Sparkly Shoes


corbin_icon.gif daphne_icon.gif

Scene Title Sparkly Shoes
Synopsis Daphne likes shoes. Corbin seems to like Daphne.
Date January 23, 2010

Shoe Store


Or, Daphne's definition of it: a huge shoe store, one entire wall dedicated to quirky and colorful tennis shoes! Speedsters burn rubber, and quite literally, so she's always in need of a pair or five, and while she's not fashionista, she likes to at least have some style. Right now she's wearing hot pink winter boots that match with her sweater, but soon it will be spring. Or maybe she will take a little jog down to Florida, as the snow and cold is getting rather taxing.

She picks up a pair of Nikes, white with a grass green swoosh and green laces to match, turning them in her hand thoughtfully.

It's not exactly shoes that Corbin came in for today, but boots. With the continued foul weather that the city's been getting, his old boots sprung a leak, causing him to look for an alternative pair. With a box in hand, he's finished his search, and spots someone who stands out in a crowd. Thought she's actually surrounded by a wall of colorful shoes instead.

At least they have one thing in common. Judging from the shirt that peeks out under his business jacket, he's into things of quirky colorfulness himself. An ordinary white shirt? No, there's swirls on the shirt. Bright blues, greens, reds. It might actually clash painfully if his jacket wasn't covering most of it.

"If it isn't the person who saved me from a sudden wet death," he says with a grin, approaching beside her with his long shoebox in hand.

Daphne whirls around, perhaps a touch too quickly to be normal, but not quite like the Tasmanian devil on speed. "Oh, hey, Bookstore Bridge guy," she says a bit awkwardly, eyes flitting to the exit and back. "How are you? Not trying to fling yourself off any new bridges, are you? That … dream thing working out for you?"

Without letting him answer, she holds up the shoe in her hands. "What do you think of these?"

"Corbin," he says, to supply a name to the title as he looks down at the shoes. "I like it. Though I think reds and blues are more your color myself," he answers the last question first. She breezes right past them to the point he has to think back to remember what else she asked. "No, I'm buying myself some new snowboots. My last ones sprung a leak," he explains.

Suddenly he opens up the top of his shoebox and holds it out. The boots he picked out are bright red with black soles.

"Well, you won't lose them, that's for sure," Daphne says, tilting her head at them, but nods her approval. "Nice choice." She's not really one for somber colors, except when trying to blend in.

She puts the green Nikes back on the shelf, scrunching her mouth to one side as she looks at the choices. "I do like red. Blue not as much. It's kinda quiet. Well, except on that shirt," she nods to the bit of shirt she can see through his coat's opening. She stands on tip toes to pick up a shoe higher on the wall, but can't quite reach it. "Why do they put these up that far? I'm not an Amazon. Can you get that for me?"

"Blue works best when used with other colors— especially reds," Corbin says, well aware that it can cause people to think the colors are moving when red and blue are used together. It's one of those eye catching things! Too bad the few times he works in office he's usually restricted to less bright things. His snow boots should be his own business.

Moving closer to the wall o shoes, he reaches up to the one she was tiptoeing at. "You probably would not make a very good Amazon. Pixie-ishness works well for you," he adds, holding out the shoes with a smile. That might almost be teasing.

The new trainers are a glossy red and with white stripes and white laces. She sits on the bench and pulls of her boots to try them on. She glances up through her shock of white-blonde hair at the pixy comment. "Call me Tinker Bell and I'll give you something blue to wear for the next couple of weeks, buddy," she tosses back, finally managing to get one boot off, before working on the other. "I hate winter. I should go to Australia or something until it's over. Seriously."

"You look more like a Daphne anyway," Corbin says, her name added with a kind of pointed emphasis, to show that he really does remember it. Lucky her. Nicknames can be his style at times, but with some people… "This winter is especially brutal too. You'd think with the people who can openly control the weather they'd fix it and make it more mild." He looks upward for a moment, as if having a thought, then lets the thought trail off when he reaches up even higher then she can and pulls down a shoebox. This one's got sparkles on it. White with multi-colored sparkles making running trails.

"I'm glad I saw you again."

Daphne looks at the pair with a tilt of her head. Sparkly! She's not a princess type, but they are interesting to look at. "You'd think," she says. Her travels have been seriously impeded by the storms — it's not safe to dash across the Atlantic when a giant blizzard is making its way in. "Unless it's the people who can control weather making it that bad," she points out.

Her eyes narrow suspiciously when he says he's happy to see her. Does he know she checked up on him at the bookstore? Is he mad? Is he going to turn her in for not being registered? "Why's that?"

"Well, usually saving someone's life means they owe you a dinner, or something," Corbin explains, turning the sparkly shoes around so they catch light, but then placing them back in the box and up on the shelf. "What do you say? I'll need a way to contact you, or you can just pick me up. But my life is at least worth dinner. Possibly a movie."

"Wait, I could use those too. I think I'll get two pair." She's even paying for them — the last job, the Hunter job, has her stash of money full, and she doesn't have to steal unless she chooses to for quite some time. "Let me try those on."

Daphne takes off the red and sets them aside, a slow process that is obviously a stalling technique to think about the offer for dinner. And possibly a movie. "We can meet at the restaurant, maybe," she says finally, reaching up for the sparkle shoes again.

The sparkly shoes are handed over, a grin appearing on his face as she seems to approve of his spur of the moment choice. Corbin doesn't think she's a princess, but sparkly appeals to all sorts. And at least it's sparkly that's stuck into the shoe, so it's not likely to fall off and glitter anyone. Or at least not her. It will glitter someone as she tears across the ground.

"Meeting at the restraunt will work. As long as it's in New York, at least." The mention of going to Australia might have rang some bells. "

"Of course it's in New York. Why wouldn't it be?" she says, giving him an odd look. She hopes he doesn't remember in the dream she came in from the water, but that was in the dream. In real life, she just came across the bridge like a normal person! "If I go to Australia, I wouldn't expect you to go there for dinner, Books. I'd have dinner before I left or when I came back." Too long, she's dwelling on it too long. Her toes, clad in black socks with pink and orange and green stars on them, find the sparkly shoes. She stands to test the toe and walks a couple of feet, laces untied. "Yeah, these are okay," she says, sitting back down to take the shoes off once more.

"I've heard Australia has great barbacque," Corbin says with a joke, remaining on his feet as he steps closer to watch her take off and change shoes. The socks actually earned a bigger grin of approval. "Your appreciation for color is certainly appealing," he adds, shifting the big shoebox around until he puts it down on a nearby bench. No need to carry it around if he doesn't have to.

"Wo you want to choose the restraunt?"

There's a little twitch of her eyebrows. Appealing? Is he … flirting?

"I… sure. I'll choose the place. Let me think on it." This actually sets her at ease a little — it's harder for it to be a trap if she's the one who chooses the spot, right? "Anything off the list for sure? Maybe if you give me your number or whatever, I can just… text you on the day of. We can choose a day and time now, though." At least she throws him a small bone.

"No special diet needs here," Corbin says, reaching into his wallet to fish out a card. It gives his full name, occupation, and three phone numbers, including a fax line and a mobile phone. He holds it out. According to his card, if she looks at it, he does not work for the Bookstore that she went to. He did say he was store-sitting, or something of the like. Instead she's met a reporter for the New York Times.

"How about Tuesday at eight o'clock?" he asks.

The speedster takes the card, squinting at it a bit, then tilting her head to look up at him suspiciously. "You're a reporter?" she asks. "This isn't about some expose or story or something, is it? Because if so, I'm not interested in having my name in the paper, Friday." She puts the card in her pocket and reaches down to pull on her boots.

"No expose," Corbin says, though he does grin a bit at the newest nickname. He could correct her, but he doesn't. Instead he just looks down at her boots going on her tiny feet. "This is completely unsanctioned and off the record. Just two people going to dinner as a thanks for saving my life." There's a pause, "And cause I think you're cute. But I'm sure you hear that a lot."

Daphne's cheeks go pink and she just shakes her head, whether in answer to his comment or just in irritation, it's hard to tell. She stands, and picks up her two boxes, then hands him his larger box. "Tuesday at eight. I'll text you with where. I don't like picking out a restaurant and then not wanting that kind of food, so I'll let you know sometime that afternoon. You are a victim of my caprice, Friday." She begins to head to the check out.

"I look forward to it," Corbin says, pulling out his cellphone and flicking it open as she starts to walk away. It gives her time to put some distance between them, and it also allows him not to stalk her all the way to the counter. He got his … dinner. But his expression goes briefly serious, as he looks at his phone.

No text messages.

But he wasn't expecting any, either. Lifting the box with one hand, he texts as he walks, sending a message off into the mobile lines, before closing his phone again.

Daphne pays for the shoes, using cash of course, and is handed her bag with a thank you from the clerk. She glances back and watches Corbin texting into his phone for a moment, before heading for the exit and back out into the miserable snow.

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