ArchivedLogs:Important People

Important People
Dramatis Personae Anole, Doug, Rasheed	2013-10-19 '
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Lobby - East Village
Bright and sunny, the lobby of this apartment building is clean and unassuming. Requiring an electronic keycard for entry, the pair of elevators dings cheerfully when one arrives. A small sitting area has bright yellow couches and small coffee tables, though the nearby vending machine is perpetually running out of /something/. Tall windows let in plenty of light during the daytime, and the building maintenance keeps the common areas spotlessly clean. A bank of mailboxes near the sitting area collects mail for the building, a recycling bin right at hand for the unwanted spam. Beside the mailboxes, a large corkboard serves as informal meeting space for the announcements, perpetually flyered with notes and notices from the various apartment residents. Saturday's all right for fighting. Or, y'know, tending to more mundane and less punchy sorts of things. LIke laundry, and grocery shopping, and stuff like that. Dressed in jeans and red Converses with a green shirt with a DeLorean on the chest with a Hyrulean exiting and 'A LINK TO THE PAST' across the chest, Doug is coming in from the latter option, his arms loaded with canvas bags that seem stuffed with a variety of stores. Which makes getting his arms up so he can swipe his keycard a challenge, but he manages it. Once inside, he moves to one of the benches and divests himself of his load, groaning loudly and rubbing his arms to restore the circulation as he moves towards the mailboxes. Rasheed has been in the Lofts. Dressed as casually as he tends to manage -- slacks, dress shirt, no tie, no jacket -- he exits the stairwell with a large black bag slung over his shoulder. He hastens towards the doors when he sees Doug struggling, clearly aiming to open it for the teenager, though he stops when Doug beats him to it. His brows raise, a small smile on his lips. "Seems like everyone has their hands full around here, lately." Anole is just exiting the laundry room, as the others arrive. He's hauling a /pair/ of enormous laundry hampers that together probably weigh half as much as /he/ does, grunting slightly with the effort as he drags one and then the other out of the laundry room. He looks as shabby as he ever does, tattered old Columbia sweatshirt, faded old jeans, beaten-up sneakers. Rasheed's comment earns a small crooked smile. "I've seen you, sir," he offers shyly, green eyes skipping between the others. "I think you have them as full as anyone." "There's a lot going on around here," Doug agrees with a small lift of one side of his mouth. His brow knits slightly as he studies the older man, tipping his head thoughtfully. "You're the doctor guy that's helping? You look familiar," he says, his gaze flicking to Anole as he appears and kind of echoes his sentiment. Kind of. Then his grin is wider, and he lifts a hand at the younger boy. "Hey, Anole! I didn't know you were helping out." "One of the doctors, yes," Rasheed gives Doug a quick smile, small. "There are a few. Though I think most of my help is bureaucratic, at this point. I'm sorry, I haven't quite yet learned everyone's names." He steps forward to offer a hand. "Rasheed Toure. And Anole's been quite helpful. All hands on deck, lately, I think." Anole ducks his head when Doug addresses him, nodding quickly and half-shrinking behind his large pair of hampers. "They --" He nods to Rasheed. "They need help. There's a lot. Of people. They don't all --" He shrugs a shoulder. "I forgot," he admits. "That you live here." Doug wrinkles his nose at Rasheed's description of his input. "Bureaucratic?" he echoes, furrowing his brow. Then his expression changes to one of sudden memory as Rasheed introduces himself. "Doctor Toure," he says, taking the offered hand and clasping it warmly. "Now I remember. We met a few months ago. I'm Doug Ramsey." He offers a bright grin, and then pops his eyerbrows playfully at Anole. "There are a lot of them, this time," he agrees, continuing on towards the mailboxes. "My apartment was woefully unprepared." He fishes out his keys, opening his mailbox and pulling out a couple of envelopes. He lifts a shoulder in an unconscious mimic of Anole, and tips his head. "Well, it's not like you've come over to hang out or anything," he assures the boy. "Not that you're not welcome." "Did we?" Rasheed's tone is one of polite regret as he shakes Doug's hand. "I'm sorry, I don't recall. Where was that?" He nods at the question of bureaucracy. "There's a whole world of paperwork to navigate, when trying to get a life back. There are many kinds of assistance people need." He shifts his bag up onto his shoulder higher. "This time. Are there many times?" There's a continuing note of regret in his tone at this thought. "Welcome?" Anole sounds surprised at this. "Oh, I didn't -- I didn't --" His fingers clench and unclench at the handles of his hampers. "Didn't know that -- um. I don't -- hang out a --" He looks down at the baskets. "I think there've /been/ many times. Probably -- be many more. Until there doesn't have to be anymore." "It /was/ a while ago," Doug admits. "In a grocery store, I think? Something like that." He offers a flash of a grin, and lifts his shoulders. "There've been times. Probably be more," he says, moving back to his shopping bags and dropping the mail into one. Anole gets a chuckle, and a companionable wink. "Dude. It's cool. If you /want/ to hang out, you're totally welcome. I have a kick-ass gaming system. As a couple of my new roomies have discovered." He rolls his eyes playfully, and begins to gather up his bags again. "They're /really/ keen on Mario Kart." "Until there doesn't have to be," Rasheed agrees with a brief frown. "... Mario Kart." He smiles at this, faintly. "I suppose after what they've been through -- all the relaxation they can get is likely welcome." He adjusts his bag again, glancing towards the door. "You try to get some relaxing in, too. I'll see you both, I'm sure." Another quick smile to the others, and he heads for the door. For a moment Anole brightens, at the invitation, but he shrinks back behind the hampers again. He watches Rasheed leave with no farewell, just wide green eyes that shift back to Doug afterwards. "I'm not very good at video games," he admits. "Sometimes I play with Peter." He starts to tug the hampers back towards the elevators, slowly. "Do they stay for long? The -- new people? Here?" Doug lifts a hand in farewell to Rasheed, and then continues gathering his bag when the door latches behind him. Once loaded, he follows along towards the elevator, using his foot to help the hampers along gently. "You don't have to be good to play at my place," he assures the teenager. "I just like to play. You know Peter?" he asks, his expression as surprised as his tone. "He's a good guy. A bit hyper. You can bring him along, too, if you want." He nudges a hamper with his knee, and shrugs at the question. "It depends," he says. "Last time, it didn't seem like they were here very long. But there's more this time. They might be here a little longer." He wrinkles his nose thoughtfully. "I guess it depends on how quickly they can get their lives back. I bet coming back from something like that isn't as easy as moving to a new apartment." "I know Peter," Anole agrees with a deeper blush, tugging the hampers more easily with Doug's assistance. "I'm usually here with -- well he and Shane --" He blushes deeper. "I guess -- if it's anything like the other cages I mean -- a lot of people didn't have. Lives to get back to in the first place. It was -- easy for me, you know, I didn't. Lose. Anything." He shrugs a shoulder uncomfortably, taking out a borrowed key to badge into the elevator. "They take people who aren't important anyway." Doug quirks a grin at Anole's blushing, and rests his bags on top of a hamper as the elevator is keyed open. "Well, you're all welcome," he says wryly. "The twins know they can come up any time, so..." He frowns a bit at Anole's explanation, a bit of sadness creeping into his expression. "I'm sure whatever they had was better than being human lab rats without consent," he says, jutting out his lower lip and deepening his frown. "They might not have seemed like /much/, but...I mean, aren't /you/ happier, being free?" Which seems like an odd thing to ask, and the blonde looks uncomfortably at his shoes for a moment. "Everyone's important, Anole," he offers, looking up. "Whether they know it or not." "Maybe," Anole agrees, but he sounds uncertain as he wrests the hampers into the elevator. "Me?" His eyes open wider; he looks startled at this question. "I --" He frowns, waiting for Doug to enter before hitting the third-floor button. "I --" His teeth sink in against his lip, hands dropping to the lid of one of the hampers to lean against it. In the end he just answers the last comment instead of the question: "Maybe but. Some people are /more/ important. They're the ones with lives to get back to." Doug's smile is weak, and only at one corner as he enters the elevator and pushes the button for five. "So, when Jax and everyone goes on these raids, you think there are people that deserve saving more than others?" he asks, gently. "'Cause I don't think they look at it that way. I don't think you can do what they do if you did." He reaches out, then, to bump a bag against Anole's thin frame gently. "I don't think it does anyone any good, really. What if I thought that way? I wouldn't have a cool green friend who can sock away hot dogs." He grins. "Seriously, dude. Where did you put all of those? You're still skinny as a hose." "I didn't say they deserved it." Anole shakes his head, thin shoulder slightly tense beneath Doug's hand. "Just that if they never got out, nobody'd notice." His shoulders sink a little lower, breath exhaled slowly as the elevator rocks up to the third floor. "I don't know, when --" He turns, backing out of the elevator and dragging his hampers behind him. "-- you don't eat for a while you have a lot of empty space to store them. I don't -- think anyone's called me cool before, um." His thin muscles tense as he tugs out the hampers. "Maybe I'll see you?" Doug shakes his head. "I think that number's probably lower than people think," he says with a gentle shrug. "Even homeless guys in the park probably have someone who's worried that they haven't heard from them. Even if it's just another homeless guy." He helps wrestle the hampers out, and leans on the elevator doors to keep them open for a minute. "You're cool," he says to the younger boy. "At least, I think you are, and that's all /I/ care about." He nods at the question, stepping back but keeping his hand on the door. "You'd better," he teases. "Now that you /know/ I'm here, I fully expect visits. I might even provide pizza and stuff." He lets go of the door then, and steps back. "503," he repeats as the door closes. "I'm serious." Then they are closed, leaving Anole alone with his hampers and the long wrestle to the Holland door.