1965-03-16 - Ready, Start Your Gawking
Summary: A random social scene with a few people in Soho encountering each other. Nothing of import occurs, but possible connections are made.
Related: If there are no related logs, put 'None', — please don't leave blank!
Theme Song: None
tigra julie dwayne-taylor lucian 


Soho isn't the most white-bread part of the city, but it's not like Dwayne necessarily belongs; at least here, for the most part, people tend to be on the more accepting side of things. Artists don't tend to be as outwardly intolerant, at least in Dwayne's experience. He walks along the side streets of the area, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat, a short-brimmed hat on his head; it may be turning the corner into spring, but it's still not warm by any stretch. He doesn't go out of his way to make eye contact with anyone as he walks, but if he should, he does at least try to offer a neighbourly smile. Let's see how far that gets him.

Soho would be embarrassed to be called white-bread, or even remotely reputable. Dis place is disreputable, for certain, full of unlovely buildings and questionable folks; artists skim the upper crust, but the dregs below leave something to be desired. At the end of the day, they're all his kind of people. He being the louche, a riot of blazing artistic colours and impressions. The indigo coat with its nehru collar for one helps Lucian stand apart, as does the height. He emerges from a gallery, lighter in coin and certainly not spirit. The bag he carries is oblong rather than rectangular, contents protectively sheathed in a cardboard scroll of sorts. Let anyone dare to meet his eyes and he acknowledges that with the sort of look given by a lion, measuring up the possible viability of being a meal. Or interesting.

Julie is leaning against the hood of a customized Ford, hand resting on a little jumpstarter cart, a steaming cup of coffee in the other, apparently shooting the breeze while the car sits idling and occasionally being revved by a fellow in a fairly similar jacket. "Well, it ain't like it tastes any different if they put green in it. Just makes you more Irish or something." Whatever her acquaintance says may be lost over the engine, the girl's voice New York Italian and seeming to carry a bit, though. "Anyway, I'll be here, probably ain't bringing anything I'm too attached to the paint job on," she smirks.

Well someone might be able to share a rare story, if only they were home, for Tigra has borrowed their balcony, sitting on the edge thereof to casually watch the ebb and flow of those below. Her tailtip flicks ever so lazily as she just soaks up the sighs and smells of the town.

Dwayne continues to walk along, just in front of the gallery that the tall, indigo-clad man had escaped with whatever treasure he had purchased. He can't help but look the man over, albeit briefly; best not to stare, after all, but there is something about this one that compels Dwayne to look; it must be the coat, right? The cat-woman overhead is, for now, unnoticed, as he doesn't cast his eyes up higher than the signage nearby. Julie's talk of cars and paint jobs doesn't go unheard, and maybe against his better judgement, he diverts his path toward her, looking over the car and driver for a moment. "Nice ride," he comments as he approaches, even reaching out to touch the vehicle's hood once he gets close enough.

Indeed, has to be the coat in a shade that says 'don't look past me' instead of the dull blacks and beiges so favoured in the city. Why not? The scarf paired is a stunning deep rust, chased in a vining pattern. Interesting only that he wears a pattern at all. Lucian acquired some kind of canvas, no doubt, and in place of a cane or an umbrella, he can be every bit as jaunty. Broken cement forces him to watch his footing only a jot, and he veers around that ankle-twisting hazard. A faint smile curling his lips is almost a smirk, a shade off. Dwayne held in his sight earns an assessment, the track over to the vehicle and its owner — owners, even — marked. The proprietor of Lux looks the part of the libertine, but he doesn't wholly act it. Maybe a wobble of intention lies there, possibly a disturbance in the force. He gazes up into the skyline, rather a bit lower, assessing. Is that yonder green woman perched?

Dizzy seems to be at work, or perhaps just knocking off of such, for her part, whoever she's exchanging banter with, as she does have a glance around at people passing by, …The lady with the tail gets a second look from her, then she looks to the young fellow on the driver's side of the Ford, and teases, "Speaking of leaving the brights on, qhat you looking at, anyway, Serge." It's likely she's somehow more connected to a smallish Studey truck with a towing rig fitted into the bed a few spaces away.

To say the shade says "don't look past me" is an understatement in the sense that an H-Bomb is a firecracker. Lucian's outfit has also drawn Tigra's attention, and she looks over and down at him curiously. Then her expression changes as memory clicks, and she remembers where she knows him from. With studied casualness, she pushes off the balcony and drops the three stories to the ground below, landing with flexed legs before starting to approach.

Whatever conversation Dwayne had hoped to strike up seems to fizzle out, and he removes his hand from the car, a bit deflated. He steps away from the car and its tenders, just in time to see Tigra fall from the third-floor balcony. There's a moment of panic — did someone's giant cat just jump out a window, or.. no wait, that's a person? That's a person. A cat-person. Dwayne blinks. Sure, mutants and whatever, but they're a ways from Mutant Town, aren't they? That's a brazen display, even here. He can't help but respect it. You go, cat-woman. "That's a first for me," he says quietly, making little secret of the fact that he's now outright staring. Could be the felinicity of the creature, could be that she just jumped down three stories like it was nothing. It could also be the fact that she's wearing basically nothing but fur and a smile. Yeah, that's probably it.

So it is Lucian steps into the brink, as it were. "Eight point nine," he deadpans. The Soviet judge has nothing on him for pride or consistency, at least. His expression flickers into the clearer illuminated lines of recognition, settling at the missile dropped from on high, stepping out as indeed a cat-person. "It never ceases to lose its interest, does it? Elevators and stairs are rather burdensome." The cut-glass English accent places him in the poshest of registers, an Englishman in New York all its cut out to be. Clearly he presages the Invasion, with that attire. "She's quite pleasant." This to Dwayne may be intended as a means to assuage any uncertainty about the spectacle, since walking around with his own art — stolen or purchased — constitutes nothing out of the ordinary. "'Ello, and all that."

Julie is looking back up, then at the impressive jump down, as though unsure if some horrible fate might just await the jumping kitty lady on the pavement. Still, she looks pretty impressed, herself. "I'll say, she says, to Dwayne, then ohs, smiles. "Pretty good, anyway," she says about the 'nice ride.' "Belongs to my cousin Sergio here, but I think most of us turned wrenches on this mill at one time or another. Eyes Sergio for confirmation, "What'd I see in there, the one with the Offenhausers?" She greets around at any others approaching, eyeing the …doubtless art-impresario fellow, she assesses. Well, they help keep a few of her friends in other kinds of paint, if not rent, these types. "Howyadoing," Dizzy says.

If she notices the staring, Tigra doesn't seem to mind it. Far from it, one might conclude, given the bit of hip rolling she does as she walks. Upon hearing the judge's result, she strikes a gymnast's pose, arms up, hands down. She pivots to pose for the imagined audience rather than the judges, and then relaxes, standing more naturally. "Well, i fyou can take a direct route, why not?" she says on the subject of elevators with a quick grin, and then a polite nod for the Howyadoing.

"I'm sure," Dwayne says warily, of both the man in the colourful attire and the fur-coated woman. Given the reactions of those around, this must be fairly commonplace. She must be a regular fixture in this part of town? Dwayne's gotta get out more. "Brave of you, being so open," he says to the woman with an approving nod, before looking to Lucian and Julie in turn, and then back to Tigra.

The art impresario, oh, on levels they don't know. The Devil has his passions and if art is one of them, so be it. A searing brightness to his eyes and the light glimmer of amusement in his smirk does not betray whatever deeper thoughts lie beneath. "Isn't there a poet to say it's about the journey, not the destination? Probably the sort who likes being stuck on the Six."

His opinions being thus announced, he manages to shift back into the expected Englishman mode, stiff upper lip, reserved, and all that. Naturally they have to know better. "Brave, or one has nothing to fear. The way of the world, no?"

Julie smirks to Lucian, a bit. "Well, some journeys go a bit faster," says the hot-rodder girl. "But it's probably all about how you get there." Eyes the space where Tigra's jump was, and says, "More than one way to get there in style, I guess." She'll let Tigra speak for herself on being bravely-open, but does have a look over Dwayne again. Says, "You like this kinda stuff, though, if you can be cool, turn up Thursdays, early evening, when it gets a bit warmer." A bit of outreach, maybe. "Just, ah, you know some people. We try and keep everyone about the rides, though."

"True, not everyone can get away with wearing a bikini all the time," Tigra says to Dwayne, deliberatly misinterpreting his meaning. "It's sometimes difficult to wear things with the fur, though, so here I am." Her tail twitches in amusement as she speaks. "That, or maybe someone who sold snacks on a train," she says of Lucian's supposed poet. "Perhaps nothing to fear, or perhaps an acceptance of whatever consequences come," she says to Lucian.

Dwayne lets out a bit of a laugh at the comment about the poet, the journey, and the many means of transportation. Julie's invitation gets a nod, "Maybe I'll come check it out one night," he says, giving a bit of a smile as well. It's not every day he gets invited to social events of any kind. Julie must not know him very well. Tigra's comments get a dry chuckle. "Fashion dilemmas of the modern woman," he says. "Didn't mean to stare, just.. you know. Enjoy the rest of your day." The group gets a smile, though it might seem a little forced at the end, and Dwayne picks up his feet and carries on down the street, casting a glance backward only once. Things to do, people to see, apparently.

Julie smirks to Tigra, "Well, it's, ah, pretty modern," she winks. Then says to her cousin, "Hey, Serge, you wanna help me get this stuff back on the truck before things get too modern or something?"

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