Whitney Lewis/Lady Phantomhive (whitandpleasure) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-04-10 20:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | ra's al ghul, rachel dawes |
Who: Whitney Lewis and Mike MacArthur
What: Mike rescues Whit's escaping canned goods
When: Last week
Where: Outside and in Whit's apartment
Warnings/Rating: None. It's fluffy and dumb, just like they are.
It was Whit’s day off, which meant it was time for her to do the things she dreaded - running errands. She had gotten up early and gone to do laundry, and then went to pay her rent and her electric bill. After riding the bus back to her tiny studio flat, she got the grocery money out of her cookie jar to go buy groceries. There was a Piggy Wiggly about six blocks down the street, and Whit liked to go there because it didn’t involve taking the bus. She hated trying to juggle six bags while not hitting anyone on the bus.
She made the walk down to the store and filled a small cart up with soup, bread, eggs and a chicken for her Sunday dinner. It wasn’t too expensive, and she knew that most of the food would be good for her to heat up easily, since she was frequently exhausted after a night on the floor. She checked out and started heading back to her apartment, enjoying the early spring and trying not to think about the hot weather that would be coming before she knew it.
She was almost to her apartment when the bag carrying her soup suddenly split, and spilled everywhere. “Well, crap,” she said, and attempted to juggle the rest of her bags and pick up the soup that was now rolling across the parking lot.
Mike had spent the entire morning out on the soccer field. He had spent the last two weeks waiting for this day - an entire day where he could get lost in the world of kleats, sweat, and freshly cut grass without having to worry about work or rent or trying to land a gig as a substitute drummer. Apart from the drums, soccer was the one thing Mike was actually skilled at, and every visit to the soccer field was like an ego boost. An ego boost he really needed.
He had decided to walk back to his apartment instead of taking the bus. He was already sweaty from the exercise and didn’t want to subject the bus riders to that, and besides, it was a beautiful day outside and he was in a really good mood. So he had taken the long way home, music blaring through his earbuds as he cut his way across the busier parts of the city, watching the crowds out of the corner of his eye as they did the same to him.
He was just a few feet behind the girl with the bags when he saw the cans crash to the ground. In an instant, his earplugs were out, and his hands were busy grabbing the cans that threatened to roll away. It was times like these those finely-honed jock reflexes came in handy. “I think these are yours.” He walked back over to the girl, arms laden with the runaway cans, and realized that she was still carrying five other bags. “Do you want me to carry these up for you?”
The man who approached Whit was like a guardian angel. She was forever grateful for the simple fact that he took the time to stop and help her. She gave him a big smile and nodded, “I just live up the stairs, if you don't mind? It never occurred to her that this guy might be an axe murderer or some such thing. She was a bit naive in that regard. She simply took most people at face value.
She managed to juggle the other bags and then get her keys out when they got to the door. Whit’s apartment was fairly standard for the complex- tiny with the standard furniture. Whit had added a few touches of her own - she had put up curtains and put a tablecloth on the tiny table. She also had a pink, frilly bedspread and her guitar propped in the corner. She let Mike in and smiled at him. “Thank you SO much.” She looked him over and noticed he was sweating. “Can I get you something to drink? Maybe a cold beer?”
Mike nodded with a smile and followed the woman up the stairs. He finally realized why the girl had seemed so familiar - he had seen her coming and going from the building a few times and remembered thinking she was cute. She was the cute blonde that lived in his building. It was a good thing he’d finally be able to get a name to go with the face.
The apartment was pretty and girly, and went along well with the person who lived in it. Mike’s place was a complete mess that looked like it had been run over a few times by an angry tornado, but he didn’t care. Until recently, he hadn’t been able to afford to live alone at all. The girl’s apartment was making him see the value of cleaning his place, though, and he wondered if the girls that occasionally came home with him would care if his place were better looking.
The girl’s question startled him out of his thoughts, but he smiled and recovered. “Uh, yeah, sure. Beer would be good.” Mike knew a lot of people insisted on drinking gatorade after a workout, but he figured he had drank enough water to justify a nice cold one. “I’m Mike, by the way. I live on the top floor.”
Whit threw the few things that needed to be kept cold in the fridge and then pulled out two beers, popping the tops off with a church key she kept on the side of the fridge. She didn’t drink often, but she usually kept a six pack around just in case of company. Besides, a cold beer tasted amazing after going to run errands. She was thankful she had put her laundry up. It would have been terrifying for some strange man to see her panties, and that went double for a good looking guy who lived upstairs.
“It’s nice to meet ya, Mike.” She handed him the beer with another warm smile. “Are you new? I don’t think I saw much of you before recently.” She tried to at least pay attention to the folks who lived near her, especially ones who might either be a threat to her or someone who was good looking enough to catch her eye. Fortunately, Mike was the latter. Good looking guys in this complex were rare, but that might just simply be that Whit was slightly jaded.
“New to this place. Been in Vegas for two years.” Mike took the beer with a grateful smile, and took a healthy swig. The taste of cold beer was one of his favorites in the world, even if he wasn’t technically old enough to be able to drink it yet. As long as he didn’t drink on the job, nobody seemed to care in this town. There was no place like Vegas to make you feel glad you looked older than you were.
“What about you? How long have you been here....” Mike trailed off, realizing he didn’t know the pretty girl’s name yet.
“Whitney, but everyone calls me Whit.” She took a drink of her own beer and leaned back against the counter. “I’ve been here for three years? Moved here to make it big.. took me three years to get a gig though.” She was very proud of her Friday night show at the Wynn. It wasn’t the fanciest setup, the pay was only okay, and most of her crowd were blue hairs, but she was still proud of it.
She looked him over once again, trying to think what a guy like him might do. Probably something that gave him his really nice body. “So, where do you work? Casino? Or you get lucky and get a job off the strip?” Even though casino jobs paid well, sometimes Whit thought those who worked at a real job had it so much better.
“Whit, right.” Mike nodded sympathetically as she talked about her struggle. “I know what you mean. I came out here to play soccer and drum and make a living, but it’s really hard.” He smiled at the mention of the gig. “Congrats on the gig. That’s a really big deal. You must be good.”
“Me? I work a couple jobs. Both at the casinos.” Unless it was with a band or on the soccer field, Mike wasn’t smart enough to get a job that required real skill. “I bartend at the pool at the Bellagio, and work the day host shift at Caesar’s Palace.” Neither job was all that great, but he got great tips at the pool, especially during the hotter months. “What about you?”
“Well, I work at the Wynn in the VIP Salons as a cocktail waitress, and I sing at the Wynn as well - Friday nights before the Dueling Pianos. I’m hoping maybe I’ll get a better slot sometime. Maybe I can sing full time.” It was her dream, and now that she got her chance to get just one step closer. She would be a singer and be famous and get away from her past.
She grinned at him, excited that he was another musician. “You play drums? We should like totally get together and jam sometime!” She process the rest of his statement, her eyes getting bigger. “Are you a professional athlete? That is cool.” The idea someone could be so talented was huge to her, even if she didn’t quite meld the idea he also was a bartender.
“The Wynn’s a fancy place.” Mike wasn’t really familiar with the place, but figured the pay out there couldn’t be too bad. “Friday night’s a good gig too.” Most amateurs started out in the middle of the day on weekdays. If Whit got a weekend spot, she must be doing something right. “It’ll happen. You know how these places worl. You just have to put your time in.” At least that’s what he had always been told. He hoped it was true.
“That would be real cool. Can’t really play here, cause the walls are too thin. My buds and I rent out a warehouse sometime and play in there. You should come.” He laughed when her eyes went eye, feeling not a little a little self-conscious. “Not a professional, no. It’s kinda... mid level, I guess. But playing in the MLS is the dream.”
“Yeah, there is this guy who lives downstairs? He plays this awful dubstep at all hours of the night. I swear, he’s trying to put me in the nutty house.” She really loathed that neighbor, who seemed to think the rules never applied to him. She never understood that, and wished that she could move sometimes. But she could never afford anywhere else - and this was as good and safe as it got in this price range.
She grinned at the invitation to come play with his friends. “That would be so super. Like... I just love to sing. It’s really like the only time I feel alive.” She thought as a musician, he would understand. After all, didn’t all musical folks live for music? “But I guess you have that for lots of stuff, with soccer and all?” She really didn’t know too much about soccer, since her rural high school didn’t have the sport.
Mike grimaced in sympathy. “I’m glad that doesn’t travel all the way up. You try complaining?” Mike had yet to see his landlord since he moved in, but he knew that was the first step when people had problems like that. “I mean I guess I could talk to him.” Mike didn’t see himself as a very scary guy, but he knew how to make people listen. Especially people who might just ignore someone tiny and cute like Whit.
“I know what you mean.” Mike felt alive both behind a drum kit and on the soccer field, because they were places where he was actually good at something, and no one could make fun of him for being stupid. That was the thing smart people didn’t get. He might not understand what exactly they were saying, but he could always tell when he was being made fun of. But even the smartest people shut up when he had drumsticks in his hand or a ball at his feet, and Mike loved that. “Just those two. Soccer and music. Not exactly the most gifted person here.”
Whitney shrugged and looked down at the floor. “I tried, but like well... he’s bigger than me and has more money. And isn’t that how the world works? Money buys everything.” Since she’d never really had money, she was mostly guessing, but it seemed like those with money made all the decisions in the world, and had all the power. She just wanted a chance to see what it would be like to no worry about things, and to be able to buy what she pleased.
Whitney furrowed her brow at his comment about not being good at anything else. Granted, she wasn’t a rocket scientist herself, and really the only place she felt like she did anything right was singing. “I am sure you can do lots of stuff. Remembering orders can be hard.” She drew on her own experience as a cocktail waitress, and how much it could suck to try to get all those orders right.
Mike didn’t know what to say to that, so he just swigged his beer. As far as he was concerned, money was just something he needed to make sure he had a place to stay and food to eat. Then again, he was pretty comfortable if not downright happy with his life, so he had little to complain about. “Like I said, I could maybe talk to him.” Big and rich didn’t scare him; it was what he was surrounded by practically every day at work.
“Well, it helps that I’m at the bar.” Bartenders only had to remember a handful of drinks at a time, unlike waiters who had to juggle tables full of orders. Mike could tell that she was trying to make him feel a little better about not being good at much, and he couldn’t help but smile at how nice she was being. “It’s okay, Whit. I know what I can’t do. It’s cool.”
Whit gave him a smile, “Thanks.” Truthfully she wasn’t a great conversationalist, so she really wasn’t sure what to say, though she didn’t like hearing someone disparage themselves. However, she didn’t know him well enough to say something really interesting and encouraging, so she just kept her mouth shut.
“So... you should come see us play one Friday. We’re good, and there are usually killer drink specials and pretty girls.” He seemed the kind to be lured in by both. Whit had developed a knack for reading people, but only in that way, because of waiting tables.
Mike grinned. “I think I will when I get the night off!” Drink specials and pretty girls were everywhere when someone worked on the strip, but Mike wasn’t going to pass up the chance to watch a cute girl perform. He finished the last of his beer and held the bottle awkwardly as he scanned the room. “Do you.. recycle or should I just drop it in the trash?”
Dropping the bottle in the bag indicated, Mike turned back to Whit. “I guess I’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks for the beer.” He wiped his hands against his shorts to deal with the condensation before holding it out to Whit. “Let me know if you want me to talk to the guy upstairs, really.” She seemed like a cool girl and Mike didn’t like the idea of some dude scaring her because she was small.
Whitney didn’t recycle. She really didn’t think recycling was important. It was just trash, right? Trash was meant to be easily disposed of, and there were big huge holes for trash to go into. She tossed her own empty into the bag with a satisfying ‘ping’ and then nodded at Mike. “I look forward to you coming. I’ll like, save you a seat or something.” She said it to try to sound like maybe she was more important than she really was, because she somehow thought that might make it come true. She was always full of wishes.
She walked Mike to the door, giving him a nod when he offered to talk to the annoying neighbor. “I will totally keep that in mind!” Her mood had certainly been lifted, and she had a new friend. What more could a girl ask for? As she closed the door, she immediately headed to her bed to pick up her guitar to capture this feeling in song. Maybe this one would be the one that made her famous.