ArchivedLogs:Value and Worth

Value and Worth
Dramatis Personae Doug, Lucien
In Absentia	2013-01-27 '
Location <NYC> Sweat - Greenwich Village
An apropos name; it is hard to escape the smell, when visiting this fitness club. Open twenty-four hours, this facility comes equipped with all the bells and whistles for those who want to train hard. All the standard gym equipment can be found and then some. In addition to private personal trainers, there are group classes in all sorts of things, from bicycling to crossfit to yoga to martial arts to more esoteric fare such as pole dancing and dodgeball. An olympic-sized pool makes this a popular draw, and the sauna rooms by each locker room are nice spots to unwind after a heavy workout. It's late enough that the after-work gym crowd is /kind/ of winding down, though with this club open twenty-four seven it never winds down all that /much/. There's treadmills occupied, one last yoga class finishing up for the night, a group of women spotting each other at the weights, a group of men swapping stories by the rowing machines. The pool is largely unoccupied, save one young man pulling through the water with sure strokes who has been there quite some time now; after one final lap he pulls himself out of the water, heading out instead to the men's locker room in flip-flops. He brings with him the sharp tang of chlorine largely obscuring the muskier one of sweat, heading to a locker to swipe a combination open and tuck his goggles and swimcap inside. Sometimes, a late work out is all a fellow can manage, between classes and outside projects. And it is such a fellow who occupies the locker room when the swimmer enters. Dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans with an athletic bag at his feet, the blonde stands in front of a locker, a slip of paper in hand as he works the combination lock with a twist of frustration to his mouth. He glances up when the other young man enters, but flicks his gaze to the number on the locker immediately after to check it against his slip. Another attempt at the combination proves fruitless, and the blonde rests his head against the door of the locker with a small sigh. "Is there a trick to opening these?" he asks the other man, looking over with a wry smile. "I mean other than being smarter than the lock, which I apparently fail at?" Lucien is moving to the end of the row of lockers to take a towel from a stack of fresh ones, but he glances back with a slight twitch of smile at the question. "Be smarter than the lock," he answers, a soft francophone twinge accenting his baritone. He sheds his dripping swimsuit to wind towel around his waist instead and, hanging the suit on the inside of his own locker door, glances to the slip of paper and then holds his hand out. Fingers beckoning. Gimme. "Damn. I knew it would be that," Doug says with a chuckle. An accent catches his ear, though, and he watches the other man carefully, as if waiting for more linguistic clues. He doesn't flinch as the other man sheds his suit; it is a locker room, after all. When beckoned, the slip of paper is surrendered readily, and he offers the man a wide, grateful grin. "Thanks," he says. "I really appreciate this." He leans against the locker, then, switching his gaze between man and lock. "I'm Doug." "Lucien," the other man answers in a touch of a distracted tone, glancing to the paper and then to the lock. He spins the dial, spins it again, spins it back. And back. His jaw tightens a little bit as he tugs, then tugs /harder/; the lock finally surrenders with a tiny grunt of breath from Lucien. "Sometimes," he says, a little wryly, handing back the paper, "you just have to show them who's boss. Are you new here?" Doug makes a relieved noise when the lock finally surrenders, and offers a wide grin to his samaritan. "Oh, man. Thanks." He takes the paper back, and tucks it into his pocket as he pulls his bag in front of the locker and crouches to unzip it. "I'm fairly new," he says. "I just started my first term at Columbia. I've lived in the neighborhood a couple of weeks." He grins. "What about you? Your accent doesn't exactly scream native, either." He pulls off his shirt, and tosses it in the locker. "Have you lived here long?" "Columbia. A smart one." There is something a little wry in the twitch of Lucien's smile. He moves to shut his own locker, leaning back against it with his bright green eyes raking briefly over the other man. "What are you planning to study?" The question draws his eyes upwards, and he rolls one shoulder in a shrug. "Long enough," might be accented like native Québécois but its cynically /weary/ edge is New York through and through. "I do my best," Doug quips as he unbuttons his jeans and lets them slide to the floor. "I'm planning on majoring in Computer Science, with a minor in Business," he says as he fishes a pair of red soccer shorts out and slips them on, wriggling his hips slightly to get them settled. There's a bit of silence as he finds a yellow t-shirt and puts it on, and he quirks a half-smile at Lucien, turning around finally. "The city's lost some of its charm, yeah?" His tone is sympathetic, and he fishes out socks and shoes, holding them loosely in his fingers as he regards the other man. His brow furrows slightly. "What do you do, if you don't mind my asking? Are you a student, too?" "That," Lucien says, amusement curling upwards at his lips, "assumes the city had any charm to begin with. Where do you hail from? I suppose there are /less/ charming places. Some might find it appealing." The smile dims slightly at the question, and his eyes tip upwards. "No, not generally," he says, "though often a teacher." "I don't know," Doug says, tying his shoes. "It's got a certain kind of gritty charm, in places. The nicer areas kind of lack any heart, though." He lifts his chin to flash a toothy smile at the other man before straightening. "I'm from all over," he says, and puts his bag and street shoes in the locker. "Well, I guess technically, I moved to the city from Westchester." He wrinkles his nose. "My family moved around a lot, but Westchester is where we've been for the last seven years or so." His grin falters as Lucien's dims, and he purses his lips as he busies himself with taking off his watch and dropping it in a shoe. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry." "Does Westchester have heart?" Lucien is still studying the ceiling, his voice quiet and a little distant. "What makes a place have heart? New York /has/ one, I think. Big one. It's just a little twisted." He tilts his head back down, smile curling again as his head shakes, once. "Pry? 'What do you do' is sort of the staple of conversation-with-strangers in this society." Nevermind that he hasn't answered it. "Find out how a man earns his coin and it seems you know the most important thing about him." "I don't know that Westchester has any more or less heart than New York," Doug says, almost closing the locker before he swings it back open and fishes in his jeans. "I guess it all depends on the people in the area being spoken of, right?" He grins, and pulls out the slip of paper, tucking it in his shoe outside the sock. "Well, that's true," he says. "But you kind of looked like it was one of those questions that you'd rather not be asked." He winks, and lifts a shoulder. "And I'm not one to try and worry information out of someone." He wrinkles his nose, and frowns. "/Is/ a man's job a good measure of what's important about him, though?" He raises a hand. "A janitor could be a brilliant poet, and he would say that poetry was the most important thing about himself, not mopping floors." "Is it?" Lucien crosses his arms loosely over his chest. Watching Doug. Watching a man emerge from one of the nearby showers. Watching water drip slowly off its curtain. "Society seems to think so. We are what we earn. I don't mind the question. It's a common one." "I think society places too much emphasis on worth, and not enough on value," Doug says, countering his kind-of-bitter tone with a bright smile. "That's not to say that I don't hope to have enormous worth. But I hope that I can retain something of my value in the process." He closes his locker, then, and spins the dial before he turns to face Lucien. "You don't mind the question, but you don't answer it, either," he says in a teasing tone. "It's not something mob-related or something, is it?" His eyes widen in mock fear. "Don't tell me if it is. I have a test on Tuesday. I can't afford to get myself whacked." "What value do you have now?" It's not a sarcastic question; Lucien asks this with absent curiosity, turning his gaze to look back over the other man slowly. "Hey. On the other hand. Getting killed by the mob would be a foolproof /excuse/ for missing your test. Silver lining." The question catches Doug flat-footed, and he gives Lucien a helpless stare before he laughs. "You know, that's a good question. Maybe it's not a question of /losing/ value as you gain worth, but increasing both equally." He wrinkles his nose. "Ugh. That sounds like an after-school special, doesn't it?" The suggestion gets another laugh, and the freshman shakes his head. "I don't know how foolproof a plan it'd be. My folks would almost certainly have to invite my professor to the funeral just to merit a makeup test." He grins, and tilts his head. "And you /still/ avoid answering me," he notes idly as he steps out into the aisle. "Must be something really good or really bad." "It's probably a good goal, to try and increase both throughout life. Though I think a good number of people focus on one to the detriment of the other." Lucien's mouth twitches up into a smile, amused. "Makeup test? Does Columbia grant degrees to corpses? Zombies? I did not think they were /that/ progressive." He steps away from the lockers, too, though only to move down the short way to the showers, tugging the curtain back from one of them. "Neither," he says, back to Doug as he shrugs. "I am a whore. It's the oldest profession there is." "They're a very liberal school," Doug deadpans. "But the science department is top-notch." His mouth twitches, although it freezes at the revelation of Lucien's profession. There's no readable emotion on his face, until he smiles and shrugs. "Hey, if it pays the bills, right?" He grins, and lifts a hand as he heads for the door. "I'd better get to my workout before my roommate thinks I'm lying dead behind the pizza place. It was nice meeting you." He pauses in the doorway, looking back at the other man and letting his eyes take in the whole view of Lucien, briefly. "If you're in the neighborhood a lot, I'm sure we'll see each other again. Hopefully." He offers another wave before he's turning away. "Enjoy your shower!" "Ivy League. I do not doubt it." Lucien is turning his shower on, waiting for it to get hot. He turns, though with Doug turning away as well his parting smile is delivered to the other man's back. "Some pizza places around here, I would not doubt it, /either/. Good-night."