Participants:
| Scene Title | You Have To Pronounce It Right |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | In a recollection, there is Silver, but no Gold. Platinum is thankfully absent. |
| Date | June 8, 2010 |
Alley Cat Courier Service, Chelsea branch
What was once a small warehouse now serves a completely different purpose. From before dawn until after dark, bikes pass in and out the open doors, couriers off to pick up and deliver mail, returning to take on another task.
Although the warehouse should be rather spacious, it mostly manages to feel crowded. At the very least, busy. A row of lockers, stacked two high, covers one long wall. Bike racks for those who prefer to keep their bicycles here - or need someplace to leave them while on break - line the opposite side of the building. There are always people moving about - rummaging in their lockers, little knots of chitchat, trading experiences and advice on routes (or just the latest gossip) beneath the shouted calls for messengers to deliver this package there or go pick up something from somewhere else. There are usually two people tasked with coordinating the chaos of the Alley Cats, a receptionist who takes called-in orders and the manager who sees to the fair dispersal of jobs; a corner of the warehouse near the main doors has been partitioned off to create their offices.
What was once a small warehouse now serves a completely different purpose. From before dawn until after dark, bikes pass in and out the open doors, couriers off to pick up and deliver mail, returning to take on another task.
Although the warehouse should be rather spacious, it mostly manages to feel crowded. At the very least, busy. A row of lockers, stacked two high, covers one long wall. Bike racks for those who prefer to keep their bicycles here - or need someplace to leave them while on break - line the opposite side of the building. There are always people moving about - rummaging in their lockers, little knots of chitchat, trading experiences and advice on routes (or just the latest gossip) beneath the shouted calls for messengers to deliver this package there or go pick up something from somewhere else. There are usually two people tasked with coordinating the chaos of the Alley Cats, a receptionist who takes called-in orders and the manager who sees to the fair dispersal of jobs; a corner of the warehouse near the main doors has been partitioned off to create their offices.
She doesn't come here in person very often, though Cat does partake of their services on a regular basis. The manager, Rey, occasionally admits her into his private office alone when she does show up. It isn't always possible to slip in unnoticed during the day, and she's recognizable both as a customer who routinely has couriers pick food up from favored establishments and as the daughter of that mayoral candidate who got murdered. The one press reports alleged was tied to Pinehearst with the alleged former PARIAH daughter. One or two of the couriers who've been here the longest say they saw her the first time when Helena Dean used to work here.
She's got a taste for showing up unexpectedly to read the books; while she doesn't link herself in the public eye as the owner or even directly on paper, Cat Chesterfield did indeed purchase the place in '09 and isn't one to leave it completely unmonitored. That's how people suddenly find themselves the targets of IRS attention and other unpleasant situations. As the day's tenth hour completes, she's in Rey's office doing just that when a name catches her attention. James Silver. And she flashes back, eyes going distant and aimed at a wall.
It's the first day of law school at Yale University. She's shown up for this class, scheduled to start at nine sharp, in a Yale t-shirt over jeans and athletic shoes. One shoulder features a guitar case, the other a backpack. While other students come in business attire, Cat isn't of the kind who plan to practice law in a corporate setting. She's just here to earn the degree Father insists she get, and it won't even be that hard. A seat is taken near the back, close to the door, for easy escape once the session concludes.
There's a particular feeling that comes with your first day of law school and today James Silver is feeling it. That nervous rush that can only come from being completely overwhelmed by your surroundings. Of course, it wouldn't be like Silver to give in to these particular feelings, as he steps into the room and watches the seats fill up with students. Back straight, eyes wide, he glances around for a place to sit and spots an possible candidate for redemption from Conformist Hell.
While he's not dressed any less than the majority, he's opted for jeans and a polo shirt, a baby blue one at that and he cuts off someone already eyeing the prized spot next to the lass and gives him a 'too bad, sucker' grin, dropping his bag next to the chair and dramatically dropping his ass into the seat. A pair of his lucky 'worn' Nike sneakers appear from under the desk as he stretches his legs out and reaches into his bag for his book and a notepad, dropping both on the desk.
He turns towards her and nods his head. "Hey." He's got quite the vocabulary, you see.
Movement nearby draws a turn of her head and causes a slight abatement of the bored expression she exhibits. "Hey back," Cat greets with a touch of smile forming. "Do you think a short blonde in pink will sit up front and get singled out by the professor?" One hand runs through dark hair, placing it behind her left shoulder, as she answers her own question. "Nah, that's something that would only happen at Harvard." Before her, on the desk, are a pad of paper and a thick barrel pen set out so she can make herself seem to take notes. Got to keep up appearances.
"Ha-vahd. You have to pronounce it right," comes the reply as he's craning his neck a little to check out said blonde in pink.. for conversation's sake, of course. Relaxing back in his chair, he turn his head to another of the females just now walking down the stairway towards the front row. "Brunette at two o'clock. Totally 'professor bang' material though." Silver turns to towards his neighbor, shoving his hand towards her. "James Silver. Friends just call me Silver. I hate being called James. Don't do it," he quirks a grin.
"Silver," she repeats, brown eyes flashing a bit as they make contact. "Where's Gold?" His eyes are followed toward the other female student, she experiencing something… odd on looking at her but not letting on. She's felt it before, can clearly recall it just like everything else these past few years, looking at and being around Dani. But it isn't something she chooses to acknowledge about herself. Bisexual rocker chick. How cliche' is that?
"Cat," she provides when eyes return to him. "I'll definitely remember you hate being called James." Her own right hand emerges and clasps the one offered forth. Skin is soft, warm, and smooth; no sign of having had to work hard in them at all. Neatly maintained nails too, kept short and not adorned with polish. Calluses are present near fingertips, though, maybe from the cased instrument resting near her left foot. "You don't look like you're just itching to be confined to a corporate cage, Silver."
"Eh." As he takes her hand, he gives a firm shake before releasing the hold and righting himself back in his chair, suddenly thinking of something and reaching down to pluck a pencil from his pack and sets it on the desk. Yeah, he ignores the 'gold' comment now, since it's something he's heard pretty much his entire life. In fact, during high school he dated a girl his friends dubbed 'Gold' just so they could call the couple 'Silver and Gold'. "I figure if I end up doing corporate work, I'd probably have to kill someone. So, I figure I'll do something a little more meaningful. Maybe defense or something. Maybe class action. Something." If he notices the gaze, he doesn't comment on it. Fact is, if Silver knew any of that about her, she'd probably move up in the standards department, considering his bias towards the 'different'. Even cliche, it's still considered different. "What about you? Seems like you aren't going to be the typical lawyering type either."
Setting aside her related wondering if Platinum will show in the form of some pink-clad Reese Witherspoon look-alike and the attending thought of that brunette they just scoped out playing the Selma Blair role, Cat turns her attention toward the talk of future goals. It's a welcome thing, being pulled out of considerations along that line, because there's a fleeting thought she'd be a possible parallel for the militant lesbian who wanted to call academic terms 'ovesters'. It almost makes her shiver.
"I'm here to keep peace with Father," Cat asserts, "I'd rather be hanged or shot than be an inmate in a corporate zoo. But law school isn't all bad," she judges with a laugh, "there are tons of musicians who got robbed because they signed bad contracts. I won't need agents."
There's a soft chuckle from the male as he knows the whole Father-thing himself. "Oh, yeah. Pops was so pleased when I told him I was going to law school." Beaming, he was, really. "He'll shit his pants when he finds out I'm not going to be some corporate puppet or make a million dollars a year working for some big law firm." James turns his head back towards her with a grin, "But, he doesn't have to know that for a few years yet, right?" Right now they're happy little parents enjoying their suburbia. No sense in destroying all that just yet with his own little reality.
She laughs. "Not until I'm twenty-five and have control of the trust fund," Cat states. The real truth partly exposed: She's here because if she isn't, she'll get cut off. Never mind that parts of her want Mason Chesterfield's approval with or without the threat of poverty. Eyes shift to track the middle-aged man in the expensive suit coming through the door and headed for the front, carrying materials for the course soon to begin. Time for conversation is running short. But the man next to her is interesting, and while she can still ask there's a question to be asked of him.
"You like classic rock, Silver?"
"Mid 70s to early 80s? That sort of classic rock?" Silver grins, though his attention is drawn to the teacher and he almost groans under his breath. This class, he has a feeling is going to be long and dull. He leans over to the brunette, "I love it. We should talk after school and compare notes." He starts to sit up, then thinks better of it before leaning back, "And if you pull out a Jackson Browne CD, we're officially done."
The memory of that first day at Yale comes back to James Silver like it was just yesterday. He's was furiously typing out a legal brief when 'Lawyers in Love' comes across the radio. He reaches over to turn it up, cracking a smile as he's reminded of that particular day. Unfortunately, he hasn't been much of a friend. Knowing of her mother's death, with him wallowing in his own self pity for the past year, he didn't even pick up the phone and call her.
Today, however, he's going to fix that. He picks up his cell phone and scrolls through his numbers until he finds her and dials, reaching over to turn down the radio before leaning back in his chair. Maybe he'll ask her to lunch.