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Post by Tate Potter on Nov 19, 2008 23:23:24 GMT -5
Tate was actually looking for Danny, it was getting colder and she had to admit she was worried about him. The girl always looked like she belonged anywhere but Brooklyn, her hair was in ringlet curls under a fuzzy hat that was keeping her ears warm and she wore a plaid coat that would probably get stollen off of her if she wasn't careful. And then there was the muff that was keeping her hands warm. A smile broke out when she saw Danny. "Danny!! I was looking for you!" she had the basket she had promised him some bread last time. Before her-- accident. she was grinning at him and her cheeks were pink and she looked as she always did. Happy. Even with the cold.
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Post by Danny Hughes on Nov 19, 2008 23:40:21 GMT -5
"Born there and brought here as a wee lass. The name's Piper."
Danny nodded, resting his elbows back on the picnic table and blowing a puff of smoke away from her general direction. "Well it's nice to meet you Piper, name's Danny, I'm from Aberdeen myself." He'd been around New York long enough to pick up the accent, and found his own accent quickly diminishing. Glancing out at the various passers by he a double take as he noticed a particular girl headed their way.
"Danny!! I was looking for you!"
He couldn't help but grin at Tate appearance, her seemingly endless joy always having that effect on him. Sitting forward he returned his elbows to his knees as he looked up at her. "What are you doin' here in Brooklyn Ms. Potter?" He smiled as he spoke, but at the same time he became more aware of their surroundings, glancing around at the various shady folks that spent their days in the Brooklyn park.
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Post by bunky on Nov 20, 2008 0:10:32 GMT -5
Piper was about to reply when she saw a girl running over to Danny. Piper looked back at her hand and examined it some more. Maybe she should of kicked him the punched him, it would of done less damage then what she wanted. She hated acting before thinking, so kept to herself on the bench and tried to figure put what else to do next.
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Post by Tate Potter on Nov 20, 2008 19:22:31 GMT -5
"What are you doin' here in Brooklyn Ms. Potter?"
She stuck her tongue out in a humorous manner, the joy still as plain as day on her face even with the chill, "Ms. Potter, Ms. Potter-- don't call me Ms. Potter, Danny. You know my name.. " she was still smiling when she said it though, she was jesting but he knew her name well enough and Ms. Potter made her feel a bit like they weren't friends. Still smiling she held out the basket, "The bread I promised.."
Her head turned to the girl and she smiled, "Hello there! Are you a friend of Danny's?"
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Post by Danny Hughes on Nov 21, 2008 21:00:34 GMT -5
He grinned at her correction, he enjoyed calling her Ms. Potter if only for her reaction. Eyeing the basket she held out he raised an eyebrow, lifting the cloth to peer inside.
"The bread I promised.."
"Right, I'd forgotten about that," He continued to smile as he looked up at her, but tilted his head in such a way that displayed the slightest hint of disapproval. "You didn't need to bring it here Tate," He glanced around resting his cigarette between his lips. "Aint safe."
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Post by Tate Potter on Nov 27, 2008 3:37:36 GMT -5
(Piper if you want to post again just jump in)
"Right, I'd forgotten about that," He continued to smile as he looked up at her, but tilted his head in such a way that displayed the slightest hint of disapproval. "You didn't need to bring it here Tate," He glanced around resting his cigarette between his lips. "Aint safe."
She was still grinning at him, it seemed to brightened when he smiled, though her head shifted as the look of disapproval crossed his face for only a moment.
"Well can ya blame me, Danny? You didn't come back to the shop and I'd promised.." she'd just kind of wanted to see him again too. They were friends no matter what he'd protested with over it. She chuckled, "What do you mean it's not safe? I'm fine see? I made it all this way alright..." she'd taken the train most of the way.
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Post by bunky on Nov 27, 2008 23:34:06 GMT -5
Piper looked at her hand again and listened in on their conversation. They must of known each other for some time. Piper pushed her hair away and smiled, looking over her shoulder at the girl.
"Hi, sorry for being rude and not talkin'. The name's Piper." Piper replied, first holding out her wounded hand but switched to her other hand.
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Post by Daisy O'Connor on Sept 29, 2009 20:31:01 GMT -5
[New Day - For Jerry Flynn]
Daisy's early shift at McGinty's had felt like it had taken at least twice the time as it normally did, but her excitement at seeing Jerry again had made every moment drag by with agonizing slowness. But finally she'd washed her last dish and had been wiping down the counter when Jerry had walked through the door and Daisy thought she might have radiated sunshine smiling at him. Ever since he had left her at her door the night before, pressing a gentle kiss against her cheek, she felt as though she had been floating on air. Part of her wondered if she had dreamed it all, but the sight of him standing shyly by the door of McGinty's assured her it had all in fact, been very real. He was more handsome than she had remembered and her heart had fluttered at the smile she had been rewarded with as she walked over to greet him.
The walk to the park had been filled with general pleasantries, Daisy was certain they were both still trying to find their footing with one another. As they passed the picnic tables she stepped up beside him and slid her hand into the crook of his arm and smiled up at him. "Did you do any writing today?" She asked, finding herself eager to learn as much about him as she could and she also knew that talking about books and writing had relaxed and lit his eyes the night before. She wanted to see his smile again, wanted to feel the flutters in her stomach when he turned his dark eyes on her and feel his reassuring presence by her side.
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Post by Jerry Flynn on Oct 2, 2009 0:18:36 GMT -5
She asked him about his writing! She remembered what he did for a living and she was showing an interest! That was a good sign, right? That meant she was really interested in him, didn't it? Moments like this made Jerry really, really wish that there was a way he could miniaturize his brother. He could tuck mini-Jensen in his pocket, and mini-Jensen could give him pointers during conversations, show him all the dropped hints he was missing, alert him to when someone was being subtle or being sarcastic...
"Um, I did, actually, yeah," he said, smiling. Smiling still. He'd been smiling all day, smiling through most of the night, too. After he'd come in from walking Daisy to her door, Jensen actually had thought he'd stayed at the bar to partake of the grape 'n' grain a while because of the smile he couldn't wipe off. "I wrote... I wrote quite a bit, really." An understatement--the moment he got home, he set upon his journals and started scrawling, and hadn't stopped for hours, until Jensen begged him to put out the candle and go to bed, claiming the scratch of his pen against the paper was keeping him awake. He'd put away his pen and journal, only to pop up for them again upon awaking, soon after dawn.
He clasped his hand over Daisy's and steered her to the side, guiding her to the picnic table nearest the edge of the lake, where several ducks were congregated, all muttering conspiratorially. "Sorry," Jerry said, a little bashfully, "this'll only take a few minutes. They get uppity if I come through and don't feed them, though." From the inner pocket of his jacket he withdrew a hard loaf of stale, dry bread. As they saw the bread, the ducks converged toward Jerry and Daisy, feathers rustling as they jostled each other, vying to be nearest their bread-giver.
"Uh, it's a little safer up here," Jerry said with a laugh, climbing onto the bench of the table, taking a seat on the table and pulling Daisy up along with him. "They can get a little... rambunctious." Before the ducks could form a mutiny to gain control of the loaf by force, he quickly pulled a chunk from it and tore smaller pieces, throwing them to the demanding waterfowl. The ducks placated, now secure in the knowledge that breadstuff was being delivered as demanded and distracted by the task of crumb-gobbling competitions, Jerry returned to their previous topic.
"Um, it's a little... a little strange, really. I've been plagued by writer's block for a while now. A few weeks, really. And then, all of a sudden, it just... disappeared. My blocks usually go away with a slow crumble--you know, I'll write a little here, and a little there, and a little more, and the block will break down over time until there's nothing left. But last night... last night, it just... well, it just disappeared is all." Sliding his gaze in her direction from the corner of his eye, he smiled. "I think... I guess maybe I found my muse."
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Post by Daisy O'Connor on Oct 2, 2009 7:37:42 GMT -5
Daisy watched him as he produced a loaf of stale bread, shyly explaining away it's presence as ducks converged upon them from every angle. She was charmed, completely and utterly charmed by his thoughtfulness as he scattered crumbs for the ducks, pulling her up alongside him on the table so they were sitting thigh to thigh. "They appreciate that you remember," She said softly, touching his thigh gently and then pulling her hand back to settle it in her lap. Jerry was a good, kind soul with a heart that Daisy knew was wide open if people just gave him the chance and it was part of the reason she was so enamoured with him.
Reaching over she broke off a few pieces of the loaf for herself and tossed them for a few of the animals, giggling when they battled over a piece before turning and smiling over at Jerry as he explained about his writing. In truth, his process fascinated her the fact that someone could create and craft a story and write it down in words for others to read and enjoy...she couldn't even imagine. She blushed when he shot he a side glance and said he'd found his muse, color tinging her cheeks and she smiled shyly. "I don't know about all that, but I do know the sun seems to be shining a bit brighter today," She said, looking at the piece of bread still in her hand before tossing it and turning to look at him.
"What are you writing about?" She asked, playing her fingers along the material of her skirt, sliding her fingers along the folds and toying with the thick cotton.
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Post by Jerry Flynn on Oct 4, 2009 3:15:30 GMT -5
"Oh, no," Jerry countered with a smile, "these ducks don't appreciate anything. They just know I'm a soft touch, and they chase me if I don't feed them. Don't you, you little breadmongers?" One duck, apparently bolder than the others, hopped up onto the bench of the picnic table, head bobbing up and down as he trained his beady little eyes on the loaf, making tiny duck noises, trying to entice Jerry into hand-feeding her. Jerry offered a small chunk to her, and she snapped it up, her bill clamping down on his fingers. "Ow!" he chuckled, drawing his hand back. "Mind your manners, Puddles!"
He was startled by the feeling of Daisy's hand on his thigh, surprised by the intimacy of her touch. Surprised--but not objectional. All too quickly, she removed her hand, and Jerry considered briefly going after it, to twine his fingers in hers, but almost immediately abandoned the idea. He couldn't do something like that, he just couldn't. Oh, and besides, he needed both hands to tear up the bread for the ducks.
Instead, he shyly shifted his leg, pressing his thigh against hers ever so slightly more.
"I, um, I'm writing about... well, about ducks, actually," he said, with a slightly embarrassed chuckle. He was coming off as some kind of "crazy duck man" surely. "I'm, uh, I'm not entirely certain whether it's a children's story, or a fable, or... well, garbage. It's about a raft of ducks, sentient, anthropomorphic ducks, and one drake in particular. He has a deep affection for a certain female duck, but he's very shy and she doesn't really notice him, and one morning he wakes up to find that she's left their lake to get a head start on flying south for the winter. So Paddlefoot--that's the drake--goes after her. And the story focuses on his journey, trying to follow Quillfeather's trail, dealing with predators and duck hunters, trying to find ponds where the ducks are friendly to rest during the mornings..."
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Post by Daisy O'Connor on Oct 4, 2009 9:53:58 GMT -5
A soft giggle escaped her as he talked to the wayward duck, a fondness in his voice that made her want to cuddle up close to him and never let go. She knew he had no idea how wonderful he really was, how much she admired what these little things told her about the nature of his heart and soul. He was the best kind of man Daisy could have hoped to find and to top it all off, her heart liked to trip a few beats any time he looked at her with those dark eyes she was certain she could get lost in.
He shifted beside her, his thigh pressing more into his and she felt the urge to press closer, rest her head on his shoulder and listen to him talk. But instead she merely pressed her thigh back a little and smiled over it him as he explained his story and she nodded her head a little, understanding.
"It seems to me it might be a little of both a children's tale and a fable," Daisy began, hoping he wouldn't mind her saying what she thought. "Whatever Paddlefoot's reasons for going on the journey, he goes. And the difficulties that he encounters and the danger and roadblocks and questions about his path, that's rather like what we all deal with in our everyday lives, aye? The not knowing if the path we are on is the right ones, trying to sort out who might be a 'predator' and who are the friendly ones that will allow us to rest and gather our thoughts to start out all over again." She smiled up at him, pushing an errant strand of hair out of her eyes and looking back out at the ducks.
"It's a lovely idea, Jerry...I can't wait to read it." And she meant it, she really did want to read some of Jerry's work, see what his large, steady hands managed to put on paper from what swam around in his intelligent mind. Daisy could only hope he might trust her enough to share.
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Post by Jerry Flynn on Oct 6, 2009 21:36:15 GMT -5
The steady flow of rejection letters, declinations varying from polite to cruel to publish his stories, had instilled in Jerry the sort of reluctance inherent in most writers to let others read his work. He didn't often let even Jensen read his work (on the rare moment Jensen showed interest in his brother's livelihood anyway), but somehow, he felt he really wanted Daisy's review.
"If you don't mind reading a half-finished first draft," he said shyly, tossing chunks of bread further away from them, watching the ducks scurry after them only to return immediately and ask for more, "maybe I'll... bring what I've done so far by later? You know, if you're interested. I could wait until I've finished editing if you'd rather..."
Though his awkwardness around girls was legendary (at least in his own mind), he could talk literature with just about anyone. For fear of making a fool of himself with his stuttering and stumbling should he try to broach any other topic, Jerry stuck with what he knew for now. "So, tell me, Miss Daisy, are you particular to any other author aside from Jane Austen? I've probably got more books squeezed into my tiny little apartment than the New York public library has altogether. You, uh... you should come over sometime, see if any of them tickle your fancy. I'd be glad to loan you a few."
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Post by Daisy O'Connor on Oct 7, 2009 10:33:42 GMT -5
"I would love to read it if you're willing to share," Daisy said softly, watching the ducks as they fought amongst themselves for a few crumbs of bread. "I think it's amazing to be able to craft and create something," Daisy admitted, looking back over at him and studying his masculine profile, smiling slightly. "I'd be honored to read anything you've written, to see the different levels of your creative process..." She shrugged her shoulders slightly, unsure if she was crossing some sort of imaginary line.
She tried to focus on his question about authors but her mind kept fixating on the fact that he'd invited her to come by his place, to spend more time with him and the prospect made Daisy practically giddy. Forcing herself to redirect her thoughts she sent him a soft smile, "I'm fond of the Brontes, but my knowledge of what's out there is somewhat limited. Perhaps...perhaps I could come by and you could make some recommendations?"
She played her fingers across the material of her skirt again, something to give her idle hands to do, brushing against his thigh for a moment where it was pressed against hers and then skittering away. "I'm always up for trying something new...I just so often don't know where to start." Daisy smiled up at him shyly, swearing her heart actually physically skipped a beat when he looked back at her. "Perhaps you'd be willing to lend me your expert opinion."
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Post by Jerry Flynn on Oct 7, 2009 23:18:25 GMT -5
"It's not that amazing," Jerry countered, shaking his head demurely, his smile bashful. "People craft and create things every day. A lot of them just don't realize they're doing it. You said you were a baker--you craft and create pies. You don't just slop whatever's close at hand into a bowl and shove it into the oven, do you? You look for the freshest ingredients, you measure things out, you have secret tips you've learned along the way, maybe you've got some that have been passed down through your family for years. Every time you make a pie, you're invoking the experience of hundreds of generations of pie-bakers. The work of a billion people went into that one creation, learning how to to blend flour and sugar and apples and spice into a delicious, fruit-filled shell and passing the secrets down through the years. Making food isn't just a necessity for life, it's an art form. And it's really a lot more impressive than writing, when you think of it in terms of a secret society of bakers sharing knowledge..."
He grew quiet again, another faint blush tinting his cheeks as he realized that he'd just spoken aloud a long string of sentences, sentences that had nothing to do with literature, without stumbling once. He found himself feeling rather proud for that... Puddles, the duck at his feet, reached out and jerked Jerry's sleeve with her bill, reminding him of her presence, and Jerry went back to hand-feeding her, listening as Daisy detailed her scant literary experience.
"Be careful what you ask for," he said with another embarrassed smile. "I might have you leaving my apartment with twenty books. I'm, um, a little dense sometimes. I don't always realize when people aren't really interested..." He glanced to her, but found she was looking at him and quickly looked away again, biting his lower lip. Please, oh please, don't let this be one of those times, he prayed silently.
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