1963-11-07 - Cigarettes and Shades
Summary: Lynette meets a mysterious man in Central Park. Even the echoes of his actions try to warn her of him.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
barney lynette 

Chilly day in early November already. Early frost on the ground, and the sun doesn't warm things up too quickly. So, while the sun is indeed shining, breath can be seen in the air, the steam off of coffee mugs evident almost everywhere. The population in the city is growing once again due to the tourist trade; those who are getting out a little earlier to get a jump on Thanksgiving, a la the Parade. (Sorry guys, but Christmas decorations aren't out yet. This is still the 60s! After Thanksgiving!)

Barney is standing at the side of a city bench, hovering over a garbage can, cup of coffee in finger-less-gloved hands. He's looking, well, very much like some of the other denizens of the park; unkempt and not one that is in the park for its particular beauty.

There's one thing that might set him apart, however. Keen blue eyes watch the park unobtrusively, watching and waiting.


Another walks past, this one dressed fairly well, and Barney moves off, walking with the guy, and from the sounds of it, bumming a cigarette off him. One, fail.

Next guy, fail…

On this goes until about the sixth, where he does get that cigarette. He's bouncing in place lightly, his eyes darting from on side to the other in that 'crazy' sort of sense. Once Barney does get that cigarette, he backs up, lights it, and takes a long drag from it, still holding his coffee in the other hand.

"Thanks man.."


Lynette knew this place. For weeks, almost months, it had been her 'home' when she first arrived in New York. The insanity here had ended, and thankfully, the power here no longer drilled into her mind. The voices had stopped, and the flaming void that was damnation was absent. Small, and bundled up, off to the side in an oversized sweater, the girl with flooftastic hair watches the bouncing figure of Barney. Each try has her obsidian eyes tracing his steps, his motions, and after she realizes what he was after, she moves away from her seat, and crossing toward a small shop the next block over.

A couple slow, chilly minutes pass, and once done, she walks down the path in his direction. Her old boots are back on her feet; scuffed and partially laced. They crunch along gravel and dirt, cracking and crinkling the frost bitten blades of grass. Finally, there she stands, looking up toward the man's blue eyes. She smiles, silent for now, and then digs in her pocket.

Delicate fingers offer the man a box of smokes. Full. Complete. Unopened and untouched.


As Lynette watches, there are shadows about him perhaps seen or simply just felt. Not strongly at first as the floofy-young woman simply watches; she's safe. The more she does, however, and her actions up to an including buying that pack of cigarettes, she may feel a dragging. A resistance.

Barney is back over near 'his' garbage can, pulling on that cigarette as if he hadn't had one in a very long time, and was savoring every last bit of nicotine out of it. Unfiltered, so up with the tar! The coffee is finished before it was able to get too cold, and when Lynette approaches, he watches warily.

Dry lips are licked and he cocks his head at the offering of the fresh pack.

Unseen fingers, then, try and pull back on the young woman. Police over the years. FBI. The latest; a black civil rights activist… in their own ways are giving warning to Lynette to stay away from the man.

Barney seems oblivious to it all, however, and blue eyes dart from the pack to the young woman and back to the cigarettes before he takes a step back (whether bidden unconsciously by a possibly protective spirit or on his own, who knows?) From there, he reaches out and takes the pack, a muttered, "Thanks.." given up.

In the next second, he's tearing at the package, his left arm stiff in the motion, and he pulls one from the pristine pack. Then, he offers one back.


Her brows slope, as her smile fades. Something felt strange, but that sinking feeling in her gut didn't stop her from her mission to be kind. She looks around, quick glances here and there to look in the direction of those 'around' her, pulling and tugging. "G'on." She mutters under her breath, then reaching up to brush over her shoulder to urge the touch away. The offer, then, recalls her attention to the man by his bin.

That smile returns, and with a hand up palm out, she shakes her head. Her curls bounce and sway with the easy action, and then her voice chimes in. "No t'anks. Don' smoke. Jus' noticed y'bummin' n't'ought I'd help. S'cold now, n'havin' comfort's nice t'ing." Another grin, she's turning in her spot and staring around her, trying to focus on the pulling, guiding sensation of another existence.



Barney pulls the pack back and mutters something to the effect of 'thanks' again as he pockets the cigarettes. Straight dark hair falls over most of his face; he looks as if he hasn't seen a razor for a couple of days at the very least. He seems oblivious to the manner, but then again, he's lighting his newly acquired cigarette and taking that first drag, enjoying this second one a little more than the first.

"Yeah, cold," is repeated low, his voice a little hoarse in the morning's air. Another pull on the cigarette and Barney's looking away, watching the traffic in and out of the park seemingly casually, perhaps looking for his next mark in the day for some spare change?

Lynette may catch one, two more that are most definitely a little more adamant about pulling her from the area, from the man, but nothing is spoken. They're not so much spirits as shades. Remnants of those intelligences, and they all seem to be saying the same thing. Danger.


The girl knew that look. She knew that watch and trying to pin-point down the perfect mark that might mean the difference between starving and just having enough for the day. She caught it now anad then, though it seems she's more lost in trying to figure out exactly what is going on around her, to her. A soft, uncomfortable sound hums from her throat, and brushing up the underside of her forearm across her cheek, she pivots on her heels and stares out onto the manicured wilderness all around them.

"ARRETEZ!" She cries out in a smooth tongue, perhaps the one she was more native to than English. Her voice echoes, and calls the attention of some who gawk before going about their business. Her hand was now clutching at some type of trinket dangling from a cord around her neck. Heat warms her cheeks as she sheepishly glances over her shoulder, and through the mess of dark kinks that block her view of Barney.

"S-sorry. I…" She stalls, not seeming to have the words. "I jus', I t'ink I should be goin'. Dis place ain't safe. Not yet n'way." Slipping the necklace over her head, she pulls a gold coin off its tie, leaving behind what looks to be a hammer type item in its center. Fingers holding to the coin, she hands it out to him, offering that small, glimmering disk marked with Norse runes. "Here. Y'take it. S'real. I-I been dere b'fore. Here. Doin' what y'doin'."


Barney rolls a shoulder forward in the chill, his left hand settled into a pocket for warmth while the other holds his cigarette. He flicks off the ash from the stick, and brows rise the moment he catches, «STOP!!» coming out of her mouth, yelled into the air just behind her, around her? He's staring too, and blue eyes linger upon the woman, and he takes a step back even as she's removing the coin from around her neck.

Women and children.

He shakes his head quickly, taking another step back, feigning concern in terms of sanity. Of course, he's not completely there himself, but …

"No.." and he puts his hand up that holds the cigarette, "No.. just.."

Those voices, those shades… given the directness of the command, they silence, but there is still the draw. When the announcement comes from her that she will be withdrawing from the park, they don't pull too harshly in any manner they can, but there is still the gentle compel.

"Go." Time's getting closer that he's going to have to go to work.

No women, no children.


"No, I…'m sorry. Jus', dey somet'ing bad here. Somet'ing jus' dark, n'sad." She tries to explain, but catching the look on the man's face tells her enough. "I-m'sorry, I didn' mean t'…" Still holding the coin out, she glances from it, to him, and back again. "Please, jus'…take care y'self." Her voice murmurs in obvious, empathetic concern. She lowers down, squating briefly, and sets the coin on the ground. It's not tossed his way, nor does she advance; she allows the distance.

Leaving it behind, she stands and takes a step back, watching for a moment longer, until turning quickly and hurrying herself away.


Barney watches the young woman for a long moment, and his gaze darts from the necklace now laid upon the ground to the retreating figure. He's back those few steps, and as she departs, he takes that step forward and crouches next to the coin. He picks it up slowly, looks at it briefly, and sticks it into his pocket. Eventually it'll get returned.

The cigarette isn't ignored; not a bit. He finishes it and rolls the end off where it had been lit and pockets what little is left. A couple of cigarettes and Barney can roll another. Now, for the rest of his day.

Weapon X.


Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License