Participants:
| Scene Title | That Sly Come Hither Stare |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Gin and Luther get into a scuffle in a parking lot. And then, like all classic buddy stories, they go out for beers. |
| Date | September 24, 2010 |
Municipal Lot 336
This large and free parking lot located in the heart of the Bronx was once the site of the Primatech Paper Company Research and Development building. Destroyed by an explosion in 2009, the buildings remains were bulldozed to the ground and the land paved over, creating a much-needed area of free parking for northern Manhattan. The spacious lot is surrounded by redbrick buildings, with a used car dealership across the street.
To think that once upon a time, this land was used for persecution, pain, possibly torture… and that was for the American Indian tribes. Now, with Primatech Paper Company fallen, the land paved, the area holds perhaps nothing of the shadows of its darker, deceitful past.
But the people still have their secrets.
Walking amongst the vehicles parked in the lot is Luther, the man with basically no plan as ever. The troubled look on his features, though, lends itself well to looking like he's mentally misplaced something - possibly the location of his vehicle given the circumstances and occasion.
Gin is equally without a plan beyond 'survive today, sleep, survive tomorrow', which probably puts her and the homeless man on similar pages. Currently, she's out in the parking lot, perched on the hood of a car that may or may not be hers (pro tip: it's not hers), smoking a cigarette. There's also a sack of food from some local take out place sitting nearby, but it seems untouched thus far.
He could do with a cigarette right about now. One of Luther's passing thoughts as he passes by Gin on her left side, only to give pause once it clicks that normal people don't simply perch atop their cars anymore. Not in New York City, at least.
Turning to look at the woman more closely, he dawns with recognition upon his face. Then he's just staring. That might be a little rude. But not as rude as sitting atop people's cars, right? Right?
It takes her a moment to notice. Or to care enough to look his way. She scowls at the staring, and blows out a smoky breath and sits up a little. "You keep starin' like that an' I'ma start chargin' ya."
Gin is slower to recognize him, but it does happen and, frankly, her scowl just deepens. "You again."
Maybe it's something about the way she scowls at him. Maybe it's something else entirely. Either way, Luther finds that he just can't manage to keep a straight face in the light of her dark frown. It starts as a smirk, then a stifled lip-bitten twist of a smile. Trying his damnedest to keep it (the smile) out of his tone, he greets her with a nod. "Afternoon again, miss…"
And the smile only makes her scowl deeper. And she makes a sort of disgusted sound in her throat about it all. "Don't 'miss' me. Do I look like a 'miss' to you?" And really… she doesn't, in her worn jeans and flannel shirt, she looks anything but feminine. "The hell're you smilin' about anyway?"
Her hostile attitude it met with a certain wryness in Luther's manner. "Lady, then, since I don't know your name." He gestures at the cigarette in her hand, noting, "It's just the sort of irony I'd expect out of the City… considering how many people live around here, and how we just happen to meet up in this place. Besides, the last time we 'clashed', it was also over that vice in a stick." He gives her a short, 'what can you do' shrug. "That and the look you gave me reminded me of the look I used to get from my late wife."
Gin glances at her cigarette as it's mentioned, and she scoots the rest of the pack closer to her. Mine. "Oh yeah? Well, didya ever think you deserve the looks, then?" There is a distinct lack of sympathy for the 'late' part of his sentence.
So she doesn't share well with others. That much is quite obvious. "Oh I've no question I deserved a few of them," Luther replies with manageable humor. "Maybe even encouraged a few. But for that look to come from you? That's worth at least a checking into." For all her troubles, he gives her an expectant arch of his brows. Well, what have you got to say for yourself?
"Oh, that's easy," Gin says as she starts to slide off the car, landing on the ground and dusting her pants off. "I jus' don't like you. I'm guessin' your wife felt the same, by then end, huh? Well, that's love for you," she says with a crooked, but not at all amused smile.
"You're certainly in the right city for that kind 'f attitude," Luther notes back. "And I'm sure she'd have something to say about it." If she were still alive… For all of the amusement he'd had before, Luther's own smirk fades to a squiggle of a straight line and faint hook on the corner - one that could turn down any time. "All things said though, she wasn't nearly as offputting as you're being now," the man states pointedly. One could almost sense the impending armfold.
"Yeah, well, I'm not so worried about gettin' you int' bed," Gin says, bringing the cigarette back to her lips. "Or whatever use she had for you." She must just be feeling ornery, where most people would walk away from someone they disliked, she stays right there. In his face. Or, well, as close as she can get to it.
Ah, there's the armfold. Ornery as she might be, she's gone and triggered Luther's stubborn side. The first symptom: armfolding. "Somehow, I'm not thinking you've won men over to your bed with your winning personality." Seriously now, what is her problem? If he was staring before, now it's with far more 'where do you get off…' to it.
"Well maybe there's folks out there, like myself, who don't think life's important stake is how many you take t' bed. Maybe there's more important things out there." Gin pulls her cigarette out to let out a breath again. "Or maybe I can live without a man in my life. Believe it 'r don't, most of you all ain't all that useful. Not as much as you like women t' think."
Luther's arms droop as confusion trickles into his expression. Then, pity. "Is that how you really think?" asks the man in a rhetorical tone. He shakes his head. "Can't imagine living life thinking of people in that sort of way. Hell I lost everything in the Bomb, and still. Here I am. Should count yourself lucky. There's a lot of people who aren't nearly so much so. 'Specially judging from that load of eats you got just sitting there."
It's the pity that does it. This era doesn't really do the gunslinging shootouts, not like she's used to anyway, so Gin settles for grabbing Luther by the shirt and slamming him back against the car. And hey, she's pretty strong, for a girl. "You shouldn't shoot your mouth off about things what you don't know nothing about," she growls at him, her tone threatening.
Pretty strong, pretty fast, and well… she's pretty too. It might seem comical to the outsider, given Luther's size and perceived strength compared to Gin's, but with her being the dominant force of the moment. With his back tossed against the car, he winces. Maybe a little more than he should, too, but she doesn't know about his healing rib cage. And rather than speak first, he levels a stare at her up close and in a way, unnervingly intimate.
And if that weren't enough of a distraction, then perhaps his grabbing her wrist to twist it away from his shirt and spin her up against the car in a classic security-trained armlock is.
Gin hits the car with a grunt, and then a low growl. "You know I really don't like you," she says, trying to squirm out of that hold, but alas. Stupid security guard. So. Instead, she stomps a heavy boot on his foot and shoves backward off the car, in an attempt to knock him back onto the asphalt.
She doesn't get to see the 'but you started it' blink from Luther, who refuses to let go of that hold. Even as she stomps on his foot. Ow. And then shoves back against the car, causing him to catch himself but only to stumble into the next parked SUV's spare tire shell. That's enough to at least loosen the hold enough that she can slip out of it. Luther doesn't retaliate again, though, instead keeping his back against the jostled vehicle. "You know, the more you say that, the more I'm inclined to say I don't believe you really mean that," he replies in kind. "More than that though, you didn't give me a chance to apologize for saying something that struck a nerve. So… I'm sorry." The apology sounds genuine enough wrapped in its sincerity.
"Buy you a drink?" Let's not explain where he got the money. Probably through less than moral means.
As soon as she can, Gin worms out of that hold and whirls around to face him and… well, he doesn't make another move. So she stands there, on guard, just in case. And then there's an apology and that seems to just puzzle her, frankly. And then there's an invite and that leaves her staring for a long moment. But, she straightens after a moment, brushing dust off her clothes again, like it's some sort of habit. "Yeah, okay. But it better be a good drink."
"Best that Happy Hour can buy," counteroffers Luther as he peels himself from the SUV and brushes himself off as well. A little stiffly, though. "Got off on the wrong foot there. Name's Luther," he adds, hand held out in the professional manner.
"Is it happy hour already?" Gin looks at his outstretched hand like it might bite, but after that brief hesitation, she takes it for a firm shake. "Most jus' call me Gin," she says and there's a little pause before she adds, "Don' think that handshake means you're gettin' any of my smokes." she's onto you, buddy.
Dang. Well, better to have tried and lost. "It's always happy hour somewhere," is his answer to her query in perhaps a more wry tone than intended. They shake hands, his side accompanied with an acknowledging bob of his head. "I won't ask," he promises. What he does do is lead the way to a nearby set up where sure enough, there is a happy hour. 3 dollar beers and cocktails! Certainly enough to loosen anybody up. Even weird women who are stronger than they look… he seems to be running into those more often than usual nowadays.