ArchivedLogs:Holding Down the Sidewalk

Holding Down the Sidewalk
Dramatis Personae Doug, Isra, Shane
In Absentia	2015-01-20 '
Location <NYC> Midtown East
A dense, skyscraper packed neighborhood, Midtown is the busiest commercial district in the United States, and one of the busiest pieces of land in the world. Day and night, Midtown is filled with people going to and from work, enjoying the nightlife, and walking quickly through the streets. Very few live in Midtown proper - only the most wealthy and work-obsessed - but many who live in and around the City work here. In many ways, Midtown is the heart that beats in the city that never sleeps. "Ffffffff." Shane's curse never actuates itself, dying in a shivery trill of lips as he bounces on his toes outside the main entrance to Stark Tower, /ignoring/ the bustle of pedestrians that alternately scowl-stare-veeeeer wide to give him a wide /berth/ on their way in and out of the building. He's bundled, but /neatly/ so, smartly-tailored peacoat and soft grey-black scarf and matching cap, mittened hands tucked underneath a canvas bag that smells tantalizingly of Korean barbecue. The strap of the bag is around his shoulder -- hands really only tucked beneath the food for /warmth/ rather than aiding in carrying it. The tinyshark's head is tipped up towards the dark sky, squinting as a few desultory snowflakes make their way down to drop, linger, /eventually/ melt on the end of his flat nose. "Sky needs to make up its damn mind. And B needs to hurry the fuck up or I'mm'a eat all her bulgogi." Unlikely, really, there's enough of it to feed a small army. Of gamers. Swathed in a heavy gray cloak with a hunter green cowl, Isra could almost pass for human if she held still and kept her head down. The former she does, the latter she does not. She stands beside Shane, dignified in her stillness, head tilted back to stare at the ambivalent precipitation. Her skin gleams like polished obsidian dotted with stars. An ageworn Cornell University canvas bag tucked under one arm smells of olive oil and spices. One massive wing unfolds from beneath the green capelet like a living sheet of night sky and wraps around Shane's shoulder, shielding him from the wind. A familiar face /does/ appear, eventually. Alas, it is not B, but rather Doug who is coming through the door, escorted by a large security guard who abandons him at the door. The blonde is dressed in jeans and what looks like a thick green sweatshirt under his own navy peacoat, and his hair is covered by a blue knit cap with a very TARDIS-like pattern. His laptop bag is slung across his chest, and in his arms is a very small cardboard box and an envelope that he's studying carefully as he exits the building. Which is why he doesn't see Shane and Isra standing there even as he's almost rolling over the tiny blue shark, and he responds to the unexpected obstruction in a true New Yorker growl without looking up. "Watch it, buddy." Shane's growl isn't so much New Yorker; it isn't really particularly /human/, just a deep feral snarl that comes with a baring of teeth, a puffing of (diminutive) chest. "You fucking watch it, dipshit, /you/ nearly crashed into /me/." His nose is twitch-twitching, wrinkling up with a small huff. "Ffffuck me," actually makes it all the way out of his mouth this time. "You seen B in there." In the shadow of the voluminous hood, Isra's eyes glow cat-green and her pointed ears swivel to track Doug's approaches. She frees her other wing--silver talons gleaming in the streetlight--from the cover of the capelet as he collides with Shane. Other than one rapid swish of her tail, however, she registers no real alarm or annoyance. "Good evening," she says without sarcasm, her voice dual-registered and calm even as she looks up once up and once down. "Oh, shit," Doug says, when Shane responds, recognizing the voice (and the growl) immediately. "{Sorry about that,}" he says in Spanish, backing up a couple of steps and looking between Shane and Isra. "{Sorry}," he says in Spanish. "I really /wasn't/ watching." He offers a small grin, and lifts the hand with the envelope to wave it. "Hello! How are you guys?" He glances back at the building when Shane asks about B, and shakes his head. "I didn't," he admits. "But I rarely see her, honestly." He lifts a shoulder and smiles encouragingly. "But R&D was closing up when I came down, so it shouldn't be too long." "Cold," Shane grumps, hugging his box of foods closer to his chest. "And fucking /hungry/ I got an assload of meat here I can't wait to get inside me." He hefts the bag of food indicatively. He nestles back into the cover of Isra's wing, though he isn't actually particularly shivery. Just kind of huddled. "How about you? What's with the box?" Isra regards Doug with no apparent sign of recognition. "Cold," she agrees, folding her free wing back into the shelter of her cloak. The other wraps a little tighter around Shane. "I did not know you worked together." So she evidently did recognize him. "Emphasis on the past tense, I presume?" "Is that what smells so good?" Doug asks, leaning forward to sniff at the food without getting /overly/ close about it. "I don't blame you for being impatient." He smiles, and nods at Isra's question. "Yeah, past-tense. And we only worked together for a little while," he clarifies. "I was on different projects, mostly." He lifts the box a bit, rattling the contents inside. "My internship's ended, so I was just here picking up a few things and turning in my security badge." He lifts a shoulder, and tucks the box under his arm. "All good things, huh?" "Yeah. You like Korean?" The ridge of Shane's brows hikes upwards, and he hefts the bag a little higher, letting the scent waft more towards Doug when the other man leans towards it. "I have like a fuckload of pork and beef in here." His words end in a small happy-purring growl as Isra's wing wraps tighter, cheek turning to nuzzle against the decorated wingsail. "I dunno. I mean, /my/ life's been pretty full of --" But here he hitches a moment, briefly tensing with a faint discomfited ripple, a shift of eyes up towards Isra before he relaxes, continues: "... good things. I guess. What're you moving /on/ to?" "Does security always escort outgoing interns from the building?" Isra arches a bare eyebrow ridge. "I admittedly do not have much experience with the surreal world of high-tech megacorporations, nor would I care to, given my druthers." She looks up again, and the hood slides back just a little--catching on her horns before it falls off altogether. "All things, really, good and bad." "I love it," Doug says, with a shiver for that wafting, scented heat meeting his nostrils. "There's this barbecue place a couple of blocks down from my building that's fantastic." He shifts his weight as there's wing-wrapping, and straightens back up. He shrugs at Isra's comment, and wrinkles his nose. "Well, without a security badge, I guess they had to make sure I got out okay." He doesn't sound terribly sure about that, and he glances back at the building. "I mean, I suppose /everyone's/ a potential corporate spy, at the level which Stark operates." He's quiet for a moment, and then chuffs a 'huh' into the air before turning back. "Enjoy that while it lasts," he advises Shane on good things in his life, and his tone is a little dark, even as he's winking at the younger man. "Oh, I'm not sure," he says in answer to Shane's question. "I'm not in school this semester, since I'm paying all of my rent now. But I don't really have a /plan/." He shrugs, and reaches up to scratch at his lip. "A guy in my building says he can get me into his union and hook me up with a job, so i might do that." "Yeah. Well. This is the /most/ fantastic place in --" Shane frowns, hesitating for a moment. "-- well, lower Manhattan anyway." He shrugs the bag back onto his shoulder solidly, freeing up his hands to rummage out one of the many plastic cartons of meat, offering it out to Doug. "If I /did/ have to fuck around with high-tech megacorporations this would definitely be the one I'd be a minion for. Like Jesus some of the shit B gets to play with --" His head shakes. "Then again I get to play with some pretty awesome-fucking-crap just being around /her/." The corner of his mouth twitches, slightly upward. "While it lasts. Yeah. -- Union? Do they have tech unions?" His brows lift again curiously. "Ah, corporate espionage, yes." Isra shrugs, her wings rising fractionally beneath cloak. "I have no /hatred/ for high-tech megacorporations as such, but closed-source research has always seemed self-defeating to me." Her smile flashes quick and sharp. "But then, my chosen expertise has the privilege of lacking any potential for either killing people or making money, so it remains quite hypothetical for me. Best of luck to you in your job search." Doug grins. "Yeah, it's a little amazing in there," he admits. "Although, B enjoys a certain amount of privelege when it comes to the high-tech stuff. I wasn't exactly high on the list for holo-computers and the like. Still, it'd be nice to come back here one day." He exhales, taking the carton, and holding it up in a grateful gesture. "Thanks," he says. "This is going to be much better than the pizza Hot Pocket I /did/ have lined up." He furrows his brow at Isra, and wrinkles his nose. "Your chosen expertise..." he echoes, pursing his lips. "I'm sorry, I don't remember what it is that you do," he says sheepishly. "You're a teacher? Is that right?" Shane's question gets a shake of his head. "Docks," he says by way of explanation. "Loading cargo ships. The money's actually pretty decent, so I'm really thinking about doing it." "Huh. So you're gonna go from nerd to jock? Get yourself some --" Shane flexes an arm. "Guns." His teeth flash, bright and amused. "Sweet. -- Yeah Isra teaches but she's an astronomer. She teaches us like the fucking. Universe. Can you close-source the universe? That seems hard it's like. Right /there/." He waves towards the sky. "Freeing yourself up some time for personal projects, perhaps?" Isra smiles more gently now. "Not that acquiring some 'guns' makes a bad goal in itself. Teaching also works best on an open-source model." Her wings rustle beneath her cloak. "The universe, no, but the equipment and procedure? Telescope designs, observation techniques, etc." Doug colors at the grin from Shane, and he drops his head. "Maybe," he says. "I'm not really sure what all it'll entail, physically. But I will actually have a bit more time for projects." He grins at Isra. "Astronomy is cool," he says. "I never really understood the science of it, other than the math, which is like /music/ when it's sound." He lifts a shoulder. "I'm not up on the tech, though, beyond the basic telescope. Maybe I should audit one of your classes one day." "It's high school I don't think you can audit high school. I mean, except in the movies like maybe if you were a cop or a reporter or something you could go undercover?" Shane suggests with a crooked smile and a small bounce on his toes. "Honestly I wouldn't even be surprised if someone tried to patent a goddamn star, people have patented /genes/ and all kind of stupid shit that already just. /Exists/. In nature. -- What sort of projects?" "Astronomy /is/ music, sound or no." Isra's eyes flick up, though no stars shine through the eerily glowing overcast. "The hardware and software involved in modern astronomy run the gamut, from simple optics to military-grade image processing. I /have/ considered looking into starting a citizen science initiative, complete with journal--perhaps even taking my teaching beyond secondary school walls." She drops one hand to scritch at Shane's spiny head. "I may take a page from Micah's book and do a spot of convention lecturing." Doug laughs. "I don't think I'm quite convincing as a high school student," he says, looking down his body. "But I take your point." He watches Isra as she looks to the sky, and nods. "Sure, but it's far more pleasing to the ear when the notes line up." His mouth pulls downward thoughtfully. "Although, I guess it's the notes that don't fit that catch your study." His eyebrows lift as she speaks of her plans, and he leans forward just a bit. "I'd be very interested in something like that," he says. "If you decide to do it, I'll be the first one signing up." He turns to Shane at the question, and pokes at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "I'll finally get my computer built," he volunteers. "Dusk was helping me, but it's been slow going. And I need to work on Warlock; I have some ideas for tweaking his parameters, and I think they're totally doable." He lifts his eyebrows. "You should come and see it when it's done," he says with a sudden grin, looking at both Shane and Isra. "It's going to be nearly as sweet as Dusk's. I might even have an unveiling." "You feed me and I'll so be there. B'll probably come food or no, fucking nerd." Shane says it fondly, though after this there's a small shiver. "-- Fucking /Christ/ where the hell is she rrrrr." This devolves into a small irritable growl. He unhitches his food bag to pass it off to Isra. "I'm gonna go /extract/ her I got a feeling something exciting just --" He makes a small schlorping noise. "Sucked her the hell back in leaving work is always kind of a /process/." His chin jerks upward to Doug. "See-ya." "You will hear more about it soon, I hope." Isra's tail weaves back and forth rapidly beneath the hem of her cloak. "Assembling your own hardware is always an exciting--if frustrating--venture. Good luck on that, as well." She accepts Shane's bag in stride, and makes not a peep about /his/ lack of a security badge. "I'll just hold down the sidewalk, then." "I look forward to it," Doug says to Isra, his grin broadening to show teeth. "Dusk's got my email." Shane's comment gets a laugh, and the blonde shakes his head, shifting his weight. "I'll have it catered," he promises wryly. When the younger man bids him farewell, he repeats the chin jerk with a small smile. "See ya." Isra gets another nod. "It was good seeing you again. Have a good night." He uses the container of food to offer a cheery wave, and then he's heading off towards the subway station, turning back one more time to offer a final wave before proceeding. Then he's just /gone/, disappearing into the ground.