Elias; Madrox
11/16/2007
=NYC= Fiske Library - Emerson University
Handsome in its gray stone and flourishing gardens, the Fiske Library is easily accessed off the main quad by a short series of steps. Within, the Library is a thorough collection of books, magazines, films, and electronic data all freely available for students as well as college visitors to use. A favorite hang-out for campus bookworms, peace can be found easily amidst the tall shelves, or working away at one of the computers in their respective section. Tables, chairs, and occasionally the odd couch are distributed throughout the building for students who wish to do their research and studying there instead of back at their dorms.
Natalie has been in the library for some time. It's made clear by the fact that a good dozen reference books - neurology, genetics, and the like - sit scattered around her space in Emerson's reference reading room, and further emphasized by the expression of dazed concentration she's taken on. She gnaws steadfastly on the end of a ballpoint pen as she stares down at the text in front of her, laptop humming happily beside her.
Elias has been here a great deal less time, having only selected one or two of the oversized books of brilliantly illustrations. The selections tucked under one arm and an oversized sketch book under the other. He wanders around the reading room with an eye for a place to stretch out as well, pausing as he passes Natalie's table. "Hey, how's it going?"
Natalie's head jerks up, pen slanting dangerously close to one eye as it slips, and turns toward Elias with eyes that flash wide behind her glasses. "Oh-- /crap/, Elias," she says by way of greeting, huffing a laugh. "You nearly scared me to death."
Elias stiffens when she jumps, his smile carefully hidden by a judicious pursing of his lips. "I'm sorry! I guess I didn't think you'd be in that deep." He rests his books on the table as he hangs about a little longer. "How's it going?"
"Honey, I am /always/ in that deep," Natalie returns, waving a hand in indication that he should sit and join her. "It's--" Natalie hestitates for a moment and then shakes her head ruefully. "Well. I'm starting to think I've gotten in way over my head, to be honest. But I suppose it's going, anyway."
Elias pulls a chair out and sits. "I've never watched you work before." He settles in and rests his head in his hands. His eyes glance down at her books and then vaguely over at her notes. He really can't read them from this angle and goes a little cross-eyed trying. "You're just in the middle of it. When you start bleeding out of your nose from the mental strain, then you've gotten in over your head."
"There's nothing particularly interesting about it," Natalie assures, slanting him a smile before she lifts her fingers to slide them beneath the frames of her glasses and rub at her eyes. "Trust me, I'm probably not far off," she assures, hand falling before she broadens her smile a touch. "What're you doing here, anyway? I thought you were skipping out on the degree in favor of fashion."
"Oh, hell no. Academia is addictive. I am not only signed up for Chemistry 101 next semester, but I'm picking up a business class as well. It's probably going to end poorly, but people hold down jobs and go to school all the time." Elias slides his oversized book onto the table, in the few square inches he finds available. "But now, I'm just trying to scrape together some inspiration."
Natalie snorts quietly and shakes her head, but is kind enough not to comment on the state of academia or how /business/ and Chem 101 fit into it. "You're doing the buisness thing, then? I think Bahir mentioned."
"Yes. It's all a mess of details and to do lists," Eli begins, his hand waving off the interest lightly, "you probably don't want to hear about it - not that I could tell it linearly anyway." He leans back in his chair.
"Are you doing a shop?" Natalie wonders, neatly ignoring anything that might have been a hint away. "Or just like-- commission type stuff?"
"A shop, with inventory and everything." Eli smiles. "Commission work is fun, but truthfully, I would pull my hair out if my livelihood depended on it." He shudders at the thought.
"Goodness. That's--" Natalie blinks at Elias, owlish behind her glasses, and then starts again to wonder, "Isn't that a /lot/ of work? I mean-- and money?"
Elias snickers lightly, folding his arms on top of his set of books. "You - I'm not going to do all the sewing myself. That's on my list of things to do. Number eight: Open a sweatshop." He runs his fingers through his hair. "You know, one that adheres to the United States codes and regulations."
Natalie's smile flashes at the snicker and she leans forward, propping an elbow on the table so she can rest her cheek light in the cup of her hand. "Are you going to employ little foreign children?" she teases.
"Well, if they have green cards, I will be an equal opportunity employer." Eli's nose wrinkles as he takes a breath. He glances at his watch and grumbles. "Well, I've got some stuff to do before it gets late. I should go over there. If I don't, I'll end up distracting us both and ruin any chance at productivity." He starts gathering. "You have a good evening."
"Oh, right, sorry, of course," Natalie is quick to assure, straightening and fussing with her own materials with a fast wave. "Sorry-- get going!"
Elias nods as he tucks everything under one arm and stands. "I'm going, I'm going." He smiles and waves, taking off for parts unknown.
Brief run-in at the library.
11/17/2007
=NYC= Midtown - Manhattan
When people think of New York, they think of Midtown -- or at least its skyline. The streets are crowded with skyscrapers and billboards and advertisements. The Empire State Building on one hand, Carnegie Hall on the other, the United Nations Headquarters on yet another, Midtown encompasses art and history and commerce, but commerce is its main concern. Cars whip through at a harried pace like the very red blood cells in the concrete aortas and ventricles of the Big Apple, and pool in parking lots, only to rush off again as attention spans flag, shopping wanes, work days end. There is no place busier, not in the United States.
Rockefeller Center is crowded, even in the evening, with white flashes of picket signs and darker flashes of those holding those signs. They yell sometimes, largely, this late, they walk. Madrox is perched above on a concrete-propped hillock, watching them. He flicks a lighter on and off between his fingers. Flick, flick.
Natalie is not watching - not /really/. As she passes, though, one might be said to be caught gawking in unabashed interest, a lingering gaze that requires pause in her walk long enough to earn a few disgruntled comments from more earnest pedestrians. Natalie, abashed, steps sideways and out of the path of traffic to do her gawking.
Flick. Flick. And Madrox pulls himself into a gawky kind of stand in unconscious mirror. He is quite close to Natalie. And it is only when he puts on the lighter and looks down from this angle that he catches Natalie in his peripheral vision. And talks. "Still going."
Natalie glances over to Madrox in surprise and flickers a faint smile in his direction. "What, the strike?"
"Yep." Jamie holds his lighter out. Not that it helps much. "I don't think they'll end up 'winning'. Pity!"
"No? Why not?" Natalie's gaze drops to the lighter, brow furrowing slightly.
"Because writing is a background activity." Madrox flicks the lighter back off. "And in their secret heart of hearts, everyone thinks they can do it. Thus, one group of writers can be counted both traitorous and expendable."
"You think they won't hold the line, then?" Natalie wonders.
"Oh, I think they'll hold the line. I just don't know if they'll be cut loose anyway."
"You think they'll replace them with unknowns?" Natalie asks in surprise.
"Maybe, maybe not. I'm in Criminal Justice, not -- anything else. It's just nothing seems to be changing. You'd think The Man would be scrambling to keep them, and yet."
"It hasn't been that long."
Madrox shrugs mildly. "I don't know that much. Only that they're there."
"And yet so many opinions," Natalie observes.
"Yeah, well, I'm always full of those." Jamie glances aside to Natalie and half-smiles. "They're just usually shit, yeah?"
"Yours?" Natalie wonders, her own smile warmly amused.
"Yes, aye, ma'am."
"Well," Natalie allows. "At least you know it."
"Strive to be self-aware." Jamie scratches at the verge of stubble on his jaw. "You know. As well as easily distracted. /Was/ on my way to campus."
"Me too," Natalie admits with a laugh. "Or, well. Home. To do work. Same thing, really."
"Yeah. Doesn't much matter. Library, classroom, apartment are /all/ for homework."
"Pretty much," Natalie agrees lightly. "Criminal justice, huh?"
"Yeah. A bit of a soft science," Madrox says, a /wee/ ironically.
Natalie's brows rise slightly.
"I'm trying to train to be a detective, rather badly," Madrox ... clarifies. "Thus."
"I don't believe it's much of a science at all," Natalie replies patiently. "Bits of it, perhaps. But the general /concept/."
"It's not a science. I was joking." Jamie allows no /hint/ of patience or impatience into his tone. "I'm not an academic, really."
"Of course. You're a detective."
"Greatest detective in the world, of course. Potentially."
"Why's that?"
Madrox spreads his hands. "I wear a trenchcoat just so well."
Natalie breaks abruptly into warm laughter, head dipping in reply.
"I see you recognize it," Jamie says, as he tucks his hands into his trenchcoat and pulling it in around his body. Awright. "Anyway."
"That is the best reason for entering a profession /ever/," Natalie confides. She steps back slightly, straightening her glasses. "What should I be, then?"
"Librarian," is automatic. "Or perhaps spy."
"Goodness. That's a nice mix." Natalie's lips twitch as she studies Madrox. "Spy. I wonder if I could manage that."
"Why not? It's relatively easy. All about the fashion and stumbling into disasters."
"Is it?"
Madrox waves his hand vaguely. "Sure. Works for Bond."
"Ah, but I'm hardly Bond," Natalie points out.
"You could be. You're collected. Capable, I'm sure. Probably not into Bond girls, but we can't be everything."
"Oh, I don't mind a Bond girl or two," Natalie confides, brows drawn down.
"Oh ho!" Madrox's brows go up, in contrast.
Natalie smiles sweetly and tips him a nod. "I'll keep it in mind, anyway," she answers, adjusting her bag as she stirs to move on. "In case 'librarian' falls through."
"One should always have a back up plan. I may go into physics." Jamie also stirs, if somewhat in an opposite direction.
"Good luck with that," Natalie answers, fingers wiggling in farewell, and then they part.
Madrox trip-traps away with a return wave.
Conversation and the WGA strike. Natalie gets a new occupation.
=NYC= Fiske Library - Emerson University
Handsome in its gray stone and flourishing gardens, the Fiske Library is easily accessed off the main quad by a short series of steps. Within, the Library is a thorough collection of books, magazines, films, and electronic data all freely available for students as well as college visitors to use. A favorite hang-out for campus bookworms, peace can be found easily amidst the tall shelves, or working away at one of the computers in their respective section. Tables, chairs, and occasionally the odd couch are distributed throughout the building for students who wish to do their research and studying there instead of back at their dorms.
Natalie has been in the library for some time. It's made clear by the fact that a good dozen reference books - neurology, genetics, and the like - sit scattered around her space in Emerson's reference reading room, and further emphasized by the expression of dazed concentration she's taken on. She gnaws steadfastly on the end of a ballpoint pen as she stares down at the text in front of her, laptop humming happily beside her.
Elias has been here a great deal less time, having only selected one or two of the oversized books of brilliantly illustrations. The selections tucked under one arm and an oversized sketch book under the other. He wanders around the reading room with an eye for a place to stretch out as well, pausing as he passes Natalie's table. "Hey, how's it going?"
Natalie's head jerks up, pen slanting dangerously close to one eye as it slips, and turns toward Elias with eyes that flash wide behind her glasses. "Oh-- /crap/, Elias," she says by way of greeting, huffing a laugh. "You nearly scared me to death."
Elias stiffens when she jumps, his smile carefully hidden by a judicious pursing of his lips. "I'm sorry! I guess I didn't think you'd be in that deep." He rests his books on the table as he hangs about a little longer. "How's it going?"
"Honey, I am /always/ in that deep," Natalie returns, waving a hand in indication that he should sit and join her. "It's--" Natalie hestitates for a moment and then shakes her head ruefully. "Well. I'm starting to think I've gotten in way over my head, to be honest. But I suppose it's going, anyway."
Elias pulls a chair out and sits. "I've never watched you work before." He settles in and rests his head in his hands. His eyes glance down at her books and then vaguely over at her notes. He really can't read them from this angle and goes a little cross-eyed trying. "You're just in the middle of it. When you start bleeding out of your nose from the mental strain, then you've gotten in over your head."
"There's nothing particularly interesting about it," Natalie assures, slanting him a smile before she lifts her fingers to slide them beneath the frames of her glasses and rub at her eyes. "Trust me, I'm probably not far off," she assures, hand falling before she broadens her smile a touch. "What're you doing here, anyway? I thought you were skipping out on the degree in favor of fashion."
"Oh, hell no. Academia is addictive. I am not only signed up for Chemistry 101 next semester, but I'm picking up a business class as well. It's probably going to end poorly, but people hold down jobs and go to school all the time." Elias slides his oversized book onto the table, in the few square inches he finds available. "But now, I'm just trying to scrape together some inspiration."
Natalie snorts quietly and shakes her head, but is kind enough not to comment on the state of academia or how /business/ and Chem 101 fit into it. "You're doing the buisness thing, then? I think Bahir mentioned."
"Yes. It's all a mess of details and to do lists," Eli begins, his hand waving off the interest lightly, "you probably don't want to hear about it - not that I could tell it linearly anyway." He leans back in his chair.
"Are you doing a shop?" Natalie wonders, neatly ignoring anything that might have been a hint away. "Or just like-- commission type stuff?"
"A shop, with inventory and everything." Eli smiles. "Commission work is fun, but truthfully, I would pull my hair out if my livelihood depended on it." He shudders at the thought.
"Goodness. That's--" Natalie blinks at Elias, owlish behind her glasses, and then starts again to wonder, "Isn't that a /lot/ of work? I mean-- and money?"
Elias snickers lightly, folding his arms on top of his set of books. "You - I'm not going to do all the sewing myself. That's on my list of things to do. Number eight: Open a sweatshop." He runs his fingers through his hair. "You know, one that adheres to the United States codes and regulations."
Natalie's smile flashes at the snicker and she leans forward, propping an elbow on the table so she can rest her cheek light in the cup of her hand. "Are you going to employ little foreign children?" she teases.
"Well, if they have green cards, I will be an equal opportunity employer." Eli's nose wrinkles as he takes a breath. He glances at his watch and grumbles. "Well, I've got some stuff to do before it gets late. I should go over there. If I don't, I'll end up distracting us both and ruin any chance at productivity." He starts gathering. "You have a good evening."
"Oh, right, sorry, of course," Natalie is quick to assure, straightening and fussing with her own materials with a fast wave. "Sorry-- get going!"
Elias nods as he tucks everything under one arm and stands. "I'm going, I'm going." He smiles and waves, taking off for parts unknown.
Brief run-in at the library.
11/17/2007
=NYC= Midtown - Manhattan
When people think of New York, they think of Midtown -- or at least its skyline. The streets are crowded with skyscrapers and billboards and advertisements. The Empire State Building on one hand, Carnegie Hall on the other, the United Nations Headquarters on yet another, Midtown encompasses art and history and commerce, but commerce is its main concern. Cars whip through at a harried pace like the very red blood cells in the concrete aortas and ventricles of the Big Apple, and pool in parking lots, only to rush off again as attention spans flag, shopping wanes, work days end. There is no place busier, not in the United States.
Rockefeller Center is crowded, even in the evening, with white flashes of picket signs and darker flashes of those holding those signs. They yell sometimes, largely, this late, they walk. Madrox is perched above on a concrete-propped hillock, watching them. He flicks a lighter on and off between his fingers. Flick, flick.
Natalie is not watching - not /really/. As she passes, though, one might be said to be caught gawking in unabashed interest, a lingering gaze that requires pause in her walk long enough to earn a few disgruntled comments from more earnest pedestrians. Natalie, abashed, steps sideways and out of the path of traffic to do her gawking.
Flick. Flick. And Madrox pulls himself into a gawky kind of stand in unconscious mirror. He is quite close to Natalie. And it is only when he puts on the lighter and looks down from this angle that he catches Natalie in his peripheral vision. And talks. "Still going."
Natalie glances over to Madrox in surprise and flickers a faint smile in his direction. "What, the strike?"
"Yep." Jamie holds his lighter out. Not that it helps much. "I don't think they'll end up 'winning'. Pity!"
"No? Why not?" Natalie's gaze drops to the lighter, brow furrowing slightly.
"Because writing is a background activity." Madrox flicks the lighter back off. "And in their secret heart of hearts, everyone thinks they can do it. Thus, one group of writers can be counted both traitorous and expendable."
"You think they won't hold the line, then?" Natalie wonders.
"Oh, I think they'll hold the line. I just don't know if they'll be cut loose anyway."
"You think they'll replace them with unknowns?" Natalie asks in surprise.
"Maybe, maybe not. I'm in Criminal Justice, not -- anything else. It's just nothing seems to be changing. You'd think The Man would be scrambling to keep them, and yet."
"It hasn't been that long."
Madrox shrugs mildly. "I don't know that much. Only that they're there."
"And yet so many opinions," Natalie observes.
"Yeah, well, I'm always full of those." Jamie glances aside to Natalie and half-smiles. "They're just usually shit, yeah?"
"Yours?" Natalie wonders, her own smile warmly amused.
"Yes, aye, ma'am."
"Well," Natalie allows. "At least you know it."
"Strive to be self-aware." Jamie scratches at the verge of stubble on his jaw. "You know. As well as easily distracted. /Was/ on my way to campus."
"Me too," Natalie admits with a laugh. "Or, well. Home. To do work. Same thing, really."
"Yeah. Doesn't much matter. Library, classroom, apartment are /all/ for homework."
"Pretty much," Natalie agrees lightly. "Criminal justice, huh?"
"Yeah. A bit of a soft science," Madrox says, a /wee/ ironically.
Natalie's brows rise slightly.
"I'm trying to train to be a detective, rather badly," Madrox ... clarifies. "Thus."
"I don't believe it's much of a science at all," Natalie replies patiently. "Bits of it, perhaps. But the general /concept/."
"It's not a science. I was joking." Jamie allows no /hint/ of patience or impatience into his tone. "I'm not an academic, really."
"Of course. You're a detective."
"Greatest detective in the world, of course. Potentially."
"Why's that?"
Madrox spreads his hands. "I wear a trenchcoat just so well."
Natalie breaks abruptly into warm laughter, head dipping in reply.
"I see you recognize it," Jamie says, as he tucks his hands into his trenchcoat and pulling it in around his body. Awright. "Anyway."
"That is the best reason for entering a profession /ever/," Natalie confides. She steps back slightly, straightening her glasses. "What should I be, then?"
"Librarian," is automatic. "Or perhaps spy."
"Goodness. That's a nice mix." Natalie's lips twitch as she studies Madrox. "Spy. I wonder if I could manage that."
"Why not? It's relatively easy. All about the fashion and stumbling into disasters."
"Is it?"
Madrox waves his hand vaguely. "Sure. Works for Bond."
"Ah, but I'm hardly Bond," Natalie points out.
"You could be. You're collected. Capable, I'm sure. Probably not into Bond girls, but we can't be everything."
"Oh, I don't mind a Bond girl or two," Natalie confides, brows drawn down.
"Oh ho!" Madrox's brows go up, in contrast.
Natalie smiles sweetly and tips him a nod. "I'll keep it in mind, anyway," she answers, adjusting her bag as she stirs to move on. "In case 'librarian' falls through."
"One should always have a back up plan. I may go into physics." Jamie also stirs, if somewhat in an opposite direction.
"Good luck with that," Natalie answers, fingers wiggling in farewell, and then they part.
Madrox trip-traps away with a return wave.
Conversation and the WGA strike. Natalie gets a new occupation.