ArchivedLogs:Blind leading the Blind

Blind leading the Blind
Dramatis Personae Morgan, Jerome	2014-09-23 '
Location <NYC> Clinton
Despite its rough and tumble reputation of old, Clinton has come far from the illegal gambling and shakedowns of Prohibition, and the gang warfare of West Side Story. Clinton has now become the industrial supply center for midtown Manhattan, with hospitals and the light industrial and commercial businesses required to support so many thousands of people. The neighborhood has become quite expensive, but many actors still cram together in small apartments due to its proximity to Broadway. The streets of Hell's Kitchen are hardly abandoned at this time of night. The soothing Autumnal breeze tends to draw more people out onto their stoops and out of their cramped living quarters than even the sweltering heat does. Teetering down the street with a mild buzz, Morgan's face is still healing. In addition to being marred with a natural frown and furrowed brow, many tiny scritch-scratches dapple over her nose and cheekbones from where shattered glass must have sliced her up. The wounds, though not angry and red like they were before, are still very pink and visible. Casually, she saunters down the street in comfortable jeans and a soft, grey hoody. A massive black-brown shepherd with a wolfy hunch leads her around the corner. The dog's scowl rivals his owner's and causes most potential passer-by's to cross the street rather than risk an interaction. Jerome heads down the street with an easy enough gait, though his attention is divided between the various buildings and faces, clearly memorizing the area. He doesn't seem to notice Morgan and her dog until he almost runs into them, causing him to jump back a bit. "Sorry about that." he drawls out, dropping to a knee and offering a hand palm out to the shepherd. "Guess my head's in the clouds a bit more than it should be." "He's not trained to be friendly," Morgan warns from behind a cigarette as her other hand, wrapped three-fold with the long red leash, tightens its grip. She's been drinking so her senses are a bit compromised. The blonde woman flicks a bit of ash off to the side. She narrows her eyes as the dog sniffs Jerome's hand and completely out of character, gives it a bit of a lick. Gritting her teeth, she inwardly curses the otherwise menacing looking animal for making a liar out of her. "Animals usually don't have a problem with me." Jerome explains with a light shrug before flashing the woman a grin. He rises and wipes his hand off before offering it for a shake, "I'm Jerome, by the way." His gaze travels over the stitches briefly before resuming eye-contact. The shepherd doesn't go ignored though, and if allowed he rubs behind the animal's ear as he talks. Morgan rolls her tongue along the inside of her lip as she sizes up Jerome. Evidently, she's not trained to be friendly, either. Then again, the dog trusts him and she's not one to go against that kind of instinct. She takes the hand, shaking it in a firm, masculine fashion, "DeW-" She stammers, batting her lashes as she corrects herself, "Morgan." There's a chin nod of recognition as she asks skeptically, "You one of my neighbors?" "Always a possibility. Though, if I don't find a job with a quickness the answer might as well be 'no'." Jerome rambles a bit. Apparently the southerner is good a talking, but is visibly cutting himself off before he really gets started. "Reckon everybody has money issues now though, economy, mutant rights, terrorist attacks.. All sorts of stuff. But I tell ya, a change is a coming. Be it for the better of worse. Hopefully better." Morgan unconsciously leans back from the interaction at the mention of mutant rights. Combing a hand through her hair, she scans the area around them with her peripheral in case anyone heard. "Yeah, well. Can't help you there," she shrugs theatrically. ...And as for change? No comment from the blonde unless you count taking a drag of her cigarette. "You should get on EBT." She's super helpful. Jerome nods once. "Thought about it.. But I figure I'll try to make it on my own first. Don't want to get accustomed to something like that.. Rather work my ass off than take a handout." If he notices her reaction to the mention of mutants, he doesn't say anything. "Been trying to find work in a kitchen.. But it's getting to the point they want a diploma if it's anything more than a small-time job. Might have to try my luck at Zen Palate and hope they're hiring." Morgan flicks the stub-remainder of her cigarette out into the street thoughtlessly, "No point in having too much pride out here. Trust me." Her hand goes to her hip and she moves to saunter around him. The dog is getting just a little antsy. She motions generally at and around him, "This isn't like, fuckin' Alabama or where-fuckin-ever." "Georgia." Jerome corrects her easily before nodding as she moves to head off. "You have a good one." then his attention is on the prepaid smart-phone he tugs from a pocket for a moment before heading off in search of a particular building. Morgan continues on her walk, hitching the dog's leash to draw him away from Jerome. As she passes, she rolls her eyes.