Lillian teaches creative play-doh expression. (uproarious) wrote in mnhttnprjct, @ 2010-03-13 18:24:00 |
|
|||
His third winter in New York hadn't really lent Milo Zhang-Barbashov with any more tolerance of the cold than he'd had when he'd arrived there as an eighteen year old NYU freshman. Stupid cold. Stupid winter. Stupid New York. He liked living in a place where the record low was higher than fifty degrees Fahrenheit. Bundled up in a jacket and pair of gloves with the fingers cut off, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before turning to his companion. "You sure no one's coming?" he asked. They were huddled in the gap between two less-than-stellar buildings in District 5, which had been sitting empty while some developer or another was planning to 'fix them up right.' Since the previous tenants had been mostly upstanding, good-natured immigrants, it only seemed right that well, if they couldn't have it, no one should. Besides, it wasn't as though they were going to burn the whole thing down. Just this garbage can here, which Milo was dousing in gasoline. Work had gone late again, as Fridays often did. And then later. And then Lillian hadn't really wanted to make it home before she ate, so she went ahead and blew a few extra dollars by letting herself eat out at a cheap cafe several blocks away from the school. But now, as she wrapped her coat tight around herself as stomped her way down the dark streets, she was really not so sure it had been a good idea. She had plans to make it to District 2 before bed, trying to help out a small family of Nigerians that her mom had been in touch with. She walked past the building. She knew about this one, and the ones nearby, the ones that had kicked out the foreigners so that rich New Yorkers could come back and live in the area. It pissed her off. She had tried speaking to Mr. Hogett, the owner, about it last week, but he'd just blown her off. Said he knew what he wanted to do, said it was a financial question, but Lillian knew he was lying. She spit at the house, but as stuck her hands further down in her coat, she caught an unmistakable wiff of gasoline fumes. Lillian paused, turning on her heels and staring at the building. She slowly walked around the building, wondering what on earth was going on. For a second, Milo panicked at the sound of approaching footsteps, and the Columbia student who had been helping him took off, thinking it must be the police. Oh, that was right. His dad was a town councilman in Philadelphia or something, and he couldn't afford to get in trouble. It occurred to Milo to run, too, but he was holding a heavy canister of gasoline. And he was already covered in it. So if any reasonably fit cop took off after him, he'd be followed back to his apartment (or wherever) reeking of gas. Great. For all that he claimed to be a fearless rebel, in the face of being caught, he just kind of stood by the garbage can he'd been dousing in gas, holding the canister, and guiltily braced himself for whatever consequences he'd have to face for this action. After his dad had gone back to Lukaya, too, and trusted him not to... you know... get in trouble. He was going to be arrested. For attempted arson. And there went his NYU degree, probably the apartment... Any hope of a decent future. Fuck. Lillian almost called out as she got closer. But instead, she dug in her pocket for her iHolo and held it close. She didn't like the police much. But if it came between calling them or dying, she knew what she'd pick. She crouched a little as she got closer, and kept moving. The smell was getting stronger as she moved closer, and she couldn't help but sneeze. Milo recognized that a sneeze was probably not something that a police officer would do. Even a really girlie police officer wouldn't sneeze like that. At least, not a sneeze that wasn't followed by "Step away from the attempted arson" or something like that. For a moment, his panic subsided slightly and was replaced by curiosity. Most people about to encounter an arson would likely run away. Or go tell the police. What did you do when someone who may be anything from a sympathetic fellow rebel to Rush Limbaugh's demon spawn had stumbled onto your illegal activities? This wasn't something he'd really learned yet. So Milo decided to go for a general 'fear of the man' tactic. "Shh!" he hissed. "Or you'll get us both arrested." Lillian probably should have started walking away, but instead she started walking closer to the sound. She stood up straighter, one hand on her iHolo, and the other on her keys. She knew some self defense. "What are you doing?" she whispered. To be honest, even if Lillian had posed a real threat to Milo's well-being, he probably wouldn't have been able to cause her any harm. More likely, he'd beg her not to say anything to anyone who had the power to get him in trouble. And she didn't actually know who she was, so. Maybe he should have just run for it. "What does it look like I'm doing? Nobody else is coming, right?" She held her iHolo out for a second to get some light on him. He looked about her age, and she could see the can of gasoline in his arms. She quickly shoved her iHolo back into her pocket and got closer, her other hand still with her keys. Just in case he tried something. "Street was empty." She leaned in close. "Just tell me why, maybe I can lookout." She'd just put her phone away. That was a relief, at least. "Look, I was just..." He looked at her for a second, and then raked a gasoline-scented hand through his hair, and pushed his glasses back up on his nose again. "I'm trying to make a statement, and you scared my partner off, he was supposed to be looking. I just don't want to get in trouble, okay? So... we can both just leave, or whatever. No harm done." Except that it smelled here. Well. There was nothing to be done about that now. "What kind of statement?" Lillian looked at the building, trying to not keep her eyes off of Milo for too long while she did it. It was the building she had been thinking of, right? "To asshole Mr. Hogett? For evicting a family that hadn't done anything?" She looked up again. Milo shuffled his feet, not sure of how to answer. On one hand, she had called Hogett an asshole, which was a good sign. But on the other... what if it was a trap? Then it occurred to him that she didn't really need to trap him, even if she was a spy, or the world's youngest girl cop. He was standing with a canister of gasoline, quite clearly about to set this place on fire. If she was a cop, asking him why he was going to burn this place down could happen in her station. "Yeah. And this place has been empty a month, people could be living here. People who need decent housing." So maybe it was counter-productive to burn down decent housing, but it was better than letting yuppies who didn't need it move in. "I know. I tried talking to him last week." There weren't any lights on up there. And while Lillian didn't necessarily condone violence, she could understand what the guy was getting at. A message really needed to be sent. She quietly walked to be able to see the street, paused for a moment, and then came back. "So," she said. "Where's your match?" So startled at not being in trouble that he nearly dropped the near-empty canister of gas, Milo blinked at her for a second, and then set it down. He wasn't really an arson expert, he had just been hoping to throw a lit match in the dumpster and hope the whole thing caught and he could get out of there before anyone noticed something was on fire. "Oh, right," he muttered. He dug into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a box of matches. "Here. You sure you don't want to get out of here?" She looked at the box of matches with a smile. "You're going to let me do the honors?" She took them quickly, holding them close to her. "No, I don't mind doing this. But we probably should get going pretty soon after. I'd love to do some dousing, but I have a feeling finger prints would linger more on a gas can than on a burned match." She held up a match and studied it. It had so much power, just this one little bit of wood. "You got all your things together?" Well. It didn't really matter one way or another to Milo who lit the match, as long as the thing got done. Damn, he was lucky, was all that he could think. It could've been anyone, but at least it was someone sympathetic. He handed her the box, and then turned and tossed the can into the dumpster. It was worth them turning up his prints on it, plus, odds were that it'd be burnt beyond recognition, anyway. "Go ahead," he replied, a little nervously. "Then, let's get out of here." "All right," she said. She looked at him, and then at the building. There was a chance that the owner would tell the police to check her out. Even if her fingerprints weren't found anywhere, she had to have an allibi. "Listen," she said, looking at him. His nervousness worried her a little. "I set this on fire, we turn the corner and go five blocks north. Then we sit at that cafe, you pretend like we know each other, after the cops have been around, we leave. My name is Lill--" She stopped and looked at him, the gasoline shinning from his forehead. "Right," she said. "Uhm, nevermind. Do you have a plan for where you're going to go?" Milo hadn't been nervous, actually, until Lillian had interrupted him. If she was going to set fire to this building, though, she was definitely trustworthy. So, he took a deep breath and nodded his head. "That sounds alright. But we're going to have to... Never mind. Just do it. Now I'm worried someone else will come along." He would've preferred to go back to his apartment and shower, but that couldn't be helped now. "Fuck," she said. She was going to smell like fumes, too. "Please tell me you have a doorman or someone who likes you a whole hell of a lot." The cafe where people knew her was out of the question. Sure, they'd vouch for her being there, but not if she reeked of gasoline. "I'm following you. We can't go anywhere public with you looking like a mechanic." "Got it?" Thankfully, Milo's building didn't have a doorman, and the other people who lived there either sympathized or liked to keep out of such things. Plus, chances they'd run into someone were slim. "My apartment will be fine. I was planning to go back there anyway." He wiped some of the gas off of his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket, and then nodded again. "It's only a few blocks from here." That was part of the reason he'd volunteered to go. "I hope you have friends that can give us an alibi." She hit the match and tossed it at the dumpster. As soon as she saw the smoke, Lillian turned and started walking out the alleyway, slow like. "Come on, mechanic. Show me the way." Her heart was pounding way harder than she had thought it would. This was her first real act of arsony. Mostly she just argued and listened to people call her dirty names. It was a little exhilarating to know that just behind her was a Message. Milo was pretty sure that if anyone thought to suspect them, they were screwed, but he didn't say so. Instead, he followed Lillian out onto the street and, seeing it empty, walked calmly in the direction of his apartment building. "If anyone asks, we were in my apartment, and I was on the phone with my dad. He'll alibi us." Actually. That said, he pulled his own iHolo out of his pocket, dialed the number of the house in Lukaya, and listened to it ring. It was insanely late where his dad was, and this call would cost a fortune, but James Barbashov hardly would care if he thought that his son was doing 'the right thing.' There were six rings before he heard his dad's groggy voice on the other end -- he, of course, didn't have an iHolo in Uganda. "Dad?" he said quickly. "I need you to just leave the phone on, for a while. We don't need to talk. We were talking this evening." Hearing a confused, but muttered agreement, he kept his phone on and turned towards his building. "Okay," Lillian said, her heart still racing as she heard the murmuring on his iHolo. "Sounds great. Great." She needed an alibi. She could remember the way the cops had rushed in on her and her mom, demanding to know where Kimberly Poole had been. And all the rush after her mom had died, trying to make sure that she had everything set up. Having to come up with rumors and lies about how she and her mom hadn't been on good terms when she'd died. How Lillian had moved away to get away from her mom. Don't speak ill of the dead, except when they'd rather her do it to save themselves. She followed Milo close behind, starting to wonder about who he was, what had led him to that building. She wondered if he had been someone her mom might have worked with. What would the chances be? Slim, hardly a chance at all. But still, he'd been doing the sort of thing her mom would have done. "Lovely evening," she said. She could still smell the gasoline, and thought she could smell some smoke behind them. The putrid smell of burning garbage was definitely slightly detectable, but Milo remained calm. This was normal. How was he to know there was anything unusual going on? New York was full of weird smells and noises. He didn't say anything, but that was normal enough for New York, to be silent with your companions. He was walking quickly, as quickly as he could without being conspicuous. Four blocks later, just over the line between District 5 and District 4, he turned up to a red-doored apartment complex, got out his keys, and let them in. Since the apartment was on the fifth floor, he pressed for the elevator, took off his jacket, and looked around. The lobby was empty and he just now realized he had soot on his glasses. "I'm on five," he said. He looked down at his iHolo. The call to Africa was still connected, though no noise was coming from it. He wondered if his dad had gone back to bed and was waiting for him to hang up. The elevator swung open, and he ushered Lillian inside. "We probably won't meet anyone in the hall, it's a bunch of little old ladies with Brooklyn accents living here, mostly." "Okay," she said. She didn't really know what else to say. His apartment was just north of her own. Only a few blocks, really. That made her breathe easier. Once they were inside she'd figure out how they should know each other. They'd decided to hang out, he had needed to make a call to his dad. It was great, it was fine. As long as he showered before any cops came knocking on any doors. But as long as no one had seen them, and as long as he didn't have any prior record, they'd be good. But her door was probably going to get knocked down while she was here sitting with him. "Gotta love little old ladies," she said quietly, following him close. As soon as she could get into his room she did, ready to fall down into the nearest seat-like place, be it a bed or a chair. But her legs were ready to give out under her before she could be polite and wait to be invited to sit anywhere, so she slid to the ground against the door with a weak smile. "Yeah, they never think anything is weird," he responded hollowly. Like Lillian, Milo wasn't sure of what to say. He had never been in trouble before, but considering his status, he was somewhat wary of attracting it. He might as well be a foreign national, according to some, and that wasn't good. Technicalities kept him with a Northeast designation on his NIC, and that was something he had to be grateful for. As he hung up his coat and offered to take hers, too, he heard a voice coming from his iHolo. "Milo, are you going to tell me why you're making me wait on the phone all this time? It's late and this is costing me a fortune." "Right, no, I just need you to say we were on the phone if anyone asks, Dad. I've got a friend over. You can go back to bed now." The total length of the phone call had been fifteen minutes. That should've been fine. They were in apartment and on the phone. "Sorry about that," he said to Lillian, and awkwardly gestured that he'd take her coat." Lillian stared at Milo's iHolo, even if a face wasn't being projected from it. It was understandable that some people preferred their privacy, so she didn't blame them. But as the person complained about the call costing a fortune, she couldn't keep a perplexed look off of her face. "Good thinking," she said, awkwardly shrugging her coat off from her place on his floor. She stood, putting her coat on the hanger herself. "No offense," she said. "I just don't want to take a chance at getting gasoline on my coat." She chewed on her lip for a moment before taking a step back. "I have a feeling I'm going to have some nice officers with some long questions at my place when I go back." "Oh. Right. I forgot I'm covered in it." He shrugged sheepishly. He hoped that his companion wasn't already running to the cops, and on second thought, he sent him a quick text saying, "Did it, everything's fine. Just stay cool." Then, he pulled off his shirt and walked off to his bedroom to take off his clothes. After putting on a clean shirt and pair of jeans, as well as washing his hands, he returned to the living room. "Sorry. I wanted to change. But. I should probably introduce myself. I'm Milo." She watched him as he texted, and then left. She took some deep breaths and tried to relax against the door. Everything would be fine. As long as he wasn't some well known arsonist.... She opened her eyes as he walked back in. "Don't worry about it," she said. "I can only imagine." She stood and held her hand out. "I'm Lillian. Listen, I hate to be asking all sorts of questions, but I don't know how new you are to this. Do you have a washer here? Or at least some soap and a hair dryer? Because you don't want to take a risk..." She chewed on her lip again, pulling some of her hair behind her ear. "At least, I'm assuming you don't want to take a risk." Milo had put his dirty clothes in his hamper, and honestly, he couldn't help but wonder if it was better to leave them there or wash them right now. He could do laundry now, he had enough. But would it be suspicious to start doing laundry right now? Especially with her here. How many people did laundry with a friend over? He wiped his brow with his wrist. "No, I'll do laundry once you leave. There's a washer in the basement. But I don't think anybody will be coming here." He paused. Then, he sat down on his couch and took a deep breath. "I mean, unless someone saw us. But it's late, most people aren't around right now." Off in the distance, he could hear sirens going off. He wondered how long it would be before the fire fighters realized that the fire hadn't been an accident, and if there would be any leads whatsoever. The kid from Columbia had text him back, but it was a useless message. Sorry I bailed, man. Yeah, thanks a lot. "All right." She walked a little closer and, trepidatiously, sat on his couch. "Your call. Just know that if I get home and I've got company, I'm telling them I was here. At least, I thought I had made that clear." She squeezed her knees. "I'm not saying that I will be a suspect, just saying it's a possibility that I'm not going to rule out. But hopefully they won't show up till tomorrow, when that ugly landlord tells them I've been bothering them. I just have a feeling they're going to want to talk to me." Not just because she'd been bothering that guy. But if they looked up her mother's record... She looked over at Milo. "So, we're friends now. I'm Lillian Poole, 20. Work at a pre-school. Teach French and creative Play-Dough expression." "I don't think anybody saw us, so even if they do bug you about it, you were with me." He took off his sooty glasses, finally, and set them down on the coffee table. He laughed a little at creative Play-Dough expression. "Milo Zhang-Barbashov. I'm 20, almost 21, and I'm a student at NYU," he said. What else was there to say about himself? Also, I like burning down buildings, the smell of gasoline, and making my dad lie to alibi me when I'm committing arson. "Thanks." It was good to hear him say directly that he wouldn't care if she said she was with him. Milo Zhang-Barbashov. So, that wasn't going to be an easy name to remember. Milo Zhang-Barbashov. Milo Zhang-Barbashov "Fun. Student. Couldn't get interested in upper education. Just did the time I had to, then I got out." She tapped her fingers along her knees, unsure of what else to say. She was glad she'd gotten a laugh out of him. "So... Your dad. Where does he live..?" Milo knew he did have a difficult name. He remembered being taught how to write it, years and years ago, and working so hard to master the cursive Z. Then not having enough spaces for his whole name on his O-levels and A-levels. It was a pain. He'd wanted to drop the 'Zhang' bit for years, but since his mother had died, he felt as though it would be a betrayal of her. They'd barely known each other when she'd been alive. The least he could do was keep her name now that she was dead. He wondered how apparent it had been that his dad lived abroad, frowned, and looked at his iHolo again. "He lives in Uganda. Tomorrow, he'll be mad, I bet. It's like four in the morning there." It wasn't even that he was obviously living abroad, but mostly for the sake of conversations. But Lillian couldn't help but raise her eyebrows at Milo. Uganda? He didn't look African. And he certainly wasn't in any district that catered to refugees or foreigners. She wondered what his story was. Maybe he was a local. "That's pretty far," she said. She didn't know if it was right to ask questions. She pretty much knew what she needed to know, when someone asked her questions. And she understood that some people liked their lives private. Like she did. "The good thing about it being pretty far is that no one's going to drag him back here for any reason. It'd probably take three days just to get him back here," Milo explained. He didn't really have problems with answering questions, but he wasn't sure of how much she really wanted to know. Well, if they were going to pretend to be friends (were they actually friends now?), she should actually know something about him. "He works for Doctors Without Borders, we used to both live there, but I came back to go to school." If she'd just helped burn down that building, she probably wouldn't judge him for being a foreign national, but nevertheless, it always helped to clarify. "I mean, I'm an American citizen. I was born here." He was a little nervous. He was always afraid about judgment. "That's good to know," she said, crossing her ankles and looking down at them. She stretched her arms out and then looked at him. "Doctors Without Borders. That's pretty cool." She drummed her fingers on her knees again. "So you came before, or after?" The bomb, of course. What else was there? "I don't care what you are," she said. "I mean, if you were a foreigner I'd be wondering why you were living here. But it's cool, either way. My mom was born in Canada. I mean, she relinquished her citizenship before I was ever born. But still. It's not like being born American makes anyone more of a person anyway. I'm not like that." Milo coughed, more out of thoughtfulness than necessity. It was good to hear, at least, that she didn't care. Because he didn't. "I don't care either. Obviously," he added quickly. "But some people tend to look at me and say, 'well, you're not a real American,' so I'm never sure how people are going to react. My birth certificate says I am one, that's good enough for me. Most of the assholes I know are from America, anyway." He paused, pondering how to answer her question. He had come after the bomb, but the bomb was a sticky topic of conversation, because of his mother's death. It still bothered him that he didn't really know what had happened to her, though if she were alive, they surely would've heard. "I moved back after the bomb. To go to NYU." "Cool." She said. She was getting tired, and she had school in the morning. She knew she needed to be refreshed and ready for any questions, or to simply just make it through another day dealing with kids who didn't understand discipline. "Well, I better go." She stood up. "Better head home, take a shower and all of that." She started taking a few steps to get her coat and pulled it over her body. She paused, looking at Milo for a minute. "Thanks for letting me join you in your little project." It hadn't occurred to Milo that she'd leave so soon, but it was late. And he had class in the morning, though he was more than used to being a zombie through it, when he had late nights out of necessity. "No problem," he said, shrugging. What did you say about impromptu arson? 'It's been fun?' They hadn't really even had time to appreciate the fun. Milo had spent most of their time together nervous. "Oh, yeah. If we're friends, we should have each others' numbers." He handed her his iHolo, indicating that she should put her own number in. "Put your number in, and I'll call you." "Oh, yeah." She hadn't even thought about that. "Good call." She took his iHolo and typed in her number, handing it back to him. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her own phone, ready to get his number. "Let me know when you get the urge next time," she said with a smile. "Only I think you ought to be more prepared. Little less leaking gasoline all over, or in your hair." Milo frowned and ran a hand over his hair. It wasn't his fault that he apparently wasn't very good at arson. "I've never done anything this size before. And my partner bailed when you came. So. Practice, I guess?" He dialed her number, and let it pick up so that she would have his. She accepted his call, a weak smile on her face as his image popped up off of her phone, although he was right in front of her. "Milo Zhang-Barbashov." She typed his name in. "Practice makes perfect. From play-dough to arson." She pocketed her phone. "I guess I'll see you around, Milo." She walked to the door, opened it, and gave him a small wave. "'Bye." |