ArchivedLogs:Blow This Popsicle Stand

Blow This Popsicle Stand
Dramatis Personae Rasa, Shane	2015-07-29 "Yeaaah, about that."
Location <NYC> Upper West Side
One of the greenest parts of the grey iron and steel of New York City, it is not merely the proximity to Central Park that makes this neighborhood of Manhattan so. Trees and small parks are scattered throughout the neighborhood, as well as memorials and pedestrian-only streets. There are many theatres in the neighborhood, second only to Times Square and the museum mile in its cultural offerings. The sun has not quite set -- which means the heat has not quite dissipated, trapped in between the concrete and glass and steel of the city and making even early evening unpleasantly hot. In some parts of the city fire hydrants have been opened up; people have swarmed into fountains; ice cream trucks are doing brisk business. Less so this particular stretch of street, though Shane is /eying/ one of the hydrants like maybe! juuust maybe! In lieu of breaking it open, though, for right now he is only scowling. Slumping melty-boneless against a bench nearby the Lincoln Center, his violin case settled across his lap and his legs stretched out in front of him. He's in pale linen pants, a light green short-sleeved seersucker button-down, tan leather sandals. There's a popsicle stick bouncing absently between his lips. The popsicle, alas, long since finished. "Mmmngh." If this is an attempt at conversation, maybe he is not trying Very Hard. Rasa has abandoned some of hir layers, a wadded up veil in hir lap mingling with a long sleeved tunic that ze peeled off when it got too much. Now ze is wearing a spaghetti strapped salmon colored tank that has a few darker spots where the dampness has pooled, with a long billowy skirt of rainbow colors that ze has hiked up to hir knees. Black, strappy sandals protect hir feet from the heat of the concrete and asphalt below, but hir skin still has a very pink tinge - nay almost magenta color - indicitive of hir radiating heat. Ze doesn't really sit all that close to hir companion, given that heat, but instead is running hir fingers through very short, white and cream hair that stands up with sweat. "Yeah," ze replies breathily, dropping one hand to cover hir purse, the other falling bonelessly to the bench. "Mmmhmmm." "I am so damn ready for summer to be done." The popsicle stick bobs further as Shane speaks. "... no, fuck it. Then school will be here and -- fff. /Fff/." He glances back over his shoulder, repressing a shudder. "They're already --" His teeth clamp together, the stick squeaking slightly in protest. One hand tightens around the handle of his violin case. "You want to go on vacation?" "Shoulda got a popsicle," Rasa rolls hir head back as far as it goes, red irises staring up at the unrelenting sky, darkening as it might be, glowing faintly with reflected city lights. Ze swallows hard and wets hir lips. "Ha!" ze gives a short bark of laughter, eyelids closing. "Mmmm. Where? The north pole? Alaska? Himalayas?" One eye cracks open again as hir head swivels to look at Shane. "We're supposed to be free - right? To do whatever we want now. Adults -- but not. So why not?" "There's /probably/," Shane suggests, "a popsicle still left somewhere in this city. We could rectify your terrible mistake." His frown deepens. "'d have to move. But we /could/. In theory. Fix it." His claws tap lightly against the outside of his violin case. "Mmm. S'good fishing in Alaska." His tongue swipes out across his lips. "I'm good with anywhere that's not fucking /home/, though. Home is -- a shitshow, right now." There's a small flutter of gills. His eyes close, a thin smile stretching across his lips. His other hand lifts, fingers and thumb rubbing together. "Why not is cuz I'm goddamn broke. Evolve's been hemhorraging money. You got cash? I'm guessing planes to Alaska are expensive. Maybe we can go upstate. Being an adult fucking sucks." "Yeaaah, about that. Remind me not to get a job selling caffeine in a caffeine crisis." Rasa shakes hir head and gnaws on hir lip. "I have some cash. I don't have bills. So you wanna see how far we can make it on three hundred?" Ze sits up straight and slumps forward in a slow, fluid motion, attention drifting down to hir puddle clothing. "You... want to talk about home?" The offer is there, brows scrinching together as ze gives it. "Too late. I could fire you, if you think that would help." There's not much weight to that offer, as boneless as everything else about Shane currently. "Three hundred could get us at least to New England. Maybe not home, though. Not -- both of us, anyway." Shane's eyes turn up towards the sky. "Home's just --" His gills flutter again. "Pa's got some court bullshit coming up where they're trying to make out like he's some punk likes to go around beating on women for fun when really that douchewaffle tried to fucking /kill/ him. And I think all the stress of everything's just finally been -- getting in between him and Ba so it's. Things have been -- tense." Rasa wraps a section of hir veil over hir hand and moves it closer to Shane, should he want to take it, hir gaze drifting from the ground to study his face, then away again to avoid staring. "Sometimes, I think I should be a lawyer. Just memorize all the fucking laws in this country and force people to play fair by us. But it's probably pointless. I don't think playing by the rules is actually ... fair." Ze falls silent a moment, some black script blurrily scrawling across hir forearm. "Maybe we should just get a raft and go out to sea." Shane drops his hand to rest over Rasa's veiled one, webbed fingers curling down in a slow squeeze. "Sometimes, I just want to blow everything up and start over. Nothing's fair. It's all just a colossal bullshit. Maybe what I really want is to give my Pa a goddamn vacation. But he can't till after they decide if they're going to stick him in jail or not." There's a low growl in his voice by the end of this, though it fades as a smile spreads across his face. "Yeah? Shit, yeah. I mean, you might want something more comfortable than a raft. Could pack some gear onto a proper boat and fuck off to the ocean for a while. I'd be so down." "So, what? We put the money aside, make a boat fund?" Rasa frowns and glances around the streets, watching people pass by and cast glances in their directions. "Okay." Ze gets to hir feet and tugs on Shane's hand, looking to hoist him up as well. "Let's go wash cars or something. Set up a lemonade stand. Newspaper delivery route? Walk dogs! We'll get the money together then fuck off with your pa and see if we can't find a nice island to moor up at when we crave coconut and mango." Ze pauses in hir jubilant exclamations, a manic smile starting to fade. "It ... could work." Shane lifts his violin case, slinging it up and then over to rest it on his shoulder before letting Rasa pull him to his feet. "I can busk. -- I like dogs. Dogs are cool. Well, Obie's cool, anyway. For a dumbshit. -- All the people we know, we gotta know someone with a boat, right? Can't we just steal one from the school?" His brows pull together. "How do you get boats to the ocean. Hrn. -- Maybe B can build us a boat. Maybe /Flicker/ can build us a boat. He builds all /kinds/ of shit." There's a small bounce in his posture now, too. "We'd still need supplies either way. But yeah. Boat fund. Let's fucking /do/ this." "It ... just... We needed a plan. And yeah, we can drag other people into it." Rasa keeps a hold of his hand as ze stoops to snag hir shirt after it falls to the ground, straightening up afterwards. "Some supplies are important, but I think we're going to be eating a lot of fish. Maybe seaweed. Shit, that whole veganism thing. We're going to have to get supplies." Ze doesn't have nearly Shane's energy, but ze is pretending, lips pulling back into a more optimistic smile than truth would have. "Now I wish I had taken up a musical instrument. We could busk together. I think people give more money when it sounds more like a concert." "People probably also give more money when you don't look like some kind of freakish demonspawn," Shane answers with a crooked grin, "but if I'm lucky they'll throw shit at me that's worth something. -- You could dance. Or -- acro... bat. Circusy --" He shrugs a shoulder uncertainly. "I dunno street performers do all kinds of shit that isn't music. Hey look! We're standing. We should get you that popsicle." "Hmmm. I could do contortion or ... something. It's hard to do some of my stuff without the secure fixtures of an actual performing space. Maybe I should just run away to the Cirque du Soleil. That should earn some money, yes?" Rasa takes a deep breath and turns hir attention back toward the sound of an ice cream truck. "Okay, popsicles. Then maybe a swim, then we'll think more on this, yes?" "Popsicles, then /definitely/ a swim. Does Cirque du Soleil pay you much? I'm pretty sure all their people are broke, too. Maybe," Shane considers slowly, "we should just leech off B and Dai." His lips purse, contemplative. But further contemplation will have to wait until after Popsicle.