Chat With An Officer? Priceless


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Scene Title Chat With an Officer? Priceless
Synopsis A trip to the seven-eleven turns awkward between a non-college student and a cop.
Date January 5, 2011


The shiny gleam of the white floor of Seven-Eleven reflects the light off every surface in an almost head-inducing way. The store itself is busy with the local high school— only a block away— on lunch break. Teens are a dime a dozen at the hangout. The nearly sickening scent of hotdogs rolling over on the grill fills the air as various teens purchase their wares.

Not that teens are alone in this. There are others still. Normal adults living out their lives, trying to negotiate the insanity of the lunch hour.

Among them is one Samara Dunham, negotiating the crowd for what she desperately craves: a slurpee. It's been ages since she had one, and randomly today when she woke up this morning a part of her wanted to experience something awesomely reminiscent.

In a lot of respects, she blends with the young crowd. Her dark wash skinny jeans, black jacket, and purple scarf keep her warm, but her youthful face, bright smile, and even brighter eyes could let her pass for seventeen in this crowd…

Lunch hour. The worst time to be trying to pick up a quick lunch at a 7-11. Unfortunately, that seems to be what Christine Jackson is doing. Donned in her police uniform, as she's on duty currently, Christine walks casually around the store, occasionally stopping to gaze suspiciously at a group of kids or tap her foot at them impatiently. Eventually she picks out a tuna sandwich and a coffee and makes her way to the long line of high school students.

Christine almost baffles, really, at the sight of all these kids. No more than seven years ago, she herself was anticipating graduation from high school. A rare feat at the school she went to, mind, but still. As she looks around, she sighs. She also knows, however, the antics of high school students anywhere. So thus her eyes stay open. What are those darn rapscallion kids up to? Could any of them be up to no good?

Stiffening nearly suspiciously at the sight of a police officer, Samara can actually feel the colour drain from her face. She ma not be wanted, but she is certainly dead. At least by all records standards. With a deep breath, she forces the brightest smile she can muster and shoves her hands into her pockets. Nothing to see her folks, just another high school student blending with her classmates as best she can…

A quick little glance is given toward Samara as Christine's gaze flits over the girl. Why's she so tense? Is something going on there with her? Maybe, maybe not. Definitely something to keep an eye on though. Of course, she could just be stressed at being back at school. That could definitely do it. But then again, there could be more. It's really hard to say.

Ohmygosh, she's looking at me!!!

Sam's eyes flit to the officer and then back to the counter as she stiffens even more. Act casual!. The twenty-year old's lips press together tightly as she rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet with a leery impatience at how the line isn't moving. Finally, being unable to hold it in any longer, her head turns and she faces the officer, accidentally catching the other woman's gaze.

She manages a small smirk and then, thinking on her feet she asks, "Got a light?" A question she regrets moments later, never having smoked a cigarette in her life. Now she'll have to like bu one or something.

Step one, when a cop is looking at you? Do not panic. And often it is wise not to say the exact first thing that comes to your mind to say. But there it is. Christine tries to offer Samara a little smile. "Is everything alright, Miss?" She asks casually to Samara, before shaking her head to the question. "No, I'm afraid I don't have a light." Is this person even old enough to smoke? She can't help but wonder.

"Oh," Sam responds likely more relieved than someone needing their nicotine fix for the day. "Well… okay then," she shoots Christine a small smile as she twists back to face the counter and stifles the smallest sigh of relief. A glance is given to her bright blue slurpee (about the colour of antifreeze) sitting on the counter as she slides it along in the lineup. Again she finds herself rocking on the balls of her feet, remembering something that Brian had told her, she murmurs, "Just been jonesin'" do people even say that anymore "for a cigarette since first period…"

Christine nods a little bit. "Jonesin', huh?" Uh-uh. DO people even say that word any more? Did people ever ACTUALLY use that word? She never used it. But hey, maybe it's something that White people like to say or something. "Haven't there been cops or health officials who have come to talk to you guys about how bad cigarettes are for you?" Not to mention sorta illegal for people under a certain age to have. Of course, Christine doesn't know that Samara is actually a bit older, in reality.

Uh-oh. Next time think of a better lie and have some foresight, Samara. The auburn haired woman shrugs. "Oh." Beat. "I'm from the college, actually." Do they have periods in college? Next time she needs to focus on things she knows if she's going to lie. "And yeah… my mom tells me like all the time how bad they are. But they keep…" there's a brief pause "the freshman fifteen away." She nods adamantly at this fact. "And I'd rather live short, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse than… die fat of heart disease…" again she nods, unsure how this entire thing got so far away from her.

"Oh, the college…which college did you say, again?" Yeah, like Christine is going to fall for that one, so close to the high school…again. As she places her sandwich and her coffee on the counter, waiting for her turn to pay. Why hold them when they can be put down somewhere? "You should listen to your mom. They're really not good for you." She rolls her eyes. "You know there's a lot of beautiful old women, right? 'Dying fat of heart disease' is only one way you can actually die. I'd say it's better to live a long, full life than die young." And this coming from a cop who could potentially be killed at any given moment while on duty.

"NYU," she states quickly, positive that it's in New York thanks to the name. She looks smart-ish, she thinks. "You know. That one." She grins, not as easy as she'd like. Sami shrugs though at the comment, "No beautiful women who put on the freshmen fifteen. No one wants them. And like cafeteria food makes people put it on. It's like all starch all of the time. And like the portions are all wrong and there really aren't good fresh vegetables. Lots of very salty food. So I have my— uh… Camel," she has no idea if this is still a current brand, she just remembers the ads when she was younger, "cigarettes to combat the poor nutrition. Besides, living long isn't really that important." And then, in an attempt to channel her younger sister she quips, "Getting a date to the semi-formal and looking hawt in that dress? Priceless."

"Mmhmmm? NYU? You know, I went to NYU. What are you taking?" Christine asks, as casually as she can. Grant it, NYU is a big school with many professors and courses, so even if Samara were to actually be taking something she took, there could be only a slim chance that she knows the teacher. "Cigarettes don't really help combat poor nutrition, you know. They just keep depleting it, really." She has to force herself to not roll her eyes. So, she's one of those girls, eh?

"Dance," the moment the word touches Sami's lips, she regrets it. And that's all there is to it. Nothing like a dancer with emphysema. She rocks on the balls of her feet again. "Mostly modern, jazz, ballet— although I appreciate partner ballroom dancing as well. One day I'll have some awesome dancer man to tango with." There's a pause, "There's a good chance he'll be gay. Most of the dancers in the program are," it's a plausible lie in her mind.

Christine raises an eyebrow. "Dance? Did you consider trying out for Juilliard? I'd imagine that'd be the place to go. Not NYU." She says thoughtfully, or seemingly so, anyway. "Huh. Gay dancers. What's next? Gay opera singers?" Not that she knows much about opera singers either. And it's not like she has a problem with gay people either. It's just that she doesn't think about them often.

"Yeah… I considered it…" is all Sami can manage somewhat bitterly as she finally reaches the counter and pays for her slurpee. "Just wasn't in the cards, I guess." Her lips press into a thin line as she produces a crisp $5 bill to the cashier. Only to receive her change moments later. She looks over her shoulder and frowns slightly, but only slightly.

"Considered it? I'd imagine that a young woman with aspirations to dance would do more than just 'consider' it. But hey, what do I know, I'm a cop." Is what Christine manages, pushing her own items along. She offers a little smile to Samara as she gets the frown. "What? You look like I said something strange. But hey, what's a cop to do?"

"Nothing," is all Sami manages as she slides her change into her pocket and zips it up. A glance is given to Christine and then one back to the cashier, "Thanks." And then one final glance and a small wave is given Christine, "Nice talking to you officer…" and then, quicker than she'd like, she's sliding off towards the door.

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