ArchivedLogs:Welcome to the Sunrise

Welcome to the Sunrise
Dramatis Personae Isaac, Trib	2013-07-02 Isaac's premiere on XMR. His first encounter? Trib.
Location <NYC> Sunrise Apartments
The lobby of this apartment building is shabby, to say the least. The tiling has not been replaced in quite some time, chipped and coming up in many places; there is a faint smell of mildew coming from somewhere by the stairwell. The exterior door has a large crack in it of questionable origin, and the paint is peeling on the interior walls. The elevator is often slow to arrive, though at least the thing /runs/ alright. For now. The rain has finally stopped, in New York City. Well, it stopped a day or so ago, but all that anyone cares about is that it's not raining /now/. Instead, soggy clouds litter the otherwise blue sky, and the air is humid enough that it feels like pushing through it when one is outside. As a result, most who have the option are choosing not to /be/ outside. But it's otherwise a nice day, when viewed through a window. Here in the Sunrise, the heat and humidity in the lobby are only slightly less than outside, no thanks to the lack of centralized air conditioning. The result is a steamy little room that is made only less inviting. Trib is...probably not helping, either. Dressed in jeans and a sleeveless blue shirt, the big man is currently wrestling with a beaten-up armchair upholstered in the type of cowboy fabric that one usually would associate with a small boy. With muttered curses and grunts, Trib seems to be attempting to wrestle the chair into the stairwell. Unfortunately, the thing is just a little too wide, making it just THAT MUCH MORE OF A CHALLENGE for the determined-looking boxer. As the door opens, at first there's no one there. Suddenly, creeping out from the corner shyly, a young, twentysomething dark-skinned man wearing a turtleneck and long jeans walks through. He looks around, looking for the front desk. The opening of the door is lost on Trib, intent as he is on getting the damned thing through the door. There's a couple more healthy shoves before the big man steps back and roars at the thing in frustration, reaching up to wipe sweat from his face. When he turns, he actually jumps at the presence of the other young man, and he lowers his brow even as he lifts his chin in greeting. "You need some help?" he rumbles, his accent Jersey-thick. His gaze sweeps over the smaller man, and he tips his head slightly. "You lookin' for somethin'?" Isaac jumps, startled by the big man and his big accent. He was lost in his own train of thought, which was promptly derailed. "Well, uh...I..uh..I'm trying to get to 312...but there's no one at the desk..." Trib's mouth quirks, and it could be the beginnings of a grin. Then he tips his head towards the elevator meaningfully. "I'm pretty sure it's on the third floor," he says, his eyes crinkling. Now there /is/ a grin, albeit a slight curl at one corner of his mouth. "I can draw you a map, if you want." Isaac shakes his head. "N-no...I'll find the way, thanks........Do you need help with that?" Trib lifts a shoulder. "Suit yourself. I was headin' that way, anyway." He frowns at the chair when the guy offers, and shakes his head. "I think it's too wide for the door," he admits. "I didn't want to take it up in the elevator, 'cause people have shit fits about the weirdest stuff, but I think I'm gonna have to." Then he's back to looking the other guy over carefully. "Ain't you hot, dressed like that?" Isaac chokes up his breath, realizing he'll be seeing this guy more than a few seconds. "It's...uh..comfortable...". He does a complete 180 towards the elevator and slowly walks. "Quiet type, huh?" Trib doesn't seem bothered by this, and he moves to pull the chair free, hoisting it up and carrying it with little effort beyond the strain of his arm muscles. Following the other guy to the elevator, he nods. "I can't wear stuff like that," he says in a conversational tone, watching the numbers light as the elevator descends. "Hell, I ain't got no sleeves now, and I'm sweatin' like a whore at Mass. Put me in a turtleneck, an' I'd drown." Isaac notices how small the elevator is. AND THAT MUSIC, THAT TERRIBLE MUSIC! He begins panicking..and bumps hand first into the elevator button. A zzzzap is heard, as the elevator just stops, the electricity flowing into Isaac. Trib frowns at the sudden panic from the other guy, and he shifts the chair in his arms. "Hey, buddy, you okay?" he rumbles, as the other man pitches forward. Then the elevator is lurching to a halt, and the big man growls. "Mother fuckin' piece of shit. Sorry about this, man." He shrugs. "This buildin' ain't the Plaza, unfortunately." Isaac begins shaking. "Uh...uh...uh...I think that was my fault...". He then gets as far away from Trib as he can in the room, expecting to get punched or something. Trib STARES at the other man for a long moment, then exhales heavily through his nose. "Where are you going?" he asks. "Why are you acting weird an' shit?" He shifts in the other direction, lowering his brow. "If you caused this -- can you /un/-cause it? 'Cause I ain't keen on waitin' until the super gets off his fat ass an' realizes we're stuck in here." Isaac hyperventilates. "I...I...I DON'T KNOW! I can't really control it. And when I try, I normally cause blackouts or kill birds...but, I guess I can try..." Isaac takes a deep breath, and begins poking the elevator buttons. Nothing happens. Trib sighs, and sets the chair down, pointing at the cushiony seat. "Sit," he commands. "Relax, and get your focus for a minute." His head drift to one side and back in a slow wobble. "We ain't but a floor up, so we ain't in any kind of real danger." He offers an actual smile, and it's even slightly encouraging. "It's a pain in the ass, at first, ain't it?" Isaac begins to calm down, and nods. He decides against sitting down, instead leaning against the wall. He breathes for a few moments. "Being both Hispanic AND Arabic is hard...being a mutant on top of that? Even harder. Now, let me try this again..." Isaac inhales and exhales deeply. His fingers begin to spark a bit as he approaches the button. He presses it, waiting to see what happens... Trib wrinkles his nose at the other man's words, and nods. "Yeah, that's a bad fuckin' hand," he agrees. "Although, I ain't sure bein' Hispanic counts so harshly against you, these days. At least, not here in New York." He lifts a shoulder. "Now, the other stuff...yeah. That is a bad hand." He sounds almost sympathetic. If he has any more to say, he holds it for the moment when he sees the spark of fingertips. His golden gaze narrows as the guy pushes the button, and he waits to see what will happen, as well. "Might be a moment," he murmurs. "This is an old building." Isaac goes to remove his hand in failure, when suddenly, a spark hits. A loud bzzzz happens, as the lights power back up. The elevator goes back on it's merry way. "Finally...." "/There/ ya go," Trib rumbles when the elevator kicks back into life. "Say, if I gave you a boost, could you kill the speakers?" he offers gamely. "I am so fuckin' sick of hearin' Lady Gaga done in instrumental I could fuckin' bite something." Isaac thinks for a moment, before nodding. "Alright...I'll see what I can do..." Trib barks a laugh. "I was /kidding/," he says, bending to pick up the chair once more. "Jesus. You're as jumpy as a cat." He narrows his eyes sharply. "You ain't a crackhead, are you? 'Cause that motherfucker piece of shit moved out the other day." Isaac quickly begins shaking his head back and forth. "No, not a crackhead, I'm sober, I swear!" Trib nods. "Good," he rumbles. "I don't fuckin' truck with crackheads." He watches as the elevator approaches 3, and glances at the other man. "You ain't gotta be nervous around me," he says. "I only look scary an' dangerous." He grins, suddenly; a hard expression that doesn't seem particularly /amused/. "Unless you're in a boxing ring with me. Then I /am/ scary an' dangerous." Isaac listens, nervous, but calmer all the while. He watches as the light hits three. "This is it...right?" "Nah," Trib says, with a straight face. "We got about three more stops before we reach our floor." Isaac taps his foot impatiently. He opens his bag, pulling out a book of Sudoku, and begins rushing through it. Trib makes a noise as the doors open, and he pushes forward. "Jesus. You are a literal motherfucker, ain't you?" He waits just outside the elevator, lifting his eyebrows at the other man. "You comin', or you just itchin' to see what's on the fourth floor?" Isaac snaps out of his cuckooland phase, and quickly walks through the door. "Sorry, sir!" He then quickly runs around like a headless chicken, looking for his room. Isaac finally finds his door, but in his panic, forgets to open it, running straight into it. He falls onto his bum, before pulling himself up. Trib grins as the other man scampers out, and watches him as he begins looking at the door numbers. "I ain't a Sir," he rumbles. "At least, not to you. I'm just a -- hey, be careful!" he says, and drops his chair at the door across from Isaac's. "You gotta slow down, dude," he says, narrowing his eyes at the other man. "You'll fuckin' kill yourself at that speed." He wrinkles his nose. "No one lives in that place," he says helpfully. "I haven't seen anyone since I moved in last week." Isaac nods at him, before entering his apartment. He then runs back out, realizing he dropped his bag, before running back in. Trib shakes his head as the other guy disappears into the apparently not-vacant apartment. “Good meetin' you, too,” he rumbles, and fishes his keys out. There much more grunting and swearing, but by the time anyone else appears in the hallway, both Trib and the chair are gone.