Let Sleeping She-Dogs Lie


brian_icon.gif elle_icon.gif

Scene Title Let Sleeping She-Dogs Lie
Synopsis <summarize the scene>
Date August 28, 2009

Central Park

Central Park has been, and remains, a key attraction in New York City, both for tourists and local residents. Though slightly smaller, approximately 100 acres at its southern end scarred by and still recovering from the explosion, the vast northern regions of the park remain intact.

An array of paths and tracks wind their way through stands of trees and swathes of grass, frequented by joggers, bikers, dog-walkers, and horsemen alike. Flowerbeds, tended gardens, and sheltered conservatories provide a wide array of colorful plants; the sheer size of the park, along with a designated wildlife sanctuary add a wide variety of fauna to the park's visitor list. Several ponds and lakes, as well as the massive Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir, break up the expanses of green and growing things. There are roads, for those who prefer to drive through; numerous playgrounds for children dot the landscape.

Many are the people who come to the Park - painters, birdwatchers, musicians, and rock climbers. Others come for the shows; the New York Shakespeare Festival at the Delacorte Theater, the annual outdoor concert of the New York Philharmonic on the Great Lawn, the summer performances of the Metropolitan Opera, and many other smaller performing groups besides. They come to ice-skate on the rink, to ride on the Central Park Carousel, to view the many, many statues scattered about the park.

Some of the southern end of the park remains buried beneath rubble. Some of it still looks worn and torn, struggling to come back from the edge of destruction despite everything the crews of landscapers can do. The Wollman Rink has not been rebuilt; the Central Park Wildlife Center remains very much a work in progress, but is not wholly a loss. Someday, this portion of Central Park just might be restored fully to its prior state.

"Really good acting job, by the way."

Teeth chomp down into the pita, taking a big bite the mouth rapidly closes back in to snap off a small piece of stray chicken. Snatching it up he chomps happily, placing the thing down in his lap for a moment. "Have you taken acting classes? Or are you just natural?" Natural at deceiving. Hah. The sun is setting slowly, glowing orange and pink on the horizon.

Brian and Elle sit against a tree, a bag of food in between them for their makeshift pseudo picnic. Picking up the cup of soda Brian takes a pull from the straw before realizing he took the wrong cup. Placing it back hastily in hopes that Elle doesn't notice he quickly covers up for his mistake.

"So. Why'd you call?"

"You know what I work for." Is reason enough coming from Elle, her lips curved into the tiniest of smirks. They are long out of sight of the pita stand by now, lounging in half-slumps against one of the maples dotting the sprawling green lawns of Central Park — at the top of a hillock (really more like a bump), too, so they can easily people-watch the bikers and dog-walkers and joggers intermittently scrolling across the rolling footpath below. "I'm supposed to be good at pretending I'm things I'm not. As for why I called…"

She turns her head to transfix Brian squarely in the center of her vision, smile becoming wrier, though no wider. The tone she uses is as innocent as it can be: "That's my cup, silly. And I told you. I wanted pitas." One of which indeed rests draped from her hands, paused at the bottom of a motion of being lifted to her mouth so she can let her gaze hover in amusement. A moment later, though, she leans a little to bring it back to her lips.

"You could have gotten pitas by yourself." Brian intones, bringing his pita up he takes another nibble while his eyes are allowed to rollll over to the very side to peer at her. Setting his pita back down, he wipes his wrist away at his mouth before turning to face Elle squarely. "Sorry. Was an accident. Good thing I don't have swineflu, right?" A little smile.

Slowly his attention swivles back down to the little path where the peoples of the world jog and bike and walk. "So did you have fun?"

Elle takes her blessed time finishing her most recent bite of pita, now leisurely resting her gaze straight ahead. The look in her expression, nevertheless, glints with undisguised signs of entertainment. That's when the question— "Did I have fun?"

Now is when she sort of rolls sideways closer to him, her face quirked upwards at his from approximately the level of his chest, eyes keen. "You could call it fun. One hand snakes out to touch him high in the ribs, a kind of soft, cat-like stroke downwards that ends in an agonizingly abrupt ZZZT of shunted electricity. The stroking motion continues uninterrupted all during it, though, at least from her end. Brian's may be a different story. "I didn't like the part where the dumb girl talked, though." Kaylee.

"What else would you call it?" His hands start to go for the pita, but freeze mid reach out when she positions herself straight in front of him. HIs head rears back into the tree, a brow quirking. Brian's mouth opens when her hand begins to trace along his stomach though his words never come out. Instead what comes out is:

"Fffghhhahhh." A wince is let out, his shoulders convulsing against the trunk of the tree. His hands clutch into fists at his side, head rolling back a snarl painted on his lips. Slowly he relaxes after the jolt, what with the soothing part of her hand still going but still. "I have someone. Elle." His lips purse together, glancing over to her. One hand slowly comes to clutch at her wrist.

"…A day's work." At first ignoring the scorched, crinkly hole now blackened right into Brian's shirt in the abdomen, Elle lets her wrist be caught up in Brian's probing grasp, her gaze falling equally still into his. Her hand dangles, curling loosely together just past where it's being held. "I thought so," she murmurs, though at least her ~curious paw~ has been stopped; her other palm is pressed down into the grass, providing leverage. From what can be seen beneath a black, knee-length skirt, both her legs are still angled to one side, as they have been.

"You didn't hear me ask for anything else." The ritual is enough for her, or so her amused undertone runs. He can interpret it as it wants, but to her, it means little except what it has always meant.

Taking her hand in tow then going to set it in Elle's lap his hand retreats back to his pita. Though he is given pause when he fixes his eye onto his dress shirt with a little hole. 8(. Reaching down, he touches gingerly at it looking disappointed at the hole. Sighing softly he goes to take the last bite. Chompchompchomp.

"Does it really give you that much enjoyment then? Making people go bzzt and putting little tiny holes in people's second slash third favorite white shirts." Picking up Elle's cup once again, this time on purpose, he starts to drain it. Rapidly. Hmph.

"Oh, fuck it, I can get you a new one," Elle responds blithely when she sees where Brian is peering, letting herself recoil back to her own original position again and laying one hand on her pita so she can resume eating it. "If you were still with you-know-what, we could've dipped straight into your shopping funds." But admit it it was ttly worth it, yes? Yes??

When the agent spies him draining her own cup — heeey— her answer is to just-as-swiftly pluck up Brian's cup from its original resting spot and move to slide it slyly just behind her back, as though he can't see her stealing it. Of course he can't. Doop de doop.

Finishing his drink. Elle's drink. He eyes her as she tries to sneaky steal his cup. Frownyface. "I make more money than you now." Brian grins charmingly, evaporating his former downtrodden expression. Placing the empty cup down, he wipes away at his mouth once again. "My work pays well. Freelance." He gives her a little shrug. "Maybe you should look into it."

Reaching out his hand goes to seize Elle by the shoulder and push her back, into the cup into the tree. Aiming to have the thing crush and leak up onto the back of her shirt. Fair's fair, ok. Winters goes to plop his hands back in his lap with a big innocent smile.

The roughness of Brian's backwards jerk, as well as its misdirected angle, unfortunately accomplishes mainly one thing: the paper cup is tipped straight onto its delicate side rather than being squished up against anything as the duplicator might've hoped. The small amount of water left in it suddenly pools out; some of it, yes, onto the hem of Elle's skirt. Some of her fingers come away from it dripping, and there is a frown on her face as she scoots herself over — nearly into Winters to avoid the spill, as if there is a poisonous spider there.

"Bri-ian," she chides. With the hand that is still dry, she flicks her forefinger and thumb at his ear; as she does, there is another muti-forked ZZZT zapped directly into cartilage. It's a slightly lesser dosage than before, but jolts are jolts.

Disappointment is obvious when the success of the retaliation is minimal. Sigh. And then of course. BZZT. His arms sling up in a tiny convulsion as she shocks him once again. Turning to face her fully, the wrapper is taken out of his lap and placed on the ground. Like a man taking off a jacket before fighting. Facing Elle entirely, he touches his ear tenderly. "Do it again. One more time I dare you. I will punch you straight in the teeth." An amused twinkle dances in his eye that says he probably won't actually punch her straight in the teeth, but the clenched fist says yes.

But Elle doesn't do it again; she just fixes Brian with an 'oh, really' lift of her brows and more gently stretches her arm upwards for his ear again. If he doesn't jerk away, she'll tenderly rub a fingertip over the area that she had slammed a mini-lightning bolt into just seconds ago, like some worried mother, before letting her hand drop back into her own possession. "Mm. Tell me more about your work." It's said in a thoughtful coo. There's a minuscule amount of amusement in her face too; no less ironic than his, but birdlike and more watchful.

His fist relaxes into his lap, though he does tense when she raises her hand up again. Though he relaxes when it seems to just be a motherly pet. Or something that could be misinterpereted as that. Bringing his own hand up it goes to cup Elle's making sure hers returns back to her own lap without any detours that may or may not include electricity.

"It's better than yours. I do what I want. Choose what I want to do. Act like an asshole and get paid more." He gives a big thumbs up to her. Smiling broadly.

"Who does the paying?" What? Work in a well-paid environment where paychecks and acting like an asshole aren't mutually exclusive? Unpossible. Still nonchalant, but Elle's gaze has sharpened a little now, ignoring the placement of her own hand into her lap like a preschooler being physically arranged by a grown-up into a position of politeness.

"Clients. Whoever needs work done. And whoever cash to pay with it. You get your name around and there's a lot of work to be done." Brian smiles gently as her hand is trained into her lap like a good little girl. In fact to affirm that his hand goes to give a pat pat on hers before trailing back and resting behind him. Leaning back on his hands he grins slightly. "Why? You going to leave daddy?"

Okay, now that. That.

Elle's lower jaw appears to tauten, gripped by a level tension that absolutely hadn't been present a moment ago. Slender back straightening as well, she snakes out a hand to bunch up and -yank- tightly at the fabric of Brian's holey-dress shirt so his face will be dragged downwards closer to hers, smiling prettily and wistfully. "I'm not six years old," she states flatly, but there is a current of tumultuous warning behind suddenly half-lidded eyes. "You've known me for a few days. You haven't earned the right to talk to me that way yet."

Brian can't help but grin as he is yanked forward. Though he quickly thinks better to laugh in her face while she has her finger so close to his poor skin. The grin evaporates instantly. He remains expressionless while watching her, maintaining neutrality against her kinda smiley kinda angry talking to. His forehead goes forward a fraction, resting against hers after she finishes talking. Another grin winding up. "Sorry. Bout that." And then he's pulling back, his hand going to ease her hand out of his holey shirt gently.

This time when Elle's hold retracts off Brian's shirt, it's with far less willingness than a similar movement had gone the first time, and it is also accompanied by the slightest curling of her lip. "No, you're not," she murmurs at him with a quirk of a humorless smile, still in the same incidental-sounding voice she had used before — one which has little to say about what mood she is truly in. Or isn't.

Hovering in the air the split moment before it drops entirely, her hand extends to give him an unexpectedly rough shove to the center of his chest, wrist flicking dramatically in completion of that haughtily uncaring motion.


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