ArchivedLogs:My Kind of Different

My Kind of Different
Dramatis Personae Nox, Micah	25 February 2013 Nox and Micah run into one another in very perilous peril, once again. But then, there is food!
Location <NYC> Chinatown
One of New York's oldest neighborhoods and the oldest Chinese enclave outside of Asia, Chinatown is a vibrant ethnic community, which draws throngs of tourists annually as well. This neighborhood is packed with Chinese-owned businesses, from restaurants to groceries to theaters to fashion. Even in the heart of winter, Chinatown is a sure draw for tourists. The nightlife is nothing to sniff at--if DJ lounges are one's thing, over the reckless chaos of clubs, then Chinatown is the place to be. And where there are people, there are those who feed off of them. So to speak. BEast has lost much of its hipster cred in the past years but it remains a sure draw for those who prefer a more intimate atmosphere. The front of the lounge is busy enough, with people waiting to go inside and other stealing a cigarette before entering. Nox is working the very edge of the crowd, keeping to the periphery and keeping her hood up as she sticks gloved hands out imploring the idle and the idle "rich" for their change. Most scoff, a few offer her dollars, or more, and one rowdy bunch of university students give her a shove to send her on her way. She doesn't stumble as she goes but her hood does slip back--changing the tenor of their cries of disgust. The woman wastes no time in hurrying down the sidewalk, her pockets full of the evening's take--but also serving as the reason she can't simply phase into shadow to escape the young men who follow at a short distance, shouting obscenities and less...savory remarks. Micah, clad in his ever-present orange Jayne hat and olive puffy coat, is wandering in search of food with /vegetables/, which have been sadly lacking from his van-living non-kitchen. He probably still looks like a tourist in his just-over-half-a-year of NYC residency, meandering /slowly/ and taking in the sights of the colourful streets with a smile for everyone and no one at once. However, he has learned by now how to sidestep himself out of the way of perpetually hurrying natives. That is precisely what he does as someone comes darting toward him, until he recognises Nox. A second later, he recognises the potential incident barrelling after her. “Nox, hey, you need a hand?” he stage-whispers as she passes nearer. "What's the rush, /freak/? Got a building to burn up? Some kids to fry?" "Hey man, watch out, she might be /contagious/!" "She don't wanna catch what we got!" They're drunk on group-strength but Nox's pace has less to do with franticness and more about searching for--oh, wait. That was her name. She stops several feet beyond Micah and turns, black eyes blinking once at him before casting back to the group of frat brothers. Then the woman reaches out, making a snatch for the tourist's wrist to draw him along with her. "Alley," she whispers, "I need an alley. Too many lights." Indeed, she's smaller than she seemed to be in the park, and her hair doesn't float around her head as it did then--she's pulling a Natalie Portman, from V. Micah allows himself to be pulled, angling his body to remain behind Nox. He is actually bigger than she is right now, and obscuring the pursuing group’s line of sight to her could prove helpful. “There was one /just past/ that cart selling the paper lanterns, turn right!” he offers in backseat driver fashion. Walking slowly and taking in your surroundings is useful! Useful indeed! Nox adjusts her path as directed--proving that backseat driving is not /always/ unappreciated--and makes for the indicated alleyway. Blessed shadow. Two of the frat brothers begin to lag behind, perhaps realizing how far they're being led from the club, but the one in the lead remains so--also proving that when one runs from dogs, they will chase. But once the cool darkness of the alley closes in around Nox, she releases Micah's elbow...and vanishes. The stained clothes she'd been wearing fall to the wet, dirty ground with a jangle of change. Micah dashes along with Nox until…there is no Nox. “Huh.” He gawps at the abandoned clothing. “Now /that’s/ a blessed handy trick, Madame Copperfield.” Something makes him decide that the thing to do right now is to gather up the discarded clothing and tuck it under one arm. It just wouldn’t do let it get soaked through. He does gather enough sense to pull out his cell phone, thumb 911 on the touch screen, and let his finger hover near the ‘send’ icon. Just in case some of the thugs find their dark corner. "Thank you, Micah." The voice that whispers in his ear, from everywhere and nowhere at once, is more grateful than responding to the compliment. The shadows drape around him, dimming the glow of the scree and even the glint of the streetlights on his eyes--it's not unlike being behind a one-way mirror, watching the dude run by, followed a moment after by his two buddies. This time, at least, they're trying to call him back. Nox is silent again for a time after they go, before giving the soft hum that marks her amusement. "For once, I needn't lose an outfit. That was kind of you." “More than welcome. Been chased by a few crowds of Neanderthals in my day. It’s always a bonus, at least, to be able to spare your clothes. Gets expensive, replacin’ things.” He grins warmly, closing the phone’s dial screen and putting it back in his pocket. “Well, good thing we don’t have to threaten to call the police for hate crimes. It’d be bad enough if they called the bluff, but even worse if they didn’t. Sittin’ through incident reports, blech.” Micah pulls a Mr. Yuck face to emphasize this opinion. There is more humming. He might even be able to feel it, the gentle vibrato of her voice carried through the shadows. "Not least because I don't believe hate crimes against my sort have been legislated as of yet. One day, perhaps." The area closest to the alley's edge darkens--her version of poking her head out to have a look--before the darkness begins to draw together into Nox's more human shape. She stands beside him, facing him, just visible enough to share a smile. "Have you been chased, truly?" she asks, too earnest by far. “Pshht, who was talkin’ about you, darlin’? This face?” Micah points to himself with his free hand, laughter glittering in his hazel eyes, if not actually given voice. “Eminently punchable. And Jewish. And the proud owner of a disability. And /sometimes kisses boys/.” That last part is uttered in a conspiratorial whisper. “And I grew up in The South... Gets a little rough and tumble when you’re my kind of different, too.” Score one for the geek team, he catches Nox off-guard. She blinks at him again, eyes shuttering rapidly in sequence before she curls a hand over her mouth to stifle laughter she's incapable of voicing. "Not /Southern/," she whispers through her fingers, as if that was all that matters. "I am afraid, Mister Zedner, that we might not be able to associate with each other any longer, as I come from a long and unbroken line of Yankees. But that might be better for your health. Every time I see you seems to bring calamity," she says, with a glance towards the alley's mouth. "And I wasn't aware of the disability." Micah laughs outright at that, an uncensored almost-bark at her unexpected play-back. “I like that the /Southern’s/ the bit that’s got you.” He continues chuckling. “And the disability bit ain’t as obvious as once it was.” He pauses to tap his left leg, about at the knee. “The prosthetics get better practically by the minute. And there was a /lot/ of physio when I was younger. Only need the crutches for snow and ice now. Though I think what’s gotten me in trouble most is sometimes /also/ kissin’ girls. That just confuses folk, which isn’t allowed.” He winks playfully. Then, suddenly, he remembers that he is holding Nox’s clothes hostage… “Oh…ah. D’you want these now?” The clothing is held out toward Nox. "Prosthestics...I thought..." Another point scored. Nox is looking down at the leg in question, head at a puzzled angle. "Oh...oh, that's why...I wondered why your foot hurt more than others have, stepping on me. Less give." This seems to amuse her, or maybe it's the way he keeps sparkling, good humor undaunted. Sparkle is difficult even for shadows to resist. Her arms are extended with gratitude to take the bundle he's made of the clothes. "Thank you, sir. Ordinarily I would not mind leaving them, I've lost so many, but..." Her hand is already minnowing into a pocket to check the status of the bills and change tucked away there. "You have saved Christmas," she tells him, soft and solemn. Pools of red stain Micah’s cheeks, spreading until they take over the tips of his ears. Redheads don’t get to keep secrets with strong emotions! “Oh, gosh, I am /so/ incredibly sorry about that, too… I hope you weren’t too hurt.” His eyelids squeeze closed a moment, mental energy directed at /stop blushing, face/!. “My momma would /skin me alive/ for kickin’ a lady. Even if it wasn’t on purpose.” He jumps on the next joke to keep things rolling. “And the Jewish boy saved Christmas. There’ll be a television special. Songs will be sung.” Another wide grin spreads across his lips, cheeks dulling to a quieter pink. "Oh, Micah, no..." Nox reaches out as soon as that stain is seen and recognized, one arm tucked around the clothing and the other intended to rest briefly--hardly palpable--against his arm. "I hardly felt it," she assures him, "because of how I am. It goes away when I do and I've been hurt much worse. It was my own fault. I am fine, I promise." Though she's watching him closely with concern, she smiles to show her appreciation for the joke. He may pick and choose which of her assurances actually /helps/, while she's being so gosh darn earnest. "I cannot promise specials or songs, but thank you all the same. Every little bit means a great deal." Micah lights his other hand softly atop Nox’s, still smiling at her. “Nevertheless, I insist that you let me treat you to dinner. I had been on my way to it earlier, and I fear that my stomach is going to start growling at you in a most /unseemly/ fashion if it isn’t dealt with forthwith. Truly, it will be for my sake.” He can play at being a gentleman, too! It would be rude to disappear that hand, wouldn't it? Nox appears to hesitate, glancing down at his over hers--and in the end deciding not to go indistinct. "Is this something else your mother would expect of you?" she asks after a moment, smile flickering back into place. "One supposes it would be cruel to condemn you to being flayed. May I have a moment to...ah?" The bundle of clothes in the crook of her arm is lightly hefted. Micah nods a slow, serious nod. “One does not invite the wrath of a Jewish Mother.” He /giggles/ when she holds up the clothing. “Goodness, yes! Left the lady standing out of her clothes…” He clucks his tongue at himself as he turns away to let her dress. "I have heard stories," Nox says, as solemnly as her quiet voice allows. Fortunately the process of dressing is quick--faster than normal women, as normal women cannot simply pour themselves into their attire, inflating it like a balloon. In only seconds, she taps him on the shoulder before stepping up to position herself at Micah's side. "I forget, sometimes," she confesses, with a slight darkening of the grey that colors her own cheeks. "It is too easy to forget. Shall we, sir?" Micah has decided that he is enjoying this play at chivalry and crooks an arm for her to rest a hand upon. Neanderthals be damned, this lady has an /escort/. “Absolutely, m’lady. I do hope you like Chinese…”