Alexa says you can call me Al (runawaygirl) wrote in mnhttnprjct, @ 2010-05-17 21:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, alexa weber, jameson forbes-hill |
Who: Alex Weber and Jameson Forbes-Hill
Where: A Fast Food Restaurant in NYC
When: Monday May 17 around Lunchtime.
What: Alex is scamming something to eat and Jameson is still contemplating quitting his day job.
Rating/Status: PG/Logged/Complete
It was funny, really. Back in Mississippi, Alex had shoplifted a few times with friends, but nothing serious. Now it had become something of a survival technique, only a million times more difficult with all the cameras and surveillance available in most places now. It meant she had to target the little mom and pop places, which she hated doing, but they weren't as well protected. Not that she stole that much... a pair of socks or a tube of toothpaste. Maybe some Power Bars. It helped that she'd found ways to get around not having much money. Bottle deposits were one. She'd found that especially on the university campuses she could rummage through the recycling bins and get a couple of bucks, even if they were just five cents a can. She'd asked people for money on the street too. A surprising amount of people were willing to give a girl an extra fifty cents to finish buying her subway fare. It wasn't that hard to get enough to at least buy food. Shelter well, that wasn't something she thought about much. She spent her days in public places where she could stay as long as possible. The public library, for example, was free, and it had a nice family bathroom where she could lock the door and wash up in the sink, even wash her hair and use the hot air dryer to dry it somewhat so it wouldn't look too suspicious. If she went during the right time of day no one bothered her, and she could use the computers or sit for hours in the reading room in the air conditioning. There were malls, fast food restaurants, coffee shops. A bagel was inexpensive and she could get a cup of water and sit for hours and no one would bother her usually. It was almost scary how fast she'd learned, by necessity, once Trey left. But that didn't make the nights any easier. The safest place she'd found was up under one of the highway overpasses. There were a bunch of kids there. Usually fifteen or twenty, not always the same ones. Sometimes in groups, some alone. She'd befriended a couple of the boys, Carlos for one, and for the most part they left her alone as she curled up with her back against the concrete and waited for morning. It was ridiculous to say she slept. Because if she did it was only for little bits at a time. Sleep could come later, on her blanket in Central Park in the relative safety of daylight, or curled up on a bus bench like she was waiting for her ride. It wasn't perfect, but nothing was anymore. One way she'd found was a certainty to get food was to hang around the fast food restaurants, order something cheap, and then keep an eye out for a lady with kids or an older person who left food on their tray. She'd offer to help put it in the garbage for them, then stuff the uneaten food (sometimes half a sandwich, or the apple slices the kids got in their Happy Meals, or a yogurt, whatever) in the front pocket of her bag and take it out once she was back outside and eat it. It was disgusting, yes, but people just wasted stuff, and she was hungry enough usually not to care. She was always careful to mix the places up. Her greatest fear was being caught doing something and sent back to Mississippi to the home, or even to jail. It was why on her blog she never showed her face, not wanting anyone to know who exactly she was. Today she waited till the lunch rush, then headed into a place near the park, thinking she'd go over there after she was done. She made the queue, studying the menu carefully and figuring out how much money she had in her pocket and what else she might need it for today. When she reached the front of the line, she didn't really look the boy behind the counter in the eye, instead studying the board. "Um. One of those saver menu chicken sandwiches, please?" She'd heard the "chicken" in them was nothing but minced chicken mixed with seaweed and fat then recomposed into something resembling a patty, but who was she to complain. Her hand was already in her pocket, and she counted out her change carefully as she waited for him to ring her up. "And a courtesy cup?" She could snag someone else's cup from their tray and get a free "refill" before she left. Every day, Jameson found that he got just a little bit more tired of New York. Of the entire sodding country actually. But that wasn't anything new. He woke up thinking the same thing every day, and nothing changed by the time he went to sleep that night in his tiny flat that never ever would a Forbes-Hill supposed to be caught living in. Except, Jameson didn't really have the luxury of still living in England, did he? An exchange program and that stupid bomb had messed all that right up for him. And that meant he wasn't rich anymore. At least not until he got back (and he had to believe one day he was going to get back because, otherwise, what was the point of college?). But since he wasn't rich anymore, that meant he had to work. Usually, that wasn't a problem for Jameson; he had no issues with actually working to earn what he had. The problem for Jameson was in the fact that in New York, being from another country wasn't the best thing in the world, even if that country was England, and the best job he could manage for himself was in that of a fast food restaurant. The other problem was that the people who usually came into fast food restaurants had a tendency to be picky, demanding, indecisive and entitled. Needless to say, none of that really sat very well with Jameson, especially as he was usually the one suffering in those situations. But he'd gotten used to it. Or he pretended very well. One of those two. And the only thing that kept him from telling most of those people just what he was thinking about the situation was the fact that he actually needed this. He needed to keep this job so that he could pay for that utterly shitty flat in District 2 that he'd bought for himself, and he needed this job to buy the food in his refrigerator, and to try to save -- though really how much can you actually save when just about all of his paychecks went to rent and food? -- for the rather large loan he was accumulating to attend Columbia every semester full time. Therefore he was stuck with this less than desirable job that came with a horribly coloured shirt and hat, so he was used to it. Mostly. When the girl first stepped up to the counter, Jameson gave her a look over as he did most people, thinking that she was a bit... off. Most people at least gave him a look to make sure he was paying attention to take their orders right before directing their attention to the menu. Even still, Jameson decided that he really didn't care all that much. A lot of people came in and out of here everyday, one weird girl didn't make a difference in the grand scheme of things, really. Pressing the accurate buttons, he rang her order up, figuring from the look of her she wouldn't possibly be ordering anything else if she wanted a courtesy cup. "That would be $1.13." "Umm. Okay." She slid her money across the counter, having forgotten about the tax yet again, and she dug out an extra five cents and gave it to him as well. "And can I get some mayo packets with that? Like, a couple of them?" It was gross, yes, but free. She left her hand in her pocket, using her other to brush her shaggy hair out of her eyes, as she waited for him to put her order together. She finally looked at him and gave him a crooked smile, noting as she did that he looked disgruntled and like he didn't want to be here, which she wasn't really sure she could blame him for. Her second week in the city she'd tried to apply at a Taco Bell and faltered when the application had asked her address. They'd refused to take it without one, and she'd been left with the sinking realization that nearly every place was going to be like that. Jameson took the change, noting that her method in payment consisted entirely of change as he did so and put the money in the registering, handing her back the pennies she was entitled to along with the receipt. He was well overdue for a lunch break, he decided, not actually returning the girl's smile, but making the slight effort to look at least a tiny bit more pleasant. After all, she hadn't actually done anything to him to deserve a glare, had she? At least not yet; there was still the entire time until she got her sandwich and left the building for that. He was grateful, however, when he saw her order and placed it in the bag along with napkins and the mayonnaise she'd asked for. Sliding it across the counter, he'd reached under for the courtesy cup she'd asked for. "Enjoy your meal." It was said in a less than authentic way, but that was something he couldn't actually help. There were still two people behind her in line and once he got rid of them, he could have his break. "Thanks." She took the bag and the cup from him, then turned away to the beverage station, where she filled the cup with ice water and then went to find a place to sit in the crowded restaurant. There was an elderly woman just getting up, and she quickly hurried to set down her own food on the woman's table, smiling at her in a friendly way, and offering to take her tray to the trash for her. Once the woman was gone, she slipped the half full carton of fries off it and dumped the rest in the trash, stopping for ketchup before sitting back down at her table. She set her backpack in between her feet so no one would take it and then slowly unwrapped the somewhat unappetizing looking sandwich and tore open a mayo packet with her teeth. Not too bad, and she could probably get something to have for dinner on the way out. Jameson had taken the orders of the next two people almost simultaneously with their quickness and was waiting for the orders to be finished as he caught sight of the girl from less than five minutes ago. And, apparently, he had good timing, because it was just in time to see her taking the chips of some old lady who was on her way out of the place. Which just added to her oddness in his opinion. When it was added to the fact that the girl had asked for a courtesy cup, ordered one of the cheapest thing on the menu, and paid for it all in change, there was an obvious conclusion to come to. And Jameson was going to decide it wasn't any of his business. The chips had been headed into the rubbish bin anyway, and as long as she hadn't actually tried to get it out of him in a way that would be his fault and possibly jeopardize his job, he wasn't going to force himself to. And, anyway, she apparently had a routine down. Great for her. Of course, then he found himself still thinking about it as he put together each of the orders and handed them to their food and - with no line having reformed while he wasn't paying attention - put in his own. He probably wasn't going to even eat it; after the first week working in the place, he'd gotten tired of it. But really wasn't the point of the matter. It was free and gave him about forty-five minutes to not deal with people. His own food made, he came through the door for employees and considered sitting in his own usual corner seat where no one bothered him, not even his own co-workers. But then his gaze caught the girl again and after a moment he found himself moving in her direction before taking a seat across from her. "So does that work every time?" He asked nonchalantly as he unwrapped his sandwich before giving her a pointed look. Alex was eating a french fry and thinking she missed the days when they were hot instead of cold when he spoke to her. She looked up, surprised someone was addressing her, not really being used to it anymore, and she blushed, automatically setting the fry down as if he was going to take it away. "Sometimes," she said after a moment. "I mean, she was going to throw it out anyway." She felt uncomfortable and embarrassed, but also a bit angry, not at him, but at the situation. Did he really think she liked eating other people's cast offs? Her surprise was a bit amusing, he could admit to himself, even if the underlining situation itself wasn't. There was the fact that really, honestly, if that family he'd been staying with hadn't been kind enough to let him keep staying with them, he'd have been facing a completely different situation right now. He knew that without a doubt. There'd be no ridiculously small flat, no job, no Columbia. And he was always going to be grateful to them for that because they really didn't have to. At her answer, he only shrugged. "Waste not, want not, isn't that what they say?" He took a bite out of his sandwich. All right, yeah, okay, he spent fifteen years of his life in typical spoiled rich kid fashion, but five years on the other side sort of put a lot of things in perspective and he wasn't going to pretend it hadn't. Looking at her, he wondered how old she was. A couple of years younger than him at least, give or take. "Something like that." Alex regarded him warily for a moment before going back to eating her food, eating quickly because she was hungry. She kept her eyes on her food until she reached for her drink, then looked up at him, not sure if the conversation was over or if they were still talking. He looked about her age maybe. Maybe a little older. Cute. The thought made her nearly smile before she shook it off. Most of that was probably because he was clean and not likely carrying a gun under that ugly shirt. She wondered when she'd stopped looking at boys as something to like and started looking at them as something to potentially fear. "You aren't going to turn me in to the trash police are you? I hear there's a hot market now for recycled old food. Compost or something." "Never fear. The trash police will have to catch you on their own," he replied, the amusement a bit more easily readable on his face. Not that he was enjoying himself, really. He just found it a bit funny. Still, not the situation itself. It hit just a tad close to his own could-have-beens to actually be really funny. The "funny" was in the way this conversation was seemingly going. He wasn't going to outright ask what he already knew, though, because he'd never really seen the point in that. What good is asking the questions you know the answer when there are questions you don't? That was just how he'd always seen it. "I've never been a tattletale. Not going to start now, either." At worst, the manager would probably "suggest" she not come in anymore. And, there was no point in that. "Thanks," she said. "I hear they're really vicious, those trash police. They like, shove you in the can and you're never heard from again." She took another bite of her sandwich, nearly finishing it off, then wiped her fingers on her napkin. "So tell me," she said. "Do I have any competition? I hear that, like, some of those old guys with the shopping carts will do anything for one of these." She indicated not the sandwich, but the packets of mayonnaise. "Don't mention it." That was honestly how Jameson felt. It wasn't actually doing something out of the kindness of his heart if it was a part of actually following his opinions. "Might have to be more careful, then. Can't have me not tattling just for you to go end up there anyway." He went for his chips then, sans ketchup; he didn't much like the stuff, especially too much of it. There was a half-eaten fry still in his mouth at her question, and still ever so amused, he smiled just slightly. Who'd have ever guessed that he'd find someone who didn't annoy him in a homeless girl he'd caught with someone else's leftovers? "I don't go giving my mayonnaise packets to just anyone, you know." Alex half smiled and caught herself before she laughed. "Wow. I feel special then. Really, you have no idea." It felt... odd to laugh. She couldn't remember when she'd done it for a while. She took the last bite of her sandwich and balled up the wrapper before she put it in the bag with the rest of her trash. She hesitated a moment before looking back over at the boy. "I'm Al." "I have that affect." Jameson stated, though he wasn't being incredibly serious. Especially not here. He usually couldn't get past the feeling of I-don't-want-to-be-here. Maybe he was just putting things in a bit perspective. Or something. No idea, really. He hadn't actually expected them to get to a point where introducing themselves would have been a step to take, and was definitely surprised when she'd told him her name, or nickname he assumed. Even still he gave her a slight nod and simply said, "Jameson." She gave him a little half wave, not really sure what else, exactly to say. She had never been the best at making friends, and this was... she had to be suspicious of everyone's motives, even the nice ones, because she had no idea who she could trust or what they might want from her in return. She'd seen those stupid after school specials, it wasn't like she didn't know what could happen to her every night she was out on the streets alone. "Well, thanks anyway," she said. "I mean. You know." "Yeah, don't mention it," Jameson replied with another nod of acknowledgment. There was a huge possibility, with NYC being a huge city and all, that he'd never see her again unless she deliberately came there, and he was pretty all right with that. A lot had changed about him in the past few years, and one of those things was his lack of desire to actually make friends. he had every intention of getting back home as soon as the option was made available to him, so he didn't really see the point in forming any attachments. Alexa stood up and put everything on her tray, heading for the trash. "Guess I'll see you around. Maybe." It was odd to just up and leave but there really wasn't any reason to stay. Maybe she'd come back some time and see if he was around again. For the mayo packets naturally. She nearly rolled her eyes at herself at that. "Right. Maybe." He took another bite out of his sandwich, more than marginally sure that it would also be his last, and ate another chip. He didn't really have any actual expectations on that and was pretty much okay with it. Right now, he was going to finish his break and eventually get back to work. After the past weekend, he was just glad the semester was over and he hadn't had to worry much about in the way of anything vital being ruined. Small favour, that. He very nearly scoffed. Had he mentioned how much he hated New York as of late? "Yeah." She gave him another little wave as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder and went out the door. She was already down the block when she realized she'd forgotten to scavenge for something to eat for later. Well, she supposed it made it easier to go back at some point. |