|
  |
Harlem, NYC. Just before nightfall. The neighborhood is awash with the light of a setting sun, painting its buildings and sidewalks a deep amber while the alleys and narrow side streets become engulfed in shadows. People mill about, some caught in movement between one place and another - work and home, if they're lucky - others just being, against a wall, on a porch, in the open frame of a barber shop. Some look happy, some just plain don't.
This kind of evening inspires all sorts of different feelings in people. For some, like Bill Foster, things get a little sad. "See you around, Pops," hes just told his father. "Love you, Mama. Happy holidays." Yep, home can be a sad place, especially when you're saying goodbye. So, out on the street, decked out in the kind of dress that can get a fella robbed, Bill pulls up the collar of his jacket and makes a move for the nearest subway, looking like part of the unhappy lot trotting about town.
*
Harlem wasn't a safe place anymore. It wasn't the safest in the city to begin with, but at least there was community here. Trouble after trouble seemed to find its way to these streets, however, and after the Peace Rally chaos, some of those said streets were still ripped apart, straight down the middle, and covered up so no one would trespass until they were fixed. There had been violence here, explosions, and full out insanity, but still…people stayed. People lived here, wanted to raise families here, and supported one another.
It had been an early shift for Lynette, and the girl steps out of The Cigar Factory's bar front door. Snuggling up inside her new looking winter coat, complete with a blue scarf, the flooftastic girl starts walking down the sidewalk, hands in pockets, wandering off to who knows where. The direction would suggest downtown. A think of note about the girl is that her jacket doesn't fit the rest of her attire; ratty jeans, partially laced, scuffed up boots. Both articles were ill fitting and a year or two past being 'fashionable'.
*
Yes, Harlem has seen troubles lately. Bill hasn't lived here through the most recent of those, but he grew up around plenty and knows it well. Carries it with him. Hes thinking about those times, when his dad was out of work and they all had to struggle just to get some food on the table, as he comes up on the Cigar Factory. Now, with a little help from Bill, his parents don't have to worry so much, but that's not true of everybody. Those are his thoughts when he nearly rams into the young woman stepping out of the bar.
"Woah, excuse me," he says in a mild baritone, casting a glance over to Lynette. He doesn't stop walking, but instead slows as he skirts around the girl. A smile crosses his face. "You old enough to be in there?" he asks.
*
Lynette jumps, lifting up a hand as the two almost slam into one another. Bill's mind was else where, and so was the girl's apparently, but after the 'hit', she can't help but to giggle and shakes her head, causing her curls to sway and bounce. "Non', don' worry 'bout it. I wasn' lookin' where I was goin', neitha." The Creole beams kindly, her cheeks dimpling. Stalling now, she glances at the building, the question causing a rueful, playful, smirk to press at the corner of her lips. "Don' gotta drink t'work, bean. M'old 'nough. Look at y'." She then comments, motioning toward his manner of dress. "Ain't you s'mt'ing else. Where y'headin' lookin' like dat?"
*
Bill stops and eyes the girl, then the bar for a moment, before shrugging the thoughts off. Its not like he would stop her from drinking if thats what she was doing anyway. A chuckle escapes him and his hands slip into the front pockets of his coat. "Girl, you aint from around here, are you? Whered you learn to speak like that?" Of course, he broadly knows where the accent originates from, but is looking to get a hometown out of her, maybe even one he hasnt heard of before. "Im heading to work. Columbia University, got some paperwork to take care of."
*
"Non', how'd y'guess?" She smirks again, glancing up and down the sidewalk before stepping off its main path to not be an obstruction of traffic. "Eh, y'know, here n'dere." A pause, "M'fr'm de south, chere. Way down dere, jus' outside 'f Baton Rouge." She offers up, seeming to keep the exact name to herself. At his answer, her obsidian eyes widen ever so slightly. "Y'goin' t'school dere or…Oh! Y'workin' dere? Get outta here. What y'doin'? Y'teachin' or s'mt'ing else?" The idea that he was actively working at the CU makes the girl proud for some reason. "M'Lynette, by de way. F'give if I don' shake y'hand. M'cold as ice."
*
Bill inclines his head as he considers the young woman for a moment. There's something about her he likes, judging by the way his grin never exactly fades. "I do teach there," he says without elaborating. No need for specifics from either of them this evening. "I'm Bill, and it's no matter. So are mine." He sticks out his elbow a bit in the direction he was walking and asks, "You heading for the subway? I'll walk you there. This place isn't so safe, though if you work here I'm guessing you already know that."
*
"Nice t'meet y', Bill. What y'teachin'?" She follows up, accepting his arm and nodding before striding along side him toward the subway station. "Guess I 'm now, chere. Usually I walk, but…maybe I take de sub dis time, non?" Glancing around, the comment about the neighborhood not being safe causes her to frown. "I know it ain't. M' tryin', de people tryin', s'hard, dough." A pause, "Y'local?"
*
Bill turns when the girl slips her arm through his and starts walking, slowly making his way toward the subway. "Biochemistry. You know it?" he asks, eyebrows perking up, grin tugging at one side of his mouth. Something flashes through his head, though, and the smile faulters. "Yeah," he says, a little more quiet. "I grew up here. Still come on the regular, too. Still trying to help out where I can."
*
"Non, I don'. 'm not dat educated. Got de basics, dough." She explains, keeping up with the man as the chill of winter kicks about here and there. "Oh, maybe I know y'mama n'daddy? Gran'mama?" She honestly hadn't been in the area long, but she had taken it up as her own people, and partial responsibility. "Dat's nice dat y'helpin'. M'hopin' all de crazy least takes s'day off f'Chris'mas."
*
Bill just nods to her, not wanting to talk science at the moment, it seems. Family is a different story. "They're the Fosters, live not but a couple blocks from here. You just may know my know my pop. He probably comes around that bar of yours more than he admits." That smile of his falters again, so he dials it down to a simple look of content. The wind blows a bit harder, and he shrugs a few times to warm up. "What do you have planned for the holidays? Got family in town?"
*
"Ah, ain't m'bar. B'longs t'Luke, but, if he dere when m'workin', I take care of'm." She promises, curling up closer around Bill's arm to try and steal some of his warmth perhaps. At least her coat was nice, new, and fit her just right. "Non'." She admits, her tone actually rather casual. "Don' got no kin. M'jus' doin' what I c'n dis year. Givin' a few gifts here n'dere. Helpin' de kids down n' Mutant Town. Dey babies. Dey deserve t'be happy."
*
"Well isn't that nice of you," Bill says, smile returning just a bit. "They need more people like you out there." He continues to walk along the sidewalk, looking about at the neighborhood as it passes by. "Especially lately, with all that happened around here." The Harlem Horror, the papers called it. Nasty stuff.
*
"Nah, dey don' need more 'f me, dey jus' need t', I dunno…start bein' nice t'each otha. N'stop carin' 'bout what people look like, or what dey c'n do." Stalling, she nibbles against her lower lip and takes a deep, settling breath. "Sorry. S'depressin', I know dat much. I hope y'family doin' ok with all de stuff happenin' 'round here. Y'tell'm if dey need s'mt'ing, dey c'n ask f'me, ok?"
*
Bill nods and wonders just how things are going over in Mutant Town. He's been so stuck up in things elsewhere it's been tough to keep track of everything going on in the city. Still, from the sound of it, things aren't good. "Well, every little bit of kindness helps, I thinks." An empty comment, maybe, but perhaps true. "And thanks, I'll let them know. Same goes to you, if you really are out here all by yourself."
*