Re: The Jaded/The Disaffected
Emil didn't care if the train started or stayed stopped. It made no difference to his day, the view out the window was the same, moving or at a standstill. Didn't much care about the destination either. He was here and day by day was the practical way to deal with life. It would happen day by day whether you obsessed over destination or origin point. Snow was cold and it was wet. Wasn't a whole lot more to it than that. The people clambering off the train to throw cold wet stuff at one another wore waterproof shoes and warm gloves. Same kind of people who got birthday cards delivered at station stops.
The guy coughed. Insolently. Emil knew all the ways you could turn something around and make it obnoxious, but props, guy. Insolent on first try. He didn't open up the sugar-pink envelope right away, tossed it on the polished surface designed for signing postcards or licking stamps or something where it skidded toward the guy and focused right on with H and I. Two reasons. One, to max out the opportunities. One card was better than none, but lower probability than several. Getting caught was dumb, but the guy didn't count as 'caught'. He was leaning, watching. Emil felt the weight of the guy's gaze on the back of his neck, where the hair was fine and dark. Two, he figured it was worth seeing the guy's reaction. Put it back? Take it himself? It amped things up from watching. He had an opportunity to put G back in the stack, restore order, give whoever G was back their birthday thrill.
This was probably why the law knew his name. Emil wasn't much of a watcher. He wasn't much of a seeker either, trouble found him frequently enough he didn't need to go looking. The other part, that found him too. The guy's tone was soggy in sarcasm. Which was probably the only reasonable reaction, good job, guy. He didn't rise, but Emil hadn't scraped particularly hard either. He looked at the envelope on the shiny polished surface and then the guy, who probably bought full-price tickets. Or Mommy did. Daddy. Whomever.
"You asking if it's my first time?" Emil made it provocative. Like the not-really pick-up line. Arched one eyebrow. "Yeah." Deadpan. "I'm working my way through the list. Mail fraud came up, alphabetically speaking." He took I from the mail-slot with surprisingly gentle care and started flicking. "You can stand there. Call somebody. Write a fan-letter to the band if you want. You the kind who watches?" Deliberately. Ice slid upward, rested on the guy's face.