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Post by muder on May 14, 2009 16:40:22 GMT -5
<new day>
She had been away too long. But..really, had it been? Chicago had been an interesting place...but it hadn't been home. No..not far. Daddy had sent her away..to breed a bit of lady into the girl. Not that it really worked. She was still all snark, fire, anger.
She wondered if Lucas even missed her. She doubted it. She sat down in the sand, staring out at the water, the wind rustling her blonde hair as she smiled softly. She always enjoyed this time of year in New York. Not too hot...but just enough to make her feel alive again, after the dead of winter.
She was going to be in power soon, once she turned 19. And amazingly, that wasn't too far away.
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Post by Jim Turner on May 16, 2009 13:20:28 GMT -5
Jim was seated on a nearby cluster of rocks that were perfectly arranged to allow him to sit comfortably. He leaned back with an arm behind his head as he used the other to occasionally bring his cigarette to his lips.
As the girl approached he groaned inwardly. If the past few months were any indication, he would end up being forced to leave the comfort of the rocks to flee the incessant chatty nature he was starting to believe was genetic in all women. Heaving a sigh he kept his mouth shut, taking a drag on his cigarette as he examined her from behind-- he was always torn between testosterone and annoyance.
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Post by muder on May 16, 2009 18:53:50 GMT -5
Heather sniffed the air, smelling the cigarette smoke. She turned her head, looking up and down at the man on the rocks, quirking an eyebrow. It was hard to tell if she was sizing him up out of attraction or distaste--or something much more..primal. That of a mafia daughter judging if he was any sort of threat.
Pulling out her own cigarette she came closer, smirking, her face betraying nothing. "Do you have a light?"
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Post by Jim Turner on May 17, 2009 13:30:23 GMT -5
Jim didn't look away when she turned around, but shifted slightly, uncomfortable under her unreadable gaze.
"Do you have a light?"
As she stood up and came closer her took a long drag, blowing out a puff of smoke before reaching out and taking her cigarette. He'd used the last of his matches lighting his own, so he instead put the two ends together he inhaled a few puffs from hers and got it to light before handing it back.
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Post by muder on May 17, 2009 15:56:21 GMT -5
"Thanks." Heather smirked and took the cigarette from him, brushing her fingers against his accidentally before putting it to her lips, taking a long drag. She let out a happy sigh, before moving slightly away from him. She wasn't quite sure if there was any reason to even talk to him.
She had said thanks, that was enough, right? However, she snorted. Might as well find out what new meat was here, anyways.
"New?"
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Post by Jim Turner on May 18, 2009 14:02:33 GMT -5
Jim watched her closely as she took it from him, gauging her. He hadn't come in contact with many women like her; cool, calculating, and most importantly, not all together annoying.
At her question he shook his head, exhaling a cloud of smoke before responding. "Not really." He thought a moment of continuing the conversation, after all, the situation thus far hadn't been torturous. He gave in, glancing up at her. "You?"
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Post by muder on May 18, 2009 15:52:39 GMT -5
Heather rolled her eyes, but smirked just the same. Oh she liked his attitude. And ability not to blather on. She took another drag off her cigarette, looking over at him for a moment, her eyes meeting his before looking out at the water.
"Just...coming back home, really. Been away for a bit." Had to get away. Lucas was gone...gone with the wind. She had the responsibilities now of a mob-daughter, and she needed to step up and take them. The time to be a little petchulant brat was over.
"You got a name?"
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Post by Jim Turner on May 18, 2009 22:23:34 GMT -5
Much to Jim's surprise she was, well, brief. At her response he nodded slightly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "I only got back a few months ago," he took another drag, "Boston aint no New York though, ya know?" He'd gotten his start working docks in Boston, but it's also where the last of his family died, and he couldn't get out of there fast enough. Offering up information, however useless it was, without being asked directly was something Jim didn't do often-- apparently this was him being social.
"You got a name?"
He smirked, watching her expression curiously as she gazed at the ocean. "Jim," He wiped a hand on his pants before extending it to her. "An' you are?"
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Post by muder on May 19, 2009 17:10:05 GMT -5
"And it ain't Chicago, either," She countered, countering his own offer of information. She took a drag, looking back at him, "Heather."
She wasn't up for offering up her last name to many people--let alone strangers, no matter how interesting and not-annoying they were. Lucky lucky Jim.
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Post by Jim Turner on May 19, 2009 21:58:35 GMT -5
He nodded when she gave her name, continuing their discourse with a question. "Well Heather, what's a girl like you doin' wanderin' New York alone?" It wasn't that he cared, he was simply being uncharacteristically loquacious. He didn't even look at her as he spoke, instead focusing his bored gaze on a large ship docking in the distance.
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Post by bunky on May 26, 2009 10:48:45 GMT -5
((NEW DAY))
Piper decided to go to the beach for the day. She was halfway done with her paper selling and how she wanted a little break to get some stress out of her system, and where else to get stress out of the way than at the beach. She heard that Orchard Beach was a nice place to go if you like the sights, and since she's never been there before, she'll see if they were right.
She walked along the beach with her pants rolled up above her ankles and boots in hand. THe rest of her papers were folded and under her left arm as she looked out onto the water.
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Post by Lord Byron Hastings on May 26, 2009 19:48:45 GMT -5
Lord Byron had been tired of working, so he had decided that he would head down to the beach and relax, maybe write a little. He took his shoes off, set them off to the side, and sat down on the shore. Then he took out an old journal and a pencil. He stared off at the horizon of the water to think. Out of the corner of his eye he had caught some movement. Byron looked to his right and caught sight of a red-haired girl with her pant legs rolled up and a stack of papers under her arm. Looked like someone had the same idea as him... Byron wasn't a rude person, he was actually quite friendly but he had trouble initiating a conversation. So, he looked down at his journal and closed his eyes, to think of what he wanted to write...
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Post by bunky on May 26, 2009 22:40:48 GMT -5
Piper saw someone look over at her direction and then back into his journal. He looked like he was a poet or writer. It was hard to explain but a artist of some field would have a calm look to them, simple and creative as they would work on the creation at hand. In this man's case, in his journal.
She looked back in front of her and placed her boots and papers down next to her on the shore. She took a rock in her hand form the flow beneath her and she threw it sideways, seeing it skip along the water. She smiled, something Piper learned from her fellow Newsies.
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Post by Lord Byron Hastings on May 27, 2009 21:21:32 GMT -5
She took a rock in her hand form the flow beneath her and she threw it sideways, seeing it skip along the water.
Byron watched the girl out of the corner of his eye, so it didn't seem like he was staring. He watched her pick up the stone, feel it it her hand, and then toss it along the surface of the water. "Nice throw." He had thought he whispered to himself but when the girl looked over at him, he realized he had said it out loud. Out of politeness, and because he was caught watching her, he gave her a small smile and instead of tipping a hat (because he wore none), he gave her a slight nod, which he was taught as a kid, an English gentleman did...
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Post by bunky on May 27, 2009 23:02:53 GMT -5
"Nice Throw"
Piper looked over at her shoulder it was the boy again with his journal. he gave her a short nod and she smiled at him, seeing how he was proper to her. He must of been taught with gentlemen like ways, typical for a English lad. She walked over slightly and cocked her head to the side.
"I take it you're from England then?" She asked in her thick SCottish and Manhattan mixed accent. She knew most boys from around here weren't that polite and only boys from England were proper, well the kind of proper the boy produced.
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