Participants:
| Scene Title | Out of Place |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | What are these people doing hanging around with bums? |
| Date | January 29, 2011 |
Clouds hang in the early afternoon sky, blocking out the sun yet still holding some warmth in against the world. It's stopped snowing for the moment, but the air hints that more is coming. Already, drifts from the plows and from those with shovels line the road and sidewalks, a futile attempt at keeping pathways cleared. Futile, but not unwelcomed.
Koshka has again escaped for the afternoon, and bundled in her jacket and hat, followed enough of those cleared sidewalks to find herself at a park-turned-tent city. The squalor has kept her from loitering, her leisurely pace intending to take her beyond the park itself and continue to whatever is beyond, but the girl still casts curious looks to the tarp and tent laden grounds clinging to the trees many yards off.
Whatever twist of destiny might have sent Daryl and Koshka crossing paths in a timeline that could have been, appears to have woken up from hibernation and decided to make up for lost time. This is the third day in a row that they've happened to be in the same place at the same time. With a dark gray denim jacket draped over his shoulders, he blends in with the other hangers-on who may or may not have nowhere else to go, his breath misting in the cold air. Wait, no, it's not that cold out; he's just working his way through a cigarette.
Fate or no, Koshka doesn't notice Daryl at first. It looks as though she might even walk past him without notice, her attention drawn briefly to some random street noise to her other side. But finding nothing of interest there, she tips her head to look toward the collection of homeless or vagrant types. Her eyes touch on the boy and move past, then return again. "You stalking me or something," she calls to him, jokingly.
Daryl knows that voice! He knows that face, too, but he was looking the wrong way until after she spoke up. "What do I look like, some creepy old guy?" Old, no. Creepy is open to interpretation, not that she seems to think of him that way. "Besides, if I was stalking you, would I be right out here where you can see me?" At the same time, he fishes out another cigarette from the pack and offers it to her. It's yet another thing he won't know until he actually runs the idea past her.
All things considered, creepy may still be debatable. However, Koshka does break into a grin at the reply. Her path shifts, taking her toward Daryl though her pace remains unhurried. "Don't know, maybe? You keep turning up, I mean.. you could just ask for my number or something." She follows that with a shrug, then shakes her head at the proffered cigarette.
Well, at least she didn't give him a hard time about his own. A lot of people do that nowadays, as if living in the city wasn't putting at least as much strain on their lungs anyway. "I should," he says, putting the cigarette back and finishing up what's left of his own. Why didn't he ask her for it the other day, anyhow? Probably irrational youthful confidence that they couldn't not cross paths again.
"You should." Koshka shrugs and takes a look to the tents and tarps and the dwellers of those temporary structures no longer so far away. Briefly. Giving just a small shake of her head, she looks back up at Daryl. There's a quick, 'Oh right,' her grin returning and a hand coming from her pocket, four twenties offered along with it. "Here."
"What's this for?" Daryl asks, even as he reaches a hand out to accept the cash. He'd already resigned himself to not getting it back… and now he's wondering all over again what's really going on in Koshka's mind. Was she really taken in by his game yesterday? Does she see through it, and just play along for fun? "It was cool hanging out with you guys," he adds, opting for safe territory.
"Because, it's yours," Koshka answers, though her she begins to withdraw the offer. "But if you don't want it…" While still sort of teasing about the money, she smiles. "Yeah? I had fun too. Hanging out with you and meeting Adisa. It was great."
Daryl shakes his head, taking a look around and starting to walk toward a less crowded spot. "Adisa. I mean, she's fun too, but she's nuts. I met you two days ago and she's acting like we're a couple?" And then there was that silly rhyme, but that was really her mom's fault. Supposedly.
With a shrug, Koshka follows. Her hands return to her pockets after giving over the cash, and she watches the ground as she moves. "Well, yeah. That was kinda weird." Not near as weird as their first meeting. "But… I don't know. We did just meet.." She offers another shrug and a glance toward Daryl. "Not that she'd know that."
"I guess so. Does she assume that any guy and girl hanging out together are going out? I can see it now— me talking to somebody else, and she comes up and starts raising hell." The other alternative is that she picked up on some sort of dynamic between them, but that would just be silly. Uh huh.
"I know, right?" The girl shakes her head, feigning a scoffing demeanor. She's not really sure, herself, quite what's happening between herself and this guy she's just met. A foot scuffs at the ground, scraping up packed snow and exposing part of the pathway underneath. Shoulders lift, then drop again as Koshka rolls out another shrug. "Just weird, I guess."
Daryl doesn't know, either, other than something is. What's the difference between destiny and coincidence? He hadn't even figured out what he wanted to be doing a year from now, or at least he hadn't come up with anything realistic. "So if she's your 'aunt', how old is Samara? Gotta be a pretty big age gap there someplace."
"Samara? She's like…" As Koshka mulls over the question, she looks over her shoulder and once again toward the tent city. "I think she's like ten years older than me. Or less." She'd never asked, to be honest. "She's an adult though."
"So a couple of little gaps, then," replies Daryl, scratching his head. Adisa - who was definitely not like ten years older than her - to Samara, and from there (somehow) to Koshka's bio-parents. And speaking of adult— "She appreciate you giving her some personal time last night?"
Trying to follow Koshka's family situation is a bit like trying to swim through molasses, murky and difficult at best. But that aside, she nods absently. "Yeah, she did. I guess they went out a little later, but.. Yeah, she had a good time. Watching tv and stuff."
And stuff. Right. Daryl's expression is skeptical, but he stops short of openly questioning it. "Well, that's good, I guess. They say anything about the money?" Is Koshka going to say anything else about the money? He still hasn't gotten a good read on whether she caught on.
She's heard of rich people dressing up as the homeless before. It was part of the premise of a Chuck Palahniuk book, even. Living among the city's destitute, those who have lost work, or just plain can't afford a home while still being able to afford food. Those who won't get a job, those who have put themselves in such a situation. There are all walks of life here in Prospect Park, really.
That's most of what interested the telepathic rich girl. Soleil Remi Davignon has decided, today, to pretend to be a homeless woman. She didn't wash her hair this morning, she's not wearing makeup, and she's even chosen out an outfit from a secondhand store to complete the look. While she still wears her designer undergarments, the rest of her clothes make her look the part. Ill fitting jeans that are a little too big for the slender ballet dancer, a t-shirt, a threadbare hoodie, and a worn out carhart coat grace her form, today.
She actually doesn't like looking like this, but it's only for a day, while she does her little telepathic case study. The woman scuffs through the snow with her uncomfortable snow boots, squeezing the black men's coat around her. Her eyes trail over faces in this shanty village, mind focusing on skimming the thoughts of random individuals with raised brows.
She's walking right toward the two teenagers, and when her blue eyes focus on them, her brows raise slightly. Immediately, her mind focuses on the pair of teens, curiousity prompting her to wonder exactly what such young kids are doing out here.
"I didn't tell them about that," Koshka replies, casting a half grin at Daryl. "So they didn't ask. All they know is I was out yesterday with a couple of people." And one of them happened to be Adisa, whom Sami knows, so she's in the clear.
Or then again, maybe not. And one of them was Adisa, and she'll like totally run her mouth about it. It's the tone of voice that sticks in Daryl's thoughts, putting an edge on her exuberance. Not that he's been up to anything really bad, but Adisa could paint just about any picture she wanted. Might turn out to be a pain in his ass.
Outwardly, he's still all smiles. "Yeah, tell her to bring someone along next time, okay? We can make it a double date." And I can get some of my own dirt on them while I'm at it.
Quietly, the 'homeless' woman makes her way over to a place to sit. After gingerly dusting it free of snow, she settles down a fair distance from the teens, fetching a cigarette from the pocket of the Carhartt jacket, as well as a zippo. She seems content, for the moment, to just listen in on what would normally be private thoughts, restricted to the confines of the minds around her.
Remi lights up her cigarette, turning her gaze upward toward the sky as she listens.
Wait, date? What happened to 'just met'? Koshka's brows tick up slightly, followed by her shoulders, outwardly casual, though inwardly she's back to trying to figure Daryl out herself. "I guess. I… don't know if she's seeing anyone. We could ask though." So now it's sort've a date. But not really since we just met? Imagine, if you will, a mental eye going all squinty on the boy, while she's half grinning.
While Daryl notices the brow go up, he doesn't have Remi's advantage in knowing exactly why, and takes a guess. A wrong one, naturally. "I dunno, she seems like the type who'd just go find someone without thinking twice about it."
The choice of words hasn't hit him with the same implications that it did her. They ended up grabbing dinner and a movie yesterday, that would absolutely qualify as a date if it'd just been the two of them, right? Still well short of a relationship; if it wasn't for the vision last year, then he wouldn't be thinking along those lines at all, not this early on.
A faint smile forms on the redhead's face, the woman puffing on her cigarette. For all the two know, Remi could just be a random homeless woman who is really enjoying her cigarette. Perhaps it's been a while since she's had one, or something to that effect. Ah, young love. How adorable.
"She doesn't seem that shallow," Koshka replies. Certainly not enough to pick some random Joe and go out. Seems a lot like her sister. Jamming her hands further into her pockets, she turns slightly to lean against a leaf-bare tree, her eyes turning toward the grounds they'd already passed through. She catches sight of Remi and other vagrant appearing types, but her thoughts remain centered around trying to solve date or no date.
Koshka looks up at Daryl after a moment's perusal of the surroundings and nods. "I'll call her and ask though. She seems fun."
Daryl puts up his hands in a typical defensive stance. "No, I didn't mean shallow—" Little close to home there. "Just, you know. Hanging out. Like us." A gross simplification, but still getting the point across, he hopes. "Or just bring her brother along, if they're cool with that."
Remi tilts her head toward the two teenagers, before thoughtfully raising to her feet. After a moment, she shuffles her way over to the two teens, the cigarette resting out of the corner of her lips. When she speaks, it is with a somewhat strained accent; she's definitely a foreigner, though it's difficult to determine from where she hails. "Excuse me." She offers a dip of her head toward the two. "Either of you have the time?" The way she talks, it sounds like she has trouble with 'h' and 'th'.
Koshka's head nods, again agreeing to talk with Adisa. "I'll ask her," she says, again tilting her head to look elsewhere, toward the trees and whatnot. Insistant. So he wants to be with Adisa instead? She hears Remi's approach, but doesn't look toward the red head until she actually speaks, and rather than answer she pulls her hands from her pockets to show bared wrists. No watch, homeless person, not giving you any money either. "Afternoon, probably around one or so."
More like he wants to make sure Adisa is otherwise occupied. See how messy things get when people don't just talk? Daryl checks through his pockets, coming up with a cell phone. "Yeah, about one-thirty." No wristwatch, either; tell him 'wristwatch' and the first thing he thinks of is the fakes being sold out on the streets.
Oh, if Koshka only knew that Remi, in all actuality, is certainly not a homeless person, and that she is the daughter of one of the biggest names in fashion. It's interesting, really. She should do this more often. It's quite fascinating, the way her attire and general appearance has changed how people react to her. How people think about her. Quite the interesting case study, really.
She can't help but raise her brows toward Koshka for a moment, the corners of her lips barely turning up in a faintly amused smile. Then, she turns, nodding toward Daryl as she shoves one hand into her pocket, the other lifting up to flick the ash from the cigarette. "Thanks," she murmurs, inadvertantly offering her most charming smile to the teen.
"You two don't seem like the types to hang out in a shanty town, w—yeah?" She puffs at her cigarette, sure to blow the smoke away from the teens.
After a sidelong glance to Daryl, Koshka looks at Remi again. Oh look, a lecture. Her brows tick up at the surmise, though it wasn't that long ago that she was homeless. Her own appearance still reflects that bit of history. "Still public property. There's no law saying that we can't walk through here." Yet.
It's Daryl who feels most at home here— or so he thinks, unaware of the fullness of Koshka's past. He was homeless for a little while after the bomb wrecked his family's old apartment, but more to the point, this is the type of place he chooses to hang out with when he has a choice. Somewhere among the downtrodden and the flat-out losers is the type of freedom he's looking for.
More to the point immediately at hand, though, he's here now, and so is she. "Yeah, we were just minding our own business," he adds, drawing a small step closer to Koshka as he studies Remi's expression, trying to figure out where she's going with this.
A glance is cast toward Koshka, brows raised. Catty little thing, isn't she? After a moment, a shrug rolls over Remi's slender shoulders. At least being a ballerina gives her the appearance of being a bit underfed, even though it's all lean muscle. "I don't give a shit what you do." The accent sounds possibly French. Maybe she's from Canada or something. "Was just pointing something out."
Then why the hell're you questioning us for? Koshka slants another glance in Daryl's direction, head tipping a fraction toward Remi in a 'you getting this?' Turning a calmly cool look once more to the red head, she returns her hands to her pockets and lifts her chin a little, a faint grin pulling at the corners of her mouth.
Daryl is less inclined to put a pleasant face on the proceedings. Taking hold of Koshka's hand, he gestures toward the path she was following earlier before she spotted him. "C'mon, let's get outta here. I can tell when we're not wanted." Oughtta be able to get a non-double-date out of this.
Remi rolls her eyes, suddenly. "Wasn't questioning you, little bitch. Just curious." Normally, she'd have avoided saying something like that, but…well, she looks different when her hair is clean and she is actually wearing makeup. Really…was she this awful when she was a teenager? "The fuck do I care, you're probably just the ungrateful daughter of some rich asshole, acting out your rebellion by hanging out in a place where people usually go 'cause they have nowhere else." She turns away, wandering back toward the general direction of her seat.
"Wait, what?" Though her arm's being pulled on, Koshka turns to remain facing Remi, walking backward if she has to. "What gives you any right to call me a bitch?" And you were questioning, freak-face. "You don't know the first thing about me, or what I know. For all you know I could be rich or an orphan. You have no idea who I am so screw you." By the time she's finished, she's practically yelling. But with a final huff she turns to let Daryl lead the way.
"What she said." And Daryl pitches the butt of his cigarette toward Remi for good measure; it falls well short, but the intent is impossible to miss. Not waiting for a response, he turns around and keeps going.
As soon as Remi is out of sight and out of mind, his train of thought promptly switches tracks. Wow, Koshka, you're kinda hot when you're pissed off. As long as it's not at me.
I know you far better than you think I do, child, and I know that you're a horribly catty little bitch. You should go home to your parents, they're probably worried about you. Never know when they're not going to be around any longer… This bounces around in Koshka's head, the 'conversation' hidden from Daryl. Granted, Remi doesn't know Koshka that well, but that's what the telepathy is for.
Outwardly, she doesn't react, only walking away from the pair as she puffs on her cigarette.