1964-03-26 - People Watching
Summary: Kai meets Amelie while people-watching.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
Amalie Kai 

The Village, New York, and seated outside a bistro is a young man with blond curly hair, cheap black shades, red scarf tied loosely around his neck smoking a cigarette from a long black cigarette holder while he blatantly people-watches. Then again, it's the Village, so how much he stands out is anyone's guess.

When she's working, Amelie tends to stand out, if only for her weaponry and attire. Today however, the french woman was taking a day for herself. What was the point if she didn't take time to spend some of that money she'd earned after all. Dressed in a simple black dress with a deep violet scarf of her own around her neck and an equally simple handbag slung over her shoulders. A similar albiet likely more feminine pair of designer shades cover her eyes, but as she makes her way down the street she pauses in her venture, her head turning perfectly to meet the gaze of the 'people watcher' as if she'd simply known she was being looked at. It was almost eerie.

Kai smiles around his cigarette holder as he takes a puff, then exhales a plume of smoke and smiles more broadly. He's got dimples, just visible under the trim beard he keeps. "That scarf is the Ginchiest, doll. I did the shades, too." He gestures vaguely to encompass Amelie in general. "All of it. All of it is the absolute most. Stylish, toe to tip. Brava."

A raised eyebrow, but the conversation started was a good enough excuse for her to continue it. Stepping closer, the woman shrugs her shoulder. "We all have our own taste, non?" she answers, her amusement as plain as the accent in her words. "It seems we share some."

Kai says brightly, "Ah! Francais. You're a paragon of class, indeed." His own accent is English, so he too is a long way from home. "Come, sit, you must simply have a cup of coffee with me. My treat." He gestures across the small bistro table at the remaining chair. "I'm Gerard. Gerard Alfsson, but absolutely everyone calls me Kai."

"Flattery poured so thick might drown me," Amelie chuckles, but she none the less moves to take the offered seat. Free coffee is free coffee, and if nothing else it was a means to kill time until her next job came into play. "Amelie," she offers in introduction. "Forgive me but…why 'Kai'? I do not see the connection."

Kai grins again. "I swear, I'm not after anything. I just know good fashion sense when I see it." When a waiter comes out, Kai orders another coffee for himself and one for the lady, his tab. He takes out a silver-plated cigarette case and sets it on the table with a zippo lighter on top of it. "If you like," he offers. Then, "It's a Norwegian thing, actually. I've no idea why, but the nickname for Gerhard is Kai. It's what my parents called me since I was small. They were, er, Scandinavian."

"I see," the woman chuckles quietly before reaching for the menu, giving it a lazy glance over the text, a path her digits trace lightly. The offered cigarette case and the lighter? She smiles and lazily opens the case, fishing out a smoke for herself. "One might almost think it cliche," she says quietly. Truthfully, she didn't have much of a taste for them, she simply could 'taste' too much of it to really enjoy them, but it wasn't like it was going to kill her. "And what brings you to the states Kai?" she asks casually while reaching for the lighter.

Kai leans back comfortably, his gaze wandering the passing foot traffic idly, before looking back to Amelie, finding her the far more interesting option. It's hard to tell with the shades covering his eyes if he's casing the place. For all the world it's just a casual glance. "I've been here for ages. The moment I was out on my own, actually." He flicks ash into a tray on the table with a practiced gesture. "I hit the road and ever looked back, Jack. This is where it's all happening, don't you know? Music, art." He inhales deeply off his cigarette, tilting his head back to exhale, sparing her a faceful of smoke. "This is where it's happening, cool cat. These people are my people."

"Music and art?" Amelie repeats with a little smile while she waits for her beverage, blowing a light breath of smoke. The cigarette seems almost something used only to engage her hands. "They're like food and taste, non? Some are beautiful to others, delicious to one tongue and almost toxic to another. I always had a taste for the ballet of back home to that found here. But there is a charm to some of the music rising from this country I admit."

"Well yes, but you're French," Kai points out. "I'm the English son of Norwegians, it's a breath of fresh air to dance at all." He sighs. "Ah, to see Paris again." Not since the occupation. Alas. "The music, though. It's all so fresh here, you dig? Even when it's bad, it's real, and you can find the gems amidst the gravel. The art scene blows my mind. We're all starving, you know. It comes from the soul because it has to." With a laugh, he adds, "It's all we can afford." And yet he can afford to sit here and drink coffee all day.

Amelie had seen Paris at its worst and its best, but as she receives her coffee with a smile of thanks and sips it lightly, the shades-wearing woman grins, snuffing out her cigarette even if it's not yet finished. "Well enough. It's surprising how much the world has managed to produce what it has even in the midst of wars, big or small."

"Conflict breeds beauty, more's the pity," Kai says with a glance aside, his amiable features growing serious for a few moments. "Maybe not a pity. The fact that humanity can take pain and turn it into art." His smile returns, rather soft and gentle. He stabs out his cigarette and sets the holder alongside his cigarette case. Then he takes up his coffee cup, holding it if not drinking just yet. "So who is Amelie? Tell me every little thing, dollface."

"Everything?" Amelie repeats, a smooth laugh running from her lips as she watches him over the rim of her mug. "What is a woman without a few secrets of her own?" she winks, a gesture almost hidden by her shades. "I am…a traveler. A songtress, a weaver…" a coy smile remains on her lips, as if she were enjoying this rather abnormal exchange. "And you Kai?"

Kai inclines his head and says. "Of course, I wouldn't dream of robbing a lady of her privilege, but what's the tale, nightingale?" He sits up, leaning closer so he can rest an elbow on the table and give her the whole of his attention. Over the rim of his shades, one can see his eyes are a clear, brilliant blue. "What a trip. A weaver? I've not heard that one before. Cool." With a flash of a dimpled grin, he says, "I'm an artist. Okay, my gig is waiting tables, but I dabble. Art, music, you name it. I dig painting murals, but the norms who think they own the walls call the heat on you, you've got to sneak in in the dead of night." He nods slyly. "Hit and run, drive-by subversion." He pauses, then admits, "Mostly I wait tables."

"A street artist?" She chuckles, quietly before nodding her head at the words of waiting tables. "Everyone needs to eat after all, right?" she chuckles in those French-tinted tones and then chews her bottom lip for a moment in thought. "I have always a found that the worlds strange and wonderful things were rarely found in the places we are told to expect them anyway, would you not agree?" As if to punctuate her words she lowers her own shades in some mirroring of his own gesture, but where his irises were that clear blue her own held a deep amber to them.

"You said it," Kai agrees. "It's not a bad gig. I sling hash to Ivy leaguers for tips, it buys art supplies." He shrugs. "The circle of life." He smiles, then takes a drink of his long cold coffee. He nods then and says, "I dig it, and you've got the prettiest peepers. Goodness, I bet you've been snapped up by some lucky bloke."

"Subtlety is not the smoothest of your works, is it now?" the French laughs softly, shaking her head before she slides her glasses back into place and takes another sip of her coffee. "But I appreciate that you would offer this drink at the cost of your supplies all the more." Casually she slips that handbag into her lap, opening it while she rummages for something unseen.

Kai grins, boyish and broad. "Kai Alfsson doesn't intend to live unnoticed," he says. Technically, it's the truth. Kai Alfsson is a hyper beatnik with too much caffeine and not enough sense. Hjuki the Alfheimim refugee, that's a different story. "But where's the lie, hmm? You're the grooviest." Then he waves a hand and adds, "I have the Washingtons to drop this week. Enjoy them while you've got them, I always say. A cup of coffee for a conversation with a fascinating Frenchwoman is cheap at twice the price. There are so many squares that are just Snoresville, even in the Village."

The handbag surrenders its prize as her hand returns, single crisp folded note pushed the man's way. Fifty dollars, money earned with the blood of another, but she didn't need to share that bit as she pushed it towards the man. "Then for the next cup, should we meet another day?" she offers with a smile. "You entertain me after all Kai, and I too have…how did you say it? The 'washingtons to drop'? Assuming you are not too proud to take such a gift that is."

Kai's eyes widen. A prouder man would insist he couldn't take such generosity, but Kai's not a proud man, he's a broke man. "Amelie, Amelie, Amelie, you're my new most favorite person. We'll meet as many days as you find me entertaining." He takes the offered cash and it disappears into a pocket. If anyone asks, he'll say it was performance art. "Here…" He pats down his pockets for a stub of pencil that looks like it's about worn down to the nub from use. He turns one of the napkins on the table his way and scrawls down a number. "Don't get freaked if someone else answers. I get squatters once in awhile. Someone's got to look after this city's little lost lambs." The name he puts on the napkin is Bo Peep, and he winks when he hands it over.

In a way it was, but Amelie wouldn't know of what he might say later. For now however, she gives a faint laugh as she takes the napkin offered and tucks it back into the handbag. Truthfully, she'd been speaking of another random encounter as opposed to something planned, but why not? "Indeed they do," she nods while draining the rest of her drink. "They always find their way to someone's arms, friendly or otherwise."

Kai inclines his head and lays a hand to his chest and says, "My arms are by far the friendliest," he says. Then he laughs and adds, "I must sound like a third-rate Romeo. I only mean I would rather help than harm." He spares a glance to the people out on the street today going about their business, and his features soften. "I rather like people," he says.

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