~Doo Wa Ditty....~


owen_icon.gif sydney_icon.gif

Scene Title ~Doo Wa Ditty…….~
Synopsis Owen gets inspired, Sydney gets a song stuck in her head.
Date December 4, 2008

Little Italy

Sydney figured you could get good Italian food in Little Italy and instead ended up with good Oriental food. Either way it was good food. She is learning her way, sorta. Sydney is still bundles into her coat to keep herself warm against the frozen ways of the north she has moved to. Rather then riding her bike she is taking the subways and walking."

When you move fast enough, the cold takes a while to catch up with you. That's the philosophy that keeps Owen in layers better suited for a temperature about ten degrees higher than the current trend, and so far it's worked out okay. He's been out indulging his penchant for senseless acts of beauty or, as the law considers it, 'vandalism'. With no new messages from on high to encode for his Phoenix peeps, he's on his own recognizance as far as subject matter goes. He was just running dry on ideas when he spotted Sydney. That was five seconds ago. Two seconds ago he figured out which way she was headed and took a guess that she'd be passing an unadorned stretch of wall, and was no longer out of ideas.

Fifteen seconds later, the unmistakable smell of spray paint hangs in the air in Sydney's path, along with a faint stickiness as stray particles settle leadenly onto the sidewalk, shed from the effort that led to color being splashed across the wall as she passes. First, big letters, 'There she was, just a'walkin' down the street…' in tall, stylized script, flanked by musical notes. The mural ends with a rather good likeness of Sydney's profile, right there and the corner. The art wasn't there a bit ago, and the artist is nowhere to be seen.

Sydney sniffs the air. She isn't one used to the smell of aerosol spray paint. She pauses to look around and see what is making that smell. Never mind New York has been full of 'new smells' already. Most not good. Seeing the profile of herself makes her stop and step back. "What the?!" She looks again at the woman in it and then at the music. "This really is a weird city." Though now she has the song stuck in her head. "~Do wah ditty ditty dum ditty do~"

"They just don't write lyrics like that anymore," Owen interjects as he appears from around the corner, as he shoulders his way through a strap on his backpack to settle its weight for carrying. As if he just happened to overhear. He looks over at the wall, back and forth between the image and its inspiration. "She looks a lot like you," he states, as if discovering this novelty for the first time.

Sydney looks up at the girl on the wall and then over at the guy who showed up. "Yeah. She kinda does. And I don't think there are that many girls with natural tans and sun stroked hair in New York in winter." Thing is she just got here. "Looks new too. I've always enjoyed those easy going songs and Calypso music. So who are you?"

Owen could possibly be accused of dodging the question, at first. "Well, no, but—Hey, no, really, look.." He frames the image between his thumbs and index fingers, tilts his head to peer at it, and then holds up the frame in front of Sydney. He's not all up in her space or anything, and his scrutiny of her though the imaginary window is brief. Belatedly he blinks, as if distracted by the question, and gives her a curious look. "Oh," he answers with a shrug. "I'm Owen. I go to school around here." He's never really sure where he is in relation to school when he's out and about, distance being someone else's problem. New York's really small when you're a speedster.

Sydney leans in a bit to look at the frame Owen holds up. "Well who ever did that works fast and is impressive. Would that be art school Owen or something else?" She looks over at the man instead of the wall. "I'm Syd."

"Interdisciplinary," Owen replies with a shrug, because it sounds impressive. "I dabble in a lot of things." His smile doesn't quite mask the impish pride he's brimming with at the moment, but he's not really trying. "Nice to meet you, Syd. Where are you from?" He obviously noticed the tan, seeing as how he's gone to such lengths to replicate it on her portrait."

Sydney laughs a bit at the big word and the question, "somewhere with sunlight and a lot warmer." She has taken to hugging herself some and isn't able to hold still for fear of getting cold. "Not sure coming here was the best idea but I'm here now. How did you paint that so fast? You couldn't have seen me around before could you?"

"Oh, that? No, no, no-" At first Owen goes about pretending he didn't paint the mural, pointing at it and shaking his head. He's taking false modesty to an extra special extreme, evidently for his own amusement judging by the grin that overtakes him the more he protests. He blinks, his expression clears, and he cranes his neck to look back the way she came. "I saw you…um…wow, it seems like hours ago." These days, this kind of behavior is dangerous, but when one remains as comfortably convinced as Owen is that consequence is just another thing too slow to catch up with him, well…indulgences will happen.

"Hours huh?" She looks at the mural and then back at Owen. Sydney isn't so sure about that but is less sure of how much she should poke at it. "Where was I and what was I don't hours ago that caught your eye so? I wasn't chewing gum or snapping my fingers was I?" motioning to the lyrics on the wall.

She's got Owen at a loss to answer that question, stalled in place, forgetting he's got his finger pointed at the mural and his eyes darting about in search of good bullshit fodder in their surroundings. Nothing presents itself. To explain, to reiterate that it only -seemed- like hours, would really be more quibbling than his attention span can handle. He opts to change the subject. "So, whatcha doing?" He grins broadly, to help affirm that he is in fact dodging the question.

Sydney knows a dodged question when she gets it and has done it herself a lot more. "Walking down the street it seems. Though now I got 'Do wah ditty' in my head." She laughs at that and humming the song a bit. Laughing keeps the chill out some. "That and freezing my tropical butt off."

"It's a good song," Owen asserts with a grin, bobbing his head in time to the music as she hums and raising his brows encouragingly. With a blink, his expression goes thoughtfully neutral and then he looks around quickly, suggesting, "Time to get out of the cold then." Then he tucks his arms close, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Definitely not a bad idea. Have you eaten?"

Sydney nods her head thumbing her hand back. "Yeah, Seems like hours ago but it was just a bit ago. I was heading to a walk around a bit and then go down to the sweltering subway tunnels to get a ride to where I'm staying. Why are you hungry?"

"Pretty much always," Owen answers with a nod. He's tall and skinny, and with the kind of frenetic temperament that surely burns a lot of calories. He grins as she describes the time frame since her last meal, offering a slow empathizing nod. "Also, places where there's food tend to be warmer than..ah.." he bounces on the balls of his feet and glances about, breathing out a plume of mist as he concludes, "..here."

Sydney has to agree to that point. "Yeah but if I ate all the time I would look like that lady across from me on the way down that took up three seats." She watches the plume fade away. "I heard of this thing nearby that sounded strange. Something called 'bubble tea'?"

"You've never had- ?" Owen's momentary disbelief exceeds his attention span and is thus abandoned in favor of a more proactive "Well, it's unique. They're not really bubbles, they're pudding. C'mon." He motions for her to follow and then starts to head down the street.

Sydney huhs. "That sounds really strange. Then why don't we see what that is like? If you know where they are." She starts to follow along keeping her arms close and eyes about. "So you live around here?"

Owen takes a moment to actually look at where they are -everything looks subtly but confusingly different at 'normal' speed- with his finger in the air, and then turns his head to grin over his shoulder at Sydney. "Not around here, no. Close." He presses on, leading the way unerringly to an ice cream shop that is doing unusually good business, considering the weather. Warmth washes across them as they enter, making the chill behind seem all the sharper until the door has swung closed.

Sydney lets out a pleased sigh at the heat pumping from the vents in the parlor when they get inside. "This the place?" Doesn't look it. "I swear I need to learn to speak Chinese or something to live in this city. I so can't take the idea of ice cream right now however. Not sure how anyone can."

The shop specializes in smoothies and shakes and the aforementioned bubble tea, which the brightly lit sign on the menu above the counter describes as 'Crazy!' Owen indicates this with an upward jerk of his chin before turning to approach the counter. "It helps to speak a little bit of everything," he says, mostly just in the interest of making conversation. He is securely of the opinion that everyone should just make it easy and speak American, personally. "Pick a flavor. It's on me." He grins back at her as he informs Sydney of this.

Sydney looks up at the motioned sign and shakes her head. "So it is the place. Looks different to say the least." The language comment earns a grin, "I thought most Americans only spoke English." She reads over the menu and orders a mango green tea. "Thanks for the drink Owen. So how many other girls got painted this year so far?"

Owen orders a hot cocoa, pays with plastic, and then scoots to one side to lean against the glass counter with the ice cream tubs behind it to wait for their orders. "They should," he replies with a grin, which takes on a distracted air in response to her question. He furrows his brow and starts counting off on his fingers while affecting a pretense of recollection. "Um…….." He ducks his head, chuckling softly, and looks up to explain, "It's kind of been an off year for me. I'm behind on my quota. I'm sure you at least count for three." There's a pause as he blinks his way to a realization and then clarifies, "in terms of quality, not…well.." he frames an imaginary girth around his skinny middle "…quantity." Before he can see whether his recovery was adequate, their drinks are ready and he burns his upper lip in his haste to occupy his mouth so he can't dangle his toes in it, metaphorically.

"Oh. Only three? Well then that's okay. I'm sure I'll get buried in no time by concert ads." Sydney has a bright smile with her words. She reaches for her drink which is a lot bigger then she expected. "Wow that's big! I'm gonna float out of here if I drink this all." She shifts out of the way for others, "Some spots in the back I think."

"Depends," Owen replies, in response to the notion that his latest bit of vandalism will be getting buried under fliers, with no explanation offered. He gives a quick nod and pushes off the counter while sipping his cocoa, leading the way toward the back of the shop. He slides an unoccupied chair from a table with his foot and then settles into the one across from it with both hands still wrapped around his cocoa cup. "Try the bubbles," he advises.

Sydney motioning to the hot cocoa. "I'll have to have more of that in the future. Keep me from slipping into a hypothermia shock or something." She settles into the seat and finally unzips her coat and tries to settle in with the heat. She sips at the extra big straw and the first bubble pops up into her mouth and blinks. "That's different for sure. Kinda nice though."

"Not used to the cold, huh?" Owen asks, his tone sympathetic and warm. "Plenty of this," he agrees, nodding to the cup he's still got both hands wrapped around to sap warmth from it, "it'll see you through. And plenty of chicken noodle soup for when it—" A brief snippet of music, barely muffled by the pocket of his hoodie, interrupts him and he quickly sets the cup down to pull out his phone. He holds up a finger and offers an apologetic look as he answers the call. "'s me." Silence. "Yeah?" He takes in a sharp breath and stirs the air impatiently with his free hand. Whoever's on the other end is talking too slow, it seems. He gives Sydney another look, equal parts hangdog and penitent. "Oh. Yeah, give me a sec. I'll be right there.." He hangs up, making a sour face, and then says, "I kind of have to go. It's important. I'll…see you around though, okay?"

Sydney enjoys her tea watching as Owen takes his call. She'll not interrupt him. It gives her a chance to really study him and get to know his body language. "Take care of yourself. Everyone tells me what a bad city this is and how dangers it is. Good to meet you."

Owen gets up from his chair, smiling as he assures, "It'll have to catch me first," dismissing her concern for the city's dangers. "You take care of yourself, now. Start with this." He slides his cup over to her. "Keep warm." He lingers a moment longer, to stand there and grin at her -protracting the moment for a lazy infinitude of picoseconds to engage in a good long mental snapshot- before easing into motion and heading out of the shop. Seconds later he's across the city, meeting with his colleagues.

December 5th: Sledgehammer
December 5th: All Dressed Up With No Place to Go
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