Participants:
| Scene Title | Smoking is Bad |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Elle and Nadal meet…and neither offer the best first impressions. |
| Date | August 6, 2010 |
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.
Another gorgeous day, though it's gotten fairly hot throughout the afternoon. Central Park is fairly populated today, despite the heat, with people caking on the sunscreen and enjoying the little bit of nature they can find in New York City. Families having picnics, lovers young and old walking through the park holding hands, children running around and playing on the playgrounds, dog walkers— it takes all kinds here in Central Park.
Elle is apparently enjoying the weather today, as well, despite her current state, seated in the shade of a tree. She wears a pair of blue jean capris, a green tank top, and sunglasses over her eyes; her shoulder is bandaged, and her arm is up in a sling. She looks rather not thrilled right now, frowning over all of the happy people in the park. Why can't she be like that? Normal? Happy?
With a forlorn sigh, Elle lifts her large Slurp-O and, well, slurps at it.
Nadal freshly arrived here from Syria less then a week ago. He seems a little lost, a little obserant, and mildly out of place. His modern dress and cool demeanor tend to keep people from assuming he is a terrorist. He still seems to be suspicious of the looks people cast his way.
Nadal is strolling through the park his hands in his pocket. He seems to be people watching for the most part and fading to inattention at the details of his navigation. He is dressed in a pair of dark khaki dress pants, a white shirt with a black tie, and a pair of cowboy boots. His face is clean shaven and is almost expressionless like someone who has a bit too much on his mind. Every few minutes he pulls his hand from his side and looks at his rolex before tapping it's glass. Under his breath he mutters various curses in Arabic in an attempt to speed up time.
Elle quietly watches as people go about their business in the park, a contemplative look on her face. Blue eyes, hiding behind sunglasses, catch sight of the rather stressed seeming fellow, thoughtfully slurping at the slushie drink. He doesn't seem like he really belongs here, she notices, and he seems like he's looking for someone, or perhaps something. Shifting the Slurp-O into her bad hand, Elle slowly stands, dusting off her rear as she thoughtfully peers at the man.
He looks interesting.
Nadal finally stops along the pathway his gaze affixed into the distanced. The particular subject of his curiosity is two young men shaking hands with a jamaican musician. This is merely a front for a drug transaction of some sort. It is painfully obvious to mose but seems to vastly intrigue Nadal. His weight shifts from side to side as he observes intently the transaction. His nervousness shows as he taps the flats of his palms against the pockets of his pants. It causes a soft jingling of keys, coins, and flesh. Taking in a deep breath he finally cuts away then collects himself towards a bench in the park. He slinks down into the green bench covering his head in his hands. Not out of emotional distress put more tellingly stress as his fingers slide away from his face exposing his eyes once again.
The woman offers a small shrug, slowly meandering her way over to Nadal. She has no clue why she wants to talk to the man, but life is strange right now, anyhow, so why not do something strange? Slowly, she wanders over to Nadal, coming to a stop next to him, perhaps a little bit in his personal bubble space. She never really understood bubble space, really.
"Are you okay there, sir? You look like you're having some trouble…" She reaches out, one hand hovering near his shoulder, though she doesn't touch him just yet.
From his spot on the bench Nadal lets his eyes drift upwards. The gaze is almost a leer like trail of lewdness and curiosity. His fingertips slowly slide away from his face and drop down to his side against the seat of the bench. Once his eyes finally reach up towards hers he locks on to them tilting his head slightly.
Then what happens next is as odd as it is pleasant. His lips curl from distress to a playful smile. When he begins to speak he does so with an English accent atop an Egyptian one. A cluster of the two languages readily visible on most national television programs. "I am ok though better now."
Nadal shifts in his seat before he continues speaking. "My name is Nadal….is it that painfully obvious I am out of place here?" His fingers wrap against the bench as he does his best to size up the girl in front of him. "I hope it is not nearly enough to be mistaken for a terrorist or worse a Hindu." His smile quickly curves into a devious grin. "I mean how would I present myself to the world in such a pitiful display on either account?"
The girl blinks curiously, her good hand raising her sunglasses to atop her head as she peers at him. Fascinating, but strange at the same time. Ohh, but he has one of those accents that makes her want him to 'say more words!' She smiles at his introduction, tilting her head to one side. Very strange. She likes him, if only a little bit.
"Nice to meet you, Nadal. I didn't think you were out of place…just kinda stressed out." She lifts her good hand, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "My name is Elle. Are you new around here?" After a moment, she decides that the vicodin doesn't like her to stand up too much, so she moves over and sits on the opposite end of the bench from him.
"You sound like you're from either England, or somewhere in the Middle East." She grins widely.
The moment Elle sits down Nadal closes the distance sliding half the distance closer. "Nice to meet you Elle. I am just recently arrived to find my sister. She is quite nearly as pretty and troublesome as you are." He tilts his head flashing a quick smile. Then slowly he begins to pull a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Would you mind?" He then tilts the pack in an offering of one if she wishes.
After a deep breath while awaiting an answer he leans in slightly. "In Arabic I would nickname you 'Mhab al? Ribyh' it sort of means beautifully inquisitive." He tilts his head in a dog like fashion as he looks you over again. "Yes this is truly what I would call you." His words hang on his accent curling and falling from his tongue. Only the rough translation comes across in the purely romantic arabic tongue.
As Nadal scoots closer, Elle's brows raise curiously. Really? What a silly little flirt. She raises a hand, waving it to decline the cigarette. "You can smoke those, but I don't smoke." She tilts her head to one side as she peers at him, drawing one leg up to her chest and wrapping her arm around her knee, a small smile upon her face. Wow, really? He really doesn't know what he's getting into.
Elle giggles softly, scratching at the bandage over her shoulder a bit. Damn guns. "Maab Al Ribya?" She giggles softly. "Thanks, I guess. So, who is your sister? What's her name, what does she look like?" She runs her good hand through her hair, grinning. "I can't promise anything, but I might be able to help you out, or at least point you in the right direction."
Nadal slumps back against the bench as he pulls free his zippo. His lips lower and pull the butt of the smoke from its container. With a quick flip of the wrist he lights it up and takes a deep long drag. The pack is then quickly put away as he blows the smoke through his nose. Then after having his nicotine fix he casually removes the smoke everytime he speaks. "Well she is Egyptian her name is Nadira. I guess my parents thought that was cute." He gives a queasy smirk of teasing then returns to smoking.
He kicks his feet out in front of him as he finally starts relaxing. "I already found her though. She works at some horrid horrid sinful place called Tartar or something." He shrugs while taking another drag. "It will be fine I will correct the issue once I become more settled. So you what is it you do 'Mhab al' Ribyh'?" The nickname again rolls off of his tongue.
"Tartar…you mean Tartarus? That's just on the Lower East Side." She grins. "Really easy to get to, especially if you can get a cab." His second question prompts a small smile. "Well, that's for me to know, and you to find out, isn't it?"
The girl watches as he lights up his cigarette, one brow arched. "Smoking is bad for you, y'know. And it smells gross." She wrinkles her nose as she says this, though that playful, charming grin is still dancing across her lips. "But then again, I know of plenty things that are worse for you, I'm quite certain." Suddenly, she leans closer toward him, one hand reaching out to touch his arm.
"Like me, for example."
Suddenly, the crackling sound of electricity can be heard, as Elle offers Nadal a tiny little jolt to the bicep. Certainly not the most comfortable thing in the world, but she doesn't make it too painful. She giggles softly as she does this. Either he'll freak out and run away, or he'll be amused by her, or something like that. No matter what his reaction, it promises to be amusing.
Nadal is caught offguard as Elle talks about Tartarus. He seems to listen intently as he collects information on the subject. "Well I would care to know perhaps you would allow me to bribe such information from you. In whatever form you see fit." He seems mildly amused at the conversation till you speak about smoking.
He is just about to chirp up and rebuke you on the matter when he feels the shock course through him. A displeased grunt erupts from his throat in an almost primal nature. As the shock subsides he snorts loudly in her direction. It crosses his mind to slap her with a stone hand as vivid on his fould demeanor. Instead he lets it slide as he curls into a more subtle cruel grin.
"You know you are quite right smoking is a bad habit." Then he leans to the side as if to flick the smoke over your head. Instead he presses it downward towards her injured side in an attempt to snuff it out on the back of her hand.
He smiles at the pleasure of even attempted payback. "Yes I guess all men even I need advice time to time from a woman 'Mhab al' Ribyh'.
As he leans forward and brings that cigarette towards her hand, Elle jerks away, her teeth suddenly bared in a sneer as she narrowly avoids getting another injury to her left side. Oh, no he didn't. She was just playing with him…he went too far! In the same instant that she pulls away, she jabs a hand toward his chest as quickly as she can manage.
BZAAAAP!
What she attempts is a much more painful shock to the chest that will likely leave a few burns and a nice smoking hole in his shirt. Just as quickly as she does this, she stands, glaring daggers at him. "Never mind, you aren't getting my help today. Find someone else to find out about Tartarus from!" And then, she's stomping away from him, her good fist clenched at the side.
Nadal flops downard onto the dirt ass first. When he lands his hand comes up to rub his chest in pain but also intrigue. He watches her closely as Elle begins to storm off. "Well 'Mhab al' Ribyh' you are very much the interesting girl." These are the words he calls after her. He makes no attempt to chase or even standup from his spot. Instead he sits silently considering the implications of another evolved.
"So I guess that means I shall not recieve a kiss goodbye?" He laughs to himself slightly but still in pain from the shock to his chest. Then after she finally moves out of direct line of sight or turns back to him does he lift off the ground and dust himself clean.