xmm_alison

xmm_alison @ 2005-11-15T09:42:00

2005-11-15T14:53:33Z

IC PRIVATE

There I was, thinking that he would never want to see me again. And what happens? He shows up at my door. I was completely frazzled. I had just gotten home from work, kicked off my shoes and ordered dinner. I was a mess. But then again, I wouldn't change his timing for anything. I can't really be picky about how I looked because it was Syd who was making the confession.

My gut was right. He's a mutant. He wanted to tell me, but was afraid. Afraid of my reaction and afraid to lose his business if it ever got out.

And while I can certainly understand the fear, I'm glad he decided to share his secret with me. I won't be telling anyone. It isn't my place. And to share that big a secret with me was a great leap of faith, I intend to prove that his faith was not misplaced.

...

Also, just between you and me.. he admited he likes me.

...

I admited I liked him as well. We'll see what happens with that.

Keep your eyes peeled on xmm_morph for the log because I suck and forgot to log. >__>

xmm_alison @ 2005-09-08T21:07:00

2005-09-09T01:04:17Z

Siiiiigh. That's all Sydney's been doing in between sips of his double chocolate mocha chocolate chip mint chip heavy foam cappuccino. Sighing, and watching the people wander by. Yes, he got that LJ note from Storm. No, he didn't reply, because he doesn't know what to say to her, just like he doesn't know what to say to Alison. It's not like he's trying to jump into her pants or anything! He just looking for friendship right now! And still, he manages to screw that up. He didn't much feel like cooking so he's sitting with a half-eaten plate of eggrolls in front of him. He'll go home eventually, but for now he's just sitting in a corner booth, wearing bluejeans and a yellow t-shirt that says 'I'd rather be on stage right now'. Lonely casual. Ho hum.

What a horrible night. You see what happens when you allow your mother to set you up for a blind date? You end up with some rich, pretty boy who wants nothing more than some trophy wife more concerned about her making dinner than making a difference in the world. Honestly, does her mother know her at /all/? After making some sort of excuse for leaving early, Alison hurried to her favorite coffee shop for a little pick-me-up. Sorely needed as right now she's quite down. Sigh. And she even wore her prettiest dress. Black and snug without making her look too tiny. Black heels to match. Heck she even put in contacts and did her hair. What a waste of time and energy. "Coffee. Cream and three sugars please." she orders before even reaching the counter.

Siiiiiigh. Man, Sydney is such a drama queen. If anyone ever needed a guys' night out, he is certainly that person. And he's effectively feeling sorry for himself, wondering if he should go to the Xavier Mansion and whine on Ororo's shoulder for a while. Once again his eyes search the place for something to distract him, and surprisingly enough, this time he finds it in the form of some woman in a very lovely dress. He can only see the back of her head and how nice and fancy she looks. Niiice. And that just depresses him even more. Nice girls, coming in all the time, and he doesn't even begin to know how to introduce himself to them!

Alison accepts the coffee and pays for it with a grimace. "Thanks." A sip. A wince. "Ugh." She moves to the stand with the sugar and pours a little more in. Only once it's stirred to perfection does Alison turn to search out a place to sit, feet immediately taking her to her normal booth. But she stops short. It seems there's already someone in her booth. "Sydney.." She states, surprised. A hand sweeps over her dress, straightening out wrinkles here and there. A self conscious shuffle of nerves. He never called her after all. Maybe he doesn't want to see her.

Sydney's body jerks visibly as he sees who the woman is. Alison! Lookin' good, girl. But it's Alison! Doh! Oh, why didn't he go out in his Joe Blow Tourist guise? She probably thinks he hates her. He didn't call, but it wasn't like he was ignoring her! There were just... time constraints! Do something, stupid! She's looking at you! Sydney saves, and smiles tentatively, half-expecting her to turn and run. Guess this'll be the moment of truth, eh?

Lookin' good. But lookin' sad. Miserable and annoyed is more the word, though it was swept off quickly once she laid eyes on Sydney. Replaced by self doubt and nervous shifting. Look at the way he's smiling at her. He's probably just trying to be polite when he really just wishes she'd turn around and never come back. "I'm.. sorry." she manages after a moment, lifting her free hand to push a strand of hair behind her ear. "For making you uncomfortable the other day."

Sydney shakes his head rapidly. "Oh no! No, it wasn't you. I just... Have a lot on my plate lately. Starting my own dance studio, paying outrageous bills... Personal woes." He pauses for a moment, then shakes his head again as he rises from his seat, offering it to her. "You didn't do anything to upset me. I like your ideas. I would love to be a part of them, too! Just... maybe in a more advisory role, for now."

Alison looks unconvinced for a few moments, sure that he's merely telling her this to placate her. And as he stands, she's afraid that he'll be leaving and she scared him off again. But as he merely offers his seat, a faint smile appears. "Thanks, I'll just take this one." She gestures to the seat across from his before sliding into it. "You really want to be a part? You're not just saying that?"

Sydney nods rapidly this time. "Yes! I really do!" He sits down once she is seated, then rotates the untouched eggroll on his plate and offers it in her direction. "Ever since I stopped touring the world in an acting troupe, I've wanted to do something to help the plight of Mutantkind. And you did remind me that the plight of Mutantkind is actually the plight of children, which is where this whole thing should start. Well, with the parents of the children, anyway."

Alison shakes her head at the eggroll. "No thank you, I've already eaten." She's stuffed, though there's always room for coffee. Which she's currently sipping at. "You toured the world in an acting troupe? That's amazing! It must have been so much fun." It doesn't take much to lighten her mood as Alison props one elbow on the table, resting her cheek against an open palm as she gazes towards him. "Exactly."

Sydney shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. "Well, not the /world/. Just the U.S., Canada and southern America. Western Hemisphere, if you wanna get technical." He smiles more now that her mood is lifting and that pensive first few moments is passed. "So... All dressed up? Went out clubbing with some girlfriends or something?"

Alison's eyes twinkle with delight at just the thought of doing something like that. "You must have really enjoyed it." She remarks dreamily before attention is brought to her state of dress and red blooms over her cheeks. "Errr. No, not quite. My mother seems to be under the impression that I need a man in my life and am incapable of finding one on my own. So she set me up on a blind date. And like the goodly daughter, I went."

Sydney laughs aloud, though he doesn't mean to offend Alison. "Really? Well, I do feel for you. My parents are in that 'we need grandchildren to spoil' phase and I'm sure if I still lived anywhere near them, they'd be sending all sorts of women to my front door. Don't know what it is with parents who think their adult offspring need to be hitched. I mean, one year they're all 'Nono, you're too young!' then the next it's all like, 'Why haven't you settled down yet?'" He does an oddly good job of impersonating meddling parents--not that odd considering he is an actor. But it does take some thought on his part not to just outright switch his figure into some doting parent. That, would totally be awkward.

"Oh yes really. And I don't think I've been so bored since, ever." Alison states with a laugh to match his and a shake of her head. "I think my mother simply wants to watch her grandchild grow up and graduate from high school. And she thinks I'm stalling and purposely preventing her from realizing that dream." An eye roll before she giggles softly at the impression. "That was pretty good."

Sydney grins. "You should see my John Wayne. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself." He gulps down more of his cappuccino and leans back in his chair. Looks like this evening's not so pitiful after all!

"I'd love to see it sometime." Alison states with a bright smile, watching him quietly. Another long sip of her coffee. "Oh! I almost forgot. I won't be paying for the studio anymore from my own pocket. A man named Raymond Hubbard is going to be taking care of that." Another bright smile.

Sydney's brows raise high on his head. "Raymond... Hubbard?" Nope, doesn't ring a bell. "Who is he?"

"A local business owner. Pretty well off. He helped me get some of the local high school students into some free first aid courses. And when he heard about this new venture he offered.. no, demanded to pay for it all." Alison explains.

Sydney smiles. "Well that's good! Think he could offer to pay my bills, too?" Just joking, of course. But hey, if a guy's offering to dish out cash, Sydney ain't too proud to take a handout. "Tell him he can make the check out to Sydney Jones."

Alison grins. "You never know with him, he just might. He's a pretty good guy. I'll be sure to bring him around at some point so you two can meet." Alison offers and crosses her ankles beneath the table. "So.." and now she's nervous, looking into her coffee. Nope, no answers there.

Sydney looks at her coffee too, as if it were the screen of a magic 8-ball waiting to tell them both what next to do. Hmm. Tick. Tick. Tick. Yeah. "You really do look nice." There we go! Some kind of compliment. Where's Hitch when you need him?

Alison blushes yet again as he compliments her. "Oh. Thank you." She states, almost breathlessly, hazarding a quick glance in his direction as she smiles. "Shame it was wasted on Mr. Boring." She smirks then tilts her head to regard him. "But then again, I guess it's not really wasted now. Is it?"

Sydney rubs the back of his neck and laughs nervously now. "Yeah... Really nice." He doesn't know much more what to say now. And he doesn't really want to run off on her. So... "Do you live near here? Or have a car parked somewhere? Want me to walk you to it?" It's the least he can do, and a better way of ending the evening than simply making a break for it.

Alison tries to hide her smile, but can't quite manage. Atleast she isn't the only one who's nervous. And atleast this time he isn't running. But she's also not foolish enough to try touching him again either. "I live nearby. I'd love an escort home if it doesn't put you out of your way?"

Sydney rises from his seat. "Of course not! I live right around the corner from here, remember? I'll get you home and then go back to my place." He makes sure to leave some money on the table to pay for his food, then prepares to hold the door open for her.

Alison has already paid for her coffee, which she quickly finishes, tossing the cup into the garbage as she heads up after him. "A gentleman. Such a rare find." She laughs and hurries through the door so that he isn't stuck holding it for long.

xmm_alison @ 2005-09-05T21:45:00

2005-09-06T01:49:20Z

I can see my mother now, her hands shaking towards the heaven's, her face screwed up in overly dramatic agony asking why oh why do I surround myself with handsome, succesful men, if I never intend to date any of them.

Ray is wonderful, supporting yet another of my ventures without my asking. Quite the philanthropist. Assured me that whatever reason Sydney ran for the door, it wasn't because I had scared him off. Looks wise atleast. And Chris agreed with him. He's one of those blunt, honest types, so it helped to hear it from him.

Ugh. Men. Are they really worth the trouble?

A booth in the back is currently occupied by a woman who, despite it being Labor Day, is working hard. Heaven knows she doesn't want to be alone with her thoughts. Alison's hair is pulled into a high ponytail and glasses are currently tilted down on her nose as she stares at a paper. It's only a moment before she crumples it up and tosses it into a nearby trash can. A pot of coffee sits in front of her, obviously she's been at it for a while.

Fortunate, perhaps, that she is about to be somewhat disturbed by the incoming form of a man who recognized her the instant he entered, ever careful eyes watching for something of import. An exceptionally stylish suit flows over Ray's form, and his easy stroll takes him from the counter, bearing a pair of coffees, each of a different style and for her to choose from. His voice carries easily, recognized or not. "You look like a woman who could use some company, or at least a distraction. How /are/ you, Alison?"

The voice is not immediately recognized. And in fact, Alison doesn't even think someone is talking to her until Ray says her name. "Hmm?" Squint. Oh yeah! Her wealthy benefactor. "Raymond. Hello." She states and sweeps the coffee pot out of the way, clearing a space for him. "Please sit. I've been.." confused, frustrated, boggled.. "..busy. How are you?"

"Ray." he insists, placing both coffees down onto the table. "Take your pick, mocha or Kenyan black." Suit is rapidly unbuttoned, fully revealing the front of his pale shirt, though the jacket stays on. A friendly smile drifts across the table. "Busy's a way of life in this city. Do you really want to hear the list of people I've screwed in the business world?" Easy teasing, and he stretches his legs out. "But apart from this terrible thing I believe is known as guilt, I'm wonderful. How're the kids?"

"Well then you can call me Ali." If he insists on her calling him Ray. "And mocha please. Thank you." She accepts the cup with a smile, brows lifting up as the jacket is unbuttoned. Her eyes drift up to settle casually on his face. "I wasn't aware there was any room for guilt in the cut-throat business world that surrounds you." A smile. "The kids are great. Really enjoying that First Aid class. And I just started renting out a studio space for some art classes."

And thus the Kenyan black is heavily laden with sugar, for Ray's consumption. Brown eyes peer out at her, as he shows teeth in a quickly, indulgent smile. "There isn't, which is why it's so terrible. I need to learn to be totally heartless instead of just mainly heartless." A hand lifts to stifle a sudden cough, though his smile returns quickly afterwards. Sip of coffee. Mmm. "I've desperately been trying to find the time to pop along to that." As opposed to simply sending a minion. "Apparently the reaction is good from the college students. Why are you having to rent somewhere for art classes?"

Alison drops the pen onto the top of her pad of paper, sliding it to the side as her ankles cross under the table. "Totally heartless? That would be a shame. It's nice to find a business man these days that actually cares for someone other than himself. I would hate to see you lose that quality." Alison cradles the mug between her palms, returning the smile. "I wanted to offer a place for the students to go to after school. The ones who really want to try in class but are afraid of getting picked on. It's a safe haven for them, a place they can go where nobody will pick on them."

Ray allows a soft snort of laughter to escape from his nose, canting his head to deliver an amused look. "It's what keep me human. Though occasionally I get accused of playing philanthropist simply for the PR. Admittedly, that does offend me." Shoulders lift into a shrug, hands tug absently at suit jacket, and a little smile of intrigue crosses his face. "Well, if it's for a decent cause, you won't mind if I insist on paying for it. Assuming I get to attend, occasionally." A thoughtful finger begins to beat a distracted tattoo on the table, resting by his coffee. "Do you have any exceptionally able students?"

"Well if it helps, I don't think you do it for the PR. You make an actual effort to find a good cause and invest in it. Which shows you actually care. So many others will just cut a check and be done with it." That doesn't seem to be Ray's way. An owlish blink is offered towards his insistence. "Insis.. Oh Ray I couldn't ask you to do that. It's really not much. Only twenty five dollars a week. I can afford it." Barely with her salary, but he doesn't have to know that. "Exceptionally able? There are always one or two who can rise above the rest. Naturally gifted in the arts." She smiles and takes a sip from her drink. "Why, I have one student who has a talent for painting unlike anything I've ever seen before. I swear he could paint a masterpiece with his eyes closed if he wanted to."

"Thank you. It's the truth; I try to keep my work relatively low key." Ray assures, the tapping finger increasing in speed a little as calculation runs across his face. "Twenty five dollars, plus costs for easels, paints, any other media you happen to use. Good quality canvas can be expensive, and now you're going to have nothing but the best." His voice becomes a little more firm, no-nonsense and almost commanding. "Anything you want, even if it's just a mild desire, run it past my personal assistant and you've got it. No question, no arguing. Okay?" He takes a long sip of coffee, peering at her over the rim.

"And tarps. It's a dance studio, I promised not to damage the floors in any way." She smiles weakly. "Well.. yes, but I have savings I can tap into for all of that." Who needs vacations when you can lighten a child's life with art? Her shoulders slump slightly as he informs her of his intentions. "Honestly. How can I possibly impede on you like that after you were nice enough to help me get my students into the First Aid class?" After all, he hardly knows Alison, how would he know whether she's squandering his money or not.

"And why bother wasting your savings when it's all money I'd be paying in tax otherwise?" Ray inquires, tilting his head and delivering a reproving look. "The best of the work done can be displayed at a public exhibition we'll organize; the best amongst them can get more space. Give them something to aim for; an overriding concept. There are other schools and children out there that benefit from some of my money, though it's kept quiet." An amused gleam filters into his eye, as he teases, "My motivations could be called mercenary; if any of them get incredibly rich I might ask for a cut one day."

Alison frowns, a single finger lifting to push the glasses more firmly up her nose so she can gaze fully towards the man offering her money yet again. "I will talk that last part over with the students. Many of them which for anonymity so that they do not get mocked by the other students. Art isn't considered a great past time amongst the students I work with and they're afraid to get beaten up over it." She sighs, finally falling back against the booth in a submissive gestures. "I'm going to end up owing you a great debt of gradated."

It's not /her/ he's offering money, it's her students. His head dips into a nod. "It's not unknown for artists to work anonymously or under a pseudonym, but if they're not interested in exhibiting then that's totally fine. The offer is there if they want it." Coffee. Sip. Don't look triumphant. All right, but only a little. "No debt owed. Think of it as me repaying some of the luck that's taken me to my position in life."

But it still feels like he's offering her money. So she'll still feel like she's owing him something. "I'm sure there are a couple who might be interested. Who'd like to show off their work and brag and say they actually did something that someone might remember." The thought makes Alison smile into her cup as she takes another sip. "Thank you. Once again you're my knight in shining suit and tie."

Well, maybe sometime he'll call in a random favor to make her feel better. Ray breaks into another friendly smile, saying "Good. Young artists don't receive enough support these days. Besides, it'll make the wannabe-bullies jealous, and make them think twice about trying to start a fight, hopefully." Another long sip of coffee precedes a lighter chuckle, and the finger ceasing to tap, coming up as it is to run through his hair. "Knight? Flattery will get you everywhere. Anything else I can do for you?"

"I agree completely. Maybe one day you can come and speak to them, show them the great things they can do with their life if they put their minds to it." She glances up, half teasing, half serious. "I'd suggest investing in a bullet proof vest first." That last question causes her to pause for a moment. "If I asked you a question, and promised not to be upset by the answer, would you answer me truthfully?"

"I'm not afraid of your average schoolyard thug." Ray assures, with a benevolent smile. "I was brought up on a ranch; I'm rougher around the edges than I might first seem. If ever you want me to pop along and speak to the kids, then I will." Head tilts. "Of course."

"These aren't average school yard thugs. These are kids with drugs and guns. Don't underestimate the bad ones." She warns, smiling as he agrees to come and see the kids. She sighs as he agrees and looks him square in the eyes. "Am I.. too mousey?"

A quietly confident smile is Ray's first response to her warning. "Believe me, I'm more than capable of looking after myself, Ali. I only have-" Head jerks behind him, where the sharp of eye could spot the two burly figures that make up Ray's personal protection, "Those for show. If it'll make you feel better, I'll wear kevlar." A broader smile, that falters into something like confusion. "Er, no? I don't think so, you're perfectly pretty as you are. Quite what do you mean"

Alison looks up to the body guards as if she's seeing them for the first time. "Huh. I never really noticed those guys before." She really is a naive little thing isn't she? "You don't /have/ to wear it. It was just a suggestion. I think as long as you bring those two, they'll stear clear." So she's pretty? Or pretty enough atleast. The compliment is met with a nod. "Well if I were to reach out and touch your hand, would it make you want to run for the door?" Seems she's run into this problem before.

Ray jerks his head towards them again. "Like I said, mostly for show. If you think the kids'll be scared and impressed by war stories, those two are your boys." A softer smile meets her question, and he shakes his head. "Sorry, I don't believe you could make me flee. Why on Earth would you think that you're scary?"

"For the kids sometimes, it's all about show. While you're all buff and such, huge dudes are who they're really going to worry about." Did she just call him buff? Good grief. Alison shakes her head and looks into the cup, brows knit. "It's not that I think I'm scary. Just wondering if I'm.. repulsive. I know I'm not hideous or anything along those lines. But before the other day I didn't think a touch of my hand could send someone running from the room so fast." She sighs. "I dunno. Maybe the guy just didn't like being touched."

"Maybe," Ray replies, leaning forward with a conspiratorial air, "Just maybe, he left because he was scared of your looks and charm. Not trusting himself not to leap on you? Believe me, some men are incapable of expressing their feelings without either running away or proposing marriage." His hand inches forward over the table top, left palm-down. "Touch me, and see if I run. And you," Hand slaps on the table to punctuate his point, "Are anything but hideous."

A startled yelp as his hand slaps the table draws a couple eyes in their directions, forcing a deep blush onto Alison's cheeks. But she ignores the looks and just glances back to Ray, her shoulders bunched nervously around her neck. "I know I'm not hideous. But.." she's not exactly breathtaking either. "I really don't think he was running from looks and charm." Because she doesn't really have charm, just dry wit. Her hand snakes across the table, tentative as soft fingertips brush over his.

"Darn it, woman, are you incapable of receiving a compliment with dignity?" He teases, mock indigence allowing him to raise his voice a little. his fingers twitch a little under her touch, but he doesn't move other than to flip his hand over and grasp her digits for a moment, long enough to state, slowly and carefully, "You. Are. Attractive." He lets them drift off, pulling his hand back to his coffee, from which he takes a long sip. "Understand?"

"Pretty much, yes." Alison states honestly to his first question. But despite the words she grins and squeezes his fingers in return before letting them fall back to her cup as well. Maybe she'll make a friend of this man yet. "Yes, I understand." She smiles and looks into her coffee before the smile can falter. That leaves her personality or talk of working together that scared him off. Maybe she should just go directly to the source.

"And now the teacher, the loudest profession, goes quiet on me." Ray quips, peering over at her with a tilted head. "Now we've established that much, how do you fancy another drink?"

Alison glances back up from her coffee cup, looking sheepish. "Sorry. Just lost in thought." She says, forcing laughter before the rest of her cup is drained. "Another mocha would be great, as long as you promise not to scold me anymore."

The door opens on a new entree into the shop: a tall, dark man in a blue suit and muted red tie, a tiny American flag pinned to his lapel. A newspaper tucks under one arm, the other occupied with the inventory of a black wallet. Christopher Rossi is looking for coffee. Also, his driver's license. "--Crap."
"Mocha it is." Ray responds, slipping sideways on his seat and stretching to the dizzy heights of five feet nine. "I'll be right back." Turning lightly on a heel, he steps towards the counter, dodging the single person who gets in his way with a little smile. Then the newcomer is spotted. "Rossi! Sorry, /detective/ Rossi. Nice to see you. Want a coffee?" As now Ray has found the counter, and is having his order expectantly awaited.

Surprise lifts Rossi's head at the sound of his name, and recognition lights his face a half-second later; the pause in between is for review of memory, a flip through the internal rolodex to match name to face. "Hey," he greets, fishing a smile from distraction for the other man. He is beaten to the counter. No matter. "Daisy guy. I run into you in the weirdest places. --Yeah. I got it." Folded bills flick at Ray from between fore- and middle-finger. See? He has cash. "How you been?"

Alison smiles the entire time it takes Ray to stand and head towards the counter, letting it falter only once he's no longer facing her direction. Just a lot on her mind is all. She pulls the paper back towards her and begins to write, glancing up when she hears Rossi's name. But since he's already engaged in conversation she goes back to her writing.

"Mocha and a Kenyan black, both tall, if you insist on offering." Ray replies dryly. "And yes, daisy receiver, it is me. And someone else I know, sitting over there." A slight tip to his head indicates Alison. "Join us?" And thus does he await Rossi's ordering.

"Regular black," baritone pitches over the counter. "What kind? The hell do I care. Just ... give me something strong. Yeah, that's fine. Fine." Divested simultaneously of cash and order, Rossi follows Ray's tip of head towards the table for a brow-arched blink. "You're kidding me. The schoolteacher? Talk about your small worlds."

"I have a name you know." An amused tone drifts towards the two men, though Alison doesn't lift her eyes from the paper. Small worlds indeed. How on earth would two men so vastly different know each other? A question to ask when they join her at the table she supposes.

Ray nods a quick thanks to Rossi, taking his coffee and graciously allowing Rossi the honor of waiting on Alison. "Yes, the teacher. I suppose you could call us business associates." He drifts a teasing grin over at Rossi, that is then delivered to Alison. The burly minders are watching, waiting, until Ray remembers to wave them down with a dismissive gesture. He slides back into his seat, placing the coffee down. "Exceptionally small world. So, we now have a little party."

Faint amusement winnows its way across Rossi's face; reeled into partydom without vocal assent, he sketches a shrug at the barrista before following Ray across the shop, an alert and professional eye assessing the other man's bodyguard before turning to Alison. "Hey," he greets, laconically. And, crookedly, smiles. "Butterfly girl. Nice to see you again."

Alison huffs as once again she's called the 'teacher' and levels a look on Ray. That fades as soon as she's facing down his grin. She returns it with a wry shake of the head before turning her attention to Chris. "Butterfly girl? So then you did see it." She grins. "It's nice to see you to."

"Butterflies and daisies." Ray muses, "Have you considered starting up some sort of stress-relief business, Rossi?" Eyes dart between the two, questing for an answer. "Alright, how /do/ you two know each other?"

Chris shrugs again, passing one last, lingering glance across the muscle -- hello, broody suspicion -- before settling himself into the open chair. Alison's mocha slides across the table to her, and the folded newspaper tucks itself on a knee-propped ankle. "Ran into each other in the subway. Weird coincidences. Like getting random flowers from relative strangers who know your brother's ex. --How do /you/ know each other?"

Alison once more pushes her papers to the side in order to accept the mocha with a head bob and a smile. "Somehow I just don't see Chris hear making a fortune in that particular field." A grin to the detective. "Not that you aren't wonderfully soothing or anything." Smirk. "He's currently funding a first aid class that some of my students are taking part in, and has just insisted to fund an after school art program I'll be running."

The muscle is simply sitting quietly and discussing something amongst themselves at a murmur, before they both lean backwards into their chairs and continue reading the newspaper, though behind sunglassed eyes one keeps a wary eye open in his boss' direction. Ray, however, is simply smiling at Rossi. "Oh, come now, Ali. The detective is such a polite, friendly and personable man. He'd make a wonderful worker in a massage parlour." A dismissive shrug is delivered to her explanation.

Sardonic humor lightens the detective's pale gaze, appreciative at best, mocking at worst. "Into the philanthropy thing, are you?" he asks Ray, settling his shoulders and spine into his chair's back, stretching long into the brace of the table's weight and shadow. "Giving back to the community? --Guess that helps some of your funding problems at least, Teach."

Alison tries to hide her laughter behind the back of one hand, eyes glittering and giving her away. "Riiight. I'm sure he'd start that job the day I became I pro wrestler." She glances back to Rossi, giving him a once over. Oh yeah, he just screams sweet and fun. Right. "It does help. It means I'm not having to dip into my savings." Always a good thing.

"It would seem so, wouldn't it?" Ray replies dryly. "Though I'll have to ask you to keep it quiet. I have a reputation as a total asshole to maintain, after all." A quiet chuckle in Alison's direction, legs again stretching under the table to the side, as he sits back into a relaxed position. "You'd make a great wrestler; you must have the volume needed, and the rest is acting. You may be a little short in the surgery department, though."

"Do you?" inquires Chris, eyes aglint. A thumb jerks for the nearby bodyguards, eyebrows lifting for inquisitive curiosity. "That why you need the gorillas? --Laughing at me," he adds wryly askance for Alison, philosophically resigned: in truth, he is no parade leader for the sunshine squad. "That's fine. You do what you got to do."

"Well if anyone ever asks I can say that you're mean and scary and hit tables and scold innocent woman." Ali assures Tom before sending a look of pure innocence in Rossi's direction. That is until there's mention of surgery and her hands jerk reflexively to cover her chest. "Hey! I might be lacking in the chest department, but I make up for it in spunk." Even so, her back straightens -just- a little.

"The /minders/, as they prefer to be called, are more for show than anything." Ray assures. "Think about it, Rossi, you're already aware of my deep levels of paranoia." Offhand delivery, and a sip of coffee. If Ray was the eye-rolling type, he would be now. "You don't have balloon lips, eyebrows that can't move and a pair of Zeppelins attached to your torso. That's what you need to be a wrestler. Have you forgotten our little chat?"

Paranoia, Rossi knows, and he grins into his coffee with a moment's pure black humor. "Wrestling's a big line down where you come from, I take it," he says, leaving the subject of the 'minders' for later consideration. "Can you read a script, Teach? It's not much of a sport."

The mention of the 'chat' has Alison once more slinking back against the booth. "Yes." She offers in a tiny voice, which is accompanied by a pout. "Are you going to scold me again?" The pout drifts as a hand reaches up to touch her lips at the mention of them. "No. I don't think I'd be able to speak with balloon lips." An owlish look in Rossi's direction. "Read a script? Well yeah. But I'm not much of a fighter. Even if it is fake."

"Huge sport, but to play in Tennessee you have to be wielding a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire." Ray notes, taking another sips of his coffee. A mock-exasperated little wave shoos away Alison's pout. "I'll scold if you deserve it. Rossi?" The cop receives his attention. "Do you think this woman is hideous, or attractive?"

Chris blinks. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"Barbed wire?" Alison asks, eyes bulging. "Thank you but I'll pass." Those eyes look as though they're about to fall out of her skull as she looks between Ray and Chris. "RAY!" She squeaks and begins to move as though she's going to leave the booth. "I'm just going to go over there and die now all right? Are you happy? Die. As in 'of embarrassment.'" You jerkface. That part goes unspoken.

"The kind of question that is designed to rip her self-hatred out of her and replace it with some pride." Ray replies, frankly. "She seems to think she's unattractive. I disagree. You?" A twinkling, amused smile is flashed at Alison. "Relax."

"Man," says Rossi, mildly bemused. "Do you actually know any women? Actually -- /listened/ to them? Talked to them? Maybe we should get you a book or something." The hooded gaze shifts to Alison, morbidly interested; Chris nets dry amusement to fishhook his mouth. "Don't leave on my account."

"Not completely unattractive." Alison states in her defense, in the tiniest of voice. "Just mousey. Overly mousey." As she's told not to leave, she instead choses to sink into the booth, slinking down some as she settles a glare on the both of them. Not that it's particularly scary.

Ray breaks into a rich chuckle at Rossi. "I've tried, and I've failed. Apparently they don't appreciate my sense of humor. A book's probably a good idea." Dry humor trickles into his tone, before he does manage to look a little apologetic. "Not at all. I've already told you. Sorry if my sense of humor has failed me again."

An eyebrow arches for Ray, the sensualist's mouth twitching beneath it. "Needs work," Chris supposes -- though some answering spark of humor responds to the other man's, jaded though it is in classic New York style. Back to Alison then, he offers a mild, "You're pretty attractive. You're not flashy, but that's a good thing, all things together. I figure, if you get better looking the longer people know you, who gives a rat's ass how you look at first impressions?"

Alison just keeps looking between the two men, glare slowly thawing out to something more mellow, less accusatory. Slowly she begins to straighten, brows knitting together as she looks to Chris. If she turned any more red, her head might explode. "Wait. Do I make a negative first impression?" Women. They always hear what they want to don't they?

Ray quirks a quick smile at Chris. "Any chance of some lessons from an expert, then?" Eyes drift over to Alison as she speaks, and an almost imperceptible shake to his head precedes another glance to Rossi. "I'll let my lessons begin. Speak, maestro."

"Don't remember my first impression," Chris admits with just the barest of exasperated glances for Ray. He slopes down in his seat, spine curling to his seat's back; over the rim of his cup, green warms for the woman in self-preserving Italian charm. "It was a long time ago. But you're attractive /now/. I meant in general, flashy good looks make a stronger first impression. Lot of those women, though, the longer you know them, the uglier they get."

And just like any other woman, Alison falls victim to the warmth of that charming green, the only hint of such being the deepening of color on her cheeks. "Well.. I think I can live with that. Being someone that gets more attractive with time, rather than the other way around." A brief smile that dives back down into her cup as it's drawn to her lips. See Ray? Much more effective than scolding. But much more dangerous.

Somehow Ray resists the applause. He allows a quick glance between the two, a flicker to his brow contemplating Alison's impressive coloring. "Well, seems I am to learn." Canting a smile over to Alison, "Incidentally, he's right." Shoulders lean against the seat, raising his cup to his lips for a long sip, almost draining the remainder.

Chris grins openly for that, baritone washed with the same easy warmth that lightens and opens his expression. "See? Even the rich guy with the muscle says so. There's a compliment for you." Coffee again, and a swift glance to the clock over the counter; time still to be wasted, and he crimps his mouth over a quicksilver shadow of emotion before attending again to his companions. "So what, you guys planning your next big philanthropic endeavor?"

Alison bites down nervously on her bottom lip, hiding the action with her cup. But she can only hold it there for so long without looking silly, so eventually she let's out a breath and takes a long sip. "Yeah." She manages a smile and lowers the glass. "Yeah I guess it is." Ray gets a brilliant smile before her eyes fall back to her paper. "Well, I was, then Ray showed up and we got to talking about the studio."

"What she means is," Ray begins, "She's running some extra-curricular art classes for some of her kids. I insisted on supplying money for top quality gear for them. I'm just the green behind the throne." He echoes Alison's smile and movements, eyes flickering to her papers. "Who knows, maybe we'll both get rich off the proceeds from a budding famous artiste?"

"This for the kids at your classes? Or just in general?" asks Chris, tracing back over the conversation with an idle, distant wrinkle. "--Wait. Studio? So you're not doing it at the school, I guess. Starting a side business?"

"I don't care if I get rich, so long as they're happy and have a safe outlet." Alison states and pulls off her glasses, folding them and placing them on top of the pad. "Well it's for my students. The ones who really want to learn what I have to teach but don't want to get mocked by the other students. So I'm renting out a studio for them. Like a safe haven. And it's not a business, they won't be paying to go."

Ray simply nods at Alison's description, content to let her explain, though a quick glance to his watch brings a scowl. "Meetings. Hate them, but I must attend, for fear of losing every penny I own. My apologies for abandoning you both." He begins to slide out, one hand still cupping the coffee, and tipping his back to drink.

--And Chris, mouth opened around a reply, pauses long enough to watch Ray's 'minders,' professionally interested to watch their response. "Expensive," he supposes through his distraction for Alison. And. "Later, man. You find a good book, tell me."

Alison watches as he stands and bobbles her head for the moment. "Thank you for keeping me company. And for the insisting. I'll call you at some point to talk about our arrangement further." She watches the muscle, still surprised she'd never noticed them before today. "Very." In response to Chris.

The minders are moving even before Ray is up and out of his seat, responding to a subtle hand signal. One moves towards and out of the door at an easy pace, the other ready to fall into step behind him. "Will do, detective. And any time, Ali. In fact,-" Hand digs into a pocket and withdraws a purplish card, which is placed onto the table. Card type 3; private cell. "Careful with that number. I'm sure I'll see you both soon." And he spins on a heel to leave, graceful steps taking him away.

Droll amusement stirs behind Rossi's face. Again. It is a day for that particular mood. "Guy leaves business cards like he's marking his territory," he notes without animosity once Ray has left. "How'd you meet him? Some kind of fundraiser?"

Alison reaches out for the card and slides it from the table in order to slip it into her purse. "It's safe with me." She assures before looking towards Rossi, red once more rising to her cheeks despite attempts made to suppress it. "No actually, we met in Central Park. Some kids almost knocked me over and right into his lap."

/That/ actually earns a rich laugh, rougher, darker velvet than the clean nap of Brooklyn's fabric. "First impressions," salutes Chris, tipping his cup at Alison in a toast of sorts. "Hard to forget a woman who falls right on you. Guess it worked out well for both of you. You get funding, he gets to do good." Habitual cynicism tickles, rubbing at the drag of accent.

Alison finds herself giggling in response to such boisterous laughter, fingers wrapping around her cup, which is quickly tilted to return the cheers gesture. "True enough. Though I think I can go the rest of my life without ever doing that again. I don't know what I would have done if he'd been some jerk of a man instead of a nice guy." She shudders at the thought before noticing the cynicism. "You don't think he's in it to do good?"

"Don't mind me," Chris says easily, fielding the last of his coffee before setting it down to join the debris of Ray's leftovers. "I'm just a suspicious kinda guy. Force of habit. For all I know, he's got a heart of gold. Doesn't matter, right? You're getting your money, you get to do your program. Who cares why he's doing it?"

Alison slumps back for a moment, brows knit. "Well. Honestly. -I- care. This isn't about money to me. I don't mind eating ramen for a month so that a few kids can get a chance at a good life. This isn't about money, or funding. It's about the kids. And I'd hope that whoever was financially supporting it would feel the same way."

Chris's eyebrow arches: amusement still, but bemusement to go with it. "Yeah? Well, money makes the world go 'round, Teach, and in this city it washes away most sins. Can't figure what goes through a guy's mind. Might be easier if you just look at what a guy does."

"Maybe you're right. Maybe it does. But it takes more than money to make a real difference." Ali's spine straightens, lashes drooping as she frowns into her cup. "So far all he's done is try and make a difference. So.. I think I'm ok not trying to get inside his head."

"See?" Chris grins at Alison, letting his arm drop to tap idle fingers against his cup's ribs. "Not so hard."

Alison looks up in surprise and finds herself returning the grin. "Good grief." She mutters and rubs the back of her neck. "I hope I never break the law and end up in that seat across from you." Because he seems to know how to play her like a fiddle.

"So do I," says Chris, sincere for all the self-deprecating humor. "I don't think you'd look good in Interrogation, and we're all out of pastel rubber hoses."

"Neither do I. I'm one of those 'looks better in natural light' kind of girls." Alison smirks and goes to sip, only to end up choking for a moment. "What?!" rubber hoses? -That- was taken the wrong way.

Chris blinks, smile twitching behind his stretch, an offer to pat her on the choking back. "You okay? Careful, Teach. You just got funding. Dropping dead right now would be too much irony even for New York."

Alison presses a hand against her chest for a moment and manages to stop choking, waving away the offer with a barely suppressed smirk. "Yeah. I'm all right. Just the mental pictures that went along with the words pastel rubber hose."

The cop's imagination, trained as it is on a diet rich with -- whatever it is that cops are accustomed to, stalls at the prompt. A quizzical glance settles Rossi back into his seat. "Should I ask?" he wonders, hilarity lurking behind the edges of his voice. "Or will my virgin ears be shocked?"

The cop's imagination, trained as it is on a diet rich with -- whatever it is that cops are accustomed to, stalls at the prompt. A quizzical glance settles Rossi back into his seat. "Should I ask?" he wonders, hilarity lurking behind the edges of his voice. "Or will my virgin ears be shocked?"

"Probably not." Is Alison's honest reaction as she hides her grin once more behind the coffee cup. "Especially since you were sort of the center of that particular mental picture." Gasp. She flirted! Her cheeks manage not to redden this time, though she's quick to ask. "What exactly are the hoses -supposed- to be meant for?"

"An old cop phrase," says Chris, setting his shoulders, a lurking smile skimming across Alison's face. "They used to beat suspects with lengths of rubber hose. Now it means just strong-arming a suspect during interrogation. We're /nice/ cops, now. Real friends of the community. Not like back in the day."

Alison ahs in understanding. "And you said pastel because I'm so light and fluffy hm?" Amusement meets his lurking smile.

"Butterflies," the man reminds, gravely. "Sunshine and flowers."

"Maybe when you're done giving Ray lessons on how to make the girl's swoon, you can teach me to be a bad ass." Alison smirks and begins to gather up her papers.

Chris grins, turning another glance up to the clock -- /ah/ -- before rising. "I got a special class. Training program. Manual. The works. Stop by the precinct sometime and we'll enroll you. I have to take off. Time," he notes, jerking his chin towards the counter. "Got an appointment. It was nice to see you again, Teach."

Alison is already starting to scoot from her seat when he looks towards the clock. "You and me both." She states and dumps the trash into a nearby bin. "I'll be sure to do that. Maybe even buy myself something black. Or leather. Or really go all out and buy something that's both black /and/ leather. Because I'm a rebel." She winks. "Nice seeing you to detective."

There's a startled moment where Chris simply regards Alison, redressing her in form-fitting black leather -- masculine appreciation informs his gaze: see? Attractive -- and then he chuckles, tossing his own cup into the trash. "I'd pay to see that. Take care, Teach." And then he is gone, hands thrust in pockets, newspaper tucked once more under his arm. Out the door and into the wild blue yonder. Or at least ... New York.

Alison isn't sure whether to be offended or please. Ah who are we kidding, with a soft laugh for his look of appreciation, the woman ducks her chin against her papers and waves once before darting off in the opposite direction.

xmm_alison @ 2005-09-03T13:51:00

2005-09-03T17:49:45Z

Practice what you preach. Never touch someone unless you're sure they wish to be touched. Good grief, what that what did it? I touched his hand for all of a second in my excitement. Is that what sent him running to the door? Maybe.

Or maybe it was my talk of starting the hotline together. That's a lot of responsibility and I couldn't really blame him for not wanting to be involved. It could bring a whole bunch of heat down on me. And I don't want anyone else to get burned by it. He said I should call him. Or he'd call me. I think I'll wait for him to call.

Sydney invites Alison to get coffee, there's talk of mutants and their rights and Sydney ends up rushing out on her.

Talk about spontaneous! Here is Sydney, waiting to have a cup of coffee with someone he only met days ago. Actually, that's pretty normal for Syd; he's friendly like that. And he has to admit, he needs to make more friends who don't already know him well enough to want to run screaming in the other direction. So here he is, waiting for Alison to come and join him in The White Room. His dress is plain: Brown boots, blue jeans, grey t-shirt tucked into those jeans.

It isn't often that Alison is actually invited out to coffee. By anyone, especially a man. She's not exactly known for having many friends, most of her time dedicated to the school and the children within. So when she got the call from Sydney she was surprised, but pleased. She's attempted to dress nicely yet casually in a pair of pressed blue jeans and a deep blue top that's snug but not revealing. "Hi." She manages as she approaches his booth, her hands folded in front of her.

Alison giggles softly to herself as he almost topples the table, the grin hidden behind one of her hands. The hand is quickly pulled away from her mouth as she offers it for him to shake. "I'm doing well! I must admit I was a little surprised to hear from you. Surprised but pleased." She's quick to correct as she sweeps easily into her chair. "And how are you?"

Sydney side-steps back to his seat and flops into it. "Very good, very good. I got my first class this Tuesday after Labor Day." He chuckles. "Labor day. What a very ironic holiday, hmmm?"

"Very ironic. And sort of pointless in my opinion. But then again, I get a work break during the summer, not everyone else has the same luxury." A sweet smile sweeps over Alison's features as she gestures for one of the waiters. "Oh wonderful. What will you be teaching for that particular class?"

"One chai frappucino, extra whipped cream, and a plate of almond biscotti." Hooray for the era when a guy can order strangely feminine foods and beverages, and still be a guy. "Well sure! I mean, the place isn't exactly a secret, you know. Those big windows allow anyone who happens to be walking by to watch if they feel so inclined. And my students shouldn't be afraid to present themselves before an audience; they'll have to, eventually. Private sessions are closed, though. But you can come to the morning or afternoon sessions if you have the free time." He relaxes a bit more in his seat. So far, so good. "Y'know, it's funny. The last time I went out to have coffee with someone, she turned out to be a Mutant who was stalking me."

"That was a mouthful." Alison laughs when she hears his order, eyes wide. It sounds good, just wordy. "Well I certainly wouldn't want to intrude on any private sessions, but the more public ones I'd love to sit and watch. I enjoy studying other teacher's teaching styles. Though it'll probably be afternoon since I have classes of my own." Her eyes widen at that last part. "Stalking you? What on earth for?" She seems more startled by that than the word mutant.

Which is good, and something Sydney's unconsciously looking for. He can't be friends with someone who has qualms with Mutants. Even if she doesn't know he's one. "I have no earthly idea! But then, you gotta wonder why anyone stalks anyone. Nothing better to do, I guess?"

Alison twines her fingers in front of her as she idly waits for the coffee to arrive. There's a quick shake of her head as she sighs. "I just don't understand people these days. So mean. Everything is some horrible ordeal and there's drama every where you look. Did you get a restraining order or something?"

Sydney rubs the back of his head. "Well, no... I didn't know the person, so I couldn't really. And then I ended up moving to California for a time, which seems to have stopped the chase. So I guess it's all good now. I mean, I'm not all that important, anyway, so why anyone would be chasing me, I have no idea." He smiles at the waitress as she drops off their orders. "Thanks!" And takes a quick sip before continuing the conversation. "Things are pretty crazy in this day and age. But, at least we're not publicly hanging people for their differences, like in the Salem Witch trials. At least not physically. Our weapons are more verbal now, more spiritually killing than verbally."

"Well it's probably best that you got away from here. You're lucky she didn't follow you there. You always have to be careful with all the loonies out there nowadays." Alison murmurs before accepting her drink and muffin with a smile. "Thank you!" She beams and picks up the cinnamon stick to begins twirling it around in her coffee. "Not publicly hanging them, no. But with the direction this whole mutant issue is taking it isn't long before I fear we're going to have another Holocaust on our hands. Forcing people to feel like they have to register themselves just because they have a different gene than others." She frowns into her coffee. "And here I thought we'd learned our lesson about that already."

Sydney sighs and stirs his straw on his frappucino. "I really don't know what to think about the whole thing. On the one hand, it really isn't fair to register people in such a manner. On the other, it could be beneficial, like in the instance of medical needs, or criminal records. What if your Mutancy makes you react differently to some kind of treatment than others? If no one knew, it could be risking your life to try the procedure under normal circumstances. Or what if there was a dangerous criminal the police needed to bring into custody? If they didn't know he could turn invisible, they wouldn't know to bring the proper equipment to detect his presence." He shrugs his shoulders. "Still. The common individual has a right to privacy, which I guess is why this whole thing is voluntary to begin with."

Alison tilts her head quietly as she listens. "All very good points. But at the same time there are plenty of normal humans who suffer odd infliction's when faced with ordinary medicine. They where red cross bracelets that let's the doctor's know that there's something that can't be done to them. And a normal human armed with a machine gun or a bomb can be just as lethal as a dangerous criminal mutant, couldn't they?" Alison shrugs and pulls her drink to her lips, taking a lengthy sip. "I understand your point. I guess I'm just under the impression that they don't intend to keep it voluntary for that long."

Sydney nods several times. "I know, and that's the problem. Mutants... can be more dangerous than Humans. It's because their resources are their own, attached to their bodies, given to them from birth. Some, at least, everywhere they go, they have a weapon of mass destruction just a thought away." Like himself, being able to turn into creatures great and small. Imagine that in the body of a megalomaniac. "There is no simple solution to this problem, I guess. Nobody, Human or Mutant, should feel like a criminal by having to put their personal selves on file somewhere." His brow furrows and he gives a wry smile. "But then, aren't we always on file somewhere? If you think about it. You can't do anything, at least in America, without being 'on file' somewhere in some form. Job applications, school applications, etcetera, etcetera. It's the persecution that Mutants don't want. I'm sure they'd be very willing to list their abilities for safety reasons, if it didn't mean harassment in many forms. I can see a draft kicking in during the next war. Whose names would be on the top of the list? All the Mutants with military and medical properties. Now how fair would that be?"

"Of course they can be. Their weapons are themselves. But people are going around and automatically assuming that all of them are dangerous and that all of them are out to get us. And I simply can't believe that's true. From what I've read on the subject, aren't most of the mutants that are turning up children?" Alison asks, her voice seeming to liven some as she gets to express feelings over a topic that actually means something to her. Children are children to her, no matter what genes they might carry. "Children, for the most part end up being products of their environment. If we teach them to fear and hate what they are, than what can we expect from them beyond hate and anger? It's not fair to ask them to turn their lives over to the hands of the people who would prosecute them simply for being different." He's making wonderful points, and at the moment she wish she had a pen and paper or a tape recorder. This would make an excellent paper.

Wow... Right now, in Sydney's eyes, a light is beaming down on Alison, and wind his blowing her hair majestically behind her. She is the voice of human understanding in the midst of Mutant oppression. And all he can offer? "Mmm-hmm...." He swallows the mouthful of frappucino that he collected during her speech.

Alison blinks suddenly as he offers only a fragment of words in reaction to her rant. The faint flush of excitement on her cheeks deepens into a blush as she glances nervously down into her cup yet again. "I'm sorry! You must think me terribly silly going off like that. I just have a hard time understanding how it is a race that can do nothing but start wars amongst themselves managed to wind their way to the top of the food chain."

Sydney pulls away from his straw and shakes his head rapidly. "Oh no! I'm totally captivated by your point of view! You'd be the first Human I've ever spoken to who sounded so... genuine. So sure of what side to be on. And you are right, the majority of Mutants are children, not megalomaniacal adults. They're still impressionable, and if we want to live in a world where we don't have to force registrations on them, then we should impress upon them some tact and restraint, as well as guide them to where they can learn when and how to use their abilities. Just like everyone has to be taught politeness and context of speech, that's the way I see it."

Alison throws her hand up in a moment of excited fascination. "Yes! EXACTLY!" she exclaims before darting her eyes around as she realizes people have turned to stare. A soft cough into her fist as she waits for them to turn back around before continuing in a softer, less attention drawing tone. "I am on the side of the children. Be they human or mutant, it doesn't matter. They all need love and support. Someone to care for them and to teach them right from wrong. Monster's aren't born, they're created by society." Her smile brightens again for just a moment. "It's so refreshing to find someone who feels the same way."

Sydney chuckles and leans back in his chair. "Well, this whole topic is on everyone's mind whether they like it or not. So you gotta stand somewhere eventually. I respect the ones who're on the other side, though. They're not just scared for themselves, but also for their children. Especially the ones who turn out to be Mutants as well. I think there needs to be an education program for parents who know or suspect their child of Mutancy. Whether we want to accept it or not, all things start at home, with the parents."

Alison takes another long sip from her drink, while at the same time trying to nod. Not an easy task, so she gives up on the nodding for the moment. "And education program for parents?" She repeats, tone thoughtful for a moment. "That's a fantastic idea. There are pamphlets for everything else out there. Hotlines for people to call when they don't know what to do. So why not something to help teach understanding?" Once more there's a light behind her eyes as she looks around. A quick gesture to one of the waiters. "Hi! Yeah. Hi. Could I have a pad and a pen please? Thank you!"

Sydney watches her with slight fascination while dipping one of his biscottis into his drink. "What, you're actually going to organize one now?"

Alison accept the pen and paper as they're brought to her with a brilliant smile that forces the waiter to smile in return. Then she reaches into her purse to pull out her glasses, sliding them up onto her nose before offering an owlish blink at Sydney. "Well.. yes."

Sydney returns the blink with one of his own. "Wow. You are industrious! Well, if you need help, let me know! I'd love to get off my butt and actually do something to help this movement."

"Industrious, driven. Whatever it's called I like to help. And you've given me a wonderful idea on how I -can- help." Alison states and reaches out to squeeze his hand happily. "We could do it together if you want?" She says and pulls the hand back to wrap it around her mug. "Make pamphlets, hold meetings. I can write articles for the papers.. There's so much we could do."

She's... touching... him... It takes great restraint to keep Sydney's eyes from bugging out of his sockets, and his smile from getting any goofier than it already is. Then, something hits him. Crap. Crapcrapcrap. He can't do this. Not now; at least, not being a Mutant pretending to be Human. His face falters and he looks down at his frappucino. Then suddenly he looks to his wrist like there's a watch on it. "Darnit! What time is it? I forgot, I have another potential client to meet! God, I feel so stupid." He stands and digs a twenty out of one of his pockets. "Here, tell the waitress to keep the change. I... Have to go." And he starts shuffling out, heading for the door in an unexpected hurry.

Alison looks flustered by the expression on his face. The ways his eyebrows draw together, the smile drifting from his features. What did she say to scare him off so quickly? "Sydney?" She asks in a soft voice, sinking back against her chair as she watches him dig for money. "I'm.." she watches him as he angles for the door, the next word more of a squeak than anything else. "..sorry?" But he's already at the door. What did she /do/?

"It's not you," he calls, halfway out the door, "it's just... I have to go! I'll call you! Or you can call me! I'm sorry!" Then he's gone. As soon as he finds a nice, secluded alley to duck into, he turns into a pigeon and flutters off. Stupid, stupid, stupid! He'll be kicking himself later for this, to be sure.

xmm_alison @ 2005-09-01T21:17:00

2005-09-02T01:17:44Z

What on earth possessed me to talk to him about my tattoo? He brought the subject up I suppose so I can't completely blame myself. From wigs to tattoos to the children. What a curious man. Nice though. I guess I'd expect him to be as jaded as I am in his line of work, but he seems to hide it well with a wicked sense of humor.

I have to stop by the stuio again soon and sign those papers of Sydney's. Another nice man. I'm going to have to get to know him better if I intend to be sharing studio space with him. I wonder if he likes coffee? Maybe I'll bring him some the next time I head over. I should probably call first though. I wonder where I put that phone number.

Afternoon in New York, the long (endless) slope from the high of lunch to the release of the evening commute. The coffee houses are quiet in this hour, save for the desperately drowsy looking for succor; those that loiter at the tables are the unemployed or the idle, engaged in wiling away the remainder of the day. Thus Chris Rossi, civilian-clad in blue jeans and T-shirt, stretched long-limbed across a chair with coffee at his wrist and an ESPN magazine in his hand. MVP projections, and Brown on suspension.

And of course there are those who are always here because it's the best cup of coffee around. And close enough to the school and the new studio that she can stop in on her way between places. A coffee is bought and paid for with the eager jitters of a woman about to sign the papers on a new venture into the realm of business. Turning, Alison searches for a place to sit, eyes sliding towards Rossi and then past, only to move back after a moment. Why is he so familiar? Right, the detective from the subway. "The picture of manhood." She states as she strides over, a pair of thin wired glasses being pushed up onto her nose with a slender finger. "Coffee, ESPN and blue jeans. Is this an estrogen free zone or would it be all right if I joined you?"

Surprise drags frowning green eyes up, darkened by the overcast of heavy brows -- Mendoza, for pity's sake -- and Rossi focuses on Alison for a blank moment before allowing, "If you want. Sure. Sorry." Legs reel themselves in for his body's tilt up, back into a more inhibited seat; puzzled caution struggles with the itch of familiarity to inform the slant of an almost-smile. "You look familiar. I can't remember exactly--?"

Alison looks into the frown with a soft smile, seeming unfazed as she watches him try to remember where he knows her. "Alison Matthews. We met in the subway." She states as he admits he doesn't remember. Her cup is placed down a moment before she settles across from the man, legs crossing as she cups her fingers around the mug. "I made the terrible joke about the skeleton crossing the road. Detective Rossi right?"

"Yeah," answers Chris automatically, adding the apology, "You've got a better memory than I do. Sorry." The magazine is tossed to the table; belated in his manners, he pushes back his chair to stand, only to abort the gesture at her preemptive seat. There's the smile at last, finished and folded in eyes and mouth. "Nice to see you again, Miss Matthews. You were the -- teacher or something, right? Math."

"I think the fact that I have a better memory than you should frighten me just a little bit." Considering his choice of occupation and he's in charge of her and the rest of New York's general safety. "Yes, I'm the teacher. Creative Arts. But you were close." A sip is drawn from the cup, eyes twinkling from behind quasi reflective glass. "And by close I mean they're both taught in the same building."

Rue strafes across Rossi's face, lightened by the arch of a brow. "Meet a lot of people in my line of work," the city-bred baritone points out. "Been a while, too. I think. At least a month, and it was only for a few minutes. All things considered, I figure I did pretty good." Long limbs telescope again, bracing the slouch of spine and shoulders against the wall: he will trip passersby and damn the consequences.

"Yes, I suppose that's true. And I'm not exactly the type to stand out in anyone's memory. Especially in your line of work." But then she's the type that likes to blend in most cases, so it suits her just fine. "You remembered teacher. I'll give you that." the mug is tilted in cheers to him before she leans back against her own seat, spine somehow remaining straight despite herself. "So how have you been? I think I've heard your name in the news a time or two, but I try not to listen too often or it tends to get depressing."

"Surviving," says Detective Rossi, easily enough. "I'd say that's a good thing; if I remembered you better, it probably'd be for a bad reason. Call me Chris. News isn't worth listening to. --How's it going with you, now school's starting? Nuts yet?" Humor twitches his voice askance, dipping it towards the sardonic; bright eyes grin and are as swiftly hooded behind the brush of a hand. The fading lines of scratches down brow and cheek are nearly gone now, melted into the dark skin.

"Surviving is better than nothing I suppose." Alison states with a momentary twitch of concern in her brow. The coddling, teacherly part of her taking over as his hand draws attention to the remains of the scratches. "Chris it is." She offers as eyes drag back to his. "The insanity comes in another week or so. Right now is the adjustment time. The school schedule is funny and we give them time to adjust. By next week I expect I'll be ready to tear my hair out." She grins.

"Bald teachers. Sexy," says Chris, gravely. Fingers steeple over his coffee cup, tenting the spindled rise of steam. "Probably explains why the nuns always wore those wimples, so we wouldn't see how much hair they'd ripped out. District have a worker's comp program for wigs?"

Alison mmhms and offers a sage nod. "Maybe I can start a bald trend." She thinks about it for a moment, face screwing in contemplation before she winced. "Ew. Now that I think about it, maybe that wouldn't be such an attractive trend." There are just some bald heads she wouldn't want to see. "Oh they do. But it's horse hair, too cheap to go with human. Not even worth it." The seriousness of her tone is quickly undone by the humorous glint in her eyes. "I'll just invest in hats."

Chris idles his gaze across Alison's head, considering; his elbow props on the table, palm deployed to the support of his chin. "Probably better," he concedes. "Can't see you as one of those kid's horse toys. Only problem with hats, you got to take them off in a classroom -- unless you're the nun. Right. Forgot that you're the teacher."

Alison dips her chin slightly when she notices where his glance is, not sure she likes the idea of being pictured without hair. A self conscious hand raises to her head to smooth out the soft waves until she hits ponytail. "I'm sure I could think of something if it ever came down to it. Hair implants. I hear those are pretty cheap."

Amusement rattles free for that image, escaping in a chuckle and swift warmth. "Hair implants. Yeah, at least you got options. Then again, the bald look could just be good for you if you've got a good skull. Add some tattoos and piercing, you won't have any problem with your students. Well," Chris amends, assessing the rest of Alison with mild appreciation, "most of them, anyway."

"Unpleasant options, but options none the less right?" Alison smirks over the rim of her coffee cup that's once more lifted for a long sip. She's been up since very early and still has quite a bit of work to do. Coffee is necessary. "I haven't seen my own skull beyond pictures of myself as a child. And I'm content to never have to see it again." She states and lowers the cup to reveal an all out grin. "And there's no way I' will ever pay another human being to stick a piece of steel through any part of my body beyond my ear lobes, thank you." Again that glint in her eyes reveals itself. "The same cannot be said for a needle full of ink, since I've already allowed someone to do that. But at the time I was young and going through my rebellious stage."

Another spontaneous chuckle. Interest pairs with curiosity in Chris's expression, and once more the shuttered gaze scans over Alison, searching for signs of that alleged rebel. "Everybody's got a past," he grants, Brooklyn accent curling lazily around humor. "Wouldn't have figured you to be the type, though. Unless we're talking little hearts, balloons, or a teddy bear?"

Alison arches a slender brow above amused eyes before once more reaching up to slide the glasses back up. "What's the matter detective? Can't figure it out?" She laughs and folds her ankles over one another, leaning forward with elbows propped on the table. "I'll give you a hint, it's easily concealed by clothing." Which could really be anywhere, so it's not an overly helpful hint. "And it's neither of those three things."

"Cartoon animal?" suggests Chris, masculine effrontery dropping his regard to clothing-covered parts. His smile heats his baritone, licking at its timbres: an instinct for flirtation, casual game that it is. "Religious symbol? Doves? What kind of coverage we talking about here? The rainy day kind? Or the indecent exposure?"

Alison props her chin onto the back of her hands as the fingertips cling to the sides of the cup. Brown eyes sparkle as she still reveals nothing of the tattoo's nature. "Do I really come off as light and fluffy as all of that?" She asks and wrinkles her nose playfully. "None of those things either. And I guess that all depends on your opinion of indecent exposure.."

Rossi laughs, settling back again where the lean into his hand invoked intimacy. His arm drops, remembering coffee, and he solaces his imagination with a sip before reminding, "You're the one who told me a bad joke about skeletons. Dunno about light and fluffy, but 'badass' isn't the first word that comes to mind. Then again, I'm not a ten year old kid."

Alison can't help but laugh, bobbling her head in agreement. "'Badass' is not something that most people would when they look at me. And I'd have to agree with that assessment. The kids aren't any different, look at me and just see another geeky teacher who wants nothing more to stuff their brains with 'artsy stuff'." She shrugs. Seems to be something she's used to. "It's a butterfly. With tribal markings along the sides."

Chris unwraps a finger from his cup to point it at Alison. "That was going to be my next guess," he informs. Call him a liar.

Alison smirks. "Of /course/ it was." She doesn't believe him. "Guessed it right down to the tribal markings. You must be very good at your job."

"Incredible," Rossi says, slanting a suspicious, self-mocking glance at Alison over the rim of his cup. "They call me supercop. Fastest brain in Brooklyn. How bad's your school?"

"Well supercop, color me shocked and awed by your incredible detecting skills. I'll be swooning about it for days." Her gaze drops into her glass at the question, the smile drooping. "Eleven year olds with guns, dealing drugs. Pretty bad."

Chris's expression settles into cynicism behind his coffee, another sip finished so its paper warmth can be idled by his cheek. "How good's your security?" he asks, rolling the cup between fingertips. "Which school is it?"

Alison continues to keep her gaze firmly settled into the black liquid as a slow frown begins to make its approach. "PS 194. The Bronx and not very good. We hardly have enough money to keep the school supplied in enough text books for the kids to share, much less each have one of their own. So security is two or three older gentleman who could care less about doing their job."

"Let's hear it for public school education," Chris says with jaded humor, tipping his cup in a mock toast to Alison before settling it back on the table with a quiet clip. His own gaze follows coffee, slivered and distant. "Thought it was fine when I was a kid, but what do kids know? Surprised you still got art classes, at least. How long you been teaching?"

Alison returns the tilts of her own glass before knocking back the rest of the hot liquid and lowering the cup to the table, quickly followed by her arms, which are quickly folded in front of her. "I had to keep to fight the class going, a lot of the things I do with the kids is done out of my own pocket." And her pockets aren't quite as deep as she wishes they might be. "About eight years."

Quizzical brows lift, crooked over the swift blink up. "Long time," Rossi notes. His coffee is--? empty now, and he revolves it on the hoop of its base, a forefinger circling the plastic cap. "Turnover's pretty high in the PS. Except for the hard-core."

Alison catches the look and shrugs, a faint hint of red blooming over each cheek. "I've seen plenty of teacher's go in and out of the system, they just can't deal with the kids. Cowards if you ask me. Guess I can't blame them too much though. It's a tough job, especially in the Bronx."

"I've arrested some of those kids," says Chris, cynicism buoyed again on shallow waters. The dark head straightens for a level look, green eyes hooded behind the droop of lids. "Don't think cowardice has anything to do with it. Don't remember any classes in college giving training on war zones."

"There's plenty to arrest them over. But it never seems to scare them. The getting arrested I mean. They think it's just something to end up bragging over." Alison sighs and reaches up to pull the glasses from her eyes, the free hand reaching up to rub the bridge of her eyes before meeting his level look. "I suppose. But by the same token, I'm jaded. I can't understand how some of them can give up so easily."

Chris's grin is crooked, and spare of mirth. Black humor. "Some people got an instinct for self-preservation. The rest of us are jaywalkers. Maybe you just don't have those 'survival of the fittest' genes." The coffee cup rattles, let loose to subside on its own, and Rossi drops a splayed hand to the ESPN cover.

"Or maybe I just know how to survive even in a war zone." Alison shrugs. "They're worth sticking around for. No matter how hard it gets sometimes." A rue smile before she catches a glimpse at her watch, eyes widening. "Well, I've got a train to catch. But it was great talking to you det.. Chris." she corrects herself as she rises, turning her back to hip and stooping to grab her purse. For just a fraction of a second the bottom edge of her shirt drifts from where it rests against the pants to reveal a tiny peek of black ink in what looks like the top of butterfly wings. She glances over her shoulder and winks. "Thanks for the seat. Take care of yourself."

The detective lifts a hand, hooked around his cup's top; fingers part ways to flick a farewell at Alison over the crook of a lazy grin. Butterfly. Green-eyed gaze skims up. "You too, teach," Rossi bids, amusement cleaned and wrung dry. His chin lifts to share in the adieu, jerking a nod to the departing woman. "Watch yourself out there."

"I always have." Parting words of assurance before Alison makes her way out towards the door and back into the streets.

xmm_alison @ 2005-08-29T19:08:00

2005-08-29T23:03:52Z

o/^ The studio's alive... with the sound of muuuusiiiiic... o/^ Actually, that's true. There's a mini boombox plugged into the wall near the mirror, and Sydney's squat down next to it in the splits, stretching while listening to the soundtrack to Kiss Me Kate. He's trying to pick out a simple one to begin his first class with, which won't be in attendance for a few more days at least. But there's no time like the present to start preparing! It's the afternoon and the front of his studio is unlocked; in fact, there are signs in the windows advertising classes, prices, the proper numbers to call, and potential space for anyone else who needs a studio for rent.

Alison was stopping by her absolute favorite shop, a little thrift shop down the street from here, when she walked by and saw the sign that said there was space for rent. While she was shopping, an idea began for form, of a place for her students to go in order to get away from it all. A place where she could teach them without them having to worry about the ridicule from the other children. And by the time she headed back for the subway, her mind was made up. The door gently pushes open, a soft knock barely able to be heard over the music. "Excuse me?" asks a woman from the doorway as she searches for the person that the music belongs to.

Sydney looks up as soon as he hears the convenient chime of the door's electronic bell. "Come in, come in," he calls, then reaches with a sideways stretch to hit pause on the boombox. He's sitting on the floor with his legs stretched in either direction, wearing a proper workout outfit of jazz shoes, jogging pants and a tank top. "My name is Sydney, what can I do for you," he asks as he brings the bottom of his feet together in front of him, bowing his legs repeatedly like wings.

Alison continues to glance around until her eyes land on Sydney, a small smile flittering over her features. "Hello! I'm Alison Matthews. I noticed the sign out in the front window that say you have space to rent?" She asks and slowly lowers the two shopping bags to either side of her feet. Today's outfit is a pair of clean, pressed jeans and a brown top, quite simple. That seems to be her theme. "If this is a bad time I can come back later."

"Oh no! It's a perfect time," Sydney declares as he rises to his full height. "I was just doing some thinking. So you're considering renting space? For what purpose, may I ask?"

Alison smiles and takes another step into the room. She's wearing short heels so she doesn't step onto the dance floor, not wanting to scuff it. "I'm a Creative Arts teacher out of PS 194 in the Bronx. A lot of my students show a certain level of interest in what I teach but can't come to me outside of class for fear of getting picked on if they're seen after school with a teacher. I'm thinking I can rent a little space to teach what I need here, out of the way of prying eyes?"

Well, the whole room is dance floor except for a brief two feet of space before chest-high walling for those future parents who feel the need to watch their child's doings. Sydney's brows furrow at her request as he tries to think up a good answer. "Well... You're pretty much looking at the space, I'm afraid. This dance room area. I am mainly looking for other dance instructors who need a place to... well... instruct. There's really no other room here except my apartment upstairs and a small-and-cramped hallway leading to some bathrooms and the back door." He rubs the back of his head. "I... guess an art class could be held here? But something would have to be arranged to ensure no kind of mess were left behind."

Alison glances around to the dance floor and pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth. She squints and then shakes her head, pulling on a pair of thin rimmed glasses before once more looking around. "Well it's a lovely place. Sweet and not too big." Eyes fall to the floor then back to Sydney. "I could always by tarps and lay them out before hand, make sure not to damage the floor at all?"

Sydney continues to stroke his hair, not really wanting to say no, but also worrying about his nice new dance floor. Which will be scuffed to Hell and back once that tap instructor finally gets a class together. Ah well. "I guess so. What exactly will your class be working on? Sculptures? Paintings?" God forbid, "Metalworks?"

I guess so is not really the answer she was looking for. Alison doesn't wish to make anyone else feel uncomfortable in their own space. "There will be some painting, some sculpting. A little bit of of work with calligraphy, and some charcoal drawing." She shrugs. "No. No metalwork, the kids that I work with are far too young for that kind of thing."

Sydney chuckles a bit. "Of course, of course." Although the fact that they're young doesn't make him feel any better. Little kids equal big messes! He should know. He used to make plenty in his time. "Well, I guess we could work something out. How often do you think you'd need to meet? And for how long? I am paying out the nose for this place, so that's why I'm taking rentals for the times when I won't be having class. We could work out an hourly, weekly or monthly plan?"

Alison smiles as he chuckles and links her fingers together in front of her, head tilting quietly. "I would think that an hour twice a week would be good? Or is that too often? Tuesday and Thursdays after school. So three o'clock until four? I'm flexible, so whenever it works best for you."

Sydney shakes his head rapidly and smiles. "Oh no, that's good! Um..." He looks around the room. Where's a secretary when you need one? "I don't exactly have anything in the form of paperwork right now. Uh, how soon would you need the space? And... how does eighteen bucks an hour sound?" Better than trying to rent for several hundred dollars a month, since she won't be using the space as constantly as others might.

"Eighteen dollars an hour?" Alison asks with a confused blink. She can more than afford that. Heck she could afford that and offer the class for free for the students. "Are you sure that's enough?" Did he mean eighty? Maybe he meant eighty? "And I wouldn't need it for another two weeks. So there's plenty of time for paperwork."

Sydney shrugs, looking bewildered. "Well, if you'd like to give more, I could always accept." He chuckles a bit, then nods. "Okay. Do you have a number I could reach you at? So I could call you when the proper paperwork is made out?"

"Can we make it atleast twenty five? Anything less will make me feel like I'm taking advantage of you." Aww, sweet, naive innocence in a world like this is so refreshing isn't it? "I sure do." She digs into her purse and pulls out a card and a pen. She jots down her cell phone number and takes a few more steps onto the floor, as careful as she can be. "It's my cell number."

And perhaps if Syd were a conman, he'd be like, 'Well, let's go to thirty, then.' But he's not. And so, "Twenty-five it is, then!" He strides across the room and reaches out for the number, actually feeling sheepish that he kept such a distance between them for so long. "Okay! My number's on the window out there. I would write it down but... No pockets. No pens." He chuckles lightly. "Anything else?"

Alison would pay the thirty if that's what he really wanted, but twenty five works for the both of them so she's satisfied. "I'll write it down on my way out." She informs him and steps back to reclaim her bags. "And I think that's it. And unless you have any other questions for me, I'll leave you to finish your stretches?"

"Oh no, I'm good! I'll call you if I need something." Sydney smiles and waves to her. "You'll be hearing from me!"

"Well then I'll let you stretch." She grins and hurries out the door. "Thank you again. I'll be looking forward to hearing from you!"

xmm_alison @ 2005-08-03T22:14:00

2005-08-04T02:10:31Z

An idle afternoon in the city of New York, at least for one man. The sun beating down on his head appears to do little to bother him, though that could be the excessive factor of sunblock he's wearing. One of those new-fangled spraying ones that he's borrowed from one of the kids. The man strolls casually along the sidewalk, a faint smile on his face and hands behind his back. The only thing missing, that could make the perfect scene of the ex-cop, is the whistling. He bears a benevolent demeanor, stepping briskly aside for the old and offering a pleasant smile to the young.

Well, it seems that Sean is not the only one around today who's in a good mood. Alison Matthews is currently making her way in the opposite direction of Sean, carrying in her arms a large brown bag filled with groceries. Not her own mind you, they actually belong to the little old lady she's walking with. They approach a brown door, chatting quietly to each other while the older woman finds her keys and sticks it in the door. Once the door is open, Alison rests the bag inside and offers a brilliant smile and a wave. "It was a pleasure to meet you Mrs.Huntington." She chirps before bounding off back down the stairs.

And here he comes. Sean Cassidy, stepping neatly aside for a passing older woman, and paying little attention to much ahead of him, mainly due to the presence of a skateboarding kid ripping down the opposite sidewalk. He breaks into a smile at the child, though the slight frown might indicate his disapproval. He should probably be paying more mind to what is ahead of him, as he saunters past a certain set of steps.

Alison watches the boy as he skateboards past her, that teacherly tone ringing in the air as she continues down the steps. "Michael Alexander Jones, you'd better watch where you're going young man, you're going to run somebody over!" she calls out with a good-natured grin. The boy stops and kicks the board into his hand turning with a shamed grimace to nod at the teacher. "Yes Ms.Matthews." Head slung low he continues to walk the rest of the journey. Atleast until he turns the corner and is out of eyesight. She doesn't see the man at the bottom of the steps as she makes her way down, eyes still focused on the boy.

Sean glances momentarily up at the voice, before turning to watch the child mope away with twinkling blue eyes. He doesn't even register her movement until she's almost on top of him, and he quickly spins, not quite managing to move before they make contact. "Oops." He takes a rapid step backward and out of the way, bobbing his head in apology. "'Scuse me. Sorry, lass, I shoulda been payin' more attention. Me apologies ta ye."

Alison places one foot on the ground, the other driving her right into Sean, who is currently trying to get out of her way. There's only a moment of teetering before the woman reaches out to catch herself on the railing of the stairs. "Oh no! It was my fault I apologize. I should have been paying more attention to where I was go and worrying less about where he was off to and how he was getting there." She laughs.

"No, no." Sean assures, "Don' ye go apologisin'. 'S'all me own fault." There's a slight shuffle backwards, a smile coming to his face as he brings his hands from behind his back to rest thumbs into his pockets. "Really, tho' I guess we kin argue 'bout it all day if ye'd rather." A tiny little quirk to one side of his mouth hints at the tease.

Alison brushes off her pants and retucks her purse under the crook of her arm as he speaks, finally stopping long enough to offer a sweet smile. "We could, but for some reason I don't think either of us would win." Alison states with a glance towards a street vender. "How about this then? I'll buy you a pretzel, you buy me a coffee, and we'll both think that we've won?" A hand sticks out from her side, offered for the shaking. "Alison Matthews."

"Ye got yeself a deal there, lass." Sean agrees with a smile. His hand comes up to lightly grasp at Alison's, as he introduces himself. "Sean. Sean Cassidy." He glances over to the vendor, following her movement with ever-watching eyes, and breaks into a grin. "What's yer poison?"

Alison chuckles as she shakes his hand, her own grasp firm and sure, unlike the weak, limp wristed ones some women offer. "Well it's a pleasure to meet Sean Cassidy." She grins before taking her hand back and gently resting it on top of her purse as they begin making their way towards the vendor. "Cream and a little sugar. I like it sweet. I love your accent by the way. Irish?"

"An' more than a pleasure ta meet a lass as dapper as yeself, Miss Matthews." Sean nods slightly at her choice, falling easily into step beside her. "Irish lad, born n' bred. Ye should 'ear me when I've no' got a bad throat, if ye're inta th'accent." A slight explanation of his voice as they approach, where Sean quickly orders coffee for the both of them, his own simply sugared. "So, what do'ye do ta find yeself shoutin' at kids ta get off their skateboards?"

Did he just call her dapper? Alison's eyes light with amusement, smile stretching further across her lips as she waits for him to order, before paying for two pretzels as well. "I have to admit it's the first time anyone has ever called dapper. I do hope that means witty and charming? Else I might have to be offended." She knows what it means, but why not have a little fun? "I'm a school teacher."

Sean ripostes easily with a gentle amusement of his own. "Witty, charmin', beautiful and downright lovely all round, lass." he affirms, without even bothering to look over. "S'pose ye could add authoritative ta that list, but it'd ruin the feel o' the word." He peers as the coffee is poured, assuring that he gets the right amount of sugar. "A teacher, eh? Seems ye meet yer own kind everywhere."

Alison trusts the vendor to make her coffee just right. And if it isn't she'll just have to sweeten it up herself. A few blinks are offered at the description of her, a deep flush of red making its way into her cheeks as she takes a little longer than needed to put away her money, keeping her face down for as long as possible. "Well.. how very insightful of you." she laughs, still looking a bit flushed as she takes her pretzel. "Own kind? So then I take it that you're a teacher as well?"

Sean's careful eyes pick up on the flush of her cheeks as he turns after receiving his pretzel. "Insightful's a way o' life. Somethin' I pride meself on ta be honest." Just to make her feel more complimented, of course. He breaks into a smile at her question and his head tips ever so slightly, even as he takes the first sip of coffee. "Hist'ry an' Criminal Law, wi' some potential fer Criminal Psychology, up at a private school in Weschester. Yeself?"

Alison's blush is finally beginning to fade as she takes a bite of the pretzel, chewing it thoughtfully as she listens. Let's just skip right past that honesty statement that will just make her blush more and move right on to the teacher thing. "My goodness. Seems like you'd be a good cop.. or a lawyer with that resume." She sips her coffee for a moment. It's just perfect. "I work with underprivileged kids in the Bronx and during the summer I do a little summer school in this area."

Ignoring compliments doesn't go unnoticed, but Sean's too polite to comment. "Used ta be a cop, in this very city no less." he smiles, "No more tho'. Gave it up, an' jus' came back ta New York fer the teachin'." A bite off the pretzel, and he chews thoroughly before swallowing. "Underpriviledged, eh? Most o' ours 'r'on scholarships, I think, so it doesn' matter where they're from. Work ye do must be challengin'; ye got a lot o' respect from me fer that." Another little compliment, and he smiles broadly.

"See! Used to be a cop. I'm good." Alison states and dusts off her knuckles on her shirt with a momentary, cocky grin. "And good for you for giving it all up to help kids. Not that being an officer of the law isn't just as respectable of course. It's just.. I'm a sucker for kids. So teacher wins over cop any day." She shrugs, beaming at his last compliment. "Well thank you. It's hard work, but they deserve it." See, a compliment about her job she can tolerate. But a compliment on her looks will simply make her blush.

"Ye -are- good, lass. Fer doin' ye job an' fer yer sleuthin' skills. Ever consider becomin' an Officer yeself? Ye can help out th'kids when they're gettin' in trouble." Sean delivers the tease easily, a smile breaking out again over his features, though it does turn wistful for a moment. "Never really -wanted- ta leave the force, but... politics an' backbitin', ye know? Anyhow, how's the coffee?" He takes another munching bite of his pretzel, which had gone forgotten for a little while.

Alison grins and inclines her head as though she were tipping a hat in his direction. "You can just call me Sherlock." She smirks. "And I could never handle being a police officer. The second I had to shoot someone I think I'd freeze up and end up simply getting hurt. You can't really protect people if you're just standing there like a scared little girl right?" At least she can be honest about her reaction. "Why on earth would they make you leave?" she pries before taking a sip of her coffee when he asks about it, offering a thumbs up in regards to how it is.

"Alrighty then, Miss Holmes." He beams a smile at her before sipping again at the coffee, allowing it to wet the final mouthful of pretzel that follows. "Ye know ye don' have ta shoot people. In fact it's generally fairly frowned upon, lass. Last resort, only when someone else's life is in danger." The question earns a pained look crossing over his face. "I resigned. Don' worry, I did nothin' wrong, it were jus' backbitin' an' politics. It were across the papers at the time, ta be honest. I were quite famous for a few days." His eyes watch her very carefully, preparing for the animosity to break out.

"Alrighty then, Miss Holmes." He beams a smile at her before sipping again at the coffee, allowing it to wet the final mouthful of pretzel that follows. "Ye know ye don' have ta shoot people. In fact it's generally fairly frowned upon, lass. Last resort, only when someone else's life is in danger." The question earns a pained look crossing over his face. "I resigned. Don' worry, I did nothin' wrong, it were jus' backbitin' an' politics. It were across the papers at the time, ta be honest. I were quite famous for a few days." His eyes watch her very carefully, preparing for the animosity to break out.

"Well, I think I'd rather stay in a position where I don't ever have to worry about shooting someone. Ever." Alison states quite firmly, accentuating the words with an equally firm bite of her pretzel. The mention of his resigning begins to turn the wheels in Alison's mind. Quite famous? It's time to rack that brain of hers. Only after a minute or so has gone by does it seem to click. "Oh! You're /the/ Sean Cassidy." she states quietly, trying not to draw attention as she studies him for a minute. "Outed for being a.." her eyes dart around for a moment to make sure nobody's looking. "..mutant right?" There doesn't seem to be any animosity, just curiosity.

Sean breaks into a grin at her for a moment. "Well, some wi' some experience wi' those kids could always tek on some work as an advisor or liason. Jus' a thought fer ye." He turns away as she studies him, keep watch out of the corner of his eye, only turning back as he spots the dawning recognition. "That's me." he offers quietly, definitely searching her face for a moment. "Now ye see why I was forced ta leave, eh? Don' worry, I'm no' about ta bite ye or grow inta a giant." He nods, smiling at her expression. "S'pose ye don' get ta meet a famous one every day, huh?"

"It's a nice thought. But I also love where I am for the moment and wouldn't change it for anything in the world. Not even a million dollars." Because to Alison, those children are priceless. The concern for her reaction that's written all over his face brings a smile to Alison's. "Good. I'm not a particular fan of biting. And I'd be forced to mace you." she winks. "Actually, maybe you could explain it to me. I remember not really understanding what the big deal was. Wouldn't they be happy to have a good guy mutant on their side? Why make a potential enemy out of him by being jerks?"

"Didn' ye know we're all immune to every form of attacke under th' sun?" Sean jokes, a soft chuckle that tries to come out being bitten off rapidly. Her question brings a sigh, a vaguely saddened look. "There's ta much bigotry an' hatin' in th' force. I kin remember the expressions on evr'yone's face as I walked in ta hand in me resignation. A lot o' people I considered friends turned against me, superiors lookin' down on me. It's no' a pleasant feelin' ta be hated fer what ye are, ye know. So I resigned, gave in ta the bigots, tho' I know I shouldn' o' done."

Alison smirks, disbelieving as she takes another sip of her drink. The story seems to annoy her quite a bit, though most of the annoyance is allowed to bubble under the surface, only the thin line of mouth and hardened eyes a sign that she's bothered by this. "I think people need to learn to just get along with each other. Humans are trying so hard to make mutants look like bad guys and mutants are doing the same in return. If we all just realized that mutant or human we're all 'people' then this world would be a lot nicer of a place." But she doubts that'll happen anytime soon. "If it helps, it doesn't matter to me if you're mutant or human. If you're the handsome devil that you are or big and green with two heads. Long as you're nice to me, we're solid."

Sean nods with a smile that stays in place for the moment. "I'm with ye there, lass. We're all... very similar underneath it all. An' we all got th' intelligence an' the feelin's, no matter what else is diff'rent." The smile evolves into something a little more beaming as she continues, and he sips at his coffee. "Ye've gone an' embarrassed me now, lass. Givin' an ol' fella compliments when ye're as pretty as that isn' fair now, is it? Ye kin be sure I'll be nice ta ye n' all, 'less yer a bad'un." He drops a wink at the girl, the briefest of conspiratory gestures.

Alison is happy to see his smile still in place. She wasn't sure whether the two headed comment was going to offend him or not. Her laughter is relieved as she smiles up at him. "I'm of the same mine Mr.Cassidy. Every person is special in their own way. It's just that, with mutants, what makes them so special is just a little more obvious than for us humans." When he calls her pretty, the flush once more makes its way onto her cheeks. "A bad one?" she gasps, trying to distract herself away from the compliment. "Surely not. I'm sweet as a daisy thank you very much."

Another nod of agreement meets her speech. "We're all humans, Miss Holmes, but I'm 'fraid no' everyone sees it like that. There're always goin' ta be people who think that anythin' different is wrong. Lack o' understandin', ye know? I know there's groups like the Brotherhood o' Mutants out there, but they're the minority." Taking himself out of teacher-mode, Sean smiles softly at the blush, an amused twinkle deep within his eyes. "Sweet as a daisy, eh? I can't imagine ye sittin' down an' blowin' in th' breeze all day, though yer certainly sunny enough, lass."

"We're all humans. I like that. I guess it's easier for me to say we're all 'people' because others keep trying to draw such a distinct line between humans and mutants. When really it's all the same just one gene that's different." She sighs for a moment before letting her face instantly light back up. "Like I'd ever have the time to just sit and blow in the wind. Sounds peaceful though."

"'Sonly one different gene, or so I'm told." Sean nods, "Reliable sources an' everything. There's no real line. Some mutants 'ave jus' different eyes or somethin', others're greatly different. The line, of which I don' think there is one, is fuzzy at the very least." Not a prepared speech, just his musings out loud, obvious from the thoughtful cast to his features. The blue settle back on the girl, though so he can smile again, somewhat charming. "Ye should sometime. Tek yeself ta the top o' a hill an' jus' sit there, enjoyin' ev'rythin' around ye."

"I'm afraid I have no reliable sources of my own, I don't know too many mutants accept for maybe one or two that I've had my suspicions about but then they just up and disappeared from my class." A hint of concern drapes over Alison's features before she shrugs off the negative thoughts. "The top of a hill? I'm afraid I've never really left the City. Not for anything like that atleast. And there's a severe lack of hills in New York City."

"I'm told there's only abou' three thousand in th' country." Sean explains. "Well, that could be called proper mutants, anyhow. So don' be worryin' that ye've not met many, though they seem ta be fairly concentrated in New York, if ye keep yer eye out." Another indulgent smile comes forward as he brings his hands to idly rest in belt loops, rocking back slightly on his heels. "Hikin's a wonderful hobby. Takin' yeself up and away from the city, maybe even campin' out if ye're in th' mood. I'd offer ta tek ye sometime, but I'm no' after soundin' like a weird guy tryin' ta persuade ye ta come away wi' me."

Alison oohs and tilts her head with a curious expression. "Three thousand? Really? That seems like such a large number until you really think about it huh?" Alison takes a final bite of her pretzel before dusting off her hands and nodding. "Well, how about this? I'll let you take me out to dinner sometime and we'll get to know each other. We become friends, I let you take me hiking. You turn into a creepy weirdo, I mace you. Sound fair?" And there's that bright smile again.

"When ye think o' the millions o' people in this city alone, yeah. Th' fact that ye may've met more than one is pretty impressive, considerin' the numbers involved." Sean releases a beaming smile at her agreement, though a raised eyebrow ratchets its way up. "So I get ta tek ye out ta dinner, and /then/ I get ta tek ye hikin', and /then/ ye still get ta mace me? Somethin's not quite right there, lass, but ye've got yeself a deal. Kin never refuse a pretty face 'n' a sunny disposition."

Alison smiles to herself as she looks down into her coffee for a moment. "I'll consider myself lucky then that I have met atleast one, and possibly others." She states before glancing back up eyes wide and almost innocent, lips shaped into a surprised O. "Oh no no silly. You see, the dinner is to decide whether or not you need to be maced. No mace, and we go camping. Mace, restraining order. I'm sure you understand." she giggles, enjoying teasing the man with a disposition so like her own.

Sean shakes his head with a smile, eyes crinklin up a little and possibly betraying his age more than his face. "Ye supposed ta feel lucky that ye met a guy like me, lass, not jus' th' fact that I'm a mutant." At his normal volume and pace, though there's no-one close enough to notice, or people choose not to. Sean blinks softly at the latter, but his lips betray him by twitching up. "Fair enough, lass. Any particular eatery ye fancy or should I surprise ye? Jus' keep th' mace in the purse an' we'll get along fine."

Alison doesn't mind the bit of age that shows. Actually she finds it endearing. "Well, you're sweet and charming, with ruggedly handsome features, so I suppose I could feel lucky to meet you for reasons beyond your mutation." Alison winks and digs through her purse, taking out a pen to jot down her number, handing it out to him. "Surprise me. Though when you call me to tell me when, you have to tell me how I should dress."

A tiny hint of wistful pain touches Sean's eyes for the tiniest moment, before a more apologetic look reaches Alison. "I'm no' really in th' market fer that sort o' thing, lass, but ye welcome ta have me fer company any time ye feel like it. Besides, I could prob'ly be yer father." He brings another smile forward for the latter as he accepts the number, digging into a pocket for one of his somewhat battered cards with the other. It's carrying a scrawled cellphone number, and one crossed out under his name. "I'll be sure ta ring ye with th' information, lass, and ye best no' be washin' ye hair every night fer th' next week."

Alison blinks, her cheeks flushing red for a moment. "OH MY GOD. That was totally not what I meant." Oh fantastic, now he must think she's some fluzy trying to get him to be her sugar daddy or some such. "I was just listing off qualities about you, beyond your mutation that I liked about you. I didn't mean.." Oh GAWD. "Um.. Just.. yeah, that wasn't what I meant." Could she get any more red? She takes his card and stuffs it into her purse with wide eyes. "I'm not really looking for that kind of thing myself, bad relationship and all. Just thought it'd be nice to find a new friend." Ok brain, stop me from talking right NOW.

The free hand rises to lay a gentle touch on her arm. "Jus' kiddin', lass. It were a bad joke." His eyes beg forgiveness for the error, as does the apologetic little smile he brings to the fore. "Sorry ta upset ye. I've 'ad me share of rough relationships if it helps. Gives us somethin' ta talk about when we're on our little dinner, eh?" Eyebrows raise in hope of her relaxation even as he takes a final sip of his coffee, discarding it into a handy bin.

Alison only blushes deeper when he touches her arm. "You sir have a horrible sense of humor." she states in a teasing tone. Well, half teasing and half embarrassed. Finally she looks back up, shielding her face by taking another sip from her cup. "I think all relationships are kind of rough. It's why I tend to avoid them." Alison smirks before switching the arm her purse is on. "Yeah, I look forward to it. But I should probably get going so that I don't make more of a fool out of myself." she smiles.

Another soft shake to his head. "It's no' horrible, jus' teasin' ye, lass. Friendly, like. I'll tone it down fer ye if ye'd rather, when we're on our date." A twitch to one side of his mouth and the flicker of a wink are designed to reassure, before he nods. "Anythin' can turn sour, but we'll discuss later. I'll let ye get off, tho' I don' think ye'll be makin' a fool o' yeself in front o' me, lass." A pocketed hand comes out so he can soon bring it up into a wave.

Alison offers a playful frown at the work date. "Now you're just being a mean old man." Hah! She called him old. And really, saying that he could be her father, he'd better be insinuating that either she looks damn young for her age or that he's older than he looks. Because honestly! "Yes yes, no more of me looking like a fool. I have to save some of that for dinner." With a wink and a wave Alison begins to pull away from the direction he's walking in. "It was a pleasure to talk to you Sean, I'll be looking forward to your call."

"Less o' the old, missy." Sean states with a smile, before he watches her leave. And yes, he looks a lot younger than he is. "Expect it soon, lass. I'll be after seein' ye soon." The hand does now come up into a wave that couples a final, genuinely happy smile. "Nice lass." is murmured to himself as he gets on his way.

xmm_alison @ 2005-07-28T21:11:00

2005-07-29T01:20:11Z

I met one of the -cutest- cops today. Dazzling smile, quick wit, green eyes. He didn't get my number, but some kid did. The poor dear doesn't have any family or any place to stay. I told him if he called me I'd help find a place for him to stay. It's the least I can do. He's too young to be on the streets all alone.

After a nice relaxing day in the park, Alison almost doesn't want to go home, but responsibility dictates that she has to. So with her purse tucked carefully under one arm, the strap tight against her shoulder, the woman makes her way into the subway. Now if she can only remember which train she's supposed to take to get home.

Dave yawns, it was a slow day, he looked down at his knees. A hand reaches forward, pulls out a thorn from his knee. Dave raises it in front of an eye, giving it a close inspection before flicking it away into a bin. He takes a deep breath in through his nose before leaning back, letting out another wide yawn.

Alison makes her way around the station, eyes constantly searching for some sign of a map. With a bustle she hurries over, standing near the young man currently pulling thorns from his knee. Thorn? Alison blinks and begins to search for something. "Aha." She states and holds whatever it is down to Dave. Band-Aid. Poor thing must have hurt his knee. "I don't suppose you know what train to catch to get to East Greenwich Village do you?"

Dave raises an eyebrow, looking up at Alison with a skeptical glance, the same curious look he gave the thorn. "It was a bit of twig... not a knife." the dry tone indicating his disuse of the Band-Aid. "I have no clue... It's like a block away anyway... wouldn't it be easier to walk?" Dave raises the question in his typically sardonic-British way.

"Well if it punctured skin then you should still use a Band-Aid." Alison states, seeming unfazed by his attitude. She's a teacher, she's more than used to dealing with kids. But either way she slides the Band-Aid back into her purse. "And no, that's West Greenwich Village. And honestly I'm not wearing the shoes to be walking anywhere tonight."

Dave sniggers and looks down at her feet as she draws attention to them, raising both eyebrows he leans back and shrugs, "I'm not a local." that was it, as if she couldn't work it out by his untainted middle-English accent, "Sorry." that didn't sound convincing, even if he was trying to be sincere.

Heels. And tall heels at that, with little black straps around the back and right over the foot. They certainly don't look comfortable, but they matched the outfit. There are plenty of locals around the area with accents, but she shrugs as he mentions not being able to help her. "It was worth a shot right? Thanks anyway kid."

The hollow storm of a newly arriving subway pushes the station's air into a hasty, hiccuping breeze; with a shriek of brakes and rattle of metal, one great, graffiti-crossed transport rolls to a halt, disgorges a full meal's worth of people, and skids on again with monstrous efficiency. Rossi peels himself out of the traffic flow up to the streets, hooking an arm around a pole to drag his shoulder back in a wince-set stretch. "Damnit."

Dave nods, before frowning again, "Kid?" he smirks, "You know, the rule is you have to be at least twice someone's age before you can call them kid.." he crosses his arms, "It's quite a inferior term..." he pauses and watches as a tide of pedestrians surge past, the focus falls on Rossi and he smirks a second time, aiming a finger in his direction, "Why not ask him, he's a cop." as if that was the answer to every problem presented to the general public.

Alison arches a brow and seems almost amused by the boy. "Actually it's just a description of age, and if we're getting right down to it, I'd say I'm about two years shy of being twice your age." She smiles sweetly before attention is drawn in Rossi's direction. If those brows could arch any higher they certainly would. All cops should be required to be that pretty. But that's just her opinion. "And just how are you aware of his occupation?"

Green eyes flicker, sweeping the station's remnant population with idle attention, only to sharpen at -- "Hey. It's the smart-ass." Rossi unravels himself from the pole, hands thrusting into suit pockets. Around his bottled wrists, his overcoat's weight flares in heavy, bunched leather. A glance twitches to Alison, quizzical, then back: "How's it going, Dave?"

Dave looks a little put off by that comment, "There's no way you're 38... c'mon my mum's that old." he gives her another questioning glance before scraping his thumb under his chin and drawing his hand across his mouth in one action, "I remember faces." Dave looks to the older man and smiles, "As crap as ever, what about you?"

Alison purses her lips. "I'd say that you're anywhere between sixteen or seventeen. Twice the age of seventeen would be 34, two years shy would be 32." Why is she explaining herself again? Ah right, because someone needs to teach this boy math. A glance is given to Rossi as he approaches, followed by a smile as she lets them talk. She can ask about the train when they're done.

"'Consistency is the hobgoblin of small minds,'" quips Rossi, Brooklyn's accent bunched and easy in his lazy baritone. He claims a portion of the subway's benches for himself, propping a foot on it to cant an elbow over its knee; a twist of lips greets Alison, tagged with a nod, before he amends, "--or something, anyway. It's going. You employed or housebroken yet? --Hey. Friends with him?"

Dave grumbles to himself, all right, so she was better at guessing ages than he thought. He just remains quiet for the moment, keeping an eyebrow raised. "I'm heading back to England actually. Things haven't been going... as... planned..." he slows down at that, keeping the thought that slurred his explanation to himself, "I don't know her." he adds, in quick explanation to his second question.

Alison likes him already. The smile on her lips tilts up just a little bit more at Rossi's comment, though the laughter is currently contained. "I couldn't have even told you his name before you walked up and said it." Alison offers. "A question about the train led to an impromptu math lesson." she smirks. "I'm like a Jehovah's Witness only with math. It's all the rage in the subways these days."

The first shadow of a smile tucks itself into the corner of Rossi's mouth, and he cocks an owlish glance at Alison, matched with a greeting hand -- "Chris Rossi. Jehovah's Witness for math. What's that like: let me tell you about the message of Base-8?" -- before canting down an easy, "New York chews up and spits out, Dave. You wouldn't be the first. Your family waiting for you back in England?"

Dave falls a little sour. Yeah. Right, like he needed a math lesson. "I don't have family." Dave narrows his eyes, "It wasn't New York, either."

Alison catches the owlish glances and wiggles her eyebrows with a hint of a smile. "You should be careful, you're giving me all sorts of ideas for educating the masses." She teases, though the smile drifts from her face as Dave speaks on his lack of family. Well that's depressing. What on Earth is he doing here?

A question that Rossi pursues with a thoughtful look for Dave. "Then what?" The roar and whine of an arriving subway drags his attention up for a moment, and baritone lifts over the cacophony of disembarkment. "Doesn't sound like there's much difference back there than there is here."

The 'kid' stays quiet at that, as much as he thought about staying, it only seemed like a bad idea. He pushes himself onto his feet, scoops up his bag and looks at it for a moment, "I gotta go."

Alison frowns slightly as the kid keeps to brush off Rossi's questions. She grabs a pen and small pad from her bag and jots something down, holding it out towards Dave. "That's my cell phone number, you ever need a place to crash I'll make sure you get a roof over your head. Just ask for Alison." The paper and pen are slid back into her bag before she shoots Rossi a worried glance.

"Yeah," says Rossi in reply to the beginnings of abrupt departure, straightening for a brow-arched inspection of Dave's averted face before hitching shoulders in a shrug. "See you around. For a city this big, we run into each other a lot. --Take care of yourself, smart-ass." An amiable farewell, if slightly rueful; his gaze flicks off Alison's, dispassionate, before warming back in the crook of a smile.

Dave nods, taking the number, he didn't plan to use it but he was too polite to refuse. He waves a hand and, with that, he walks out of the station, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Alison frowns for a moment as the boy walks out and then slowly tries to relax her shoulders. She can't worry about them all, but she also can't help it. "The name's Alison Matthews by the way." she offers and holds out a hand, realizing he'd told her his name, but she'd never returned the favor. "So, here's where I decided whether or not I should try to engage you in conversation by tossing around words like 'variables' and 'equations' or with a bad joke." she states, trying very hard not to smile.

The cop's eyes lighten on a chuckle that only just ruffles the cadence of his baritone. "Bad joke," he suggests, turning himself to prop his hip against the bench's wire-framed back. His own hand warms hers for a brief second, fore- and middle fingers callused by the ridges of pen and trigger. "Way to a man's heart, if you don't got food. Never a big fan of math, even when I gave a damn. --So what, you wander around New York educating kids?"

Alison can feel the rough calloused fingers against her own smooth, soft ones and guesses that maybe the kid was right and this man really is a cop. "Why didn't the skeleton cross the road?" she asks, still managing a straight face, just barely as she reclaims her hand and links her fingers together in front of her as she waits for him to ask 'why'. "Ah, but I have food to! If you can call Payday candy bar food. And no actually. I was hoping he might be able to educate me as to which train goes to East Greenwich Village. He couldn't."

"Just missed it," Rossi admits, jerking his chin after the last departure, its footprint long erased save for the erstwhile passengers waiting new connections. Token chagrin hooks his mouth as he adds, "If I'd known, I would've told you. Sorry. Don't take the subway very often, I guess? --Skeleton. Road. Right. Why?"

"Of -course- I did." Alison states with a glance over her shoulder to where his chin is pointing to. Because that's just her luck. Of course, she isn't really complaining at the moment now is she? "Any idea how long it'll be to the next one?" Because, as mentioned earlier, she's definitely not walking home in these shoes. Right, the joke. "Because he didn't have the guts." Unable to resist any longer, a great big grin dance out over her lips.

A wry expression slides across Chris' face, deprecation for the resigned humor that chases it. "Yeah," he says, raking a hand through black hair to hedgehog it into riddles. "I guess I should've seen that coming. --Can't say when the next one's coming, but New York subways? Probably either in the next two minutes or the next two hours. Lucky you're not in the rush crowd," he adds, flicking an appreciative glance down at her feet. "Lose those feet, otherwise."

Alison smirks at the look on his face. "Oh come on. You know you found that joke both delightful and amusing!" she chides before glancing down to her own feet with a frown. "Yes well, if it comes to two hours I think I'll skip the subway and just take a cab. I'm not a big fan of riding trains at night." She shifts her weight to the other foot and ponders another bad joke, but decides against it. "So David said you were a police officer. Was he just pulling my chain?"

The amusement that touches Rossi's eyes and mouth shifts to the cynical side, whittling a dry edge to his native's accent. "Yeah. Got a badge and everything." A hand plays witness to his testimony, flipping aside his suit's overlap on one side, then the other: shoulder holster and wicked, cold line of gun; the bright palm of a badge, clipped to his belt. "Homicide. And MA, sometimes," he amends, grudging the latter. "Why? You need a cop?"

"Does is have a pretty star on it like they show in old westerns?" Alison asks, tone teasing as she tries to chase away the cynical look that suddenly took his face hostage. She prefers the amused look. Brown eyes flicker down to take in both gun and badge with a soft whistle. "Every woman needs a cop in her life." She winks before shaking her head. "But no. Just idle curiosity. So if you don't mind me asking, what's MA?"

Obliging, if not necessarily obedient, Rossi slashes a sudden, white grin at Alison, slouching to once more prop an elbow. "Do they? Most of the women in my life say they'd rather not have any. A shield's a shield, pretty much. If you want a star, you need to head down to -- I dunno. Texas." A New Yorker's mockery is lavished on that last word, drawn out: just so would he say 'Rube.' 'Hick.' 'Idaho.' "MA. Mutant Affairs. The shi-- the stuff that goes bump in the night. X-Files crap."

See? Isn't that much better? The grin is returned as Alison leans back enough to slide her thumbs into the back pocket of her slacks. "Well they do in my opinion. You must simply be hanging out with the wrong women." She tsks, before momentarily looking away at the mention of Texas. "Mock if you will, but there's something to be said for mixing cowboys and police officers." The surprise is certainly notable on her face as he explains. "I had no idea there was such a thing. I mean, I guess I can see where they'd think they need a group like that." she shrugs.

An eyebrow quirks upward, hiding itself in the fall of tangled hair; exasperation tugs the detective's gaze up to be spliced by black. "Been around for a little while," Rossi observes, slivering bright eyes as he makes his situation worse; a hand starfishes and rakes again, standing hair into floppy spikes that tumble down again, unconvinced. "Got enough weirdos in New York, not even counting the ones who're mutants. --So what's your story? You live in Greenwich?"

"You know what they say; New York is the place to be." Alison chuckles, watching the amusing antics of Rossi's unruly hair. Lucky for her she doesn't ever have that problem. Long and straight, you can't get much simpler than that. "And I guess that being around for awhile or not, it's not one of those things you really notice unless your looking for it. Or maybe I'm just sheltered." The woman shrugs. "My story? I'll give you the short version; I live in East Greenwich and teach at an Elementary School in the Bronx. And my mother is convinced I'm going to grow old and be one of those woman who'll talk to nobody besides their cat and give out those little bags of pennies at Halloween."

Recollects Rossi with a boy's nostalgia in his grown man's voice, "Man. I used to love that woman. Those bags of pennies? You could do so much--" He breaks off, fish-hooks another lopsided grin at Alison, and disengages his foot from the bench to lean a shoulder against a display case. "Sorry. Nothin' wrong with cats, I guess. How long you been a teacher? Christ. Being a cop's safer, in New York."

"You see!" Alison says with a lighthearted flail of one arm. "Being the penny lady isn't such a bad thing. And cats never talk back and will never leave the lid up." So many benefits of growing old to be 'the crazy cat lady'. "It's been about seven years. And what can I say. I'm a dare devil." A quick flex of one arm before letting it drop back with a more serious expression. "Honestly I could work anywhere, but I love working in a place where I feel like I'm making a difference."

"Do you?" quizzes Rossi, his gaze touched with a moment's masculine appreciation for the arm-flail and its effects: a heartbeat's warmth, supplanted by a lighter, inquisitive courtesy. "Feel like you're making a difference, I mean. Never feel like you're making a dent, when you're a cop; always another perp to replace your last collar."

Alison doesn't seem to notice any difference in his gaze as her own begins to soften slightly as she talks about her work. "Yes, I do actually. And it's the same way with the kids. There will always be hard luck cases walking through that classroom door. I could work there for a hundred years and that wouldn't change. But if I help even one of them, it's a difference." Her head cocks to the side as she offers him a curious gaze. "Are you saying you feel like you don't make a difference?"

Under the heavy brows, green eyes hood to bare splinters of color, hiding the glint that should by right go with the rich drag of cynicism. "Difference? Depends. You can put away a perp, maybe, but the vic is still dead. --I'm being depressing," Chris apologizes, knitting his arms in a loose knot, mouth and jaw easing above them. "You got your work cut out for you if you work for the Public School system."

"That might be true. But if that perp was willing to kill once, they're probably willing to kill again. And you just saved countless lives." Those honey colored eyes seem to sparkle for a moment as she shrugs. "Then again, after years on the force, I could see how you'd be a bit cynical. And I wouldn't have it any other way. I love a challenge. And those kids deserve -someone- who will fight for them."

The grin Chris answers her with is a swift, clean-edged one, voiced with a warm, "Never argue with a Jehovah's Witness. They're murder on the welcome mat. You're a bit of an idealist, sounds like. Not that that's bad," he makes haste to observe, untangling arms to show hands, palms out: don't hurt the big bad cop. "Just -- didn't figure a few years of teaching kids would let you stay that way."

"You're much cuter when you smile." is Alison's own heartfelt observation. "Not that the brooding, dark look doesn't work for you to." As he quickly makes sure she isn't taking offense, Alison laughs; a soft noise that seems to bubble from the depths of her throat. "I've been called worse. Usually by the students." No offense taken. "It normally doesn't last. I've seen a lot of teachers lose their will to help over time. Guess I'm just one of a kind."

Green eyes flare at the woman, startled, then narrow again on an abrupt rip of laughter. "Thanks," Chris says on the frayed tail of it, bemusement mingling with mirth. "I guess. You're one of a kind, all right. --Your train's here," he adds, lifting his voice over the moan of draft and the screech of a subway rolling into the station. "East Greenwich Village, right?"

Alison focusses on the green eyes for a moment and tries to judge his reaction. He seems to take it well enough so her smile remains in place. A quick glance over her shoulder proves he's right and she beams. She's ready to get out of these shoes. "So it is. It was great talking to you." She states and offers a wiggle of her fingers before turning and racing off towards the train, pausing halfway up the step onto the train to glance back over her shoulder. "If you're ever in the area, look me up. I'm in the book." She flashes him her most dazzling smile before slipping out of view amongst the rush of people.

xmm_alison @ 2005-07-25T18:01:00

2005-07-25T21:58:06Z

I lost the last couple of poses so if Abby-player has them they'll probably be on her log!

Abigail, seated at one of the few empty tables in the place, has a coffee, but she's not drinking. Rather, it's sitting abandoned on the table while she stares at her cellphone with a frown. Every few seconds she starts to punch some numbers, then pushes cancel, then stares some more.

Alison has already bought her coffee and is searching out an empty seat. There are a couple to be found, but then her eyes land on Abigail and that frown on her face. Maybe it's the teacher in her, but Alison finds herself moving in that direction, head tilted as she offers a faint smile. "You look like you could use a distraction. I call this one 'nosy, overly happy female searches for a seat and a friendly face'."

Abigail glances up, startled, flipping her cellphone closed in the midst of her latest attempt at dialing. "Oh, hi," she smiles a little sheepishly in return, moving her coffee closer to her side of the table and waving Alison to sit. "Men," she explains vaguely with a wave of the phone, finally tucking it out of sight into her pink Prada bag at her side.

Alison's smile widens as she takes the offered seat, gently placing her own cup of coffee on the table in front of her. The mention of men earns a nose wrinkle. "Oh I know. Life would be so much easier without them. But then, who'd kill the spiders for me?" Alison laughs and extends a hand. "Alison."

"Or put together Ikea furniture for me," Abigail agrees with a quirked grin as she reaches out to shake the other woman's hand. "Abigail." She drops her hands to the table to cup them around her coffee, wrinkling her nose into space. "Hey, lemme ask you something. Do you think it's normal for a businessman to carry a gun?" Pause. "Hypothetically, of course."

"Oh yeah, and reach those high shelves!" Alison agrees with a sage nod and a firm handshake before returning her hand as well to her cup. "Honestly? I don't think that's 'normal' for anyone but police officers and that sort. But this is New York. A lot of people carry guns." As sad as that might be, it's the truth. "Heck, I carry a can of mace with me. That's only because guns scare the daylights out of me."

"Mace an a concealed gun are entirely different," Abigail replies wryly. "I'm pretty sure that's not normal, even here. It's not like it's in his glove box or something, he has a damn holster." She makes a face, and refocuses on Alison, smiling. "Anyway. I think the heat is going to kill me dead before she summer ends. Does it seem hotter than last year to you? Global warming. We're all gonna die." Change of subject, much?

Alison offers the faintest of tilts of the head and smiles ruefully. "Hypothetically right?" She states and crosses her ankles. "Honestly there are a bunch of reasons to carry around a gun these days, not that any of them are right. But they're there. The real question is if he's carrying it /legally/ or not. If it's legal, I wouldn't worry about it too much." The change of subject is respected as Ali looks down to Abigail's hands. "Well. It's good to know you're beating hte heat with a cup of scalding hot coffee."

Abigail doesn't look comforted. "I don't know that legality is the issue. I'm curious as to why an otherwise normal businessman feels the need to /have/ one, and not tell me." Maybe he's scared of all the mutant freaks. She glances down at her coffee and barks a short laugh. "Well, yes, fair point. Though the same could be said for you."

"Well, there could be lots of reasons, but yeah, if he's not telling you then I'd be concerned as well. Maybe if you give him time?" Alison suggests. She doesn't know him or the girl in front of her so there's really no telling. She grins and looks down into her cup, lifting it up in a salute. "If I'm going down in flames, I may as well enjoy it."

"Fair enough," Abigail replies with a grin, lifting her coffee in a playful toast before taking a sip. "Enough about me." Never. "What do you do, Alison? Are you from the city?" She launches into more laid back small talk; the type that doesn't involve concealable weapons.

Yes. Let's avoid the nasty talk of men with guns. A small sip of her coffee before it's put back down and cradled between her hands. "Actually I'm a Creative Arts teacher at a school in the Bronx. I just love this little coffee shop. I'd drive from anywhere just to get a cup of coffee."

Abigail makes a vaguely interested noise over the rim of her coffee. "I usually stop in on my way back from work," she says, about the shop. "I live just over there," she explains, waving a hand in a rather unexplainatory manner toward the door. "So it's convenient."

Alison glances towards the door as if she actually expects to see a house lingering outside of the window, despite the fact that she knows better. With a nod she turns back. "You're a lucky woman to have this place so close. What is it that you do if you don't mind my asking?"

Abigail shrugs a slender shoulder. "I work part time in a women's shelter. The rest of the time I'm either on my own, or working for my dad. He runs," Or, more accurately, owns. "An industrial company up in Boston, but he has a lot of clients here. I help out."

Alison's lips part into an 'O' of surprise. "That's wonderful!" She exclaims. "I wish more people would get involved in things like that." A women's shelter huh? Which means she's sitting here with a real humanitarian. "He's not the one you're worried about is he?" She asks, meaning his father.

xmm_alison @ 2005-07-13T23:29:00

2005-07-14T03:29:48Z

Well, that turned out to be truly horrifying. It started out well, for once I wasn't a shy little girl hidden behind the facade of a well schooled woman. I like to think I was witty and oh so charming. Which is quite the rarity for me.

Only for the conversation to move towards unhappier topics where we had a few disagreements. Granted we didn't exactly argue, but he did end up leaving without my even getting his name. I'm sure we're likely never to run into each other again, but that doesn't stop me from being slightly annoyed at how the conversation ended. It's hard to try and make friends these days with politics in such dissaray.

It's been a slow, lazy kind of day for Alison. One of those days that seem to drag. Perhaps it's because of the humidity, or the light drizzle that's started to fall, but whatever it is, Ali is seeking refuge in her favorite coffee shop. The woman pays for her cup and then quickly scans the room, noting that there's only one table left. She quickly hurries over to it in hopes of grabbing it before anyone else can.

Slow days are what Thomas' life has been all about lately. Work's been hard to come by, and with the recent passing of the MRA that shouldn't be the case. It only goes to show how supported that insane act has become. He is already at the White Room, finding it to be one of the few relatively quiet places in this city that doesn't have that annoying human touch of 'creativity' about it. People think they are creative, yet they just can't seem to understand that what they have created is an abomination of sound, color, and bad taste. The White Room is too clean for that. Thomas sits quietly as he flips through a news paper and makes notes on a note pad.

Alison finally reaches the table and slides into the seat with a triumphant grin. Only to look up and find herself staring at the back of a newspaper. "Oh." she squeaks, eyes going wide as the glass simply rests on the table, her hands not moving. "I'm so sorry." She states the man behind the paper, slowly beginning to inch her way back out of the booth. "I thought the booth was empty."

Thomas doesn't even move from behind his paper. "Apparently it's not, is it. Now it seems to me you have a choice. You can either stay here and stare at the back of a newspaper and attempt conversation with a complete stranger, whom for all you know could be a psychopathic stalker/killer, or you could get up, take your coffee and walk around until someone else offers you a seat. Mind you, the other person could be a psychopathic stalker/killer and I could just be a normal guy drinking coffee and reading my paper. The choice is yours." He smirks to himself behind his paper, imagining what look could be on this woman's face right now.

Alison can merely blink as she's offered that choice, eyes slowly beginning to widen as she does indeed stare at the paper. If that paper moves down and he's got on a hockey mask she is so never coming back here, favorite or not. "Ah, but would a psychopathic stalker/killer actually offer a choice like that? Or would they attempt to put the woman at ease instead?" She asks, hoping to God he's kidding. "But then, I guess that would depend on the psychosis now wouldn't it?"

Thomas offers a single, one syllable chuckle. "Why shouldn't a psychopathic stalker/killer offer that choice? Isn't that just the kind of offer a psychopath would make to someone he meets? I would assume so." The man folds the paper and sets it in front of him, revealing his face finally. SURPRISE!!! No hockey mask. He slips his hand under his note pad and flips it closed. "I suppose that /would/ depend on the psychosis. I'm no expert on psychoanalysis though. And I'm not really a psychopathic stalker/killer . . . for now." He holds a straight face for a moment before breaking into subdued yet jovial laughter.

"I suppose if they had a bit of a God complex, they'd offer the choice to let the victim chose their own fate. But then, I'm no expert either, so I couldn't tell you for certain. I can only hope that you're telling the truth and aren't a psycho. And also warn you that I carry mace and a very heavy purse that I could hit you with." Despite her words, she's smiling, hands cradling her hot glass as she finally gets a peek behind the paper. Good. No hockey mask. "You don't look psychotic. But who's to tell."

Thomas grins, effectively ending his laughter. "Well, apparently you have made your decision." He picks up his notebook, one of the small spiral ones that fit in the pocket, and puts it just there in his pocket. "So what's to say that you aren't the psychopathic stalker/killer who has stepped onto my proverbial doorstep?"

Alison brings the glass to her lips and takes a small sip, giving her enough time to consider the man carefully, along with her decision. "It seems I have. For good or ill, we'll see in time, won't we?" Her grin widens behind the glass, eyebrows arching. "Mmm, I could be? This whole thing could be a ruse, just my way of dragging you into a conversation so I can decide whether or not you're worthy of my psychotic tendencies."

Thomas shrugs. "I'm sure you could find a better target than me, someone more of your caliber, like him." Thomas points not at all discreetly at a nerdy bookworm type across the room. "He's probably much more apt to fall victims to your ... charms." Thomas takes a moment to eye her with a bit more discretion with that comment, noting that she is an attractive woman. He turns to face her fully again and picks up a coffee mug filled with steaming black coffee to sip.

Alison slowly glances over to the man that's being pointed out, eyebrows raising slightly. "Ah, so what makes you think that bookworms are my type?" she asks with a smirk and glances back towards Thomas. "Maybe I go for the devilishly rugged type?" Her own eyes slowly drag over him, putting him in that particular category. "And I wasn't aware I was using any 'charms'."

Thomas slowly grins, nodding over toward the nerdy guy. "You see, our scholastic friend over there probably has never been touched by a woman, other than to be slapped or pushed out of the way. My guess is that if you were looking for a target, one such as him would be ideal. He would be putty in your hands." He arches a single brow as he sips his coffee. "Myself on the other hand, rather out of place among the academics that are populating this establishment, perhaps would have a bit more experience in the relationship arena, thus giving me a bit more resistance to said feminine wiles." He sips again. "And women are constantly using their 'charms'. It's a proven fact."

Alison takes another, longer sip from her drink as she studies the two men, unable to resist another smile as the glass is now placed on the table, her hands reaching for a straw to idly play with. "But why play with putty when you can play with fire?" she asks with a curious tilt of the head, not really sure how it is he's managed to drag her into such an odd conversation. "And should I take that to mean you find me charming?"

Thomas blinks. "To play with fire, while exciting and different has a tendency to get you burned. Putty on the other hand is safe and malleable and bends quite easily to your will." He flips the news paper over a bit, attention drawn to an article on the MRA. "Fire has a will of its own. Much like the fire spreading on Capitol Hill. Those idiots in Congress don't have any clue what kind of hornet nest they've just stirred up." He shakes his head and sips his coffee again. Yes, he believes he has completely avoided that loaded question.

Alison chuckles softly. "Ah, but at the same time, it's the threat of burn that keeps you so excited. Putty simply gets boring after awhile, nothing to keep your interest. And I'm going to take your avoidance as a 'Yes, I find you both charming and delightful', because a woman always hears what she wants. Even in the silence." A wink before her face fades into a frown, eyes flickering towards the paper. "I think it's disgusting actually. They have no right to ask /anyone/ to register themselves. I thought we'd moved past this after the whole mess of World War 2."

Thomas nods. "I don't think they realize what kind of power they're trying to restrain. You know there are rumors of mutants so powerful they could destroy the entire world in the blink of an eye? Restraint on that kind of power only causes it to lash out in another way or direction." He keeps his voice in a slightly hushed tone, although he has a tendency to get quite worked up over this topic.

Alison has heard the rumors and choses to believe that if those mutants had meant to blow up the world, they would have done it already. So the last thing people need right now is for brainless senators to go poking at them with sticks. "I tend to agree. The problem with humankind as a whole has always been that they can't leave well enough alone."

Thomas nods. "It's fear. Normal humans fear that which they cannot control. It's an inherent weakness in the human condition. So they try to prove they can control it by passing asinine laws like this one. They choose to combat that which they deem 'bad' by exposing it and letting society eliminate it all in the name of the 'greater good'." He shakes his head and makes a tsk sound. "It will come back to them."

Alison shakes her head sadly. "I don't believe that trying to force a race into extermination is a 'greater good'. There might be a line between humans and mutants, but the point is that we're all people. And if people could just wrap their thick heads around that, this world would be a heck of a nicer place." Alison's eyes flicker for a moment, her next question hesitant. "You keep saying 'they' and 'them', am I out of line to assume then that you're a mutant?"

Thomas blinks, his face suddenly going stone-like and emotionless. "To assume anything about me is to be out of line." He picks up his coffee and takes a long sip from it. "They refers to the idiots on Capitol Hill. The same 'they' that was responsible for every other bad decision this country makes."

Alison shrinks back against her seat slightly, a deep red making it's way quickly onto her cheeks. "Sorry." is mumbling into her coffee cup as her eyes suddenly force themselves down into the black liquid. Wow, she managed to mangle that conversation didn't she? "Ah, I see. Well, atleast they're not deviating from their routine."

Thomas sighs and leans back. "Rumor has it that there are some serious mutant forces out there that are planning on combatting this issue. I can't wait to see those politicians get it where they should have gotten it a long time ago." He laughs a bit, allowing himself to relax again. Just a normal conversation in a normal place.

Alison frowns slightly at that and also sighs. "I've never believed that war was the answer. No matter who's in the right and who's in the wrong. Granted I can't think of another solution at the moment, because we all know they're not just going to sit down and 'chat' about the issue. But fighting?" Alison sighs, clinging to her glass. "Too many innocent people in the crossfire."

Thomas shrugs. "The only thing most of those people will understand is conflict. If the mutants wait for a political opposition, half of them will be dead before anything happens. Laws like these breed hate and sometimes only violence can combat hate."

"You know, it's a sad day when I can't argue that point. Because in all honesty I want to. I want to argue that love and good will can win over everything. But sometimes it's simply not enough." Alison's mood is quickly plummeting. "But I still hold to the thought that war is utterly pointless, and while it'll eventually lead to some sort of resolution, it'll do so at the expense of a lot of innocent lives, and that's atrocious."

Thomas drums his finger on the table. "War is part of human nature, innocent lives or not. If it's all that is understood, it's all that can happen. Like it or not, it's the way it is." The man finishes his coffee and folds up his paper again.

Alison doesn't respond beyond finishing up her own coffee and letting the glass linger between her hands, head bobbing quietly as she stares down towards the paper and the article that started this conversation. "I know. But it doesn't mean that I can't mourn for society's complete lack of ethics or creativity in regards to 'problem solving'."

Thomas stands from the booth and nods to the woman. "Creative and 'ethical' fall short of quick and easy. But it's time for me to leave. Good night to you." It isn't a rude closing persay, but more of a dismissal. Perhaps he has something to do in the morning, and just isn't good with his conversation enders.

Alison once more finds herself unable to disagree, feeling useless as her head simply bobs in agreement. "Yeah.." she murmurs quietly and watches as he stands, giving him a slight wave. "Despite the depressing topic, it was nice chatting. Thanks for the seat, goodnight." She says, watching as he leaves before slowly sinking into her seat, mind teeming.

Thomas disappears out the door without another word. His face, though she can't see it, is beet red with anger at the whole MRA situation. He climbs into the closest cab and leaves.

xmm_alison @ 2005-07-09T12:33:00

2005-07-09T16:29:44Z

Having gotten the go ahead from the sister school's headmaster, Alison is currently setting up a list of students that might be interested in a first aide training course. A letter will be sent to their homes and hopefully they'll get it in time. Dressed casually in a pair of blue jeans and a brown, knit top, Alison is currently disregarding her coffee, attention focused solely on the project in front of her. She ahs! and jots down another name, a little too hard as the tip of the pencil breaks off. The tiny crack being echoed by an annoyed sigh. She pushes from her seat and starts to wander to the counter. Maybe they have a pen?

While his kid brother's had a bad week with a summer cold and is stuck lounging on the couch with an X-Box, this is nothing new in the Kessler household, and as such is nothing to really panic over. So here we have Matt, standing around and waiting for a table to open up with a newspaper tucked under one arm and the sports section open while he waits. Baseball, coffee, and maybe a fruit salad to go with the grease'n'starch breakfast he's got planned. If he's really feeling the need to be healthy. Automatically, he leans away from a bicycle courier making for the door at escape velocity speeds, and then leans back to continue glancing over the latest game reports. Yep, good day. Maybe if he's feeling adventurous, he'll do the crossword.

Oh the crossword! How stimulating. Alison doesn't see the man at first as she not so gracefully dodges out of the way of the bicycle courier, before continuing her trek to the counter. "Hi." she grins to the man being the counter, looking somewhat sheepish. "Do you happen to have a pen or a pencil that I could borrow?" She asks hopefully. "Sorry miss, only pen we have is for jotting down orders." the man explains with a shrug as Alison just keeps smiling. "Oh well. Thanks anyway." Now she's going to have to dig through the black hole that is her purse and hope she has something to write with. Eyeliner maybe?

Matt would have to laugh if he saw someone writing with eyeliner. And that would probably get the someone all upset at him, and given that this is New York, probably there would be yelling and whacking with a purse. Therefore, it's pure self preservation as he allows casually to Alison that "I've got a pencil on me, if you want it," the sports section folded over so he can look at her with an eyebrow raised questioningly and one hand in his back pocket.

We wouldn't want that? What would his firefighter buddies say if they found out he was beaten up by a woman with a purse. All for the sake of eyeliner. Crisis diverted, it seems as the offer of a pencil rings in Ali's ear, eyes drifting towards Matt, hopeful yet again. "Really? That would be fantastic! I just snapped the end on mine and I'm only half done with what I'm working on." she explains cheerfully. "You look like you're waiting for a booth? I can offer you a seat in exchange for the pencil?"

New York women are -scary-, man. And with Matt's hands tied by a raising that firmly ingrained the concept of 'you don't hit girls' into him, he'd just have to stand there and take it. That buckle on the purse could be lethal. He pulls the pencil out of his pocket and hands it over with a crooked grin. "I was just going to waste time with the crossword anyways after seeing what my buddy A-Rod was up to." he explains. "So I'd be glad to trade that in for a seat. Place gets awful crowded for a Saturday morning."

And Alison hear is well versed in the Kung Fu art of flailing. She's truly a master so watch out! She accepts the pencil with a bright smile and gestures with it towards her booth. "No kidding, I always come in a bit early so that I can get a good seat before they're all taken. Just let me clean up some of the papers." she states and begins leading the way towards the table, scooping up some of the papers so that he actually has room to sit down.

"Now that's some proactive thinking," Matt replies, settling in a seat with a lazy-limbed sprawl and shaking out his paper again. "I usually just hit up one of the grab'n'go places for muffins if I don't make breakfast, but I didn't feel like cooking this morning. You got a menu here?"

Alison slips the pencil behind her ear for the moment as paper's are shuffled and placed in some odd little order, all shoved to Alison's side of the table. "Menu?" Right! The woman scans for a second before lifting a pile of pages, pulling out a white and blue menu from underneath it. "There you are." She lets out a breath and leans back, nodding to herself. Good, now what was she working on? Oh right, the list. "I rarely feel like cooking in the morning. Especially so early."

"Thanks," says Matt, flashing an easy grin at Alison as he takes the menu. All part of being a proper table guest, y'know, even if the fact that he hasn't even bothered to do the usual subtle once over of the single guy suggests the grin's more habit and less trying to be charming. "And I've got my kid brother staying with me, so I cook. Our mom'd give me hell if we lived off pizza. Matt."

Alison returns the smile easily enough as she begins to search the table. Now where did she put that pencil? "Yes well, growing boys do tend to need food with more nutrition than cheese and sauce can provide." Alison state, hand lifting to her ear. Aha, so that's where she put it. "And it's sweet of you to let him stay with you. How old?" She asks, not meaning how old is he, but how old is his brother. "Alison."
"Eighteen," Matt admits with a snort and a crooked smirk. "So I guess he's not really a kid any more, but you know how it is with siblings. If they're younger than you, they're always kids. He wants to be a techie on Broadway. Right now, he's sleeping in my spare room, eating my food, and borrowing money I know he'll never pay back, but he's a good kid all in all."

Alison giggles and shakes her head. "So old enough to take care of himself, but not yet ready to." She says with a nod. "I know how that goes." Not that she has any siblings herself, but she's seen it before. "A techie on Broadway huh? Well, atleast he has a goal to work towards right? A lot of kids his age don't have one yet." She scribbles a few things down from one piece of paper to another, getting use out of the pencil while she has it. "Ah to be young and carefree again." she winks.

"He's got CF," Matt allows quietly, eyes gone serious for a moment. "He's got to have a goal now, or he's not gonna have time to get around to making it." He falls silent after that, ostensibly to study the menu, and doesn't pick that conversational thread up again. He's assisted in this by a waitress coming over so that he can order "Breakfast platter, please. Sunny side up on the eggs, white bread, and can I get sausages and hashbrowns? Oh, and syrup for the pancakes, hon."

That smile on her face flickers and fades for the moment, replaced with a softer expression. Not pity, just sadness. "Oh. I'm sorry." She murmurs softly, sounding as though she means it as the pencil stops, simply poised over the paper. "Then I wish him the best of luck in all of his endeavors." she states before falling silent as he begins to order breakfast. She's already eaten, but when the waitress looks to her she does order a new cup of coffee. "Black with three lumps of sugar please."

"There's no need to be sorry," Matt assures, forcing the serious away. "Everyone's got their life to live, and Dan's got his. -He's- not sorry," he points out, before waving a hand to banish the subject. "So, what's all the paper for, Alison, if you don't mind me being a nosy bastard?"

"Well then good for him." He shouldn't be sorry, but it doesn't stop Alison from feeling that way. She's hates to see a great life snuffed out before it's time. The mention of the papers is a good distraction as Alison looks down, tapping one with the tip of the pencil. "I'm making a list of students from a high school in the Bronx near the elementary school I work for that might be interested in a free first aid course."

"If you're doing CPR training with them, make sure they practice on some real people as well as the dummies," Matt suggests, leaning back in his chair and draping one arm over the back of it. "Half the problem with teens is that they freak out sometimes in an emergency because they can't separate mouth-to-mouth from making out, in their hormone-addled little brains." This is stated with a sort of carefree authority, the tone of someone who knows what he's talking about, but is somewhat sure it's self-evident.

Alison smirks at that and shakes her head. "Oh, I won't be the one doing the training, I'm just the one who's arranging everything. Heck, it's not even my school. But I figured it couldn't hurt if some of the kids knew what to do in an emergency. Assuming they can clear that hormone-addled brain long enough to use what they learn that is." She begins to write again, jotting down a few more names, crossing out others. "So what is it you do Matt?"
Matt has to laugh at that, a chuckle escaping as he tugs at the bottom hem of his t-shirt to make the crest on it more visible. "The shirt and the muscles didn't give me away? FDNY." he states, with obvious pride as he delivers the acronym. "Just about four years with the department now, best job in the world. Although I've heard teaching kids isn't bad," he nods, settling back as the first plate of his breakfast is delivered along with Alison's coffee.

Alison glances towards the crest and smiles back up towards his face. "I try not to assume anything. You could have just been some muscled man who works in construction who has a nifty fireman's T-Shirt." She points out. "Though I imagine saving lives is quite the rewarding job. Four years is a long time. You're mother must be very proud of you. proud enough, perhaps to let any 'pizza nights' be forgotten." She jokes and accepts her coffe cup in one hand. "And teaching is more fun than most people could imagine. There's nothing in the world quite like helping a child learn."

"Who's to say she ever finds out about the pizza?" Matt wonders with a smirk. "But yeah, she is. In between all the fussing that I'm gonna get myself killed, I think she's glad I'm doing what I like. And it sounds like you're doing the same." With that, and the arrival of the large plate practically creaking under the load of breakfast on it, the solid blond man decides he's paid his conversational dues for being given a seat, and digs in with a relish. And ketchup for the hash browns.

xmm_alison @ 2005-07-07T12:05:00

2005-07-07T16:03:06Z

What a nice gentleman that Ray was. To think, funding first aid programs for kids. What a fantastic idea. I am so glad I got the chance to run into him. This could be great for the kids at the schools in the area. Heaven knows they need something better to do with their time than to join a gang and rob people.

A pleasant day in New York, the sun is fitfully peeping through scattered clouds, and it's not too hot. Raymond Hubbard is relaxing on a bench, newspaper open in front of him, and a bottle of water perched at his side. Seems today is one for informality, as he's wearing a relaxed pair of well-fitted slacks and a pale blue long-sleeved shirt, open at the collar. He hums gently to himself, scanning first for news of the FoH before settling to read the newspaper properly, business section first. His minders are situated on the next bench along, looking uncomfortable in their stiff black suits and sunglasses, both men the types who always seem a little too big around the shoulders for whatever they're wearing, and fidgeting occasionally as they keep and eye on Ray.

With school out for the summer, Alison has been pretty much working craft shows and spending her time volunteering with the Big Sister program in her school's district. But that isn't until tomorrow so she's walking around and planning things she can do with her newest charge. That is until a pair of kids race past her, sending her teetering towards Tom. She manages to catch herself before falling completely and lands sitting on the bench next to him, hand pressed against her chest, eyes wide and laughing as she watches the kids mutter a quick apology before running off again. She's dressed casually as well, a pair of jeans that are well taken care of, or new. And a brown blouse with a v neck made of something that looks like silk, but clearly isn't. Her hair is allowed to flow freely down her back and on her feet are a pair of simple brown heels that match her shirt.

The man startles slightly as someone lands on the wood next to him, and his head snaps over, before he plants a polite but friendly smile on his face as he realizes what's going on. An eyebrow raises at the kids before he lets out a small chuckle. "Kid's. Got to love them, right?" His voice is rich and full of life, as he continues. "You alright?"

Alison watches the kids run off before turning to the man who's addressing her, hand moving from her heart, which she's sure is going to stay in her chest now, to fold at her lap. "They certainly remind you what it's like to be filled with so much energy." she responds, eyes twinkling before she nods. "Oh yes. I'm fine, just a little startled. I didn't mean to bother your reading!"

"I just wish I could get some of that energy back." Ray replies, lifting a hand up to run through his hair after he folds the newspaper with practiced skill. "No bother, I welcome the distraction, to be truthful. The business section always makes my head hurt, after all." He flashes a quick grin, reaching to take his bottle of water and flicking open the cap to have a sip.

"You and me both. You'd think that being surrounded by it all day would make it rub off on you. Instead it just tires you out quicker." Alison laughs, crossing one leg over the other as she rests her hands around one knee. "I imagine it would, all the politics and numbers would certainly make my head spin. So you're a business man?" She asks with a curious tilt of her head. She may as well make the best out of this chance meeting.

"For all my sins, I am forced to endure the trials of the oil industry. Not that I'm particularly good at it, mind." A humoured expression comes to Ray's face as he tilts his head. "A wild guess from myself. Teacher? Or some other job that requires spending time with the oh so wonderful youth of today." Placing the water bottle to his side again, and moving the paper to sit next to it, Ray turns to engage himself in the conversation, supplying Alison with his full attention.

Alison winces. "Oooh, oil. I couldn't think of anything more head spinning than that." She states, responding to his humored expression with a smile. "Good guess. I teach Creative Arts at PS194. It's in the Bronx. I like working with the kids who actually need someone to care about them." she states, a soft flush taking form on her cheeks. "Poor dears need someone to look after them."

Ray chuckles softly again. "It's not particularly interesting. I do little more than sit in meetings and nod my head at someone else's ideas for making me more money." He settles his hands over his stomach, pushing his feet forward to allow him to recline a little. "A much more noble and rewarding profession. I've always admired the people who work in inner-city schools, eliciting the best response from a difficult situation." He turns his head to offer a fairly impressed nod. "I trust you enjoy your work?"

"Even if it's not particularly interesting, I think it must hold some form of enjoyment for you. Else you wouldn't keep doing it." Unless of course he just likes the money rolling in. But she'll give him the benefit of the doubt that he must enjoy it a little and isn't just a selfish bastard. "Rewarding yes, but dangerous at the same time. It still amazed me the trouble these kids can get into. Drugs, guns.. gangs. And they're only in elementary school. And the parents do nothing about it. So I figure if I can keep one or two of them out of that mess, then I'm doing my job." She's obviously quite passionate about her career. "I enjoy it quite a bit."

Selfish doesn't even -begin- to explain. "Well, it's not as bad as I make out. Though to be honest I don't do very much at all; I prefer to spend my time on other things." A cryptic quirk to his mouth is quickly covered by his movement to sit up straighter again. "If you can get one kid away from that, you're a credit to your profession. One hears about those schools." His body swivels on the bench, and a hand comes out for shaking. "Raymond Hubbard, by the way. Ray."

Alison knew he couldn't have been that bad. "So you do enjoy it!" she winks as though she got a confession out of him, though she reins in her curiosity as to what those other things are. She hardly knows him well enough to ask something so personal. "I try to be, but sometimes it's more difficult than I thought it might be. The point is never to give up, even if you want to." She turns herself and takes the offered hand, her grip light and definitely feminine. "Alison Matthews. Ali. It's nice to meet you Ray."

Ray's grip is also gentle, but not soft. He smiles broadly as he removes his hand, "Nice to meet you also, Ali." His head tilts slightly to one side as he muses gently. "Of course one must never fall without a fight; though I do have a question for you that comes to mind." A finger taps lightly on the bench. "I was wondering if you have any contact with kids of about 15 and upwards. There is a reason, of course."

Alison can't help but return the smile, pulling her hand back once his is removed and once more letting it lay flat in her lap. "I do not intend to fall, so it will be unnecessary for me to to fight." She states with a lilt of hope in her voice. "Fifteen and up? Well, I suppose you'd be more interested in the high schools of the area. I know the headmasters, I could always talk to them. Why do you ask?"

"Even better." Ray agrees, "Never say never." He turns back to face the park, settling himself into the bench. "I have recently started funding free first aid courses for young people. It's mainly aimed at college students, though older high school kids could take part, I suppose." He brings the bottle up to his mouth for another sip of water. "If you'd be interested in helping me, I'd truly appreciate it."

"It's one of the rules I live by." Alison nods. Never say never that is. It's always been a quote she's liked. The mention of why he wants to know wipes away any of the concerns she might have had, eyes going wide with joy. "That's.. that's a fantastic idea!" Alison states, her voice rising an octave in her excitement. "That's something they might be interested in that they could actually use in real life." She states and bites down on her bottom lip, thinking about it. "I think they might truly enjoy that!"

An appreciative smile touches Ray's face as he dips into a pocket to withdraw a small blue card, offering it out between two fingers. "That's the idea. A cynic might suggest it'll stop as many of them from damaging themselves in foolish exploits, or at least limiting the damage." The smile becomes a little rueful for a moment. "But if you truly think some of them might enjoy it, then the offer is there."

Alison reaches out to take the card, looking down at it with a smile. "Well.. it will do that to. So many of them are already too deep in their danger filled lives to get out alive, but this might still be able to help them. Though I believe you might be able to reach of few of them that still have some hope left in them." Alison states with a nod. "Thank you. I'll call the headmaster of one of our sister schools and see if I can get this started before the new school year."

"I'll admit I'm not the one running the courses, just paying for them." Ray states, reaching up onto his head to place his exceedingly expensive sunglasses over his eyes, though they're light enough that visibility of the brown gaze in unimpaired. "The courses are already being run, they started this last week. All it needs it for word to spread and the kids to book themselves a place. I mean, we can liaise for separate sessions from the college age students if you think it's appropriate. I'm no expert on the teenage mind." He offers an engaging smile. "It may also allow me to get to know some people in New York a little better; I'm fairly new here."

Alison shakes her head. "Running or paying for them, it doesn't matter, it's the result that means something in the end." She states, falling victim immediately to that engaging smile, returning it with her own soft one. "Well I'm no expert on the teenage mind either, but I think putting them in the same class with the college students might make for a good example." she suggests with a shrug. "And I was actually born here, so if you ever need a guide I'd be more than happy to help." she tells him and pulls out a little piece of paper, jotting her cell phone number down and handing it to him. "Though I should probably head out now." So she can go home and call the headmaster right away.

Ray tilts his head as he looks again at Alison. "Don't make offers like that unless you expect me to drag you around every area of the city. Which I think I'll do, actually." He chuckles softly to show his amusement, and deftly places the phone number into an inside pocket. "Expect a phone call in the near future requesting a full guided tour, followed by lunch somewhere. But, If you must leave, I'll see you later." He stands to offer a polite goodbye, rolling his shoulders a little to loosen them.

Alison can't help but grin at that, crossing her fingers over her heart. "I never make offers I don't mean. Cross my heart." she says and rises, brushing off the back of her pants and sliding his card into the back pocket. "I don't have much else to do during the summer, so giving a nice tour might be fun." Alison states and offers a little wave goodbye. "I look forward to seeing you. Thanks again!" she states, readjusting her purse before starting to once more make her way through the city.

Another outing of the engaging smile couples a slight nod of farewell that's almost a tiny bow. "Then I shall be in touch. See you later." Ray turns to take his newspaper and bottle of water, a discreet hand signal indicating his minders should follow. Whistling softly to himself, he saunters towards the nearest expensive bar for a quick bite to eat.