ArchivedLogs:Parlour Tricks

Parlour Tricks
Dramatis Personae Mal, Jim, Shelby	2013-04-28 Mal moves into Sunrise. He is too lazy to lug luggages, so he opts for the more entertaining route.
Location <NYC> Sunrise Apartments - Lobby - Clinton
The lobby of this apartment building is shabby, to say the least. The tiling has not been replaced in quite some time, chipped and coming up in many places; there is a faint smell of mildew coming from somewhere by the stairwell. The exterior door has a large crack in it of questionable origin, and the paint is peeling on the interior walls. The elevator is often slow to arrive, though at least the thing /runs/ alright. For now. It looks like there is another addition to Sunrise. It is not wholly usual for someone to move in on a Sunday, but it looks like this particular individual is eager to move into this shabby building. The new arrival certainly fits into this drab display of low-end renting places. Thud. Thud. Thudthudthudthudthudthmp. That is, in case you were wondering, the sound of a luggage riding down the stairs. The elevator's not working again. An annoyed smack of lips can be heard. Followed by heels rushing down stair steps. The luggage belongs to a scandalously dressed woman, wearing denim shorts so abysmally short, pockets are sticking out. Her top is similarly short, even if sleeves reach all the way to the elbows. The long-haired brunette is seemingly of Latin American origin, although her bust is far more notable than anything else. "Hngh, /puneta/." Yep, Latin American. "Knew I should have hired someone." Kicking the luggage, she tries to make as much of a ruckus as possible. "Ksh," Jim pulls back a scuffed loafer to spare his toes a luggaging, just wheeling around the corner to /mount/ the stairs. He also looks well suited to his environment, in typical and /unapologetic/ gaudiness, wearing a Hawaiian shirt (blue with yellow and orange hibiscus), tan cargo shorts, /pink/ flipflops that might, in fact, be bathshoes, with a large broth satchel bag slung over one shoulder, bombling off the side of his hip. As a manpurse is wont to do. To keep the suitcase from toppling any further, he sets a foot on it, like a mighty conquerer, and squints one eye up at the descending woman - hey, if her shirt is minuscule enough maybe he'll get a sight of some underboob, "Y'alright?" His squint has a way of pulling back his lip to one side in idle dogsnarl. It's not terribly aggressive. LAZY. The girl tagging after Jim likewise looks like a native. Oversized hoody, skinny jeans with holes at the knees and dust on the seat, old sneakers. She's got a knit cap on with two dull ginger braids poking out on either side of her head too. So New York. There's a skateboard under one arm and--as she looks up past the barrier that is Jim--her grip on it goes a little slack with surprise. Whoa. That there is a hoochy is she ever saw one. "Holy shit," she says out loud, tone of voice pleasantly surprised. "Donde esta la biblioteca?" The quick steps with which the woman descends down the stairs are careful - each time a foot lands one of those ludicrously tall heels, the brunette quickly glances down to check how sturdy her footing is. This way, she misses Jim trying to ogle her underboob, but then again, even though the shirt ends just below her bust, the band hugs her slim frame disappointingly tight. What Jim /does/ get a look at (and Shelby, probably; it's kind of hard not to pay attention to that) is the consequence of her erratic movement, instead. "Hijo de puta! No, I'm /not/ alright. That pendejo-- My ex, said he would help me with moving, but /of course/ he is a no show." Noticing Shelby, she quirks one of those finely plucked brows. "Is your daughter trying to be funny?" Behind the scenes, behind the observable and the seen, Mal is not too far away, leaning against the wall, looking on to the scene with a bored expression on his face. A spoon digs into a plastic yoghurt cup. Mm, vanilla. Ohoh. /Daughter/. That's hilarious. "Funny /looking/," Jim shoots, Jim /scores/, taking a potshot off on Shelby while using his toe to nudge the suitecase up so that he can hook a hand through the handle. "How, uh, much stuff you got? Maybe we could help out." He says 'maybe' with an appropriate level of prepared apathy. He doesn't do COUCHES. Not even for all the bounce-to-the-ounce in the world. He has a back to keep up. Habitual self-awareness in his line of work has his washed-out blue eyes scanning his environment while he itches at an ear. The world's worst kept secret is that yes, teenage girls do often compare themselves to the adult women they see. In this case, Shelby is eyeballing those bouncy balls and realizing she comes up /far/ short. This does not incline her favorably towards the Latina, but she might have kept her mouth shut--until the daughter crack. "Ha ha," she sarcasms. "I didn't think they rented rooms by the hour here. Hey Jim. Y'know hijo de puta means son of a bitch, right?" Notice how she is /not/ moving to help. "Oh, /thank you/. At least there is one man with /cojones/ in this place", the woman laments, growling out that Spanish word through gritted teeth. Well, ain't she a charmer. "My name is Maria", she announces, meaningfully shooting Jim a suggestive gaze. Shelby is also eyed, although her grin is more friendly than coercive at that point. "Don't be jealous girl, you have many years ahead." The curt Spanish lesson only seems to confuse Maria. And so she decides to step aside, instead. The Latina also gestures to another luggage beside the stairs, also fairly sizeable. The one Jim caught is rather heavy, but fortunately it pales in comparison to what a couch might weigh. "Just that another suitcase. I would be /really/ grateful if you would help me." The unseen caster of these illusions lets out an unheard sigh. He momentarily considers the addition of a violin, but decides against it. "Do you and your daughter live alone here?" And so the woman continues with the daughter. After all, neither of the two actually outright denied it. "I'd hate it if your wife saw you helping someone-- Well, someone like /me/." What is it about beautiful women that makes men /habitually/ lie on reflex: "Eh, the wife's outta town." Jim now has a suddenly FIXED RICTUS GRIN, shooting a look at Shelby, "My /DAUGHTER/ and I've lived here for about half a year. If you ever hear someone playing /violin/ that's her. Like an angel." He can't stop himself now, it's too late. He offers his non-luggage hand to Maria, open and frank for a very firm man-handshake, "Jim Morgan. Uff." He adjusts his grip. "I live in 214." Nope, Shelby's still not helping. She gives the other suitcase a long hard look, then switches to squinting at Maria with an expression that /screams/, "You can't be fucking serious." She hefts her board up higher against her hip instead and proceeds upwards after the dumbass who's been suckered in by /boobs/. "That's okay," she says as she clumps up the stairs, "Mom's like...super cool. If Dad wants to fuck a hooker on their bed, he's totally allowed so long as he changes the sheets after." It is times like these when Shelby's ability to lie like a trooper really comes in handy. Maria follows alongside Jim. Well, almost alongside him. The Latina actually moves a little bit ahead of the man, and the reason for that is painstakingly predictable - just so that she can demonstrate the sway of her wide hips. "Really? I can sort of play the guitar, but my ex says I can't play worth shit." Being granted the handshake, the illusion accepts. Telling it apart from the luggage, which in fact is very real, is a fool's errand. Her hand is a little bit on the cold side, although given how she is dressed, that shouldn't be a surprise. Her grip is soft and timid, despite her suggestive behaviour and appearance. The myriad of bracelets jingle around her wrist as the handshake is concluded. "/Pleasure/ to meet you, Jim. But-- Your daughter sounds unhappy-- Am I upsetting her?" Shelby gets a look. "What's /your/ name, sweetheart?" As the trio challenges stairs, Maria also adds, "Just one more staircase and we're /there/." Yes, Jim takes the second suitcase as well. The bump and thump against the sides of his legs along /with/ his manpurse. The stairs /creak/ under the accumulated weight. "She's just... got... /cancer/," he grits out as he strains up the stairs. "Of the - TAILBONE. She has to get weekly impacts to it." He leans against a wall to adjust his grip, "-- of /chemo/." Chemo... of the FOOT. Pant-pant. "Lady, your ex sounds like a real piece of work." "Eden." Naturally Shelby comes up with the best stripper name that she can think of. If Jim's gonna lie his pants off, like any good daddy's girl she's going to follow his example. As for the center? Well... "It's why I have to wear this hat," she says sadly. Nevermind that there are braids poking out. Maybe they're fake! "All my hair fell out. Hey, c'mon, old man. Some people are trying to climb the stairs here, we don't got all day for you to stare at her ass." Ultimately, the three arrive at the relevant floor. Maria wanders over to the flat where she is supposed to move in, digging into one of those ridiculously small pockets to... draw a key, probably. Though how it would fit in there is anyone's guess. A single key is fished out, and the aged lock clicks open. Opening the door, she actually creates a free path for Jim. Come on. Please. They're almost there. "Eden sounds like a handful", the woman notes. She even stands like someone of the right - or wrong, as it were - profession, what with legs spread and her hands sitting on her hips. "I also think she is a little bit too young to feel jealous", she comments in a sultry voice, looking Shelby over appraisingly. At the same time, she comments on her ex-boyfriend. "My ex is a good man... when he shows up. But that bastard shows up as often as rain in Africa." Mal's been stalking them ever since. Another spoonful of yoghurt is devoured. Having unlocked and opened the door, he stands out of the way for Jim and Shelby. He solemnly looks down at the empty plastic cup. All out of delicious. Fuck's sake. A sneer of utter disgust hits his face. Still, he looks up, continuing to watch from behind a shroud of his own making. "It's short for Elas'Weden...land." Is Land the LAST NAME? Jim says it with a savagely straight face anyway, "It's Yemeni for 'bitter medicine', 'cause she had six toes on either foot when she was born." He looks around the apartment as he enters - and naturally, the lovely host /of/ the apartment. Ouf. He sets down the luggage off to one side, "So you from around the island or you from out of state?" "He's lying about the toes thing," Shelby insists. Just the toes thing, mind you. Only that. Uh huh. And though she has not at all assisted Maria or Jim in this undertaking, she breezes by the invisible Mal to scout out the apartment too. Why? Because bare floors are the /best/ for rolling around on. WHAM! The board goes down and she rolls towards the bathroom. "I gotta pee!" the teenager announces. And maybe have a looksee at the medicine cabinets. Maria enters the apartment last. The stride with which she walks in is the trademark seductress walk that belongs to women with legs as long and shapely as hers - the sway of the hips precedes a wild flick of the calf that gracefully sends one lissome leg forward. "Six toes, huh?" Shelby's debunking of the lie causes the Latina to smirk. Then she casually calls out to the skateboarding teen, "Scratch the floor and I'll wrangle your /neck/." Jim gets her full attention. "I come from far south. I am one of them 'illegal aliens'." The brunette approaches the middle-aged man until she stands dangerously close to him. Then, she sighs softly; her lips are parted to make sure her breath lands on his skin. "Thank you /very much/ for helping me with luggages. I--" "Maria?" The echo comes from the hallway. It rings out again. "Maria!" The masculine voice is followed up with steps running up stairs. In the doorway, he appears - Malcolm White. Worn down jeans, plaid dress shirt of navy blue and white, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, aged leather shoes. Respectable enough, yet not very. Feigning a surprise as he sees Jim, he merely murmurs, "Okay." "Remember to /flush/, princess! -- Honey, I'll tell you honestly, /most/ people livin' in this dive're illegal in one way or another," Jim is muttering while he also is shamelessly wandering the parameters of the apartment to check out its layout. It's always eerie to be in another apartment in your own complex; the setups are so similar but all the little differences in kickboard colors and window blinds. He gets to the window and is shoving it up and open while he fishes out a pack of smokes. It's brand new, too - white-clean and for once not crushed from living in his pocket for so long. Which means he has a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth when /Malcom/ makes his debut. "Yo." He says like he LIVES here. (Technically, he does even.) "Lady," Shelby is muttering as she swings the door shut, "the only thing you can wrangle is /cocks/." But she says it quietly because who wants to get thrown out of a bathroom before the indulge? She's not in there long--just long enough for Maria to get cosy with Jim before the toilet flushes and water turns on. It is while she is supposed to be hand-washing that she checks out the medicine cabinet but sadface, nothing is unpacked yet! Boo! The door swings open a moment later and Shelby comes rolling out on her board, shaking her hands and splashing water droplets every which way. She blinks at Malcolm's appearance, then does the same at Jim. "Uh oh! Daddy's come home!" Just like Jim, Malcolm draws a cigarette. Some animals might dance. Some animals might mash their horns together. But the human mating ritual is a little bit more complicated than that. It involves the duel of anything even remotely phallic. In the Middle Ages, it was swords. In modern times, it's often a cigarette. A lighter is languidly drawn from one of his pockets. Slowly and demonstratively, he lights the tip. In the meantime, his illusion - Maria - steps away from Jim. "Mal, where /were/ you, /huh/?" This must be the most elaborate means of talking to yourself. The man draws in a long smoke, shifting his knowing gaze between Jim and Shelby. Eerily enough, he looks at them as if he knows them. Moving the cigarette from his lips, he exhales a puff of smoke as he speaks. "Got delayed." His next words are aimed at Jim. "You help her out? Nice of you." Shelby's next. "What is this, kindergarten?" Mating display set, mating display /returned/ - Jim has a face built like dried out stream bed; deep lines around his eyes that almost seem to relax when he /lets/ them squint, and his indifference to Maria's proximity that becomes indifference to Mal's arrival likely could speak their own message. Measuring out the land between them like a government contractor, "Y'got a problem with my kid?" Yeah, he's going /that/ route, as though he'd forgotten it was a ruse and now it's personal and about FAMILY. "Hey, Eden, you wanna tell this guy which one he can climb up on and spin?" He finishes saying it while blowing smoke up at the ceiling. Fffffff. "...what the hell?" Shelby's lips purse as she goes into full glower mode. The one thing she dislikes most is being reminded of her age. Welcome to bulldog face. "Yeah, sure...the one who's got a /dick/." Which is...apparently the girl? Because Shelby grabs a handle of her crotch and hip thrusts at Malcolm, all without falling off the board. That's some impressive balance there. "Look dude, it's /your/ whore who was coming on to /him/. She doesn't want that kinda attention, maybe she should keep her tits and love taco in baggier clothes," she adds for good measure. Maria steps further aside, shifting her weight on one foot, consequently jutting one of her hips to the sides. With a pout and crossed arms, she remains a spectator. At least, until Shelby insults her. "Hey, lay /off/. Mal, /sweetie/, it's nothing important, they were just leaving." Should Jim look her way, she offers him the most apologetic and doe-eyed look she could muster. Or, well, technically, the sort Mal could muster. The illusionist seems rather detached from the ordeal. He is not very affected by Jim's own display of dominance or Shelby's colourful metaphors. Instead, he steps further into the room, drawing in another lungful of nicotine. After the poison settles in, the marginally less harmful smoke escapes in a plentiful cloud of death along with acidic words. "Yeah, whatever. Mind leaving us two alone? I want to exchange some words with 'er." He pauses to stop just a few feet from Jim; well on his way to Maria, he stops here only to add, "And no, I don't mean beat her or some shit." Jim tosses an arm around Shelby's shoulder - /either/ this is protective, or possibly he's worried Shelby might need shortly to be /restrained/; the kid has a skateboard, that's practically like carrying a built-in weapon. He doesn't precisely lean into Mal when he grows near, but his weight is solid and doesn't move back either. Two magnetic weather fronts prickle between them like static. "Hey, buddy," Jim bops up his eyebrows, "you brought it up, not me." And he then goes for Best Father of the Year award by handing his cigarette to Shelby, to give her something else to do that won't involve him having to get in a fight with a neighbor, and heads for the door, "Nice meetin' you, lady. C'mon, /daughter/." Whups. Jim's arm is not a weight thrown off lightly. Shelby wobbles and then steps off the board, forced to do so by being uh..."protected". She boots the skateboard towards the hallway, where it clatters and collides loudly with the wall, then accepts the cigarette with the air of someone for whom this happens a lot. Truly, Jim is the best dad. "That means he's gonna, huh?" she's saying as she's steered away. Puff, puff. "...kinda sucks he's an asshole, he's cute," she is /also/ saying--thereby proving just /why/ Jim sees it necessary to remove her from the apartment. Teenagers. Malcolm walks in circles. He walks over to his own illusion, and then he turns around to follow Jim and Shelby, although just far enough to close the door. The lock twists and turns and clicks into place as he locks it behind the pair. Back inside, the illusions disperse. The Latina vanishes in the blink of an eye, but the two luggages remain. Drawing in another handful of smoke, he walks over to the windowsill, hopping upward and landing on it to stretch across it sort of like a cat. A window is opened. He leans his head against the crumbling wall, and the cigarette parks between his lips again. Closing his eyes, he inhales oh so deeply. Jim Morgan. Eden. Interesting. Oh /so/ interesting.