ArchivedLogs:Bad Ideas

Bad Ideas
Very, very bad ideas.
Dramatis Personae Alexandrine, Dan, Sebastian	2013-02-19 Circumstances bring two people together. Both make very bad decisions.
Location <NYC> Clothescycle - Garment District
Selling clothing both new and used -- but mostly used -- this store often has something for those fashion-conscious but on a budget. There is a distinct alternative bent to many of the clothes (and many of the dyed-haired, pierced clientele that often show up) but for those willing to take the time to look through their racks and racks of clothing, there are gems to be found both in their newer and vintage sections. In their basement, for the adventurous, their dollar-a-pound section offers just what the name suggests: they sell clothing for a dollar per pound. The pickings are often unusual, to be sure, but for those handy with needle and thread, sometimes the heaps of fabric can be turned to creative use. This is not Dan's usual shop. Clearly, since the ex-soldier-cum-security-guard is much more 'Joe Normal' than the usual clientele of the Clothesline. He wanders through the racks, fingers trailing now and then on an interesting garment. A scarf here, a hoodie there, a pair of carefully-ripped tights, a floppy sunhat. All the items have a decidedly feminine slant to the style, and every one of them looks too small for the muscular man. Dan wrinkles his nose in annoyance, peeling away from the girly stuff and easing his way towards that small section of kids' clothing, skirting a young man with NEON PURPLE hair and a Bajorn-style earring that connects to (one of) the rings in his nose. The look Dan gives this young man is one of mild horror, and once he's clear, he shakes his head. "Can you believe the people who come in here?" he asks the person nearest him. Probably not the best question, given the way most of the regulars come in dressed, but he doesn't seem to care. "Sometimes I wonder about people. Who would put that many extra holes in their heads?" The boy currently browsing the kids' section is maybe not a kid himself, really. But he's teetering on the edge of it; he doesn't look much into his teens and he's small enough that probably shopping in the adult section is as yet out of his reach. He's dressed in a slim pair of jeans, black trimmed in silver, and his jacket is silverish as well. There's a hood pulled up over his spiky black hair but as he turns to look at Dan it shifts, slightly, revealing a pixieish blue face with features almost human but off enough to be kind of uncanny valley-ish. Ears just ridges at the side of his head. Features a little too streamlined. A distinct lack of hair around his ridged eyebrows. Gills. "My pa's a body piercer, sir," he says, with a small quirk of smile up towards the other man. "He's got more than most anyone else I've seen, except occasionally the people who come in his shop. People like to decorate." Alexandrine is, thankfully, of the feminine type and style. So her being here is maybe a lot less noteworthy. She's looking for interesting things to catch her eye, accessories, or things that could maybe be reworked into costumes for her little stars in her classes. Red hair is in a braid that's slowly working its way loose, letting strands slip free to frame her face. She's in her high black boots, a hint of the eggplant tights before her black skirt and equally eggplant blouse take over, peeking out from under her black peacoat. She's plucking up a scarf shortly after walking in, a rather bright affair of blues, greens, and some metallic notes. It's the mental feel that has her motionless a moment, before blue eyes pick Dan out, then dart to the young man addressing him. Crap, she knows the kid, too. Well, sort of. She knows who he 'belongs' to. "I don't get it," Dan says with a shrug. "Seems like a lot of trouble to go to. I've seen enough holes blown int -- Holy /fuck/!" Dan's eyes widen as he turns to speak to his conversation partner, and he literally jumps backwards, his hands coming up defensively. "Jesus, kid! You tryin' to give me a fucking /heart/ attack? Cutting me up in the park wasn't enough for you?" His gaze is wild as he looks around for...oh, anyone. Clerk, cop, hapless bystander. Someone who can be thrown at the fish kid whilst he makes good on his escape. But, there are none at hand (oh, hey, there's that Alexandrine chick -- better to keep her out of any danger), and Dan has more or less pinned himself to a clothes rack, glaring at the kid, now. "I'm not looking for any trouble," he grates at Sebastian, taking in his appearance. "Honestly." "What?" Sebastian's jet-black eyes widen, and the startled look in his expression is a genuine one -- he's never seen this man before in his life. "I didn't -- I've never -- I'm looking for /clothes/," he protests, shifting a wary half-step back towards the clothing rack with a slight sinking feeling -- << jeez, this happens /every time/, why can't people just leave me /alone/. >> "I'm -- not looking for trouble either, sir," he hedges, cautiously. Her head jerks at Dan's outburst, and so much for casual browsing and all of that, she's slipping past someone else staring. "Dan? Hey, everythin' all right?" She's not even waiting, using her empathy to try and tamp down that knee jerk reaction of Dan's. Blue eyes turn to Sebastian, and she casts the dice recklessly. << Don't say anything.. okay? Ah know your dad, Jax, live in his building. Don't know if you remember me from the snowball fight. Ah know this guy, Ah'm going to try to help and calm him down, all right? Just try to keep it mellow, and we'll all be all right, okay? >> There's a hint of a smile, sheepish. << Ah'm Alex, by the way. >> Then she's looking at Dan, a hand out for his arm. "What's goin' on, sugar?" "Don't remember," Dan says in a flat tone, his expression frankly disbelieving. "I can't believe you'd forget doing something like that." He jerks the sleeve of his shirt up, then, and displays four half-moon scars that are nearly healed, running down the inside of his wrist. "'Cause I can't." There's an image in his brain, then, of Sebastian (possibly) confronting him near the resevoir. It is not a happy encounter, and indeed claws are sliding into skin and cutting tender flesh in a spike of memory. When Alexandrine appears, the whole thing gets muddled with flashes of the pub. Panic eventually fades into something more noble with the efforts of Alex's empathy. Or maybe a weird side effect, if that's not what she was going for. "Hey, Alexandrine," he says, pulling himself forward and putting his body between redhead and blueskin. "Be careful," he says. "This fuckin' kid's got serious self-control issues, and he's possibly crazy." Sebastian, meanwhile, is freezing -- /just/ for a moment at the mental touch before he relaxes again, quickly enough it's likely he's used to telepaths. << Hi. I'm Bastian. I -- >> His gills flutter rapidly at the sides of his neck as he sees Dan's scars, and his eyes widen again. Now he /feels/ scared, looks it, too, backing away -- kiiiind of around Dan to try and get closer to Alexandrine. << Oh -- oh. This guy attacked my brother down by the reservoir. Got on his case for being a mutant. He doesn't like us, I think he might be dangerous. >> "I didn't remember, sir," he's saying aloud, still cautious, "because that wasn't me. It was my brother you attacked. I don't want any trouble, and I have just as much right to be here as you." He certainly doesn't /seem/ like he's got self-control issues, calm even in his wariness. Alexandrine hisses at the sight of Dan's injury, before she's looking up at him. "Hey...everythin' okay?" She drawls. before she's tipping her head to look past him. "That kid. The kinda little one who looks like he kinda wants to run away, scared? " She murmurs before Bastian is explaining it. << Pleasure is mine, kiddo. Ah've met him a few times, he's...got issues. He doesn't know Ah'm a mutant, of course. If you want, Ah can keep him occupied and play the damsel, if you want to take off for home. Or I can try to talk him around to the fact you're clearly not some kinda killer. Your call. >> She smiles up at Dan, a lift of blue eyes. "Sweet of you to want to protect me. An' they tol' me you northern fellas didn't know chivalry." She's going to keep trying to keep a lid on Dan's emotions with her empathy, at least keep him from going too far off a deep end. "Wait. I didn't attack /anyone/," Dan says, the sudden spike of anger tipping the empathic lid briefly. The encounter rolls in his mind like a Zapruder film. Shane near his things, the verbal exchange after. The physical threat later. From Dan's point of view, Shane is the aggressor, pushing into his space and grabbing at the hand Dan uses to try and nudge the kid back. Above it all, the mindscape rolls in irritated thunderstorms. "All I did was tell some punk to get away from my shit, and he got all..." he wrinkles his nose, the insult hanging on the edge of his brain before he squashes it hard. "Aggressive about it." Then the rest of the information clicks in his head, and his eyes widen. "Brother? As in, you're /not/ the punk kid who can't take a fucking step to his /left/?" Alexandrine gets a confused look, as if his greeting a moment ago had never happened. Is she nuts? Chivalry? What chivalry? Do I even know what chivalry means? "With all due respect, sir, are you going to try and pretend you /weren't/ getting in my brother's face because he's a mutant? He /also/ had as much right to be at the reservoir as you did." Sebastian's tone is still calm, but it's firm all the same. "Shane didn't want anything to do with your things. He was doing the same as you. Storing /his things/ while he got some exercise. In the park. Like many people do.." Sebastian /is/ still wary, still distinctly uncomfortable, hands wringing slightly behind his back, but: This man /messed with his brother/. That puts some steel in the teenager's posture, diminutive though it may be. << I should go, >> he's agreeing, quieter, and there's a heavy tinge of exhaustion in his words, underlied by still more exhausted jumble of feelings: He and Shane get this /all the time/. Can't take a step out of their house without being confronted by people like Dan. << I am sorry, honey. Someday, it'll get better. Ah have to believe that. >> Alex has so much sympathy for Bastian, knowing she has it a lot, /lot/ easier. "No need for a confrontation, y'all." She says, lightly. Her head tips to the side as she looks up at Dan. "So whatcha shoppin' for?" Dan stares at the teenager, his expression hard for a moment as he rolls that over in his head. "Well, you don't sound like him," he says with a grunt. "You're more polite, even if you do have the same piss-poor attitude." It's grudging leeway, and it comes hard, the way Dan's jaw is clenched. "So I guess it's possible it's true." His mouth pulls to one side, and there's a long roll of conflicting thoughts, mostly about polite teenagers and shadowy girls and...silly string? Something string-like. "Didn't mean to give you a scare," is about as close an apology as Sebastian is going to get, as the older man is already turning away, dismissing the younger with non-acknowledgement. "Oh, I thought I'd get some clothes for a friend of mine," he answers Alexandrine with an almost-smile. "Well, not 'friend', I guess. More like a street kid I met who looks like they could use 'em." He glances at the redhead. "Yourself? You one of them Sex and the City 'vintage couture' types?" "Piss-poor attitude?" Sebastian stiffens, and his eyes drop to the ground as he tugs his hood up higher over his head. "Because thinking I have the right to go about my business the same as everyone else is an attitude problem, sir. Right." His shoulders are slumping. He eyes the rack of clothes for a moment, but then turns, away. He does offer a shy smile to Alexandrine, his quiet, << Thank you, >> at least genuinely grateful. And then he's slipping out through the racks of clothes and to the world outside. << Ah'll make sure there are plenty of brownie's at Jax's this weekend. Ah'm sorry, honey. >> Alex thinks to Bastian, even as she gets rather interesting information from Dan. Could it be the same shadow girl from the snowball fight that day? "Well, that's sweet of you. But are these the kinda clothes she needs, or should ya be more lookin' at stuff that will hold up to rough livin'?" Trust Alex to be practical. There's a chuckle, and a roll of blue eyes. "Ah never watched the show, but Ah like the vintage look a good deal. An' Ah can find things here that can be worked over for costumes for the kids in my classes. Thrifty teachin', that's me.” Dan grunts at Sebastian's reply, and looks over his shoulder. "/Now/ you sound like him," is the only farewell he has for the teenager, his mouth clamping into a tight line as his eyebrows ascend. His thoughts are...oddly calm, for a moment. Might be Alex's influence, or maybe he's just found a balanced state. Once Sebastian is gone, his eyebrows slam down into a hard clench, and he frowns at Alexandrine. "You should stay away from that one...or those two, or however many there might be that have that face," he cautions, his lip jutting out disapprovingly. "They've got too much attitude for the current world. You don't want to get caught around that." It sounds almost /caring/, except there's no warmth in Dan's tone. Until Alex changes the subject, and his eyes crinkle. "Figure they could use somethin' warm /and/ somethin' nice," he rumbles self-consciously, and he paws through a few hangers hurriedly. "I never thought about costumes," he confesses. "I wasn't ever interested in things like that." "You're sweet." Alex murmurs, and means it, sending a pulse of affection through empathy Dan's way. "How big is she? Or he?" Since she shouldn't know, but well, the store has a slant to it. "If ya like, Ah can help you find something in here. Sometimes it can be a challenge, if you aren't used to thrift store setups." There's a hint of a smile, that bright scarf tossed over her shoulder. "Well, sometimes Ah can find something that has a nice fabric, and if it's big enough, use it to make a costume. And no, ya don't strike me as ever havin' had dreams of bein' a prima ballerina." Dan's ears actually pinken at the compliment, and he offers a shy grin over his shoulder. "I just hate to think of...kids having to go without stuff," he says earnestly, the shadowy girl returning to his thoughts, the shadows melting into amethyst and violet hues. Muted color, now, as the thought puts said mutant on a cold and rainy street. Lying in a gutter. Outwardly, Dan's smile turns a bit tight, and he lifts a shoulder. "I don't really know the size," he admits. "I was just going to get some bigger stuff. That way, they could layer it, maybe, to stay warm." That's if she even gets cold. Wait. /Can/ she get cold? How the fuck do shadows work, anyway? He grunts a laugh at the observation. "Nah. As much as I loved those pointy-toed shoes, it wasn't meant to be. I lost all interest in dancing around once my sisters stopped looking after me." "Well, if you can give me an idea of how tall an' how big, Ah can help pick out layers. Bein' a L'siana girl in the city, Ah know all about layerin'. Ya want to build on closer fittin' stuff to the looser stuff. " Then Alex laughs, softly. "Ah wondered a lot, what it would be like to have siblings." Dan wrinkles his nose, casting back in his memory. The girl was wearing clothes, so he should have an idea of her height. But she could also stretch and shit, so how to compensate for that? "I guess they're about your height and size," he offers gamely, though there's nothing to really /support/ that. "But I couldn't say that for sure. 'Swhy I was going to stick to sweatshirts and sweaters and stuff." He's hopeless, though, distracted by his sudden inexplicible /niceness/ and the weirdness of running into ANOTHER blue kid. "I think it depends on how many you've got," he confides. "I've got too many. There's thirteen of us, when we're all at home." "Well then..that's a place to start." And she does, looking over racks, and pointing at things for Dan to consider, tugging on sleeves, examining hems. Then she sputters. "Thirteen? My gosh, your poor momma!" Then she's going crimson. Dan is an oddly compliant shopping partner, looking at each item carefully and choosing or dismissing based on some criteria he's not sharing. One that doesn't even leave a shadow on his mindscape, which still rolls with much of the same imagery, only now a loud, happy group of people are worming their way in there. The man has a grin for Alexandrine's reaction, and he lifts a shoulder. "Hey, my Dad and Ma are good, devout Catholics, and enjoy the comforts of married life. Who knew that Rourke swimmers were so dead on the mark?" He chuckles, ears pinkening again as he pulls off a pale blue sweater and holds it up with one eye squinted. "I'm smack in the middle," he says. "Number seven, with eight sisters and four brothers." Alexandrine is blushing, ducking her head. "Good Catholics, but.. Ah guess Momma lost too many after me to keep tryin'." She shrugs, picking up a black and purple sweater, chuckling. "Lucky number seven, that's you, huh? Any of 'em live here in the city?" "I'm sorry," Dan says, with a wash of sympathy for the woman and her mother. "But maybe it's the way it was meant to be. I just was kind of lost in the shuffle. You got to be a star." /That/ comes with a wash of guilt, and he takes the sweater and drapes it over his arm as he edges forward through the racks. "All but two of my sisters do," he says. "They're all over the place. You can't swing a cat without hitting a Rourke, my dad says." He grins shyly over his shoulder. "My grandmother used to tell my oldest sister Kathleen that the Rourke family /was/ the Irish Immigration." He presses his mouth into a thoughtful line. Should ask about her, dummy. You sound conceited as fuck. "So, you're an only child," he says, wincing at the limp-sounding words. "Did you have a lot of cousins or friends to run around with?" Alexandrine shrugs. "Maybe, but my dad shoulda had a son, ya know? He could only teach me so much about cars and guns before Momma got all fluttery about it." There's a hint of a wistful smile with that. "No one else to blame when somethin' got broke, either. Protection in numbers." She chuckles, looking over a hooded sweatshirt. "Some cousins, until Ah was about twelve, an' they ended up movin' to Alabama. Ah had my dance class friends and all." There's another shrug. "Ah was... kind of a bookworm." She glances up, blushing still. "Being a son doesn't mean you'd have been any more of a pride or disappointment to him than you are now," Dan says flatly, looking up from the bin of new socks that he's bent over. "I can tell you that. A father is just as proud of his daughter as he is his son. It's just...a different kind of pride. Quiet." His eyebrows twitch, as if trying to re-clench. "Doesn't mean he's sitting around with regrets about how things shook out, right? And if he's not, you shouldn't either." He offers a helpless shrug, shame creeping into his thoughts at the hardness of his words. "Sorry if I sound a bit preachy, but I have experience in these matters." Amethyst skin flickers across his mind before it melds into a lie. "With eight sisters, I learned a lot about the differences in sons and daughters and how dads relate to them." He offers his own shy grin, and ducks his head. "Bookworms are nice," he says with the image of a strawberry blonde with grey eyes deeply immersed in a book, resting it on the swell of her gravid belly. "I wish I'd been more of one." "Was. He passed, almost ten years ago, now. He was a cop." Alex says it quietly, eyes lowered as if to shield that pain from view, though the vulnerability is right there, practically a scent in the air. "Well, dance took up a lot of time, and Ah went to a private school.. still don't know how to talk to men, half the time." A glance upwards. "As Ah am sure you noticed." A hint of a smile, though her mind briefly reels at that image of a woman. Dan regards the flame-haired woman with a long, sympathetic silence, the sharing of that pain a twinge across the front of his mind. When she retreats into coquettism, he has his own not-smile in return. Oh, God, is she a Bad Idea. But so damned interesting...it's been three years, after all. I should.... "I think you're doing okay with it, so far." Alexandrine laughs, a smile flashing before it's gone. "You're just bein' nice. Though Ah admit Ah do all right, so long as Ah don't think about it.That's when Ah stutter and trip over words and sound like a drunk text message." There's humor poking at herself, there. She /has/ been doing better, talking to men. It's probably the ballroom dancing. If she can't flirt and handle a super hot tango. she's hopeless. Alex bites her lip, at his thinking she is a 'Bad Idea', with emphasis of capital letters and all! "I don't say things I don't mean," Dan says with a lift of his shoulder. "You've never had trouble talking to me, that I know of, and you're one of the girls I've met recently that's easy to talk to." And that's saying a lot. She's still a Bad Idea, though. Maybe because of just that. Still. Intriguing. "I was wondering, though...would you want to try it over dinner, sometime?" He pinkens, and blinks off at a far wall. "With me, I mean.” "Well, Ah try to be easy to talk to. Be hard makin' friends, other wise." Alex teases lightly. "Glad you think so, though. Means a lot." She pauses, looking up from the thick hoodie she'd been about to show him. Blue eyes blink twice in quick time, brows lifting slightly. Dan isn't the only one turning pink. "Well, Ah don't know who else you'd be askin' me to have dinner with. Ah.. Ah'd like that." Oh he's the Bad Idea. What is she doing? "I don't talk to a lot of women," Dan admits. "It's been...hard for me, for a long time." He grins shyly. "It's nice to find someone that it's not hard with." Oh, God, that sounds so awful. Should I try and correct it? Will it change her answer? When the answer does come, Dan's grin is wide and very pleased, as evidenced by the wave of relief/gratitude/pleasure that washes over his mind. "That's great," he says, and fishes out his phone to hand it to the woman. He clearly wants her number and has forgotten to ask. "I was thinking of Friday night. There's a concert of Tchai...Chat...some Russian guy who wrote ballet. I thought we could go to that, and maybe grab dinner after." Alexandrine pauses in taking his phone, lashes lowering. "It is nice, bein' able to talk." Oh gawd, she hates feeling guilty. Well, it's not like she really had nefarious purposes, right? She had only wanted to get to know him... it's not a bad thing. "It's still my old area code." She explains, as she punches in her cell number. Blue eyes glance up, a slow smile blooming. "Tchaikovsky? Is that what you would usually do, on a Friday night?" Of course she'd know who he meant. "Just.. Ah mean, if you like classical, that's awesome, but Ah do listen to other things, is all." She actually winces and makes a face. "That came out wrong." Dan's smile turns shy, and he ducks his head at the question. "Oh, I barely know his stuff. Just the shit they used in that Disney movie." It's a deep confession, and he pushes aside his own grey-eyed guilt to offer a small shrug. "I just thought it would be something that you might enjoy," he says, and raises his chin to roll his eyes a bit, playfully. "And to show you that I know how to clean up and play the part of a proper gentleman." "You didn't strike me as a huge ballet buff. It's all right, it's not for everyone." She offers him his phone back, cheeks still flushed. "Ah would enjoy it, but Ah am sure we can think of somethin' we'd both enjoy goin' to. And Ah am sure you can clean up an' be a gentleman. Ah'm clearly countin' on it, since Ah'm agreein' to dinner. Ah... what sort of music /do/ you like? Ah like a lot more than jus' classical." "I don't mind ballet," Dan says. "Like I said my d..niece," a sudden mental scrubbing precedes the correction, "is crazy about it. She begs me to watch the Nutcracker with her, even when it's not Christmas." He smiles to himself, lost in the memory of sitting curled up on the couch with the strawberry blonde, again pregnant. "Her...mother liked ballet." Guilt rolls off him, then, and he ignores the flare in his chest by busying himself with socks. Socks for Nox. That's pretty funny. Like deranged Dr. Seuss. Then he's glancing up at Alex, and offering the shade of a smile. "I've always been a fan of jazz," he admits. "Rickie Lee Jones, and that sort of thing. Do you like it?" His eyebrows lift, and there's just the smallest sailing of hope at the edge of his mind. "I can get tickets to a show, if you'd rather do that." He effectively seals the deal with the New York mantra: "I know a guy." She catches all the little things, a brush of fingers against his sleeve. "Sorry." she murmurs, after the 'liked' statement. Alex chuckles, offering the sweatshirt for inspection. "The day we met, Ah was /singing/ jazz tunes, sugar. Did you really just ask a N'awlins girl if she likes jazz?" There's a good deal of teasing there, her brightest of smiles she can summon up, and a warmth through her empathy for him. "Well, call that guy up, an' let's go hear us some jazz."