ArchivedLogs:Pleasant and Strange

Pleasant and Strange
Dramatis Personae Micah, Doug	1 May 2013 Micah has serious ADD. Doug...had a phone call from Osborn???
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. It has been a pleasant day, full of sunshine and early Spring breezes! There is a Micah tucked into a ring-sitting position on the floor, elbows braced on knees, and trunk stretched forward so that his chin /just/ rests on the tips of steepled fingers. He has his face pressed close to one of the front windows, watching /something/, as the reddish light of sunset burnishes his auburn hair in ruddier tones. A green canvas jacket covers his back and faded, patched jeans his legs. His messenger bag rests on the floor beside him. It /has/ been a pleasant day, judging from the way Doug approaches the building from outside. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt under his denim jacket and Converse sneakers with the Superman shield on the outside ankles. He's got a wide smile on his face, and he's clearly singing along to whatever is coming through the buds in his ears as he skips up the short set of stairs, laptop bag bouncing against his hip. He keeps singing as he swipes the keycard and pushes the door open, sweeping his arm out in a very Broadway-like fashion as he swings in the door and grins at Micah. "The lovers, the dreamers, and meeeee! Da da da do da de do. Da da da da da de do da daaaaa....!" Well, /that/ is finally enough to drag Micah’s attention away from the little ladybug he had been watching trundle along the windowpane. He straightens himself up enough to offer Doug a bright smile in greeting. “Someone is channelling his inner Kermie,” he observes with a chuckle, though he is not certain that he can be heard over the ear buds. Doug grins, and lifts a shoulder. "It's been an /awesome/ day," he says, pulling the ear buds out. "I aced a test, I got an A on my Econ paper, and I just came from coffee with a guy who was pretty cute and really cool." The high points are ticked off on his fingers as he fishes out his keyring and approaches the mailboxes. "How has your day been?" he asks, opening his mailbox and sorting through the envelopes inside. Some are tossed into the recycling bin; others are tucked into a pocket of his laptop bag. One is kept out, though, clasped between the index and middle finger of Doug's left hand. "You waiting for Jax?" Doug’s chipper mood pulls Micah’s smile wider. “That is all good news. Mine was good, as well. Mostly work-ful. Wednesdays are orthopaedics clinic days, which are whirlwinds of busy.” He pulls himself up off of the floor to avoid the awkward neck-craning required to make eye contact from his current position. He has a powder blue Totoro face T-shirt on under his open jacket. “Ohno, not waitin’. Just passin’ through…and got distracted.” His eyes track sidewise to the ladybug, still crawling on its merry way along the glass. "You got distracted enough to sit on the floor?" Doug is amused by this; his eyes crinkling merrily as he looks at the window. It takes him a minute to find the ladybug in its determined crawl. "That must have been some distraction." It's a light tease as he taps the envelope against his leg in a thoughtful sort of manner. "What does that mean? Orthopaedic clinc? Is that where you set up shop, and people come to you, instead of the usual way 'round?" "I get distracted easily?" Micah replies with a shy sort of grin, a hand brushing at his hair...distractedly. "An' I spend an awful lot of time on the floor. Sorta habit at this point." He retrieves his messenger bag from the floor, as well, slinging the strap crosswise over his torso. "It's where two orthopods hold their outpatient clinics on the same day in the same hospital, with all of the nurses and therapists and other team members needed to get things done for their patients. I set up in the splinting and casting room and take care of...measuring for new splints or repairing braces or adjusting wheelchairs. Just about everybody needs somethin'-or-other done for their equipment when they come in." "That attention span must serve you well, in the medical field," Doug teases, sliding the envelope into the pocket with the others. The explanation gets a wide grin. "Oh, hey, that's cool!" he says. "Many hands and all that, right?" He grins, and rakes a hand through his hair. "And having the hospital staff is probably a huge bonus, too." He bounces on his toes for a moment, and looks out the window. Or maybe he's watching the ladybug. "So, where are you headed, now?" “It does! People always want you doin’ a half dozen things at a time. Handy if y’can actually juggle most of ‘em at once.” Micah adjusts the strap a bit for comfort. “The facilities are nice. An’ it’s good havin’ a whole team workin’ on things in one place, yeah.” His eyes wander up the stairs. “I was gonna head up eventually? Maybe pester people. Whoever’s home…” Actual plans? Who needs those? Doug nods. "Well, you're welcome to come up and hang at my place," he says, tucking his thumb into his laptop strap and nodding at the elevator. "I was going to order some Chinese food and celebrate an awesome day by watching a movie." He tips his head to one side, and grins mischeviously. "And I can tell you about my strange weekend." He nods. "I promise not to go all teenager on you about it. Unless we're playing video games. Then I reserve the right to bitch profusely if I'm losing." Micah is intrigued! You can tell by the way his eyebrows both cliiimb upward. “Chinese and…strange weekends?” he pulls out the ‘a’ in ‘strange’ like he is hosting a spooky kids’ show. “Y’got yourself an impromptu house guest.” He puffs air through his nose in an almost-snort. “That’s what y’gotta do when you’re losin’. If applied properly, a good kvetch can really turn your game around.” "Well, I don't know that the whole /weekend/ counts as strange," Doug amends as he swipes the card to call the elevator. "But Saturday night was a wild one. And I don't really remember much of /Sunday/, but I woke up on the roof with a wicked hangover and only in my shorts, so I hope whatever happened was at least /good/." There's a ping, and the elevator doors slide open. Doug places a hand against them to hold them open. "But the phone call was the best part. Remember how we were laughing about Norman Osborn the other day?" “Strange Saturday can be interestin’ enough as a stand-alone,” Micah contends with an amused look…that melts into concern. “Drunken passin’ out…not in your home, an’ not with people you trust… That’s kinda a heap o’ bad plan there, Doug.” He’s not /lecturing/, just /concerned/, as he slips into the elevator behind Doug. His eyebrows are getting quite the workout at the mention of Osborn. “Yes?” "Oh, I woke up on the roof," Doug says as he steps in and lets the doors slide close. "So I don't think I was in any real /danger/. But it was cold and uncomfortable, and made going to class on Monday a literal pain in the ass." He grins, and punches the button for five. "I actually got a call from him on Saturday night," he says of Osborn. "Which is strange, because I barely know the man. I think I've had to sit with his kid at an event or two, but I've maybe said fourteen words to him in the whole time my family's known his." He waggles fingers. "But, it was also /not/ strange, because he was asking me about the break-in at my dad's lab a couple of weeks ago." He wrinkles his nose. "Which makes it even stranger." “It’s outside and high up and semi-public,” Micah argues gently, his lips quirking off to one side for a moment. But he doesn’t push the matter. “That…is odd. I guess…maybe he was lookin’ for info. and thought youngfolk would be more prone to gum-flappin’ about things? ‘Specially if he could catch ‘em off-guard?” "Maaybe," Doug's answer is slow and drawn-out. "But I have a fuzzy memory of talking to my friend Eric, and he's a cop, so I was probably safe enough if he left me there in that state." There's something wrong with that though, and it flickers across his face for a moment. Then he's wrinkling his nose. "I think he thought I was a suspect," he says. "Because they haven't found anything. But I'd already talked to the FBI and the Homeland Security guys, and was cleared. So now I've got to have a meeting with his security tomorrow, and answer /their/ questions." He watches the floors change in silence for a moment. "I think he might have also offered me a job." "Hm," serves as Micah's wordless reply to the implication of inherent good judgement from police officers. "He... Why would he offer you a job if he thought y'were a security risk? Was this...a job-threat? Like Doom and your questiony-girl?" Because it is a fine line between threatening employment and bodily harm...after all...maybe? Doug scrunches his nose again. "Hmm. Good question. He seemed nice enough, so I think it was a legitimate offer, but it's probably a ploy to get inside my dad's head." He smiles, and rolls his eyes in Micah's direction. "My mom and dad would /crap/ themselves with glee if they thought Norman Osborn was showing any kind of interest in me and my abilities." He holds up a finger. "My /computer/ abilities," he amends. "But I could see him doing it to find out what my dad was doing for the government and some of the other companies he researches for." Did Doug just refer to Osborn as ‘nice’? “Ugh.” Micah does some nose-crinkling of his own, by way of voicing his opinion of the whole Osborn employment issue. “Not that y’asked, but I would stay /far/ away from all that were I you. On /top/ of the ridiculous levels of Creep Factor wafting off Osborn… Isn’t good to put yourself in a position to get played as a pawn. Or where you’re pretty much guaranteed to have your loyalties divided.” "Oh, don't worry about me," Doug says as the elevator comes to a stop. "I have no intention of working for Oscorp. I've already got my application in for an internship at Stark Industries next summer." He holds up crossed fingers as he holds the door open. "The fates willing, I'll be working there, and my loyalities won't be tested at all." He shrugs. "Not that Osborn could test them all /that/ much. I grew up around men like that. He wouldn't get anything out of me /that/ easily." It's said with the total bravado of the eighteen year old. "But it's probably better not to take chances, anyway." He motions down the hall. "So, which movie do you want to see? I've got the first Hobbit film, or I've actually got Cabaret up there. It came in on Monday." The talk the rest of the way to his door is in a similar vein. And that is the end of discussing Norman Osborn for the evening. The rest will be spent in geek idleness, with plenty of Chinese food and (surprise) some Pinkberry Doug had squirreled away in his fridge. A pleasant day /indeed/.