Outside the Starbucks
I was down in the Bronx earlier today, meeting up with DJ to discuss dinner plans for Friday. It sounds like it will just be him, his wife, Michael, and me because Hannah can't make it: her youngest is sick with the flu, poor thing. She's promising to come up, with or without the brood, to see the new place some other time. Now I need to break out my cookbooks and find something appropriately impressive for a family visit - more importantly, something they haven't already eaten at my table!
On the way home, I stopped at a Starbucks on a whim, intending to read my Times out in the nice day we're having. I ended up nearly running over some scruffy street kid and then having a little talk with her. When it turned political, she seemed to lose interest. She glazed over and left pretty quickly. That's what I get for trying to engage the younger generation in the important matters of the day!
Still, I hope she'll be okay, living out on the streets like that. Maybe I should have found her a place in a shelter. If I'm back there again, I'll see if I can find her and help her out. It's only the right thing to do, after all.
5/4/2005
Logfile from Leah.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bronx
Definitely not a section of New York to be missed, Bronx County widely-known and appreciated, yet attempts to maintain a somewhat humble air, nevertheless. A highly environmentally conscious community, it hosts the famous Bronx Zoo, miles of parks, and abounding artistic expression that has attracted the interest of even Twain and Poe, over the years. Various buildings compose the community amid the carefully planned landscaping, mostly libraries and old brick business building, although residential facilities are dotted here and there for those with a careful eye. Although it's still relatively close to the inner city, the air seems much cleaner here, especially in the summer outdoor concerts held in the parks annually.
--
It's mid-day, when the sun is at it's peak. People move to and fro in the usual rush of traffic, though one corner of the street just outside the Starbucks isn't as busy. It's here that a form can be found, slouched against the side wall. Knees are hugged to Vaye's chest, a cup lays beside her and her backpack just off to the other side. Her hands are busy with something held before her; this a tiny packet that she's currently attempting to work her way into.
Leah is just coming out of the Starbucks, a vente cup in one hand, a folded newspaper in the other, and her eyes on the latter and not on, well, her surroundings. She doesn't exactly hit that backpack, but one of her feet come awfully close, close enough that she stumbles as if in anticipation, and curses. "--God. Sorry."
It's an important thing to Vaye - that backpack. Important enough that the small papper packet is dropped and Vaye launches forward to secure her 'pack out of harms way. A glare is shot upwards, fixing upon Leah, though it
disappears within a few short seconds. "Should watch yourself." Offered lightly before Vaye reclaims the small papper packet. With it finally in hand, she's able to rip the sealer-top, depositing two yellow pills in the
palm of one hand. One is quickly downed, the other slipped into the pocket of her hoodie.
--
Vaye
Standing at a not-so average height of 5'1, with a slender build and proportions to match, Vaye definitely won't stand out in any crowd. Her looks are classical, not quite a breath taking beauty but by no means is she
ugly. Well kept brows form a subtle arch above Vaye's big eyes, these a pale shade of hazel and beneath her eyes is a small and round nose. Her cheeks hold fullness to them, lacking definition and high-bones alike and a pointed
chin offers a soft finish to her facial features. Vaye's hair is a warm shade of golden brown with highlights of darker red and brown mixed within and reaches to just below her shoulders and looks just slightly unkempt. A
slender neck leads to proportioned curves and limbs, enhancing her small frame and youthful look.
Worn atop a sport-cut, ribbed white tank top is a dark blue hoodie, half zipped to show the scooped neckline of her tank top and the pendant dangling from the necklace worn about her neck. A brown leather belt is pulled through the loops of her stone-washed, hip-hugger jeans, while white and silver shoes adorn her feet, partially hidden beneath the flare cuffs of her jeans.
--
A halt, a squint: Leah leaves off distracted (and distracting, obviously) paper-skimming to stare down at the younger woman. Perhaps it's the pills that catch her attention, or it's just that midday sun, but her response is genuinely mild, between strangers: "Yeah, well, it happens. I said I was sorry. Did I break anything?"
--
Leah
Short, coarse, and alive with coppery glints, plush bronze hair softens this thirtyish woman's stubbornly plain appearance. The layered sweep caps broad peasant features that sharpen at nose and chin; fair skin fans faint lines from the corners of her thin mouth and of eyes the pale brown of drifted winter leaves. Middling tall and robustly built, she embodies sturdiness with studied movements and considered alto words dulled by a voluptuous Brooklyn accent.
She wears with assurance a hunter-green pants suit, its jacket twice-buttoned with round agate-brown over an open-collared white blouse. Darker brown shines dully as low-heeled leather boots under the tapered slacks' cuffs; brighter are the tiger-eye beads strung around her neck and the golden studs in her earlobes.
--
"Hope not." Vaye states as she snags her pack and pulls it open. A myriad of flashlights are drawn out - large, small and in between alike. An old pair of clothes, a book or two and even a cd-player. Finally though, Vaye shakes her head and pushes everything back into the pack. "Doesn' look like it, fortunately for you." Lifting the pack, grabbing her drink and standing, Vaye turns her attention back to Leah, "Don't know how to walk or is it your thing?" Posed lightly - not malignantly or even harshly, more akin to a light jab at the other.
Leah creases a small smile at that. "Sometimes. Depends on how much caffeine I've had." She gestures briefly with her cup even as her eyes trace over the pack as if to consider again all the goodies inside. "You camping out here, or what?" she finally ripostes.
"Something like that," Vaye offers with a faint tilt of her chin forward. "Sleep where I can when I find a safe enough spot. Flashlights help keep away the spooks." Meant figuratively, as in spooks of the night and creatures therein, though it finds Vaye giving Leah a curious enough regard, "Nothin' in it worth stealing though." Defensive at it's base, it finds Vaye gripping her pack just a smidgen tighter, "Not worth the effort either."
Leah stays mild, even amused; her stance has shifted to hipshot casual. "Do I look like a mugger? Or a--" hesitation on the word, tasting it, testing it "--spook?"
A corner of Vaye's lips quirk upward in a showing of amusement, "You really think you can judge by looks 'round here?" A tiny, tiny flicker of her hand toward Leah - with a more intrusive study upon reactions - finds Vaye adding, "Can't trust anything you see. Or anyone. Always gotta be on the look out." And it wasn't just her paranoia speaking either.
Leah appears to consider this proposition soberly, and some dark emotion scuttles through her expression: brow furrows, lips tighten. "You're right about that," she grants. "All manner of freaks and -- well, /you/ know. But I'm not, and I have no interest in your gear, I swear." Brief humor: "I have my own flashlights at home."
Vaye obligingly tilts her head forward, with a toothy smile surfacing through. "'course I know. I'm out here every day, all day." And by look alone, she was getting tired of it. Leaning as casually against the wall as she can, Vaye sips at her cup, draining some of the coffee within. A grimace or two later, Vaye casually asks, "So you're not a freak, a spook or.. a thief. What are you?" Poised lightly, yet again with a small smile. See? She's not so bad.
Leah isn't, either, but then -- appearances, as the girl said. "Just a worker getting by, like everyone else," she responds and perhaps edges closer to the table or at least a chair there. "I'm in journalism. You?"
"Street rat. For now at least." Vaye offers willingly enough. "Trying to find a spot. Maybe a job if I ever get around to it." But if one were to take in the scraggly appearance of clothes and hair alike, it's not all that likely. "So what sorts of stories you write about? Anything interesting?"
Leah says, "Not really. Politics, the state of the nation, that kind of thing."
"Politics," Vaye repeats with a twist of her lips, "That's one to stay away from. People got their say, y'know. Always blunt about it too. Pro this... anti that.." Another sip of her coffee ensues, another grimace and a sharp intake of breath before, "You got your side or you the kind that likes to 'float'?"
Leah takes a moment for scrutiny and analysis. Scruffy street kid, with flashlights to ward off spooks . . . hmm. Her answer is perhaps more temporized that it might have been (or perhaps not; the caffeine might be kicking in). "Sure, I have sides on all kinds of issues. Depends on the issue. Whaddya got?"
"Whatever you've got." Vaye sportily returns, "Thefts... places of town to stay out of. What's goin' on with the state of the world.. y'know, the news of the day." Dropping her gaze to the paper, Vaye briefly inclines a hand, "Y'mind? Didn' get to check my horoscope." And clearly, it was important to her.
"Oh. Sure, have at it." Leah drops the paper onto the table and then herself into a chair at it. Might as well get comfortable. She crosses her legs and takes a longer pull of her coffee. "Well, let's see. Thefts, places to stay out of? Hell, that's half the town, depending on the time of night and the cut of your clothing." She eyes Vaye dubiously. "You might fit in, or they might roll you and move on to the next victim. Flashlights aren't any help there, I'm afraid."
"'course it is," Vaye states simply as she shuffles her covered cup of coffee into the crook of her elbow. Taking the paper, Vaye's gaze briefly scans the front page, looking for notes of interest. Though Leah's later statements gain a pause and Vaye's gaze fixing back upon the older womans, "You'd be surprised what help a little light is. Then again there's always back-up plans. Flashlights aren't all I got." Cryptic at best, though it finds Vaye scanning the inner portions of the paper.
Leah snorts. "I should /hope/ so. A gun? --Not that I'm going to turn you over to the police if you do have one. We do what we have to; not everyone has the Secret Service following /them/ around." She shakes her head, mouth crimped anew at that thought. "Anyway, if you've lasted this long, you're probably fine. But . . . do your parents know? I mean, that you're here and so on--"
Finished with what she wanted of the paper, Vaye hands it back to Leah. Though with it free from her hands, something else comes into place. The brief flick of her wrist is the only tell, and the blade that comes is anything but a gun. "Knives... Knive, actually. Just the one." A quickly flashed smile that soon disappears, as does the blade. "'course they say you're more likely to get stabbed by 'em then you are to use 'em in defense." Shrugging the notion away, Vaye just as easily shrugs the later question away. "Doubt they'd care. Been gone for a while now."
Leah, to her credit, starts only a little at the knife's flash, and she accepts the paper back with relative aplomb. "I see," she says to all of the above. "And where are you staying?"
"Streets. Don't know where tonight, but I'll find a place." Vaye responds with a slightly uncomfortable shrug. The first to surface, and likely to be the last with the half step back from Leah that Vaye takes. "Listen. You thinkin' about doing a story and all that...don't. 's nothing special about me. There's other kids out here...some got it worse off. 'sides, I doubt I'll be staying long."
Leah doesn't snort again, but her expression and tone are clear enough: puh-leeze. "Not my specialty," quips she. "There are other, better reporters on that human-interest crap. I stick to the high-level issues, the meatier the better, and kids on the street is pretty slim pickings."
"Meatier the better?" Vaye returns with a small grin, "You're one 'v those types who do the reports on the freaks, aren't you?" With the question comes a knowing nod, "Tryin' to make it to the big time by gettin' all the angles you can. 's the meatiest stuff I know of at least. Unless I'm wrong?"
Leah stays casual. "Well, mutants /are/ the newsmakers these days, wouldn't you say? Gotta follow the trends, give the people what they want to see and read. I've done a few stories, yes, and my opinion's been out there. It's a free country, and I want to keep it that way."
"Free?" Vaye counters with a small tilt of her head, "For who? Them?" A sarcastic question with a too amused lift of her lips in a broad smile, "Y'really think it should stay that way?"
"'Them'?" Leah repeats. "For everyone, ideally. This is America, not Cold War Russia or China. I worry about what could go wrong; I'm not alone in that."
"So you think they should all be free? Running around, doing their thing?" Innocence lost, it's now a serious regard that pins Leah, "You know what they do? They're killers. Get inside your head, fu** with your thoughts... your feelings..." Pausing, Vaye openly studies Leah, "You're one of 'em, aren't you? One of the freaks."
Leah's voice slams down like a metal wall. "/No./ I'm human." She simmers briefly and then finds slow, staunch words again. "I think /we/ should be free from the kind of terror: freaks, killers, users, abusers. That's what I meant. Look, you know that old quote about my freedom stopping where yours begins? /That's/ it, right there, with mutants. Their freedom is too much, too dangerous. Anything can happen with that kind of power. Anything."
"So what would you want done with 'em?" Vaye asks curiously, "Y'got a point. I mean.. they're dangerous. Killers. Freaks. Can't live with'm. We try to wipe 'em out and well... you know what'll happen, don't you?" Studying Leah closely, Vaye takes a small step closer. But it's casual. As casual as, "Humans gotta protect their own, right?"
Leah relaxes somewhat, tilting back in her chair with a shrug. "I'm not a politician; I'm sure they're studying the proper ways and means on that question. Right now, the Registration Act makes sense to me. At least we can keep track of them -- not in any intrusive way, mind you, because even mutants deserve privacy like the rest of us, but if we know who they are, /what/ they are . . . well, I'll sleep easier at night, won't you?"
"Of course," Vaye states with a small nod, "We should know. Details like that.. y'know, should be known." A smile is seemingly plastered upon Vaye's face at this point. No hand is extended, but she does make an inquiry, "What'd you say your name was again? Must've missed it."
The woman looks pleased at the question. "Leah. Leah Canto. And you're . . . ?"
"Vaye." A small pause comes before Vaye drains the last of her drink from the cup, "Y'know, it's good to see you got a point like that. Not many people do. Always afraid of what they'll find.. y'know, what'll happen when they do. Y'got some sort of protection or something?" Other then flashlights and guns, that is.
Leah laughs a little. "Self-defense training, I guess, and very protective family in the NYPD." She tips up a gaze of honest, open curiosity. "You think I need more than that? Mutants aren't likely to hunt /me/ down. I'm just a reporter who argues on TV and online for a living. Plenty more where I came from, and I'm not the loudest or most important of the bunch, by far."
For a brief instant, Vaye looks disappointed. But it's quickly covered and the smile resurfaces en force. "No. You're probably set just right. Only people who really need the big guns of defense 're a little more outspoken 'n you are. Guess you're a small fish."
Leah's lips tighten again. "Well, for now, anyway. I used to -- no, doesn't matter. Long time ago. Of course I'd /like/ to move up the food chain, but now that you've put it in my mind, I might be better off where I am." Her eyes drift off, then snap back, politely. "Thanks for that. Vaye," she adds hastily. "It's nice to meet you, too."
The smile is fixed. Unmoving. Unreaching fully to her eyes as well. "Always best to watch out for number one, you know. Tons of people wantin' to climb that same chain. And the sharks..." Well they'd just be left unmentioned. "No offense, I mean. Just somethin' I thought you should know. 'sides you're a smart girl..." A wager? "You'd have figured it out soon enough."
"Oh, I hope so. My mother didn't raise no fools, as they say." Leah's tracking Vaye's movements better now, and puzzlement touches her lightly at the sight of that . . . smile. Smile-rictus-thing. There on Vaye's face. All frozen like that. Huh. "Something wrong? See, told you politics isn't interesting."
Note to self: Work on smile. "Oh no. No. Nothing's wrong. Just remembered I had some place to be." Street rats, afterall, had appointments just like everyone else. "See you around, Leah." Meant, in a most discrete way. Pushing away from the wall, Vaye moves out of sight- treasured backpack taken with her.
[Log ends.]
On the way home, I stopped at a Starbucks on a whim, intending to read my Times out in the nice day we're having. I ended up nearly running over some scruffy street kid and then having a little talk with her. When it turned political, she seemed to lose interest. She glazed over and left pretty quickly. That's what I get for trying to engage the younger generation in the important matters of the day!
Still, I hope she'll be okay, living out on the streets like that. Maybe I should have found her a place in a shelter. If I'm back there again, I'll see if I can find her and help her out. It's only the right thing to do, after all.
5/4/2005
Logfile from Leah.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Bronx
Definitely not a section of New York to be missed, Bronx County widely-known and appreciated, yet attempts to maintain a somewhat humble air, nevertheless. A highly environmentally conscious community, it hosts the famous Bronx Zoo, miles of parks, and abounding artistic expression that has attracted the interest of even Twain and Poe, over the years. Various buildings compose the community amid the carefully planned landscaping, mostly libraries and old brick business building, although residential facilities are dotted here and there for those with a careful eye. Although it's still relatively close to the inner city, the air seems much cleaner here, especially in the summer outdoor concerts held in the parks annually.
--
It's mid-day, when the sun is at it's peak. People move to and fro in the usual rush of traffic, though one corner of the street just outside the Starbucks isn't as busy. It's here that a form can be found, slouched against the side wall. Knees are hugged to Vaye's chest, a cup lays beside her and her backpack just off to the other side. Her hands are busy with something held before her; this a tiny packet that she's currently attempting to work her way into.
Leah is just coming out of the Starbucks, a vente cup in one hand, a folded newspaper in the other, and her eyes on the latter and not on, well, her surroundings. She doesn't exactly hit that backpack, but one of her feet come awfully close, close enough that she stumbles as if in anticipation, and curses. "--God. Sorry."
It's an important thing to Vaye - that backpack. Important enough that the small papper packet is dropped and Vaye launches forward to secure her 'pack out of harms way. A glare is shot upwards, fixing upon Leah, though it
disappears within a few short seconds. "Should watch yourself." Offered lightly before Vaye reclaims the small papper packet. With it finally in hand, she's able to rip the sealer-top, depositing two yellow pills in the
palm of one hand. One is quickly downed, the other slipped into the pocket of her hoodie.
--
Vaye
Standing at a not-so average height of 5'1, with a slender build and proportions to match, Vaye definitely won't stand out in any crowd. Her looks are classical, not quite a breath taking beauty but by no means is she
ugly. Well kept brows form a subtle arch above Vaye's big eyes, these a pale shade of hazel and beneath her eyes is a small and round nose. Her cheeks hold fullness to them, lacking definition and high-bones alike and a pointed
chin offers a soft finish to her facial features. Vaye's hair is a warm shade of golden brown with highlights of darker red and brown mixed within and reaches to just below her shoulders and looks just slightly unkempt. A
slender neck leads to proportioned curves and limbs, enhancing her small frame and youthful look.
Worn atop a sport-cut, ribbed white tank top is a dark blue hoodie, half zipped to show the scooped neckline of her tank top and the pendant dangling from the necklace worn about her neck. A brown leather belt is pulled through the loops of her stone-washed, hip-hugger jeans, while white and silver shoes adorn her feet, partially hidden beneath the flare cuffs of her jeans.
--
A halt, a squint: Leah leaves off distracted (and distracting, obviously) paper-skimming to stare down at the younger woman. Perhaps it's the pills that catch her attention, or it's just that midday sun, but her response is genuinely mild, between strangers: "Yeah, well, it happens. I said I was sorry. Did I break anything?"
--
Leah
Short, coarse, and alive with coppery glints, plush bronze hair softens this thirtyish woman's stubbornly plain appearance. The layered sweep caps broad peasant features that sharpen at nose and chin; fair skin fans faint lines from the corners of her thin mouth and of eyes the pale brown of drifted winter leaves. Middling tall and robustly built, she embodies sturdiness with studied movements and considered alto words dulled by a voluptuous Brooklyn accent.
She wears with assurance a hunter-green pants suit, its jacket twice-buttoned with round agate-brown over an open-collared white blouse. Darker brown shines dully as low-heeled leather boots under the tapered slacks' cuffs; brighter are the tiger-eye beads strung around her neck and the golden studs in her earlobes.
--
"Hope not." Vaye states as she snags her pack and pulls it open. A myriad of flashlights are drawn out - large, small and in between alike. An old pair of clothes, a book or two and even a cd-player. Finally though, Vaye shakes her head and pushes everything back into the pack. "Doesn' look like it, fortunately for you." Lifting the pack, grabbing her drink and standing, Vaye turns her attention back to Leah, "Don't know how to walk or is it your thing?" Posed lightly - not malignantly or even harshly, more akin to a light jab at the other.
Leah creases a small smile at that. "Sometimes. Depends on how much caffeine I've had." She gestures briefly with her cup even as her eyes trace over the pack as if to consider again all the goodies inside. "You camping out here, or what?" she finally ripostes.
"Something like that," Vaye offers with a faint tilt of her chin forward. "Sleep where I can when I find a safe enough spot. Flashlights help keep away the spooks." Meant figuratively, as in spooks of the night and creatures therein, though it finds Vaye giving Leah a curious enough regard, "Nothin' in it worth stealing though." Defensive at it's base, it finds Vaye gripping her pack just a smidgen tighter, "Not worth the effort either."
Leah stays mild, even amused; her stance has shifted to hipshot casual. "Do I look like a mugger? Or a--" hesitation on the word, tasting it, testing it "--spook?"
A corner of Vaye's lips quirk upward in a showing of amusement, "You really think you can judge by looks 'round here?" A tiny, tiny flicker of her hand toward Leah - with a more intrusive study upon reactions - finds Vaye adding, "Can't trust anything you see. Or anyone. Always gotta be on the look out." And it wasn't just her paranoia speaking either.
Leah appears to consider this proposition soberly, and some dark emotion scuttles through her expression: brow furrows, lips tighten. "You're right about that," she grants. "All manner of freaks and -- well, /you/ know. But I'm not, and I have no interest in your gear, I swear." Brief humor: "I have my own flashlights at home."
Vaye obligingly tilts her head forward, with a toothy smile surfacing through. "'course I know. I'm out here every day, all day." And by look alone, she was getting tired of it. Leaning as casually against the wall as she can, Vaye sips at her cup, draining some of the coffee within. A grimace or two later, Vaye casually asks, "So you're not a freak, a spook or.. a thief. What are you?" Poised lightly, yet again with a small smile. See? She's not so bad.
Leah isn't, either, but then -- appearances, as the girl said. "Just a worker getting by, like everyone else," she responds and perhaps edges closer to the table or at least a chair there. "I'm in journalism. You?"
"Street rat. For now at least." Vaye offers willingly enough. "Trying to find a spot. Maybe a job if I ever get around to it." But if one were to take in the scraggly appearance of clothes and hair alike, it's not all that likely. "So what sorts of stories you write about? Anything interesting?"
Leah says, "Not really. Politics, the state of the nation, that kind of thing."
"Politics," Vaye repeats with a twist of her lips, "That's one to stay away from. People got their say, y'know. Always blunt about it too. Pro this... anti that.." Another sip of her coffee ensues, another grimace and a sharp intake of breath before, "You got your side or you the kind that likes to 'float'?"
Leah takes a moment for scrutiny and analysis. Scruffy street kid, with flashlights to ward off spooks . . . hmm. Her answer is perhaps more temporized that it might have been (or perhaps not; the caffeine might be kicking in). "Sure, I have sides on all kinds of issues. Depends on the issue. Whaddya got?"
"Whatever you've got." Vaye sportily returns, "Thefts... places of town to stay out of. What's goin' on with the state of the world.. y'know, the news of the day." Dropping her gaze to the paper, Vaye briefly inclines a hand, "Y'mind? Didn' get to check my horoscope." And clearly, it was important to her.
"Oh. Sure, have at it." Leah drops the paper onto the table and then herself into a chair at it. Might as well get comfortable. She crosses her legs and takes a longer pull of her coffee. "Well, let's see. Thefts, places to stay out of? Hell, that's half the town, depending on the time of night and the cut of your clothing." She eyes Vaye dubiously. "You might fit in, or they might roll you and move on to the next victim. Flashlights aren't any help there, I'm afraid."
"'course it is," Vaye states simply as she shuffles her covered cup of coffee into the crook of her elbow. Taking the paper, Vaye's gaze briefly scans the front page, looking for notes of interest. Though Leah's later statements gain a pause and Vaye's gaze fixing back upon the older womans, "You'd be surprised what help a little light is. Then again there's always back-up plans. Flashlights aren't all I got." Cryptic at best, though it finds Vaye scanning the inner portions of the paper.
Leah snorts. "I should /hope/ so. A gun? --Not that I'm going to turn you over to the police if you do have one. We do what we have to; not everyone has the Secret Service following /them/ around." She shakes her head, mouth crimped anew at that thought. "Anyway, if you've lasted this long, you're probably fine. But . . . do your parents know? I mean, that you're here and so on--"
Finished with what she wanted of the paper, Vaye hands it back to Leah. Though with it free from her hands, something else comes into place. The brief flick of her wrist is the only tell, and the blade that comes is anything but a gun. "Knives... Knive, actually. Just the one." A quickly flashed smile that soon disappears, as does the blade. "'course they say you're more likely to get stabbed by 'em then you are to use 'em in defense." Shrugging the notion away, Vaye just as easily shrugs the later question away. "Doubt they'd care. Been gone for a while now."
Leah, to her credit, starts only a little at the knife's flash, and she accepts the paper back with relative aplomb. "I see," she says to all of the above. "And where are you staying?"
"Streets. Don't know where tonight, but I'll find a place." Vaye responds with a slightly uncomfortable shrug. The first to surface, and likely to be the last with the half step back from Leah that Vaye takes. "Listen. You thinkin' about doing a story and all that...don't. 's nothing special about me. There's other kids out here...some got it worse off. 'sides, I doubt I'll be staying long."
Leah doesn't snort again, but her expression and tone are clear enough: puh-leeze. "Not my specialty," quips she. "There are other, better reporters on that human-interest crap. I stick to the high-level issues, the meatier the better, and kids on the street is pretty slim pickings."
"Meatier the better?" Vaye returns with a small grin, "You're one 'v those types who do the reports on the freaks, aren't you?" With the question comes a knowing nod, "Tryin' to make it to the big time by gettin' all the angles you can. 's the meatiest stuff I know of at least. Unless I'm wrong?"
Leah stays casual. "Well, mutants /are/ the newsmakers these days, wouldn't you say? Gotta follow the trends, give the people what they want to see and read. I've done a few stories, yes, and my opinion's been out there. It's a free country, and I want to keep it that way."
"Free?" Vaye counters with a small tilt of her head, "For who? Them?" A sarcastic question with a too amused lift of her lips in a broad smile, "Y'really think it should stay that way?"
"'Them'?" Leah repeats. "For everyone, ideally. This is America, not Cold War Russia or China. I worry about what could go wrong; I'm not alone in that."
"So you think they should all be free? Running around, doing their thing?" Innocence lost, it's now a serious regard that pins Leah, "You know what they do? They're killers. Get inside your head, fu** with your thoughts... your feelings..." Pausing, Vaye openly studies Leah, "You're one of 'em, aren't you? One of the freaks."
Leah's voice slams down like a metal wall. "/No./ I'm human." She simmers briefly and then finds slow, staunch words again. "I think /we/ should be free from the kind of terror: freaks, killers, users, abusers. That's what I meant. Look, you know that old quote about my freedom stopping where yours begins? /That's/ it, right there, with mutants. Their freedom is too much, too dangerous. Anything can happen with that kind of power. Anything."
"So what would you want done with 'em?" Vaye asks curiously, "Y'got a point. I mean.. they're dangerous. Killers. Freaks. Can't live with'm. We try to wipe 'em out and well... you know what'll happen, don't you?" Studying Leah closely, Vaye takes a small step closer. But it's casual. As casual as, "Humans gotta protect their own, right?"
Leah relaxes somewhat, tilting back in her chair with a shrug. "I'm not a politician; I'm sure they're studying the proper ways and means on that question. Right now, the Registration Act makes sense to me. At least we can keep track of them -- not in any intrusive way, mind you, because even mutants deserve privacy like the rest of us, but if we know who they are, /what/ they are . . . well, I'll sleep easier at night, won't you?"
"Of course," Vaye states with a small nod, "We should know. Details like that.. y'know, should be known." A smile is seemingly plastered upon Vaye's face at this point. No hand is extended, but she does make an inquiry, "What'd you say your name was again? Must've missed it."
The woman looks pleased at the question. "Leah. Leah Canto. And you're . . . ?"
"Vaye." A small pause comes before Vaye drains the last of her drink from the cup, "Y'know, it's good to see you got a point like that. Not many people do. Always afraid of what they'll find.. y'know, what'll happen when they do. Y'got some sort of protection or something?" Other then flashlights and guns, that is.
Leah laughs a little. "Self-defense training, I guess, and very protective family in the NYPD." She tips up a gaze of honest, open curiosity. "You think I need more than that? Mutants aren't likely to hunt /me/ down. I'm just a reporter who argues on TV and online for a living. Plenty more where I came from, and I'm not the loudest or most important of the bunch, by far."
For a brief instant, Vaye looks disappointed. But it's quickly covered and the smile resurfaces en force. "No. You're probably set just right. Only people who really need the big guns of defense 're a little more outspoken 'n you are. Guess you're a small fish."
Leah's lips tighten again. "Well, for now, anyway. I used to -- no, doesn't matter. Long time ago. Of course I'd /like/ to move up the food chain, but now that you've put it in my mind, I might be better off where I am." Her eyes drift off, then snap back, politely. "Thanks for that. Vaye," she adds hastily. "It's nice to meet you, too."
The smile is fixed. Unmoving. Unreaching fully to her eyes as well. "Always best to watch out for number one, you know. Tons of people wantin' to climb that same chain. And the sharks..." Well they'd just be left unmentioned. "No offense, I mean. Just somethin' I thought you should know. 'sides you're a smart girl..." A wager? "You'd have figured it out soon enough."
"Oh, I hope so. My mother didn't raise no fools, as they say." Leah's tracking Vaye's movements better now, and puzzlement touches her lightly at the sight of that . . . smile. Smile-rictus-thing. There on Vaye's face. All frozen like that. Huh. "Something wrong? See, told you politics isn't interesting."
Note to self: Work on smile. "Oh no. No. Nothing's wrong. Just remembered I had some place to be." Street rats, afterall, had appointments just like everyone else. "See you around, Leah." Meant, in a most discrete way. Pushing away from the wall, Vaye moves out of sight- treasured backpack taken with her.
[Log ends.]