ArchivedLogs:Warming
| Warming | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2015-02-16 "People just love me to death." |
| Location
<NYC> Brooklyn | |
The most populous of the boroughs, Brooklyn has nothing if not character. With a thriving music and arts scene, and a distinctive New York slant to its stereotypical gritty accents, Brooklyn ranges from the high-cultured to the very much working class. From botanical gardens to beachfronts, Manhattanites might like to think their borough is the only one that matters, but Brooklyn has a lot to offer of its own. Things have been all a bustle down in one chilly corner of East New York. The streets here are still icy, their potholes made worse by the recent terrible weather and even on top of the snow the traffic has been getting snarled up by the crowd that was gathered outside a warming shelter opened up on the corner. Not, necessarily, because there's a particularly enormous rush to come in out of the cold -- though plenty of people are glad enough for /that/ -- but because of the news vans and cameras and crowd that follow the mayor around as /she/ comes in to talk about an initiative to help many of the New Yorkers out on the streets through the recent storms. The crowd is starting to disperse, now, though, the news trucks leaving though around the shelter itself there's still a small lingering crowd of smokers ducking outside for a break. Elliott is heading out, bundled up warm in trim dark peacoat over her pantsuit, scarf, leather gloves and boots. Her NYPD bodyguard shadows her at a small distance, currently exchanging quiet words with her driver. Quiet possibly /irritable/ words, as they crunch through the snow towards a nearby dark sedan. A little way away from the main pack of smokers is a particularly charming looking individual. Ragged, dirty black biker leathers and an untidy mop of shocking pink hair. And of course the reason she's not hanging out with the regular smokers, bone blades poking out from her skin and clothing in a haphazard manner. Well that and the charming sewer smell. Marrow, leaning against a certain dark sedan, is busy rolling herself a rather sorry looking (and for once entirely legal) cigarette while she waits for the media circus to die down. If she's lucky there might even be something left by the time she gets inside. "/I'm/ the one behind schedule, Parker," Elliott shushes her bodyguard mildly, "don't take it out on --" "/Hey/." Parker speeds up, tone sharp, a frown on his face as he sees Marrow against the car. A rapidly /deepening/ frown when the bodyguard notes the bone spikes poking up from the young woman's clothes; he maneuvers himself between the car and Elliott rather quickly. "What are you doing, get away from that vehicle." Elliott pauses, boots crunching to a halt in the ice. There's a beat of hesitation as she pulls in a breath through pursed lips and then, "-- Did you need help? The shelter is staying open through the night." Marrow pauses, smiles at Parker and then back to her cigarette. "What does it look like I'm doing? Writing a letter to the manager of my trust fund asking him to pick me up a new yacht?" she offers dryly. "And no, I think I got this. An extra pair of hands will just spill tobacco all over the sidewalk. Which would be littering and we can't have that now can we?" She licks the paper and twists into a tube. "And don't worry. I checked and there ain't no spikes sticking out my ass this week... Got a light?" "I don't have a light," Elliott answers, evenly, "but I do need to get into my car." Her hand tips out towards the sedan. "If you could please move?" Parker doesn't add, /now/, but the irritable shift of his posture and set of his jaw suggests he'd /like/ to. Behind them the driver is just kind of -- flustered. Arms crossing and uncrossing. Checking his watch. "I'm sure they have a light over by the door." He gestures to the small knot of smokers by the shelter. "See this is why no-one likes cops," Marrow explains earnestly, cigarette held between her lips as she hunts for a lighter. "The only time they try and help is when someone is 'going down some stairs'." Finally she pulls her hand out of her pocket clutching a battered metal lighter. "I'd have /loved/ to stand by the door but someone brought a media circus along. Complete with clowns." She clicks at the lighter a few times until it finally produces a tiny ember. "Oh? Am I in your way? Why I do apologize. You should have said something sooner!" She takes a step away and sweeps her arm to gesture at the door. "Your chariot awaits." The slice of Parker's smile is brief and thin as he steps forward to open the car door. "Yeah, and people sure do love you all." Elliott just shakes her head once, curt. "I've found the NYPD to be helpful frequently. And thank you," she replies to Marrow, inclining her head in small acknowledgment. Marrow flutters her lashes at Parker, a few of the bones seem to get ever so slightly sharper looking. "People just love me to death," she assures, blowing a cloud of smoke as she heads towards the shelter. With a chuckle she adds "Drive safely now. The streets aren't very safe this time of year." "Oh, /that/," Parker answers, ushering Elliott into the car as the driver scoots around to the other side, "I don't doubt at all." | |
