious paranoia, though he honestly can't blame her, and gives a shake of his head at her concerns about coming home with him. "There's a church a few blocks down that way," he says, pointing down the street. "It's where I was coming from. Their doors are always open. I'm sure they'd be happy to give you a safe place to sleep tonight. And some dinner, if you haven't eaten yet." Tess shakes her head, "Nah." She isn't explaining why on this one, though, she did for the communal shelter thing and why not the other option she could think of speaks for itself. "Got any other ideas? Because otherwise I'll just look on my own." "You sure? They're pretty dedicated to helping people who're down on their luck," Martin says. He considers her a long moment after that, and if she looks closely at him while he does, she might spy some genuine concern, and some kind of conflict, going on behind those icy eyes. But then he blinks it away, and shifts to be able to pull out his wallet. "Well. You ruled out coming home with me right off the bat, you know. Limits what I can offer." He does, though, offer a business card out her way. She can take it or leave it. Tess grabs the business card, accidentally touching Martin. And THAT might both explain why she isn't afraid of getting a cold and why she doesn't want to go to that church, for her touch, even through that glove, is pretty clearly cold. Ice cold, in fact. It is a generic business card for what is apparently named Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. The name 'Martin Morris' and a phone number have been written in the space available, with neat, block handwriting. For the accidental touch, he narrows his eyes the tiniest fraction while glancing to her hand, expression in the realm of shrewd consideration. It is pretty cold out, and she isn't wearing gloves... But then his eyes lift to look at her properly. "If you need something, you can give me a call," he says. Tess shakes her head and steps back. She's mentally cussing herself out for accidentally touching him. "I don't have a phone." Which would make giving him a call complicated, for sure. "Thanks for offering anyway." "The church has a phone," he points out. "A lot of businesses do, too. And I know they're few and far between, but sometimes, you can even catch a glimpse of the wily, endangered payphone. You can even call me collect." He tiptoes along a line. He doesn't want to spook her. Doesn't want to piss her off so bad that she bails without some kind of option in place. But Martin doesn't want to leave her when some kind of help can be provided, either. Tess shrugs, "And then what? How could you even help me?" The implied tone is pretty clearly 'you can't' but Tess isn't outright saying that. "I don't think I need whatever you can offer." "Well," Martin says and sniffs, and rubs at his nose with a thumb again. "What exactly do you need?" Tess seems to be getting a bit annoyed, "I already told you. Is there something else I could need?" "If it's shelter you need, I can help you," Martin says. His patience grinds on against her annoyance. "But you have to actually accept it. The church can help you." After a long time, where a choice to be cautious about the school's safety or be open to those in need weighs heavy like a stone in his gut, he adds, "Or, I can see if we can find you some space where I work. But then you'd have to come home with me." Tess replies, "Church is too warm." She figured he's already noticed how cold she is, so she might as well admit it, "And what kind of shelter would some stupid school for geniuses get me? Like I'd fit in." She's hopping off the wall again, and starts to walk away. "Gifted doesn't necessarily mean 'genius,'" Martin calls after her, watching her move away from his spot on the stairs. With how odd-ball her comment would be coming from just a regular, cold kid on the streets, he gains some confidence in his choice. "Sometimes, it can mean other things." Tess glances back, "Oh. That?" She's starting to figure it out, "Just because I'm a freak doesn't mean I trust those other freaks." She has a harsh edge to her voice, the word freak is definitely spoken in an extremely derogatory way, even when applied to herself. Inwardly, Martin flinches at her choice of terminology. Outwardly, he remains in that patient, almost passive state, gaze still on her. "Who exactly do you trust, then?" he asks. Tess's reply is short, to the point, and possibly somewhat depressing. "Myself." "Are you so sure about that?" Martin asks. It is more something to drift with her, than anything. He doesn't expect it to stop her, to turn her around and change her mind. It's not exactly that profound, after all. Just food for thought. Tess instead decides to answer an earlier question, "My parents are with Friends of Humanity." And she keeps walking away, not too fast, but at a decent pace. "Day or night, you can call me," Martin reiterates. Because he does not really have much to work with, otherwise. He could say that God will judge her parents in the end, but that usually does not go over very well with the average stranger. So he says that and continues to sit, considering the night sky. | |
