ArchivedLogs:Diverging

Diverging
Dramatis Personae Morgan, Neve	2014-07-24 '
Location <NYC> Themis House - Upper West Side
There is a great deal of psychology to be found in Themis House. This is not just due to its staff of psychologists and social workers. The building itself was chosen for the effect it inspires on those who come inside. It boasts an open design constructed with glass, brushed steel and concrete, with floor to ceiling windows meant to let in as much natural light as possible. The two-story space feels immense and cool, but is saved from sterility by the use of an indoor water feature surrounded by ferns and comfortable modern furniture in cheerful shades of sea blue, lime green and chocolate brown. The lower floor is dedicated to greeting and meeting spaces, the immense atrium arranged so that one is faced with a low, wide reception desk upon entering. To the left behind a glass wall is a meeting room with a long table surrounded by rolly chairs; there's a flat screen TV up on the wall at the head of the table. To the right the area is open with the water feature and a collection of couches, chairs, low tables and even a snack bar stocked with fresh fruit, muffins, juice and coffee. Beyond the reception desk is another glass wall, inset with a number of doors that lead into smaller, more intimate meeting rooms for one on one visits and intake interviews. The second floor is open to the lower one, and overlooks it behind a circling glass-fronted balcony reached by spiraling staircase or an elevator tucked out of the way. Here is where the executive director and other staff keep their offices, and where records are stored. There are tiny cameras hidden within black glass domes in corners on the ceiling, silently recording what occurs below on both floors. Late Thursday afternoon. Some would argue this is both the prettiest season and prettiest hour of the day for the Upper West Side, its well-to-do streets no less busy than the rest of the city and yet somehow it just seems.../nicer/. Maybe it's the influence of /culture/ that's packed in as thickly as possible. Maybe it's the effect of Central Park, the lush trails there filtering some of New York's unceasing harshness. Whatever the reason, it is nice here. And pretty. And /busy/. That may be why it stands out that Themis has /not/ been as busy today. It opened late and closed early, puzzled employees shooed home, the doors left locked, clients regretfully called to reschedule. Only the most time-sensitive and serious cases were handled and with those finished, the glass front of the building shows an empty space inside. Tastefully appointed, yes, but dim with lights turned off and hollow from the lack of life of people moving around inside. That is, until a door opens on the second level and a young woman steps out. Neve Leone herself, if one were to go by the bright, short blonde hair and her soft way of dressing--casually today, in a pink and white floral dress with a cream colored cardigan--and, of course, the face that's plastered on countless posters, and not a few billboards. She has a sheaf of manilla folders tucked into one arm and a sheet of paper in her hand as she descends the open-style circular staircase to the main floor. Her keys are...well, the keyring is actually pinched between her lips as she shoulders open the front door and then turns, waiting for it to sssshhhhsh shut so she can lock it. In the meantime, she is reading that lone piece of paper, distracted, focused. Morgan leans against a tree that stands just outside Themis's entrance. Feeling out of place, she hangs her head low and glares from behind the choppy blonde hair that falls into her face. She's been outside for some time. ...and not just today, though this is the first time she hasn't come with her hood pulled all the way up or huge black sunglasses. Passing her by, a nanny struggles with an SUV-type stroller but rather than move out of the woman's way, Morgan just flicks the ash from her cigarette towards the base of the tree. Taking another drag, she only half-registers Neve emerging as she continues to brood. Neve does not have enough hands for what she is about to try to do. Juggling folders, paper /and/ the keys makes for an instant fumble. It's the paper that loses, when she tries to hold it with the keys and use her other hand to pull the door securely shut for locking. Slipping free, it performs a few loopdiloops worthy of a paper airplane before hitting pavement and commencing to somersaults. Under the wheels of the stroller it goes, before tumbling Morgan's way. Brow creased with concern, Neve herself goes hurrying after it. Placing a hand on her thigh, Morgan bends at the knees in a very masculine dip. Slowly, as if too cool for any fast movement, the ex-cop reaches out to retrieve the paper. Cigarette held loosely between her lips, she eyes the document over as she rises back up to stand - doing her best to give it a quick scan before holding it out to the woman who dropped it. “Here,” Morgan’s tone is brisk as she flicks her eyes down and up Neve. Once she decides the woman isn’t a threat, she flicks an almost-smile her way. Once in hand, it's an easy read--a printed out email confirming a date and time for an interview with one of the city's larger radio stations. There are multiple re's, though the final one is from the station stating they'd loooove to discuss the recent news about the raid on a certain lab... Neve draws up short of Morgan and her tree, already a little out of breath. That might be more from anxiety than the fast-walk she'd used to get over here but it's true--she is no sort of threat at all. Note the ready smile that blossoms at having the print out returned to her. "Oh, thank you. I'd have had to go back in and print it /again/ if you hadn't caught it," she says as she accepts the sheet back. This time, she slips it into the topmost folder for safe keeping. “No big deal,” Morgan turns away to nonchalantly observe the nanny continuing on her way, “You might want to get an organizer or a bag or somethin’. I mean, not to hop on your dick or anything.” She turns back, flicking her cigarette away from them both. Very briefly, her eyes betray her cold exterior and flutter up over Neve’s shoulder towards where she came from. They go soft, but regain their steely confidence upon returning to Neve. Oh goodness. The colorful language exchanged for her gentler words of thanks causes Neve to blink in the instant color floods her cheeks. "I...yes. Yes, that seems like a good idea. A bag. I /have/ one in the car but it was too small for..." She seems to realize only late that she is explaining herself to a complete stranger. Thus, the trailing off--and a glance that matches Morgan's brief gentling, towards Themis' glass facade. "Thank you again. Did you have an appointment? We tried to contact everyone but I'm not sure Krystal succeeded." Morgan stifles a cough, clenching her jaw and neck. "No," she brings the back of the hand holding her cigarette to her mouth, "No, I didn't." In a manner of very contained nervousness, she sidles back a step, hooking her other hand into the belt-loop of her jeans, "No worries." She motions for Neve to continue on her way. "Ah." And just like that it comes clear to Neve. She understands, and layers that understanding under a smaller, softer smile. "I apologize. A silly assumption," she says, tone gone soothing. But she doesn't continue, not right away. First she dips her head, cheek turned towards Morgan as she opens that top folder again. This time, more care is taken and no paper escapes but she /does/ produce...a business card. This is offered to the other woman. It's a simple rectangle of white: Neve Leone, Themis House, a phone number, an email address. "Thank you again," she repeats. Morgan snatches the card hungrily out of the air, pocketing it while she checks over her shoulders. Taking another hard drag from the nub that's left of her cigarette, she stalks off without so much as another look or word. Under the tree where she'd been standing is a scattered collection of cigarette butts. She must have gone through a good portion of the pack. Neve is not left bemused by that brusque departure, as one might expect. No...she gets it. So it's a thoughtful gaze that follows Morgan's retreat, until pedestrian traffic swallows her up. Then--after a brief glance at the litter woven through the tree's roots--she turns to make her own retreat. A black sedan is waiting at the curb and she disappears into the back seat, to be borne off into the city.