ArchivedLogs:Street Meat
| Street Meat | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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2013-03-29 Lucien and Shelby prove they still love each other. |
| Location
<NYC> Harlem | |
Harlem's gritty reputation has become less and less earned over the past decade or so as gentrification has set in. Its reputation as a hub of jazz and culture, however, is still very much earned -- throughout the years Harlem has been renowned for its contributions to music, from its swing dancing and jazz culture back when speakeasies were prevalent to the many hip-hop artists with Harlem roots in modern day. Here is the first proper day of spring, with temperatures in the 50s and a cloudless blue sky overhead. Bright and blissfully cool, it has lured city dwellers from their winter caves. The streets are thronged with people choosing to walk rather than hop on a bus or descend to the subways. Street vendors are taking advantage as well--it seems like every corner boasts a shiny silver cart with striped umbrella or awning, hawking the finest in New York street traditions. Street meat. Halfway between Sinai and the local subway stop, there is a hot dog vendor hailing his product as THE FINEST the city has EVER SEEN. Shelby's fallen for it too. The girl's playing hooky today but it's a day worth playing hooky on, no? Decked out in an Arizona-appropriate sundress, a hoodie, leggings and sneakers, she's looking a little homeless again--though better washed than most. She's also got her guitar strapped to her back /and/ found a skateboard somewhere. Shelby's balancing on the latter now, rocking a little side to side as she exchanges a crumpled fiver for a hot dog loaded with absolutely /everything/. Once it's in her greedy little paws, she dips to push off of the sidewalk and goes rolling along without much care for other pedestrians. Om nom nom nom. Lucien's attention is on his cellphone, frowning thoughtfully down at the screen. He looks casual, today; dark jeans and a red long-sleeved henly shirt, a leather jacket worn open over top. Even with his phone-distraction he navigates the sidewalks with ingrained city-dweller finesse, sidestepping around one person and skirting past the next. Barrelling skateboard, though, is a faster collision-course; he actually looks up at the sound of wheels rolling over pavement, and has the quick choice to make between incoming bike courier rolling up onto the sidewalk and incoming teenager. Skateboarding teen loses out (because, man, do not mess with city bike messengers); he sidesteps into Shelby's path to allow the bicycle room, one hand lifted -- possibly to ward /off/ the impending skateboard collision or possibly just to give it a hard BRAKE. The only sound /worse/ than the rattle of wheels over pavement is the scraping sound of the backboard being dragged over pavement in order to brake. Shelby looks up from contemplating the bliss of hot dog /just/ in time to react. Her weight adjusts, her heel goes back and that godawful sound begins--and ends with her only a foot away from Lucien, board tilted up and aimed at his knees. Blue-green eyes immediately narrow to compensate for the fact that her mouth is full, so she can't swear at him right away for being in her path. Cue a quick chewing and swallowing, tongue sweeping a gob of mustard collected at the corner of her mouth. "...whafuck, dude? People're /traveling/ here, Jesus Christ." "Yes, I could say the same to you." Lucien slips his phone into his pocket, lips pursing as he looks over Shelby. His leg shifts, foot gently /nudging/ the skateboard off at a slight angle, aimed past him now as he skirts around towards the hot dog stand. "Forgive me. Next time I shall be sure to get your permsission before using the sidewalk." "Yeah, but I said it /first/." Which puts Shelby in the right and Lucien in the wrong. Her glaring ramps up a notch when he has the gall to /touch/ her board. A quick hop connects her feet with pavement and she scoops the board up in her left hand, holding it against her hip to keep it safe from contracting cooties or whatever it is she thinks he's going to pass on with contact. Wait, where's he going? The girl's eyebrows sweep up, prelude to mocking. "You're gonna eat /street food/? For real?" she says, cracking a crooked grin. "Y'know they don't keep caviar with the condiments." "I like this stand. And have no taste for caviar. If I want fish, I will eat fish." Lucien slips his wallet from his pocket; he orders an Italian sausage, peppers and onions, spicy mustard. "I /met/ you over hot dogs, Shelby." "Sure, when you were slumming." But Shelby isn't entirely comfortable with replying in snarky fashion--possibly because that fateful meeting also involved Lucien helping her out. With the man occupied, she drops the board again--wham!--and hops onto it, but remains in one place. A little rocking rolls it a few inches this way, a few inches that way, but for the moment she stays that way, nibbling on her own hot dog and giving his back a thoughtful look. "When I was enjoying a pleasant evening with a friend. As I often do." Lucien also gets a coke. He hands over the money, exchanges it for TREATS, and turns back away from the stand, sausage in one hand and soda bottle in the other. "Slumming implies descending below your station. I am not certain the concept can apply to returning to the places you are /from/." There, finally he gives her something solid to work with. Shelby unleashes a snort of teenage disdain. "Sure it does, when you act like you've got a stick up your ass all the time." But most of the bite is taken from this response due to her cheek being full of mashed hot dog, bun and condiments. She chews busily, licking her lips and giving him the sideeye. "You seen Mel lately?" she asks through that jumble of food. Casual. So very casual, that question. Lucien's lips just twitch at her snort. He snags a pair of napkins from the stand, moving to lean against a No Parking sign as he takes his first bite of sausage. His thumb lifts, dabbing mustard away from the corner of his lips and sucking his thumb clean afterwards. "Perhaps I do. It's good practice for work, you know. You have no idea how many things I need to be able to --" He thankfully doesn't finish this sentence. He opens the coke bottle, taking a long swig. "How lately is lately? I have seen her a few times this month." "I /thought/ about asking if maybe you were walking around with a monster plug up there instead but fuck, I'm eating here." Shelby pulls a grimace--then takes another huge bite, appetite undiminished. Oddly enough though, the remark is almost...companionable. Could be the spring sunshine beaming down on them, mellowing her? "Mmph," she mumbles through the mouthful, indicating there is more to come once she finishes chewing. "I dunno, like, past week or so maybe? She could use a spa day," she finally says, giving Mister Moneybags a hard look. "Only some days. /Pain/ costs extra so there are fewer clients whose needs warrant --" Lucien shrugs a shoulder, his neutral-bland tone not particularly leading as to whether this is a serious concern of his or not. Though there's a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Maybe spring /is/ making everyone crazy. His eyebrows raise at the next, though, and he gives Shelby a thoughtful look. "A spa day." His fingers drum against the side of his bottle. "I was thinking of getting theatre tickets soon but if that would be --" He frowns. "Is she alright? It has been a week or more since I saw her." The twinkle is encouragement. "What, it still /hurts/? Popular as you're supposed to be?" Say it isn't so! Shelby scoffs. She /scoffs/. "You're a pretty shitty whore, dude," she quips--because that's totally a quip in her world--before giving a casual 'I don't really care' shrug on the topic of Melinda. It's important to use reverse-psychology of this sort, given their dynamic. "Been kind've a rough week all around, I guess. Just sayin'. Maybe she could use a day of being looked after." "What, sex? I mean, you'd be hard-pressed to find a man /endowed/ well enough to hurt, but if you are talking /fists/ instead, well." Lucien takes another bite of his sausage, lifting it higher to quickly nibble-salvage an onion that threatens to fall off onto the ground. "Mmm." His tone shifts back to bland, concern forcibly pushed from his expression in favour of neutrality. "Looking after people I am good enough at. Perhaps I shall check in." His eyes flick over Shelby in quick appraisal. "-- A rough week /all/ around?" It's neutral, too. Totally not concern there, either. "You'd think enough of those'd stretch you right out," Shelby returns snappily. Booyah! Because, see, she is implying he gets the fist ALL THE TIME. She tosses her hair over her shoulder--narrowly avoiding another mustard incident--and pops the last of her hot dog into her mouth. It ends up immediately tongued into her cheek so she can mumble, "For everyone, yeah. Fuck if /I/ want a spa day though. Stupid hippy bullshit, hot rocks and mud. They got that shit out at the school." Where she is not, let it be noted for the court. "Don't see me rolling around on the ground and paying for it." "You'd think. Bodies are remarkably resilient, though, they return fairly quickly to -- more or less their default state. Otherwise I imagine BDSM would be a /lot/ more risky of a venture." Lucien's eyes return to Shelby, thoughtful. "Where /do/ you take your relaxation?" "Bet you still charge the premium though." Shelby busily wipes her hands off on the folds of her skirt, unconcerned with things such as napkins. Then, with her hands free, she has the necessary balance to begin some standing in place tricks on the board she's still standing on. One end pops up again and somehow she contrives a standing in place spin, making that horrible grating sound again. "With my boyfriend," she says casually, "until government fuckers had CPS scoop him up and take him away from school." "I charge quite a lot for time in the dungeon." Lucien rolls a shoulder in a lazy shrug, and watches Shelby with his brow slowly furrowing and jaw tightening slightly at that grating noise. He takes another bite, and by the time he's through the frown in his expression has solidified. "CPS. Your boyfriend. Was there something wrong with his home?" Shelby is good at that--concern was bound to only last for so long before being replaced by frowns. With more feet adjustments, the board smacks against the pavement--crack! whap! bam!--and she is doing half-hearted Ollies against the curb. "Nah, he just pissed off the right people. His dad did. So now Bastian'n'Shane are in some shitty foster home. /Another/ one. They keep getting moved." "Oh -- /oh/." Now Lucien's eyebrows raise in clear surprise. "/You/ are dating --" He sounds a little puzzled, here: "I thought Shane was gay." He lifts his soda, takes another deep gulp. "I heard about the twins. From them and then from the news. It certainly sounds like he did /something/ right." This is a little dry, though. "The children's services people are remarkably incompetent. They never fail to live down to my expectations in /that/ regard. It is surely a productive use of their time to take children from clearly capable loving homes while so many still wallow in --" His lips press together again. Thin. "Ones that are not. Surely they'll be returned soon, though. After Osborn's media stunt. And after last night their father is a hero once /over/ again." "/Sebastian/, asshole," Shelby says with a practiced roll of her eyes. "And /he/ asked /me/ out in case you were wondering." So he can take that surprise and shove it where the fists go! A short hop sends her wobbling from curb to gutter. Then, at least, she takes a break from trying to give Lucien a headache. With noise, anyway. "Maybe. I guess Shane's pretty depressed, he's acting all weird and like...I dunno." An odd expression flickers across her face at mention of the party last night. It /almost/ looks as if she's uncomfortable at the...memory? "Sebastian?" This earns a more startled look. "But he's --" Lucien shakes his head, /biting/ this thought back in another bite of his sausage. A little bit of the tension in his expression eases as she stops her grating, but not /much/. "Mmm. I can't imagine their situation is enjoyable. My sister says they refuse to even be -- seen." He looks a little puzzled, at her expression. "-- Well. A hero to some standards. Whether saving /Norman Osborn/ qualifies or not is a matter of dispute." "Shane won't. S'hard to get Bastian away when he's like that too," Shelby admits with a grimace of unhappy. "He didn't even want the Slim Jims I got him." Her head bobs down and her hair swings forward, doing an excellent job of hiding her face. "Jax should've let him get fried," she opines, poking at the curb with the toe of her sneaker. "Wouldn't've been hard, all that shit going down there." "They are quite close." Lucien finishes his sausage, licking mustard from his fingertips and then wiping his hands against a napkin. He crumples it up to hold in the palm of his hand. "I cannot say it would have been a great loss to the world if he had," he muses, and then, a little more amused: "All the shit going down there? Did you read the papers?" Perhaps the idea of Shelby reading the news entertains him. It /is/ an amusing thought, isn't it? Especially since the question earns him another eyerolling and a look that translates to 'what are you, /stupid/?'. Subtle, Shelby is not. "Nah." But then she leaves it at that, perhaps having sharpened her skills as a tease--or just learned sometimes it's better to keep her mouth shut. Oh wait, no, that'll never happen! "I was /there/, dude. When the wall went down, it was like, holy shit!" "/I/ was there," Lucien says dryly, with a lift of his eyebrows, "/you/ were not. Although that is a fairly accurate summation of what happened when the wall collapsed." "Maybe you didn't recognize me, all dressed up," Shelby retorts. A smug little smile pulls at her lips. She has a secret and she's not telling! "Not fucking surprised /you'd/ be there. All those rich assholes. You pull any quickies in the bathroom?" she inquires, switching to wide-eyed and earnest. "Does rich cock taste better than street cock?" "I work for the Hellfire Club," Lucien's answer is blandly amused, as he looks Shelby over. "I was there working, and not in a sexual capacity. If you had been there, I would have known. You are a hard person to miss." "Hey now," Shelby warns him with that look, popping a finger up in emphasis, "eyes off, dude. I'm /spoken/ for and my boyfriend's got /teeth/." Man, she really likes being able to say that. Her grin appears immediately thereafter. "I'm just sayin', maybe you're not as good as you think you are. I was totally there. You were standing with some chick all in white, huh? Looked like she was applying to be your wife and had the wedding all planned out." Lucien's eyes narrow on Shelby. "I am exactly as good as I think I am," he says, slowly, "but the woman who planned the event is good, too. You were not there because you are a disaster waiting to happen and she is not stupid enough to have put you on the list." He is pulling his phone out again, now, kind of idly flicking it on to -- something. He is tapping at its screen quickly. Narrowed eyes only make the grin deeper. Shelby is dimpling at him now, though it's hard to see because freckles. "You just go on thinking that," she smugs. "Was that her? The blonde you were feeding strawberries to?"
"Yes," Lucien answers, mildly. He finishes tapping at his phone, and takes another drink of soda. "Do you even /own/ an evening gown, Shelby." "Not bad. You guys make a cute couple. All blond'n'shit. Bet you'd make pretty babies." Shelby pushes her left foot down on the heel of the board, flipping the front up onto the curb. Then she poses like a pirate, one knee up, hands on her hips. Tah dah! "I got lots've clothes now. The school shelled out for them. Gotta be ready for the red carpets when I'm famous, right?" Lucien's lips press together thinly, a muscle tightening in his cheek. He slides the phone back into his jacket pocket. "Mm. I suppose. The Grammies /would/ be more your scene. Nobody expects musicians to /have/ manners." Shelby treats him to another grin. "Damn straight. What's the matter, Lucien? Don't like babies? Or don't like /her/? She did look kinda snooty but I figured stuck up bitches were totally up your alley, huh?" Another shift of balance and zoop, she's got the front of board mostly balanced on the edge of the curb, leaving the back to wobble over the ground. "You are quite hung up on this woman," Lucien murmurs, his eyebrows raising. "If I didn't know better I would think you were jealous." He takes another gulp of his soda, glancing down the street back towards the hospital. That tension that had faded returns, now. "Unfortunately, I do know better. You just can't resist an opportunity to be obnoxious." "Almost," Shelby responds. "I can't resist being obnoxious at /you/. C'mon, admit it. I'm totally good at pushing your buttons." And just as incapable letting something go, when she feels as if she has the upper hand. With a shift and a twist, the board is popped back up onto the sidewalk before she brakes again. His glance towards the hospital is followed and that, at least, seems to soften the brat impulse. "Matt in there?" "Sadly, no. I have many buttons. Your aim at them is terrible." Lucien's lips press together, slightly, his head shaking. "Matt is -- at a different hospital," he admits, and this sounds both wry and a little tired. "A -- friend. Last night --" He shrugs, gesturing towards the hospital building. "The universe just seems to be conspiring to make sure I get my /full/ quota of disinfectant-smells and terrible vending-machine food." Really, the hot dog stand is a step /up/. "Oh." Kind of a lacklustre response from Shelby but he's swung her off of the antagonism pedestal. For now. She rolls back and forth on the board, studying the distant building, then swings a look back towards Lucien. "The dark lady...?" The teenager considers for a moment. And then? A shrug. "That's karma, dude. Hope your friend gets better, anyway." That sounds like a parting statement and indeed, it proves to be one. She dips, braces a foot except the ground and pushes off to begin rolling down the sidewalk.
Lucien's eyes narrow. He slips his phone back out of his pocket as it buzzes, and whatever it says there makes his eyes narrow /further/. The look he shifts from its screen to Shelby is more puzzled than anything else, as he taps a brief message in return. He does not answer her question. Just caps his soda bottle and turns back towards the hospital, tossing his crumpled napkin into a bin as he hurries off. | |
