2012 02 13 City Of Coincidence

Log Title:
City of Coincidence

Dajan, Richenda Grey

IC Date:

Times Square

Brief log summary::
Richenda and Dajan discover they have more things in common than a tendency to accidentally flash their undies.


There is no TS in this log::

Post your log::

Another gusty, cold New York winter evening. But it's Times Square, so at least there's plenty of light to see everyone's breath by, as well as plenty of everyones. There are a few street performers out, as well, and the TKTA booth seems busy.

Just coming out of a restaurant, Chenda pauses to tug her tasseled white stocking cap down over her witchy black hair. Her dark eyes scan the crowd outside, even as she pushes the door shut. Even in New York, people appreciate a little consideration, especially on nights like this. She strolls out onto the crowded sidewalk, humming softly.

Dajan's been spending today in motion. She had a rather disturbing event mess with her date and his groove, and she has been simmering under her skin ever since. When Monet's penthouse gym became boring, she went for a jog. When the jog became boring, it was time to practice her freerunning. So now, covered in bumps and bruises, she finally looks up and finds herself swinging down to ground level in the middle of Times Square. "Hm," she muses to herself, blinking pensively at where her feet and arms took her when she wasn't really focusing on a destination. Despite the cold, she goes to find a spot on a bench near those guys playing plastic drums. The beat gets in through her ears and comes out through her fingers which tap on her thighs and knees once she's seated.

Even over the bustle of the crowd, Chenda can't help but notice somebody dropping down into the Square. It might be an everyday thing here, no telling, but to the southwestern girl it's pretty unusual. She redirects her course that way, frowning thoughtfully.

She has to smile as she reaches the epicenter of the plastic drummer sound, catching herself trying to match their rhythm as she gets closer to them and the girl with the unusual getting-around methods. The bruises, what she can see of them, catch her eye immediately. "Um, hi… are you okay?" she asks, taking a closer look.

Dajan looks up, eyes taking a second to focus away from whatever faraway they were gazing on. A furrow vanishes from her brow as she ask, "Who, who me? Yeah, I fine, thanks." She's apparently not too disturbed by the woman coming up on her, because her accent, close to something one would hear in New Orleans, is apparent in her voice. "I don' look fine?" She glances down at herself, then back up, expression telegraphing something between self-consciousness and confusion.

"Yeah, you," Chenda replies, stifling a giggle. It's like a scene from an old movie, hearing 'who, me?'. "Well, you're covered in bruises, your pants are trying to come down, and one of your shoes needs to be retied. Other than that, you could be anyone here," she explains, her smile friendly enough but holding some concern as well.

Dajan gives herself a brief once-over, and raises her brows. "So dey do," she realizes. "I'm ok. Just de urban workout, y'know?" She gets up enough to hike her track pants back onto her waist, where she reties the drawstring, then bends to tie her sneakers. "Shoulda paid for da ones wit' da velcro," she says, straightening. "T'anks, though. Good lookin' out." She wipes her hands on her jacket, feels in the pockets, produces a travel-size hand sanitizer. Squirt. Swipe. Rubrubrub. Thus cleaned off, she offers the other woman a handshake.

"S'what I do. For what it's worth, nice undies," Chenda comments with an impish smile. The handshake is accepted with enthusiasm; the gypsy girl turns out to have a strong but gentle grip. "I'm Chenda. Not sure what an urban workout is, though. Looks kinda painful."

Dajan blushes, but soldiers through it. "Thanks. Roommate insisted when she found out I had a date that I should do better than tightie whities." She shrugs. "Not that anybody is seein' what kinda undies I'm wearin' on the /first/ date, for cryin' in the mud." She shakes her head, firmly.

"Dajan," replies Dajan. "Dajan LeDoux. And da urban workout is runnin' aroun' da city like you crazy, mostly. An' doin' stuff you see on YouTube videos." Strangely, for all the running around she seems to have been doing, she does not appear sweaty and gross. "Nice t'meetcha, Chenda."

"Sorry, I'm just teasing you," Chenda says, seeing that blush. "I do that. Nice to meet you, Dajan, date or no date." She leans her hip against the side of the bench. "So it /is/ kinda painful? One of my teachers would love it, but he's not here. I'll have to tell him about urban workouts."

Dajan shrugs. "Ain't the worst pain I've ever been in," she replies, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "And the roomie's got a hot tub, so it's not all bad. " She flops bonelessly back to the bench. "Well, cheaper dan a gym membership an' the scenery changes, yeah?" She scans the crowd every so often, as if she's looking for someone.

"I know what you mean. I'm a gymnast, and I practice martial arts," Chenda replies with a sympathetic smile. "Unfortunately, I have to make do with hot showers back at school. But at least that's free there." She's looking around at the crowd herself, surreptitiously. "Is someone supposed to meet you here?"

"I always wanted to be one," Dajan says, with unabashed envy. "Wasn't in the cards. But things worked out different. Better, maybe, in some ways." She shrugs. "No, I just sorta … stopped … here when I felt like catchin' my breath. I mean, this city is real high on the coincidence meter, but I'm not expectin' anyone I know to show up." She considers for a moment. "Mebbe just jumpy nerves. Last time I was in this parta town I got into a bit of a fix."

"I could teach you," Chenda offers. "I'm not sure how good of a teacher I'd be, but I'd work cheap. Maybe even free." She looks around and grins, bobbing her head to the beat, her long hair swishing in counterpoint. "And I could see stopping here to wind down."

She frowns thoughtfully at the mention of trouble in this part of town, moving around to sit next to Dajan. "Want to talk about it?" she asks, that concern returning. "I've got time to listen."

"Really?" Dajan's eyes brighten, then dim dubiously. "I dunno. It's not like I ain't already way too old to compete. And I'm findin' less an' less time for funsies these days. I guess I could add it to the workout, though." She throws a hand out in a random direction. "This's one thing I come to love about New York right quick, actually. Best city in the world for people watchin'." Even if one has to look really hard under the hats and hoods for mutants, and one has to occasionally look up to make sure there's no super-brawl gonna drop debris on one's head.

"Well, you don't urban workout to compete, do you? You don't have to be competitive to enjoy gymwork, and it's fun. Besides, it's a real confidence builder," says Chenda, who certainly doesn't lack for confidence. She giggles as Dajan throws up a hand. "And sanitation truck watching," she teases, nodding in the direction of the garbage truck her benchmate's hand is pointing directly at. "But you're right about people-watching. The variety's just amazing!"

Dajan bobs her head in an enthusiastic nod. "Mmhm. I grew up in a small town, so by comparison, comin' here is a lot like takin' a world tour. I never even knew there was such a thing as Albanian food. Or Latverian food! I mean, for us, a big night out was orderin' take out Chinese."

"Yeah, well, the garbage guys got a job to do, too. Takes a whole lot to keep a city like this runnin' proper. Especially when stuff happens." She raises a brow thoughtfully, and hearkens back to Chenda's previous offer. "Ain't much to talk on, really. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. You saw the news, I bet. Mole Man got all het up about misusin' groundhogs as weathermen."

Chenda giggles and nods in agreement. "I don't think I was quite so isolated, growing up in a show, but I've seen things in this city I never knew about, too! It's like a slice of the world dropped on the coast. I love it!"
She loses the smile and tunes an ear. "Oh? Actually, no, I missed the news that day. Um, power at the school was out. So what happened?" She shifts positions, wincing. "I think I must've sat in some condensation or something…"

Dajan pops up and nimbly moves to sit on the top of the bench back, leaving more room for Chenda to scoot over. "Yeah, me too. I was almost scared outta stayin', but now I'm glad I did." She rests her forearms on her thighs, allowing her hands to dangle between her knees. "He decided it was time for the groundhogs to take revenge, or somethin'. I'm not quite sure what he wanted, besides givin' New York six more weeks of winter the hard way. Zap. Freezeray." One hand comes up to make the gun motion. "Not the kinda thing I hope to go through again, though it does make a good story."

"Freeze ray? Wow, the things I miss in the city!" Chenda reaches up to pat Dajan's knee reassuringly. "I hope nobody has to go through that again. It definitely doesn't sound fun. I know I wouldn't want to be an ice cube!"
She starts to shift over, stopping suddenly and laughing. "Okay, are they still around? 'Cuz it feels like my pants are frozen to the bench!"

Dajan grins. "I was lucky a jedi happened to be in the neighborhood to lightsaber me out. Ended up at the ER getting treated for frostbite, but otherwise, no real harm done except to my pride." She glances down at the other woman. "For serious?" She glances around. There doesn't seem to be any rumbling or overwrought soliloquying happening. She turns her attention back to Richenda, a curious quirk in her expression.

"That's luck, all right, especially considering you usually only see Jedi in the movies," Chenda agrees, matching grin for grin. "But I guess it /would/ be kind of embarrassing, getting the popsicle treatment. Although coming through it alive is nothing to be ashamed of."

Chenda gives Dajan a curious look as well. "I don't think they are. But I /am/ stuck," she says, shifting her weight demonstratively. "Feels like it's just in one spot…"

"Well, I /call/ him a jedi, mostly," Dajan explains. "Dude has a genuine, bona-fide lightsaber. How could I resist?" She offers a shrug, again. "I am honest to gosh glad that I got freezerayed," she tells Chenda with seriousness. "The alternative? Way worse. Mole Man dug up every relative an' cousin the groundhog has. Includin' honey badgers." She shudders with the rememberance. "Vicious li'l varmints!"

Chenda shivers, giggling. "Badgers? Wow. I guess there are worse places to be than inside a block of ice with vicious li'l varmints runnin' around!" she says, playfully imitating Dajan's distinctive accent. "And it sounds like the Jedi's played a cupid mind trick on you."

"Oh, he's cute," Dajan admits. "But I don't think he's my type. Sweet but kinda …" she trails off, searching for a word to describe it. She finally settles for "…I dunno. He's nice enough, but the sparkvibe? Not so much." She grins crookedly. "Just's well. We couldn't manage to get a whole date finished without him gettin' paged for work." She rolls her eyes skyward. "I'm wonderin' if I mebbe attract that kinda guy, since it's startin' to look like a pattern."

"Pity. He might've been able to introduce you to a famous Hollywood producer," Chenda teases gently, leaning over to give Dajan a sympathetic hug. "I think I could see you on the screen." She frowns. "So, several boyfriends, all the civic-minded type?"

Dajan blinks. "Producer?" She shakes her head. "I ain't no Hollywood type, me," she assures, leaning into the other woman's friendly gesture. "Well, several prospects for boyfriends," she corrects. "An' I don't know so much civic-minded as mebbe just hustlin' to keep the ducats comin' in. An' I can't even talk, seein' as I worked all hours on my last job, an' am doin' little better at my current one."

Chenda tightens the hug. "I know what dead-end jobs can be like," she murmurs. "Not much call for gymnasts in this town. Or clowns, or tightrope walkers, or stage magicians. It does make prospects of the financial or boyfriend kind difficult."

She releases the hug, wincing. "I'm not coming free. If I get a little slack, could you see what's holding me down? It's right under my left hip…"

Dajan frowns. "You tink somebody put krazy glue on da bench?" she wonders, swinging her legs around the side of the bench and crouching down beside Chenda from the back. "or mebbe your skirt just got snagged on someting." She has to choose her approach. After a moment's thought, she goes for enhancing her eyesight in the streetlit dark so she can see better.

Well, she /is/ wearing a skirt for a change, a retooled one made from a pair of old jeans. Chenda glances down, her hands busy with the fasteners of the garment. "Can you see anything?"

Looks like gum, actually, tossed down very recently by the bench's last occupant and slowly frozen by the cold metal of the bench after the gypsy girl sat down. This is just typical of her luck!

"Oh, it just gum," Dajan says, after a moment. "Gimme a sec, I get you loose." The eyesight is allowed to go back to normal, in favor of one handful of sharp claws. "Jus' take a minute." She works at the sticky mess for a few seconds, scraping it away from the denim, before finally getting enough of it off that Chenda can pull away. "Ok, you good." She tosses the gum wad in the nearest trash can, and pulls out the hand sanitizer again. "Ew."

"Oh, yuck!" Chenda murmurs with a grimace, gripping the waistband of her skirt and pulling it tight against her so whatever Dajan's scraping with won't leave her with other wardrobe problems afterward. She tenses, then tests the gum's strength…

The gum gives way quickly, leaving her stumbling to her feet. Her grip on her skirt slips, and the garment slides to the ground. Chenda looks back, blushing. "Sorry… guess you get to see my undies this ti… wait, are those /claws/?" she asks, surprise clear in her voice. But at least she has the presence of mind to keep her voice down!

Dajan chuckles, and laughs. "Fair's fair, I guess," she says, as the garment falls away. "Claws? c'mon, don't be silly. Just a badass manicure," she says airily, hands jamming into her pockets, there to be retracted back to fingernail length. "Don't got a gun or a knife. Gotta defend myself somehow if somebody decides they wanna mug me, right?" She's going for guileless, and she's /almost/ got it. Noooooooot quite.

Chenda puts her hands on her knees and strikes a mock pose, looking back over her shoulder dramatically and playfully showing off her tighty-whities… or tighty-blue-ies in this case. Then she sticks out her tongue and stoops to pull up her skirt. "No… I distinctly saw claws," she insists, some of the humor vanishing from her tone. She caught that slight lack of sincerity. Sharp people-senses this girl's got! She still has the presence of mind to keep her voice down, though. "But it's not like I haven't seen worse. This is one very eclectic city, right?" she adds, winking.

Dajan smirks as Chenda plays up being in her undies in the middle of Times Square. "Put your skirt on, girl, before some fool decides you're makin' an invitation." This is said mildly, but there's a protectiveness about her stance now, and she is glancing about, daring anybody to come close enough to mess with them.

Dajan pulls her hands out of her pockets, and the fingernails are no stranger in length than anyone else's. "Have you, now?" she asks, as a couple of cogs find their teeth linking in her brain. "This school of yours —" She ponders asking, drops the idea, visibly picks it up again. City of Coincidence. "I know this's gonna sound like a total crazy question, but it wouldn't be in Massachusetts, would it?"

"What's the matter, Dajan? Afraid I'll grab one of your prospects?" Chenda teases lightly, pulling up the skirt and beginning to fasten it. Not that she hasn't noticed that protective mien, but she's incorrigibly light-minded most of the time. Plus, it's a great cover for asking more serious questions in a quieter voice. "Massachusetts? No. It's north of here, upstate," she replies. "Lovely place, honestly. I still can't get used to it after a lifetime of trailers."

"Child, please. There are enough men in this city to go around, swear." Dajan eases up on the protectiveness once Chenda's gotten dressed again. "Besides, it ain't like I go collectin' 'em like sea shells."

"North of here?" She stops to think for a minute. Mr. Blue mentioned another school. "…West…Westchester?" she asks. Since the woman is curious but not freaked by the idea of claws, the odds, Dajan believes, are starting to stack in her favor.

Chenda chuckles, finishing with her fasteners and hugging Dajan again, which involves some stretching. "Thanks. I might've wound up sitting there 'til the spring thaw," she says. "And yes, it's in Westchester. You sound like you've heard of it already, actually."

Dajan shakes her head and mutters something in Creole about the loas maybe looking out for her, or being out to get her, one. "Yeah, turns out mebbe I do," she explains. "Got this acquaintance, he recommended it to me." She adds, "And okay, since I tink we talkin' about the same school… a'ight, yeah. Dey were claws." But before Dajan can say anything else, the dulcet tones of 'John Jacob Jingle Heimer Schmidt' play tinnily from somewhere on her person. "Oh…great." Her face falls as she produces her phone from her pocket. "Mrs. Ditkovitch needs me to look after her twins," she says, after reading the screen. "I gotta run."

She scrabbles in the coat pockets one more time and comes up with a business card for the coffee shop on the Upper East Side right near Griffin Towers. "Tell you what — we could talk there over coffee. You could leave me a message. Owner guy knows me 'cause I'm the only one who orders chicory coffee."

Chenda giggles at the ringtone and accepts the card. "I can find this place. See you there, as soon as I can get another free day!" Another quick hug follows the first. "And good luck. Twins are /dangerous/ to babysit!"

"Cool. Hope to catch up with you soon, then." Dajan accepts the hug as Chenda just being an over-the-top type. She briefly hugs back, then disengages and hops over the bench, and races to the corner, hand up to hail a cab. "I'm an ol' pro at it!" she calls, before a yellow cab pulls up and she gets into it. "Seeya!" And then she's roaring away — at the best speed a cab can manage in evening traffic.

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