Participants:
| Scene Title | You Are Not In Trouble |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A girl tries to pickpocket a man, and finds herself instead in the hands of a self-proclaimed Good Samaritan. |
| Date | December 05, 2010 |
The Lower East side is one of the oldest neighborhoods in New York City. Starting south of East Hudson Street and west of the East River, it is also bordered by Chinatown and the East Village. Tenemant housing is very prominent here, as well as many religious structures and more than a few excellent kosher delis and bakeries. For those in search of entertainment, the Lower East is home to many bars and live music venues.
It's quite cold out today, really. A perfect beginning to a somewhat miserable day. Sure, he has the happy feeling that his son knows that he's his father. That's more than enough to make the injuries he received from, of all things, pocket change, at the fight last night. He had about two dollars in his skin last night. It really hurts to have change lodged into your skin like dull knives.
He carefully removed the pocket change, and bandaged himself up as well as he could. His arms and chest are bandaged, and he got some wound tape to keep the puncture wounds closed. It wasn't a fun time, but it's the best he can do until Abby gets back to him today.
Currently, he's just recently left the condemned tenement he calls home, and is limping his way out, bundled up with a heating pad wrapped around his knee. He looks uncomfortable, at best. He's currently on his way out to obtain himself a nice new apartment, so he can advance his plans to eventually take custody of his son. He's making himself better. And he has a nice wallet filled with cash for the transaction. Thank god Abby told him about the place.
The nice black cane that always accompanies him, with its polished silver handle, is clicking against the pavement as he limps along, frowning at the cold.
Miserable is right, with the cold that goes beyond bone deep and charities harder to get to. Those people that need them most are the ones suffering the hardest what with Registration and all. Makes living on the streets more difficult by far as well, but it hasn't exactly been easy to find anyone that could properly help. That's why she's been left to her own devices. Not that Koshka really enjoys stealing; sure there's a certain thrill to it, but also a deeper risk.
But back to the cold. It's keep the teen from wandering too much today. In fact, she's sitting with knees drawn to her chest in the doorway to what had once been a tenement. Now it looks more like a squatter’s refuge. As well as she can be, Koshka's dressed against the wintery chill in slightly too large blue jeans and an old jacket that might have been black at one point. Now it's a brownish gray thing.
Blue eyes watch from just above her knees, following the path of random pedestrians with a detached interest. She managed to filch a few dollars in cash yesterday from those poor saps who bent over to take it from the government. Sure, it was a way to get food and blankets. But that small bit of money she swiped can get her hot cocoa and maybe a bagel.
Preoccupied as he is by the cold and his uncomfortable wounds and scars, the tall man pays little to no mind to the little girl crouched in the doorway. A look of pity is all that's cast her way; he'd help, but he doesn't know that she's not just hanging out there, and he's not much better off himself. And so, falling victim to the 'ants marching' syndrome that effects most people in cities, Griffin keeps walking, a frown on his face.
This cold is awful. Way worse than Indiana. Chicago was pretty bad, but this is just freezing. It is far too cold out right now.
The teen wasn't planning on trying much today. Too cold, uses up too much energy. Maybe she'd bug Touche later, he's usually good for a sandwich at least. Her eyes catch on Griffin's form, watching and almost dismissing him. Then she double takes, actually seeing the well-dressed man instead of just looking. Hell, the way he looks, she could probably handle him and have more than just a cocoa and bagel. She might actually get a plate of spaghetti if he's as well off as he looks.
Koshka begins to rise after the man's passed, and then hesitates. No. That cane might be more trouble than it's actually worth. You don't have to know how to use it for it to be effective. Still… A gnawing in her stomach makes the decision for her. The girl completely unfolds herself from the stoop and begins down the stairs. Once on the sidewalk she melds into the throng with ease, keeping her head down but eyes upon the caned man. (repose)
Griffin doesn't seem to notice that he has a follower. If he does, he doesn't outwardly indicate as much. He's far too absorbed in his walk toward his destination: The Village Renaissance Building, also known as the Verb, which is the site of his new home. The home he hopes to bring his son into, at some point in time. Somehow. He's not sure how it will happen.
Click, click, click. His cane clicks on the ground as he walks, the black boots scraping against the pavement as he walks, his breaths coming out in clouds in the cold morning weather.
A chill comes up with a sudden gust of wind, once again giving Koshka pause to reconsider. It's damn cold, enough that she shivers inside that well worn, second-hand jacket. The way luck's been holding out lately, she begins to doubt that the man really has anything anyway. Well dressed doesn't mean well off.
Debating, clearly weighing her options, Koshka allows her steps to lag, falling a half and then two steps further behind. She looks over her shoulder, though there aren't any answers there. Maybe a possible diversion. No such luck and it's too public to try anything more… exciting.
Blue eyes return to Griffin's retreating form, showing a bit of surprise as she realizes he's further away than first though. Time for more drastic measures. Koshka breaks into a run, not just a jog but moving full tilt and right at the well dressed fellow. She'll just run into the man with the cane, hopefully knock him down, then help herself to his wallet while helping him up.
It's foolproof, right?
For any other person, it probably would be foolproof.
The tall man doesn't notice the girl running along on a clear path toward him. He's suddenly caught unawares by the girl, her shoulder catching a particularly painful spot in his side from the recent injuries done by pocket change. He stumbles…but he doesn't fall for some strange reason, his eyes closed. After taking a moment to steady himself, he turns, green eyes opening to peer down at Koshka.
Koshka, however, was expecting something a little more… grand. And whatever it is that's causing Griffin to defy the laws of physics seem to take hold of her rather quickly. She's the one sent sprawling while the man only stumbles, not quite literally eating concrete but the abrasions that already show just how close she came. That could have gone better.
Picking herself up from the ground, and acting every thread as though she'd meant to do that, Koshka barely glances toward Griffin. For that matter, she doesn't even apologize for running into him. Save for a sidelong glance toward the man with the cane, she pretends to ignore him while she dusts herself off. Totally meant to do that.
Griffin arches a brow quietly, peering thoughtfully at the girl. "Are you okay, miss?" He arches his brows as he peers at the girl, adjusting his coat. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you or I would've moved out of the way." He offers a soft, apologetic smile down to the girl. "Though watching out would also be a good idea." He tilts his head toward the girl, adjusting his coat once more.
"Yeah," Koshka answers in a tone that pretty much says 'screw you'. She raises a hand, fingers red from the cold much like her nose and cheeks, and touches fingertips to her chin. The action elicits a small flinch which she quickly covers with a wry smirk. Hopefully.
"Sorry 'bout that," Koshka continues looking up at the man. There's still a sense that she's sizing him up. "You alright? I really should've watched where I was going." As she continues speaking she steps forward, reaching out to dust the man off. If she's lucky, she'll manage to find out if there's anything worthwhile in his pockets. If she's lucky.
Koshka's hand brushes over and into Griffin's pocket, coming out with a wallet that is thick with cash. She also, however, brushes against several hard, gun-shaped things, concealed beneath the man's coat. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
But really, the guns are the least of what Koshka has to worry about right now. She only manages to get the wallet a few inches from his pocket, before she can feel a hand clasp around her wrist, though none is there. Then, the wallet promptly floats up and out of her hand, safely back into Griffin's pocket as if it had a mind of its own. The invisible hand is not letting go of her wrist.
And that tall man she just tried to steal from is staring down at her with eyes that are completely white. Thank goodness there's nobody around.
The guns do give the teen pause, and that's probably the cause for how she'd been caught. Never mind the fact that she's only had a few months of practice at pickpocketing. That has nothing to do with it at all. Koshka winces when the assumed hand closes around her wrist and mutters, "Damn."
Settling in with a cocky grin while her brain wracks up a story to get her out of this mess, Koshka looks to her entrapped wrist expecting to see the hand that holds it. But when there isn't one she tilts her head back to look up at Griffin himself. "Oh," she breathes, seeing that he's not… well, normal, for lack of a better word. "Shit."
Indeed, Griffin has his arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at the girl with those eerie white eyes of his. He's not holding her wrist with either of his actual hands, and that grip isn't going to loosen any time soon, it seems. Not without a good explanation, at least. He looks rather cross, really.
Then, suddenly, Koshka will feel two pairs of hands on her shoulders now, and another pair on her hips, while her wrist is released. Wordlessly, and walking with a good deal less trouble than he was moments ago, Griffin turns and begins to walk away.
And Koshka will find those hands pretty much forcing her to walk along behind him. "You're not in trouble." That's the only thing that comes from the man, though he still sounds angry.
Koshka, still trying to find some words that might possibly explain herself, has no choice but to go along with the strange man. Yeah, all those times your mom said not to follow strangers? Apparently she never warned about strangers with invisible arms. She fights back to some extent, dragging her feet, testing the strength of those hidden appendages.
"Not in trouble," Koshka repeats with a forced laugh. "Yeah. Right." There's no end to the disbelief in her voice. Her eyes, still blue and lit with fear, dart left then right and straight ahead, looking to see just how many people might be about. No way she's going anywhere without a fight.
Lucky for her, there really aren't all that many out. It's too cold to linger long. Koshka lets out a breath and opens her hands to either side. Nothing changes right away, her feet keep moving though she's stubbornly trying to go as slow as possible. But then, it could be the wind or something else entirely, but a light cloud of dust woofs out in front of Griffin. It's roughly the same effect as a rug beaten to shake the winter's dust free. From behind him, the teen curses.
Those arms don't falter. In fact, they could easily be described as unwavering. And with two pairs of them holding onto Koshka, it's pretty evident that she's not going anywhere any time soon. The dust causes him to pause, blinking a few times, before he continues on with hooded eyes.
"If you were in trouble, you would already have been punished." He sounds like he knows what he's talking about. "I could have easily broken your arm or removed it, had I seen fit to." He's got little patience these days.
He leads the way to a building that appears to be undergoing renovations. While not finished, it's certainly looking glorious compared to its former days. The door swings open ahead of the pair, before closing itself behind them. "You must be hungry, thirsty, and tired. You certainly look it."
If the girl weren't already scared, she would be terrified by the time she were shut inside that building, whatever the man's assumptions of what he could or would do to her. She gives a brief struggle against the arms that hold her. Feeble attempts to get herself to and through the door, really.
"You're going to be in so much trouble," Koshka spits out once futility becomes evident. She completely ignores Griffin's statements to her well-being, turning the tables to threaten his own. "This is kidnapping! If I get my hands on you, you'll wish you hadn't—" What, touched her?
The girl closes her eyes for just a second and opening them again a second attempt is made. With Koshka's mouth turning back and visage darkening to a scowl something seems to be happening and it definitely isn't the wind this time. Dust filters down and showers over Griffin, enough to make him sneeze if nothing else.
Griff raises an arm, shielding himself from the sudden shower of dust, sneezing. But he keeps walking, dusting off his coat. "You're an Evolved, then?" He says this with a glance back to the girl. His demeanor has become quite casual, really. An apartment door opens, leading into…a nicely furnished apartment, complete with a studio piano in the entryway.
The door closes behind them, and Koshka will feel herself lead to the bed and made to seat herself, not unlike a little puppet of sorts. But then, the hands on her hips let go, simply leaving a gentle, steady pressure on her shoulders, to ensure that she'll not be making a mess trying to get out of here. "And you won't be in trouble for trying to steal my possessions? I doubt I will be in trouble for making you a sandwich. Do you like peanut butter and strawberry jelly? Or I have bananas, if that's more your gig."
Speaking of, a banana floats up and unpeels itself, before floating into his hand. He takes it, and promptly takes a bite, smiling faintly to Koshka. "I told you, you're not in trouble. You may have been in trouble if you had gotten past me with that one, but…you aren't too experienced with living on the street, are you?" He speaks like a veteran.
From cat that caught the canary to cornered animal with that question. And that's a dangerous question. The youth follows, silent and unwillingly, as she's guided through the hall and into the apartment. She's almost taken aback by the change, from almost downtrodden in renovations to something you'd see in a luxury condo.
"What's it matter to you," Koshka asks in challenge as she's made to sit. Her blue-eyed gaze settles on Griffin, unwavering and still trying to conceal fear in anger. "I'm what I am and it's none of your business." It would be more a threat if her stomach hadn't decided right then to grumble loudly at her.
"I'm only on the streets for a little while," the girl continues. She tests those arms once again, slouching and trying to slide from beneath them. "Just 'til I can figure out something."
As she seems to calm, the hands on her shoulders, while keeping a steady grip, slowly lax, before finally raising off of her shoulders. He's letting her free. "You seem to me to be a girl who is new to street life, and could possibly use a bit of assistance from an old bum like myself. Perhaps then, one day, when you're in my position, and you're living comfortable, you can help someone out. Pass the good will along. I had a few folks do the same for me."
Still munching on that banana, he pulls down a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and some jam, holding it up questioningly. "Strawberry Jam? Bananas? Or…I have some nutella. It's delicious with strawberry jam." He offers a faint, almost fatherly smile to the girl. Then, the fridge is opened, and he pulls out what appears to be a jug of chocolate milk. Supplies for the next steps of his plan to get his son back, but he's fine with using them for Koshka, too. It's not like he can't buy more.
"My name is Griffin, by the way." He's slipping his coat off as he introduces himself.
"I got help," the girl counters. Touche helps sometimes. When she sees him. It's not like she goes looking for handouts, though. Pride and fear making her wary of getting too close to anyone. "And I'm not that new, been doing pretty good for myself."
Still, Koshka can't help but look on with open hunger as yet more food appears, however simple it might be. That caution remains, like a rescued animal, as blue eyes dart from bread and jam up to Griffin himself.
"Does that mean you can't accept anyone else's help?" Griffin notes her glances, and promptly sets to work making a peanut butter and jam sandwich, on toast, for Koshka. A glass of chocolate milk is poured for the girl, and this slowly floats over to her, hovering in the air and waiting for her to take it. "I'm under the belief that a little extra help is always handy, even when it's not necessarily needed."
The toast smells good, and the studio apartment, small though it is, is nicely heated, insulated from the cold. As the toaster pops, Griffin quickly sets to work on Koshka's sandwich. "If you need a place to stay, I'm leaving a bed in here. It'll only be available for another month, but it'll be a place to sleep out of the cold. I'll be moving here in a few days, but I'm sure I could give you one of my many spare keys to the place. If you would take it, that is."
Koshka turns on the glass as though it may bite her, or her it. With another hard look toward Griffin, she takes the glass but doesn't taste the chocolate milk yet. "Why would you go and help someone you don't even know," the girl asks carefully. She wants to know the answer; in this day and age it's rare to run into someone who seems to want to help out another.
Raising the glass to her lips following the question, the youth gulps down the milk. Once the glass is emptied, Koshka rubs a sleeve over her mouth and looks back to Griffin. She's considering the offer, calculating, and it weighs heavy in her lack of response. A place out of the cold would be good, but what kind of price tag does it have?
Griffin smiles, finishing off his banana and placing the peel in the trash. "I have a son. He's about…hmm, maybe five years younger than you, I'm going to say. Great kid, smart as a whistle, and he's got a good head on his shoulders. I would hope that someone else would do the same thing for my son that I'm doing for you right now." The plate floats over the ledge, to Koshka; alongside it comes the jug of chocolate milk, which refills Koshka's glass.
"If you want the place, all I ask is that you keep it clean, and don't steal my things. Mi casa es su casa, or however they say that." He tilts his head to one side, leaning against the counter. "And you may have to sit through an occasional piano lesson, if I feel like teaching you." He gestures to the studio piano.
There's less hesitation in claiming the plate, though the girl seems a little wary of the jug of milk. "You're Evolved," Koshka states after her glass has been filled. Not like there was any doubt. She didn't willingly get to this place. "That why you're doing this?"
As she balances the plate on her knees, Koshka watches Griffin. The hand not holding a glass full of chocolate milk picks up the sandwich. The teen leans over slightly, partially in effort to keep crumbs on the plate, and takes three successive bites.
The jug floats back to it's place in the fridge, Griffin wearing a small smile on his face. The only indication that he's using his ability, aside from the things floating around, are those glowing eyes of his, which seem to glow brighter than they did at first. "Yes, I am an Evolved. Telekinesis, they call it." He smiles faintly. "I'm one of those horror stories you've heard on the news. One of many."
Then, he's slicing up another banana, setting about making himself a peanut butter and banana sandwich.
Silence follows while Koshka finishes off the remainder of her sandwich. She doesn't even look at the man while she eats, eyes lowering to her plate though her gaze is distant. The sandwich is gone all too quickly for her liking, leaving the girl to pick at the larger crumbs on her plate then chasing those with the glass of milk.
"Me too," the youth admits quietly and with an edge to her tone. Can she trust this guy? A sandwich is one thing, a secret is different. "Not telekinetics, but… Evolved."
Griffin's brows raise slightly, and the second plate, with the peanut butter and banana sandwich, is floating out to the girl. Seems he was actually making it for her. Poor kid has to be hungry, to try and pickpocket with such little experience doing as much. "Well, then it's a relief that I'm among someone who is an Evolved like myself." He chuckles softly, leaning against the counter.
Koshka's head lifts at Griffin's comment, eyes turning toward him. She takes the second plate with its sandwich, but doesn't attack it right away. Oh, she's still hungry, but still not sure about all of this. "Right," the girl says after a moment, and it's after that in which she starts in on the second sandwich.
The lanky man lifts his wrist, pulling his sleeves back to look at his watch. Then, he's pulling out his wallet, pulling out a good $100 he had to spare for things to decorate his place. Those aren't necessary, though, and the money is set on the bar that separates the kitchen from the bedroom area. "That's yours." He mumbles this out, gesturing to the cash.
"Only on one condition, though. If you need help, you come here and stay safe. I come here regularly, and I'll be sure you're safe. And try not to pickpocket so much. You don't need to be going into juvie for trying to feed yourself." He tilts his head toward Koshka.
Blue eyes go from sandwich to the man and lastly to the money indicated. With deliberate slowness, Koshka takes another bite from the sandwich, eyes turning back to Griffin. Sounds fair, though she's still wondering what he might ask for in return. What's already been said is obvious. "Who are you," she asks after a mouthful of peanut butter and banana has been dealt with, though he's already given a name.
Griffin smiles faintly to Koshka. The white fades from his eyes, suddenly, and he's peering at the girl with intense green eyes instead. "I told you. I'm Griffin. I fancy myself a good Samaritan. Someone who knows how rough it is out there, and much much more." He smiles across the bar to the teen. "I'm also a father. I don't know your family situation, but I know that if my boy were out here on the cold streets, having to pick pockets just to eat…I would be worried sick for him."
He pours himself a glass of chocolate milk the normal way, taking a long swig.
"You do what you got to do sometimes," Koshka states simply. Though she's returned to a study of the sandwich in her hands. A study that happens between bites and seems to be nothing else but to avoid going further down that line of conversation. Once most of the peanut butter and banana has been polished off, which takes little time to be honest, she glances toward Griffin again. "Thanks," the teen says, quiet and earnest.
"Well, I'd like to make sure that you don't have to do that in the future. You can pay me back one day when you're the one who is better off." Griffin waves a hand, checking his watch once more. "Well, I'm on my way to obtain a new apartment. I'm trying to get my life together…do things right." He smiles faintly over to Koshka, scribbling a number down on a sticky pad and placing it on the fridge. "Call me if you need anything."
Then, he's slowly making his way toward the door.