Participants:
| Scene Title | Bike Locks and Bodyguards |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | After a botched delivery, Delia takes the time to make it right. |
| Date | August 28, 2010 |
Peyton's Apartment Building
The day is a little too hot for biking around the city, after a very nice sleep, Delia got the day started… much too late. Climbing out from the subway tunnel, she treads the few blocks toward the apartment building that the she visited a couple days before. There's an unshakable smile on her face as she pulls open the doors and marches up to the door man's desk.
"Hi! I'm here to see Peyton Whitney? Or drop off something for her? I.. uhm… forgot this one book the other day." Holding up an older looking coffee table book of classic art, the redhead's smile is a weak attempt at trying to be convincing. "Is she in?"
If Peyton were in her apartment, she'd most likely tell Frank to just hold the book for her when he calls up. Instead, the phone just rings four times before a generic female voice instructs him to leave a message, and he hangs up. "She isn't here. I'll just hold it for her, miss. You need me to sign for it?"
But the lobby door swings open as Mario, the other doorman holds it for one of the residents. It happens to Peyton herself, back from a walk with Von and apparently a Starbucks run, since her free hand has one of the familiar white and green cups. She's dressed for summer in a short turquoise sundress and matching flip flops and her Jackie O Ray Bans hiding her eyes.
"Miss Whitney, there's a delivery for you," Frank says from his desk, waving her over. Von is tugging her that way anyway, seeing that there's a person the half-grown puppy wants to meet.
To a dog, Delia would probably smell like a whole bunch of cat, considering the collection that's been growing at the book store. Dressed in a pair of raggy jeans, a t-shirt, a pair of gray tennies, and a ballcap; the redhead seems a little too out of uniform for a real courier.
Placing the book on the counter, Delia crouches down to greet the dog, letting it snuffle her hands and pants. In turn, she gives the half grown dog some baby talking along with a bunch of ear and chin ruffles. "Oh, Isha good dog! Esh oo ish! Uh huh! Uh huh!! Whossa good dog?! You?! You?!" It's enough to make any sane person a little ill, but the redhead doesn't have a pet of her own.
The socialite looks amused at the baby talk. It's always funny when people talk to dogs like babies, but it's especially amusing since Von can't hear a word of what she says. He still likes it, since the animated facial expressions are fun to watch, and he jumps up to slobber Delia's face with a very wet puppy tongue.
"He can't actually hear you, but I think that actually just makes him a better listener," Peyton says, leaning on the counter while she waits for Delia to finish meeting the puppy. She glances at the book on the counter, which seems to go along with the books dropped off earlier. "Oh, this must be another for Gillian. I didn't know she was into religious art," she murmurs, then frowns a little, wondering if it has to do with almost dying and being imprisoned by mad scientists for so long. "Thanks." She reaches into her purse to find a five dollar bill for a tip.
All that slobber, Delia's face is sopping by the time the dog gets down for the first time. She tries to tilt her head back for the second round but to no avail. Pthpthpthpthpth is the sound her tongue makes as she tries to wrestle away from the dog she just over-excited. Lucky Von, he kissed her in BOTH eyeballs, mouth, and inside of her nose!!
The delivery girl actually has to fall out of reach before she's let up by the dog. Wiping her face with the shoulder of her t-shirt, she finally faces Peyton and nods. "Oh… Hi… Yeah, it's for— Gillian? That's her name? She bought a bunch, I just forgot that one."
The tip is politely refused by the placement of both the young woman's hands in her pockets and a quick shake of her head. "No thanks, I said I'd bring them for her. I don't need a tip."
"It's a long trip from Roosevelt. This wouldn't even cover the cab, you know? But maybe the subway. Or you can get a snack for the ride home. Come on. I've trekked things out and about in the heat or the snow before, I know it's no fun." Peyton shakes the bill at the other girl insistently.
"Von will be sad if you don't," she adds, nodding to the puppy who is now investigating the edge of the counter for interesting smells. Unfortunately it only smells like Pinesol. "Don't you dare tripod, Von, you just went," she mutters to the little foxy-eared dog that can't hear her.
It's with a very guilty expression that Delia finally reaches for the bill. Her eye brows raise a little and she holds it between both of her hands in consideration. "Uhm… Actually, do you think you could sign it for me? So I could put it in my scrap book?" A small flash of her teeth in a rather hopeful smile is aimed right at Peyton. "Sorry for asking but… I didn't get a chance to ask that last time and uhm… uhhh… eh heh heh…"
The bill is placed flat on the counter and Delia produces a black sharpie from her back pocket. It's the emergency sharpie, used for special occasions, like this one. What better time to ambush a celebrity than just after doing a friend of hers a favor?
Frank pretends to look busy but is trying not to laugh at Peyton, who he's known since she was four years old. He knows at one point this sort of event was exactly what the woman craved. He's seen her go through her media-whoring phase, and he's seen her since grow out of it — luckily before she could get a reality show or something like Paris or the Kardashians.
"How are you going to use it if you're keeping it in a scrapbook?" Peyton says with a shake of her head, though she does smile. "Last time — oh, hey, you did look familiar. I couldn't place you!" She still can't quite, though she knows she's seen the redhead. She reaches into her purse to find a business card for Redbird Security Solutions, and takes the pen to sign the back of that instead.
"This way you can use the money for something useful, because I guarantee you my autograph isn't worth anything. It might even make that money worth less," she says with a self-deprecating grin. "And hey, the business card is useful. It's a new business, so, you know, we need clients. If you have any security needs."
Turning the card over in her hands, Delia knits her eyebrows together a little bit as she reads. "I don't know if my dad needs a security system… Do you sell those or something?" She's not exactly ashamed to admit that she's more than a little confused. As a book store clerk and courier, she isn't exactly in the market for a security system, unless..
"Do you sell locks too? I could probably use a new one for my bike. Some guy tried to make off with it the other day, so the one I have is a bit mangled." The young woman gives the other one a brief smile as she tucks the bill in her pocket but keeps the card out.
Peyton grins. "Mm, we have a technology expert for the security systems component, but we don't sell locks, no. It's more… you know. Background checks, bodyguards, having security at an event, stuff like that, for the most part, though we can install security systems and such, too. Not really so much retail as service provided," the socialite-turn-business-woman explains. "I didn't really expect you to need it. I hope you're not in need of a bodyguard! But it's all the paper I have on me unless you want a receipt for…" she peers in her purse, "Starbucks, Office Depot, or Noah's Bagels."
A weak smile is what Peyton receives for her jest about the courier needing a bodyguard. Delia's certainly had her run ins with trouble, of course it's no fault of her own. "Maybe my dad'll want this to check out all my sister's boyfriends, heheh" The redhead's little chuckle doesn't do much to dissuade any listeners from the fact that her father might actually do background checks on her sister's love interests. "Or my boss… how much do you dig up? I mean… just criminal records and stuff? Or like everything down to what their favorite breakfast was when they were two?"
"Well, I don't think what kind of cereal someone eats is probably relevant, but it would depend on the case. We will do everything on a case by case basis, and everything of course will be legal. We're not going to stalk people or break into their houses to find stuff out. It has to be all legal," Peyton says. "But yeah, if you had a boyfriend and wanted to do a background check on him, we could give you everything that's legally available on the guy, like public records and such. Or if someone wanted to hire someone and make sure they're on the up and up when they say they've never had any felonies, that sort of thing."
"Yeah, for sure…" Delia murmurs about the cereal as she considers the card some more. Looking up at the celebutante, she twitches her eyebrows a little again and holds up her autograph. "Uhm… can I get another few of these? I think I know some people who could really use that kind of stuff, I mean… if you don't mind me passing your card around." The autographed one is tucked away in her pocket for now, she's not giving that one up.
"Sure! We're just opening, so, you know, we need business," Peyton says cheerfully, reaching back into her purse to find the little Tiffany's business card case and flipping it open, taking out a small stack of about ten cards to hand to the redhead. "We could use the word of mouth, for sure."
Taking the cards with a smile, Delia nods and places these ones in her other back pocket. "Sure thing, if you guys ever need any deliveries done or anything, I work for Alley Cat too. Just ask for Delia… or the dizzy redhead works too." It's her turn to give the self-depreciating smile. "I should get going though, I have a bunch of stuff to do before I go clean the basement at the store."
She crouches down to give the dog another go at licking her face as she pets him roughly, all over the place. "Bye bye doggie oggie! Bye!!" There's more nostril licking and a grimace of disgust from the redhead and then she gets up again to leave.
"Busy girl," Peyton says with a smile, laughing as Von rolls over on his back, little paws waving as he hams it up for a belly rub. "Thanks for the delivery. I'm sure Gillian will appreciate it." She pulls her purse back over her shoulder, grins at Frank who is still trying not to laugh, and tugs Von's leash. "Come on, Ears," she says to the dog who can't hear her, and heads toward the elevator.