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Post by Alexandreia Halliway on Sept 11, 2009 18:10:13 GMT -5
Lexi laughed at his comments and gently shoved him, "Exclusive? You have more friends than I could possibly want to count. But you manage to make me feel like I'm the only one. It's truly an amazing gift you have." She smiled at him brightly and flushed a bit when he asked her to dinner. Biting her lip she nodded a bit, "I'd love to Alex." The last time someone had asked her out it had ended so terribly that she'd decided not to date for awhile, but it was nice to be wanted.
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Post by Avalanche on Sept 12, 2009 1:32:04 GMT -5
He nodded. "Good," he said with a bright smile. "Week from tomorrow, if you can fit it inta your busy schedule sound okay for you? I'll even come pick ya up, so ya don't get lost," he teased. "We'll go anywhere in the city that'll let me in," he promised her, which meant they could go just about anywhere in the city. Avalanche had friends in all sorts of places.
"You're a beautiful girl Lex..." he said shaking his head a little. "Any guy'd be lucky to call ya his," he said, and he meant that. Would he date her? He figured that it could be her call... would he mind dating her? Not really. Would he want to put that burden on her? Maybe not. Seems like the commute would be a bit much, a bit difficult to handle. He wouldn't put her under that kind of pressure. "Heck, I'm lucky ta just take ya out ta dinner," he said with a wink.
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Post by Brook LaRue on Oct 3, 2009 2:56:51 GMT -5
((New Day))
Brook hadn't been to the lodging house or even to Medda's since Nike was taken in and Snoddy had showed up. She'd decided it was best for her to go home to her brother's for awhile and think. Stew, more like. She was upset about losing a friend then she was about not really getting a REAL answer from Blink. But then again, it was all her own fault.
She folded her arms and leaned her chin on them as she looked at the dime novel she'd picked up in The Bronx. She sighed and set the book down, she didn't even know if Blink was alright. He hadn't gone looking for her, she kind of figured he'd want his space. And yes, she was full of self pity at the moment. Eventually she'd get over it she just needed reflective time.
As the waitress brought her some water she smiled and took it offering her a thanks, she probably should go to the lodging house. But the off chance she'd run into Snoddy had actually kept her away. He was probably over it (okay wishful thinking) and she knew that when word spread there would be a lot of girls hating her. It was to much for her to take. It wasn't her fault things had happened that way.
But she sighed, and let out her pity with a breath. Let it go... maybe.
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Post by Pallet O'Shea on Oct 8, 2009 17:41:46 GMT -5
Pallet picked her head up off the table and saw Brooke sitting by herself. She looked rather somber. She picked up her drink and carried it over to Brooke's table. "Hey, Brooke. Could you use some company?" Pallet gave her a crooked smile, trying to hide her own misery.
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Post by Brook LaRue on Oct 8, 2009 18:31:24 GMT -5
Brook raised her head and looked at the girl, she tried to place her name but it fell short and she thought about saying no. She really just wanted to be left alone, but she consented with a nod of her head.
"I'm sorry I don't.. recall your name.." People knew hers, she was almost used to people jumping out of the woodwork knowing who she was. It was strange actually and most of them she didn't know.
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Post by Racetrack Higgins on Oct 8, 2009 21:11:09 GMT -5
When Racetrack couldn't sell during the day, he wandered around. There was always something to do in the city, if not something to see, and once in a while he craved the solitude of being able to think without a belch or fart from the next bunk interrupting. During his walks, he mulled things over, tried to recall those elusive tricky Italian words (to this day he didn't remember how to say "to swell"), and all in all got away from every day life for a while. Everyone needed a break sometimes. Even firebrands like Racetrack.
It also helped that his nose was bandaged and he couldn't talk right and no way in hell he was selling papes sounding like he did. So, he walked.
He passed the Corner Cafe and wondered if he could swindle a free drink from the waitress...but then remembered he would sound about as charming as a stubbed toe and hoped he had enough change in his pocket. But then he looked in the large window and saw...Brook? What, Frenchy was here? Geez, where was her entourage? She looked...aw hell, he didn't know. Not herself? And some dame was trying to chat her up but Brook didn't look to interested. Unlike her, that was. What was the matter? More curious than compassionate, Race walked into the cafe and up to where Brook say,
"Whassa batter, Brook? Subbin' got ya down?" Racetrack tried not to talk too loudly. God, this was embarrassing. He tried to keep his expression from looking as utterly pathetic as he sounded.
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Post by Brook LaRue on Oct 8, 2009 21:16:00 GMT -5
Brook looked up as she spotted Race coming towards her, she winced and stood up, moving to get a good look at his nose. "You look like you were hit by a barn, mon che.." she heard him talk to her and a soft smile crossed her face before she sat back down and offered him some of her drink. She bit her lip an sighed, "A lot of things are botherin' me, mon choux."
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Post by Racetrack Higgins on Oct 8, 2009 21:23:49 GMT -5
Racetrack rolled his eyes. More like a bat, he thought, I'm gonna kill Piper when I see her next. He hadn't told anyone how he had really broken his nose; if he didn't say anything about it people would just assume he got it fighting. He bit his lip when Brook said a lot of things were bothering her. He opened his mouth to say something snarky, but then thought better of it, realizing that he could have said the Zinger of the Year and it would have absolutely no impact with b-sounds in all the wrong places. "So ya gonna lebbe know or are ya just gonna sit there bis'rable?" Girls liked talking about their problems, even if they didn't let on to it. And lately, Racetrack had been doing a lot more listening than talking.
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Post by Brook LaRue on Oct 8, 2009 21:26:33 GMT -5
Her brow lifted when he spoke and she tilted her head. If Race wanted to know she was probably sending out the miserable singals left and right. Her jaw dropped a little when he missed the chance to hit the snarky lines and she sighed. Either he really cared or just wanted to listen. "Snoddy hates me now I'm not even sure we can be friends.." one of the few people that completely understood her. "And Blink says he likes me but I dunno if he likes me or if he just likes girls.." she set her head on her arms. "I want to go home.."
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Post by Don't Ask on Feb 6, 2010 22:42:30 GMT -5
((New Day))
Don't Ask had wandered a long way from his forge, but truth be told he was probably spending more time in Harlem than in Lower Manhattan lately anyway. Things in Lower Manhattan had suddenly gotten complicated, and had a way of driving him to distraction. When you regularly worked with irons heated to upwards of 1,400 degrees, distraction was a very bad thing indeed, a lesson hard learned and the reason for the smudged white kerchief tied around his hand, covering a shiny burn-blister.
He liked the air of Harlem, anyway. It was largely Dutch, and it wasn't too uncommon to hear people speaking to one another in Don't Ask's moedertaal in the streets. Probably the closest thing to home he could get in the city. And this particular little cafe had Dutch owners, who wrote their menus in both English and Dutch, and could carry on conversations in Dutch without hesitation. Don't Ask liked that, a lot, and the cafe had become a place of respite for him, when his situation in Lower Manhattan got too tense and he needed some peace to mull over his thoughts.
Nursing a glass bottle of Coca-Cola, he sat alongside the step leading into the cafe, Horseshoe seated faithfully beside him, eying the ham sandwich Don't Ask was tearing into, waiting for the next chunk to be tossed in his direction. "Goed hond," Don't Ask murmured, praising the dog for the delicate way he took the hunk of meat and bread from Don't Ask's outstretched fingers, leaving his digits intact. As Horseshoe quickly scoffed down the morsel, he stretched the fingers of his injured hand, testing the pain--not so bad. A sear of heat in the middle of his palm, but closing his hand was easy; spreading out his fingers was another story, swollen, puckered flesh stabbing through with lancing pain if he tried too hard.
Sighing, he tipped his head back against the building, staring up at the bleak sky. Stupid injury, both in nature and in cause.
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Post by Styx Kennedy on Mar 29, 2010 11:36:08 GMT -5
Styx jogged through the streets of Harlem, dodging innocent bystanders and carriages that threatened to run him over. Being half Dutch on his mother’s side, he could really appreciate good, traditional Dutch cooking. So far, the only place he’d found that came close to his mother’s masterpieces was a little-known place in Harlem and that was where he was headed now. Though the young man had a final destination he took his own sweet time getting there, enjoying the challenge of running and dodging in a way only his sister understood. As the little café came into view, Styx noticed DA and his trusty sidekick sitting on the steps enjoying a snack. It’d been a while since the two boys had seen each other and to be honest the tough Irish-Dutchman had missed his friend. Slowing to a walk he chuckled at them, “You got somethin’ against eating inside, boyo, or they not partial to dogs in there?” He laughed again and crouched down to Horseshoe’s level, “Stupid kaaskops, don’ they know you’re human?” ((kaaskop: cheese head)) |
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Post by Don't Ask on Apr 1, 2010 15:10:31 GMT -5
Don't Ask's eyes popped open when he recognized his friend's voice, and he tilted his head slightly, crown still touching the exterior of the building, to meet his eyes. "Heya, Styx," he said, heaving a sigh. "Nope, they don't like Horseshoe and I leave soot everywhere, so... buiten gaan wij." His shoulders hitched in something close to a shrug before he finally gave a grunt, pushing himself away from the building and sitting upright again, the motion requiring so much effort it felt like the dog had been sitting square upon his chest.
"What are you doing all the way over here? Your sister okay?" He shifted, and something crinkled under his leg: the edge of the paper his sandwich was wrapped in. He considered it for a moment before making a face. Food just wasn't tasting so great these days. "Wil je de rest?" he asked, offering what remained to Styx.
((Today's Dutch lesson is a twofer: "buiten gaan wij" is "outside we go"; and "Wil je de rest?" is "Want the rest?" Bedankt and goednacht.))
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Post by Styx Kennedy on Apr 7, 2010 11:24:04 GMT -5
Styx nodded at DA’s explanation for eating outside, knowing all too well the prejudices shops and restaurants had against street kids and laborers. It was rare to find a place that would allow anyone with dirt on them and this place was no exception (thus why he had cleaned up a bit before walking over here). He sat down on the steps as well, reasoning that the café wasn’t going anywhere, he could eat later. “I know whatchya mean, mate. These eejits are a bit dense when it comes to 'our kind.'”
"What are you doing all the way over here? Your sister okay?"
Searching his pockets for a smoke and sighing when he didn’t find one, Styx shrugged. “Came for the sound Dutch food a coise, how ‘bout you?” Ruffling Horseshoe’s ears, he thought for a moment about where his twin might be. “…Think she was headed to the beach last I remember, so she’s prolly suckin' diesel,” he chuckled.
<"Want the rest?">
He nodded enthusiastically at the sandwich and accepted it eagerly. “Bedankt.” As an active seventeen-year-old boy, Styx was always hungry. He took a large bite and chewed quickly, swallowed noisily, and then took another. As the second bite followed the first, Styx looked over at his friend and noticed for the first time that he looked down. Mentally scolding himself for not seeing it sooner, he swallowed hard and tried to think of what to say. “You ight, mucker? Ya look like ya jus’ got a Kick in the bollocks…”
((Today’s lesson in Irish slang – Eejit (n): idiot. Sound (a): really good. Suckin' diesel (v): having a good time. Mucker (n): a friend i.e. someone you muck around with. a Kick in the bollocks (n): a laming blow to the male genitalia with a foot or very bad news.))
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Post by Don't Ask on Apr 14, 2010 19:31:43 GMT -5
Don't Ask chuckled mirthlessly at Styx's simile. It'd be fucking hilarious if Styx had been in on it... It'd be fucking hilarious, and then Don't Ask would be a dead man. Dead woman? Dead freak.
"Somethin' like that," he agreed, nodding slowly as he patted down his pockets, searching for a cigarette. He was a heavy smoker as it was, and lately he'd been smoking like a god damn chimney, trying to soothe his nerves. Shirt pocket, waistcoat pockets, pants pockets, all void of tobacco. Traitors. He was just about to give up the search and take up nail-biting when he remembered stowing a few in his blacksmith sack. Under a clinking puddle of nails, a file and a tack hammer, he found a few rolls of paper and leaf, a little smashed, a little bent, but still smokable. He offered one to Styx, knowing it was unusual to find the boy not smoking, as he fished out a wooden match, scratching it to blazing life on the sidewalk beside him.
"Me an' Dutch, we had a... a thing." He took a deep drag, finding comfort in the choking sensation, the way it burned in his throat and chest, singeing his nostrils as he exhaled a long, twisting trail. "A... fight? No, not a fight. A... disagreement, I guess." His words came short and hesitantly as he sought out the least incriminating ones, a way to express his problems that didn't involve giving the mental image of what happened when two battle-weary kaaskops found themselves with too much booze and too much privacy. "I haven't seen him since after the fight out at the warehouse. Think he's been avoiding me." He paused, considering, then made a face of reluctant admittance. "I've been avoiding him, too. We been avoiding each other."
He tapped his cig, knocking an ash from the tip, frowning unhappily as he wound his fingers into Horseshoe's dense fur. The food devoured, Horseshoe had settled with his head on his paws, content for a quick doze in the sun before he and Don't Ask had to start moving again.
"I'm thinkin'... I'm kinda thinkin' about going back home for a while..."
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Post by Styx Kennedy on May 13, 2010 3:33:14 GMT -5
“Thanks, Mate.” Styx accepted the smoke gratefully and stuck it behind his ear, saving it for an after sandwich drag. Taking another large bite of said sandwich, he chewed and waited for his friend to expound on his vague answer. Whatever was bothering Don’t Ask wasn’t something little, or trifling. No, the Dutch boy was a pretty tough nut to crack and he didn’t go into downward spirals over spilt milk; figuratively speaking.
"Me an' Dutch, we had a... a thing. A... fight? No, not a fight. A... disagreement, I guess. I haven't seen him since after the fight out at the warehouse. Think he's been avoiding me. I've been avoiding him, too. We been avoiding each other.”
Nodding quietly throughout DA’s explanation, Styx wondered what they had “disagreed” upon, but knew better than to ask. It wasn’t any of his business. He also knew firsthand that fights between friends were ten times worse than fights between enemies. No wonder he looked so down in the mouth. As he finished chewing his sandwich, Styx wadded up the paper and bounced it off horseshoe’s head. The dog’s response made onside of his stuffed mouth twitch upward, but DA’s predicament sobered him back up quickly
“I'm thinkin'... I'm kinda thinkin' about going back home for a while..."
He choked on the remains of his lunch and banged one hand against his chest, trying to dislodge the crumbles of soggy bread and meat that were making him cough. When the sandwich situation was back under control, he turned to his friend in astonishment.
“Home?” The words sounded wheezy, most likely a mix between his fight with sandwich bits and shock at this news. Don’t Ask couldn’t leave… Fuck, now that he thought about it he couldn’t even remember where he was from. Yonkers, Amsterdam, Belgium? Styx pulled the cig out from behind his ear and lit it quickly, taking a deep drag. “How far away is ‘home’?”
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