Participants:
| Scene Title | Cause I'm A Creep |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | It's a stand-off, outside tartarus on a summer evening, till something breaks it up. |
| Date | August 18, 2010 |
The Lower East side is one of the oldest neighborhoods in New York City. Starting south of East Hudson Street and west of the East River, it is also bordered by Chinatown and the East Village. Tenement housing is very prominent here, as well as many religious structures and more than a few excellent kosher delis and bakeries. For those in search of entertainment, the Lower East is home to many bars and live music venues.
They call em creepers.
They're the people who loiter with no discernible purpose other than to look around and creep people out. Out here in the lower east side, businesses little the ground floors of apartment buildings, hawking wares of varying quality and tastes. Fire escapes little the facades of the brick behemoths above brightly colored awnings citing the names of places. Tartarus clientele come and curfew not in sight yet, and the sun almost ready to decline to the point that you could call it setting.
The creeper though, is a tall lanky guy, sunken eye's, black shirt that gives way to thin pale arms that move only for him to light a cigarette and inhale. Not in front of the bar, he's close enough that many a person has given him looks. He doesn't look back, just looks down the street, watching a building and infrequently blinking or twitching, his head moving at a quick jerk towards his shoulder or fingers spasm. He's a creeper.
Nadira's taking a break. Outside of Tartarus, leans against the side of the building itself, eyes scanning the street. It's good to get out and get some air. Her gaze flickers around at those coming and going, giving a nod or two to those she knows as they enter the club. She simply takes a deep breath in, though she scans and notes the creeper.
Tartarus is one of those places that Huruma knows enough about to be interested in- but not as much as to draw her inside quite as of yet. As a result, her passing through carries her out of the way towards where it is tucked, and for some time she will always play her own creeper role, skulking around in the dark down the street, or perched somewhere to watch the people filing in and out. Right now is the former. She wanders along the streetside, nearer to walls and mouths of alleys. Sometimes it is nice to just walk. The street is dusky as summer is, turned a burnt orange from sunset.
Creeper is giving off vibes, signs that Huruma can taste almost literally, the closer she gets. He's someone who can't control his emotions, that roil off him in waves far stronger than even Abigail gives off around the black woman. Anger and hatred, fury, that heavy hand of madness with it's fingers sunk right in there and tainting everything. Bad news.
Nadira comes out for her break and Finney tosses down the butt of his smoke, crushing it beneath the heel of his ratty converses and looking over to the Egyptian swiveling his gaze to the other woman and settling it there. Predator. It's strange because he doesn't look the part. Just a creeper, but there's just something about him.
Nadira notes the gaze on her. She's good at picking that out, but she's used to being looked at. The creeper is noted, carefully, but her gaze turns away. It's not as if she wants him coming too close to hang out, after all. They're close to Tartarus, which means there's likely no danger to anyone. Bouncers are just a hop, skip, and a jump away. Rubbing her chin, she tries to watch the guy out of the corner of her eye, back resting against the side of the building.
Sometimes there are things about people- it happens. Once or twice it surprises Huruma to feel something like it. Not today though. She observes for a few moments on her wandering approach, gaze changing off to where he is looking, then back to him again. By the time she has gotten within a few strides, Huruma has a narrowed look set intent upon him and an increasingly slow step. Her hands are at her sides, polished nails gleaming and form-fitting clothes extenuating her shape.
Another smoke brought out, in shaking hands and slid into his mouth, pinched between two lips as he fishes in his pocket for his lighter. Skinny arms flashing pale in the night, long and lanky, someone who's been living on the streets or at least living nomadically. The signs of not enough to eat. He offers a pinched smile bisected by the white of the smoke, something decidedly uncomfortable that you wish, they wouldn't grace you with such a smile. The clonic jerk of his head to shoulder ruins the effect though, causing him to scowl
brown eyes tear away from Nadia when Huruma starts to creep towards him, slowly, her gaze leveled, returned, not a glimmer of fear from him but neither is there a change in the emotions he's bathed in. Not good, not even close what she felt him radiating when he was looking at Nadira. A battle of the wills, he latches on to Huruma's gaze, never letting go. Intimdation factor? Sorry Huruma, failed that roll.
Nadira now looks to Huruma. Interesting. Now she's the one being stared at by the creeper. She looks between the two, gaze flickering curiously. She makes no move, mostly waiting to see what would happen. After all, the two were strange enough on their own, but with those two together…
She is all too aware that there are some people that will simply not blink- often, they can probably be classified in some other sort of mindset entirely. Crazy, maybe. Huruma pauses, soon enough, giving Nadira over yonder a fantastic seat for watching them come virtually toe to toe. Huruma is amazing at staring contests. Her intent with looking back at him is perhaps too intent; there is a secondary, invisible thing happening- she is whittling into his mood with something of her own. Not fear, or terror- a simple, very raw nervousness that begins to chew through like acid onto flesh.
The smoke shakes in his hand, more so than the occasional twitchings that it was doing. Huruma's insidious digging and drilling working through the layers little by little. She's rewarded, though whether it's what she's hoping for, who knows. ANger increases tenfold, erratic emotions waxing and waning with alarming speed and hurtling towards something.
Fight or Flight as he comes out of his lean against a building, closing the distance between Huruma and himself, if there was much to close. Cigarette lit, a puff taken and unblinking, blows it all in a dense cloud of smoke, a silent taunt drawn on the wings of carcinogens.
Is this a Mexican standoff or something? Nadira's watching, noting the strange way they seem to treat each other. Kind of reminds her of the cautious way dogs approach each other as they gather to fight, staring each other down but not quite baring teeth.
Watching his emotions is much like keeping track of scatters created by fireworks, popping, jumping, dancing- but as they come, she catches them. Rather than replace anything, she simply begins to snatch the droplets of anger from the mid-air of his head. At this juncture, Huruma is far more interested in manipulation and his potential reaction rather than creating an actual confrontation. As such, when he approaches her, she stays as still as a statue, pupils contracted in the sunset, set down on him from her natural high ground.
Distraction. Something other than Huruma catches his attention behind her and he backs off a step, tossing his barely smoked smoke to the ground, grinding it beneath his heel. A glance towards Nadira, he's gone, slinking off into an alleyway as fast as he can and into the dark of the shadows, Huruma can feel him going away even when the two cannot see him anymore.
Nadira watches, staring as the standoff ends, the creepy man heading off quickly. She frowns, just slightly, but slowly moves back towards the entrance to Tartarus. That was enough of a break. She thinks she prefers the creeps in there over the creeps out here.
As the young man moves off, Huruma waits until he is out of sight before out of range, and then she casts a vaguely interested look over her shoulder to where he had glanced away from her. It is quite possible that he was just a disturbed young man. She knows the true crazies- she can feel it in them. The missing reason, the intangible sort of erratic moods that she must crouch and hop on like a target. He may have been little different- or perhaps he was just an inordinarily gutsy young man.