Logs:Documented

Documented
Dramatis Personae Budi, Lucien
In Absentia DJ	2024-11-21 "I don't think America would like that."
Location <NYC> Le Carrefour, Le Bonne Entente - Astoria, Queens
Above the bustle of the clerestory restaurant, tucked at the base of the bell tower, this indoor garden and library is out of the way and easily overlooked, sure to become a favored "hidden gem" of travel guides. Low bookshelves full of mythology, fairy tales, and folklore ring the central elevator shaft and the stairway spiraling around it like an easily navigable labyrinth. Beyond these are plants in a variety of tastefully whimsical containers, each with its own engraved plaque giving the common name, the scientific name, and their significance to various traditional stories and practices. The walls have been done away with so that the room extends beyond the doric columns into a surreal rooftop garden enclosed with glass stretching between the tower's massive buttresses. The arrangement of plantlife becomes less formal as one moves out into the four arms of the conservatory, visible containers giving way to beds and terraces and eventually landscapes carefully cultivated to look wild. There is plentiful seating scattered along the paths and just off of them, from proper benches to picturesque logs to surprisingly comfortable boulders. By day, myriad butterflies dance amongst the enchanted vegetation, and likewise moths by night. A shallow stream weaves throughout, feeding ponds that host plants of their own alongside fish, frogs, and turtles. Wandering the outer edges of the conservatory, one could almost feel lost in a mystical forest but for the stunning views of the cityscape beyond the glass. It's a quiet night in the conservatory -- somewhere on the other side of the garden a young woman has been tucked among the bookshelves engrossed in a book of Dine' folktales for near an hour now. A couple of the restaurant servers recently off work are finishing up their own dinner by the pond. Flèche has stationed herself a polite but very noticeable handful of feet away from the waitstaff, head on her paws and her large mournful eyes strongly suggesting that she might die at any moment if their supper is not shared. Off in his quiet corner under the rowan tree, Lucien has been ensconced for a while now with a tedious amount of paperwork. The often-repetitive and boring questions have at least been minimally softened by a filling spread of food -- maple-aleppo spiced chicken kebabs, herby roasted acorn squash strips, lamb meatballs topped with labneh, chickpea-lemon rice, flaky bite-sized apple tarts. There's plenty of water, along with sweet and milky masala chai, and some delicate fig-mint soda -- Lucien is taking a small sip from a glass of the latter as he continues making his way down the very (very) long application form. "-- you'll need a place to list for a permanent address," he is saying, with a touch of apology as he glances back at his screen. He is dressed tonight on the casual end, for him, a green button-down with contrasting yellow-orange paisley lining the cuffs, placket and collar, paired with neatly tailored dark blue jeans and brown chelsea boots. "Do you have somewhere stable to stay, currently? Or someone's address you could use?" Budi is sitting very primly opposite Luci, though his feet don't quite reach the floor in this chair; he's been sipping fairly slowly at his milky tea but is eating with a good deal more gusto, or at least he is now that they're well into the process and it stopped seeming so prudent to feign a smaller appetite than he actually has. He's poking one of the lamb meatballs into his mouth with three fingers, nodding eagerly even though, alas, when he's finished chewing he says, a little reluctantly, "Nnno, no permanent," shifting slowly in his chair. He's not dressed quite as nicely -- his jeans were not tailored for his height, and are rolled up several times at the ankles, his blue button-down is very neat but likewise a little big on him -- and he has been fussing a little at his collar, where his neck isn't quite long enough to accommodate it. "Are we do this in the right order? Maybe can I get work first, use that address?" "Mmm." Quiet and noncommittal, it is not the first time Lucien has mmm'd this particular mmm. Despite the lack of permanent address he is nevertheless adding something into the box, glancing back up at Budi once he is through. "Mmm? -- Oh, no, it's quite alright, I know some places we can put down for now." He is jotting down an address in Staten Island on a sheet of notepad paper already printed in neat block letters with a small list of phone numbers (including Lucien's own). "It is very unlikely that the people I will be filing this with will send anyone to confirm this, but, if anyone does ask you, this is your address. If you do find a permanent one, just let me know and I will update." He sets his pen down, picks his soda back up for another sip. "-- What kind of work are you looking for? There will be more jobs available to you once this --" He gestures towards the forms on his laptop screen, "-- has been processed, but there are some places that might have work in the --" His voice hitches for a barely noticeable pause before he finishes, "-- while we are waiting." Budi leans forward to read the notepad, with another quick nod, a too-wide smile, "Yes sir, thank you sir. I will." Has he been around New York long enough to know what Staten Island is? He's mouthing it to himself silently without seeming much distressed by the location. When he glances back up at Luci it is with another hasty smile. "Oh, I am..." he says, though just what he is just gets swallowed with a brief press of teeth against his lower lip before he changes tack. "I can work any work. I learn fast, I work good. I done -- phones, computers, e-waste, eh... boats, factories, all that before. But," he is hastily hedging, "I can learn something new, also. Yes? Does not need to be --" he waves his hand, which had been sitting a little restlessly beside his tea, "-- nice." "Mmm." Unlike the previous vague mmms, this one comes with a faint wrinkle of Lucien's brow, a brief thinning of his lips. "That is -- an impressive work history for your age. Was --" He hesitates here, forefinger tracing in a slow looping pattern against the side of his glass. "-- was there any of that work that you thought was better? Or worse?" Now Budi's smile has gotten a little fixed, still bright and toothy on his face even as his eyes tick left, then right, with very mild confusion. But he presses gamely on: "Yes sir! Good, right? Lots experience. I -- oh. Hm." For all his experience this question seems to throw him for a bit of a loop; his grimace is nearly identical to his smile, just indefinably more uncomfortable. He glances askance at the form on the screen. "I'm not so good at -- email, talk on the phone. My English not so good, it was harder to meet the minimums. I am good at e-waste." He taps his fingers at the side of his teacup. "Do I have to say where I worked for? I worked a little for -- smugglers. Pirates. I don't think America would like that." "Oh --" For just a moment there's a fleeting something that crosses Lucien's expression, pinches his brow just a touch more, fixes his bright eyes back on Budi with an indefinable questioning , but this smooths back out soon enough. He shakes his head, fingers fluttering in dismissal. "No, no, that's -- I think we will not put the pirates on your application. I will -- ask around. A lot of my contacts now for undocumented work are in very different types of places -- restaurant dishwashing, some landscaping, if you prefer working outside. This --" He nods towards the computer again, "I will try to -- hurry this process along as much as possible, but even so it will be several months at least before you will be able to get work openly. Until then we can." Another very slight beat of hesitation. "Try to steer you towards people who will be reasonably decent bosses." He spears a small meatball delicately off his plate with a fork, munching it down and then swallowing another swig of soda. The dab of his fingertips at his napkin afterwards is fully unnecessary. "I'm terribly sorry," he says then afterwards, as if this whole business must be a terrible imposition on Budi's time, "but I'm afraid the next form is going to ask several of these same questions over again." "I don't care as long as they don't sell me to Mojo again. Ha-ha-ha." This isn't a very sincere laugh, though Budi's face splits with a wide and tonguey smile to deliver it. He sits up even straighter and takes another sip of chai, nods his head fervently. Grins again (is this any less creepy with repetition? Who can say) and nods. "Yes sir, thank you sir, no worries for me," he promises, "I worked in call center, I am very patient."