Liz; Scott
11/18/2007
The small coffee-sandwich-soup-and-salad shop that sits on the edge of Columbia's campus is a favorite with students and faculty alike, and populated by both on the Sunday afternoon before Thanksgiving. There's an air of desperate tension and concentration as work on projects, papers, and exams kicks into full throttle, and Natalie is no exception. She's currently seated on one of the low couches and is bent over her laptop screen with a fiercely concentrated frown. One hand tugs on the end of her brown ponytail, as if that might help stir a solution to life, while the other jabs at a few keys. Theoretically, she's also drinking coffee. In reality, it sits mostly untouched on the small endtable beside her.
Even at this time of the day, when normally it could be counted that this place would be reasonably quiet, the shop is busy, every seat occupied by someone scowling into a piece of paper or a laptop screen - or occasionally just into thin air. Having ordered her coffee and sandwich, Elisabeth stands awkwardly beside the till, trying to spot a place to sit. She chews nervously on her lip as she scans for an empty seat, her velvet smoking jacket slung over one arm in the warmth of the shop. Eventually, she spots an empty armchair opposite a girl seated on a sofa with her hair in a brown ponytail who's currently scowling into a laptop. Gingerly she makes her way across the crowded room, muttering apologies as she inevitably bumps elbows and knocks bags due to the lack of room to maneouvre. Finally she reaches the seat. "Excuse me?" she enquires of the girl, her Queen's-English accent distinctive as she speaks. From this close, it's easy to see that every inch of visible skin on her face, chest and neck has been smothered with heavily layered foundation, as if to cover bad acne, although the rest of her makeup is comparatively light. "Is anyone sitting here?"
"What?" Natalie's gaze sweeps up, brown eyes fixing on Liz behind the frames of her glasses as her scowl turns on the other, unsuspecting girl for a moment. That scowl is a force to be reckoned with. Thankfully, it lasts only a moment before being replaced by an understanding smile. "Oh, no, go ahead, if you want to risk it. Bit of a madhouse in here today."
Liz smiles gratefully. "I'll chance it - better than trudging all the way home and then back again when I've got another class in an hour." She settles into her seat, placing her coffee and sandwich on the table, and arranging her coat on the chair before pulling what looks like a conductor's score from her back along with a packet of various coloured highlighters and a hair clip; laying the score across her neatly ironed jeans, she then tucks her dark brown hair back and clips it there - if left at the normal chin length, it would fall into her face. She smiles briefly at the other girl. "I'm Elisabeth, by the way."
"Ew, bad timing," Natalie sympathizes, nose wrinkling as she studies Liz. Her gaze dips down to the score, unabashedly curious, and then slides upward again. "Oh-- sorry. Natalie. You're a musician?" she wonders.
Liz smies widely. "Yes - Viola mostly, but I seem to have an affinity with just about any stringed instrument, and I've managed to land myself with a module in conducting." She lifts the score as if to exhibit it and sighs. "It's horrendously difficult, far more so than I thought it'd be; when you're sat in the orchestra, all you ever think they do is keep the beat and nod at you unneccessarily, but there's so much more to it than that." She nods at Natalie's laptop. "What are you reading then?"
"Huh. I've never really thought about it, I guess," Natalie answers with a flickering smile. "Viola mostly-- what? So you play the whole range? The whole orchestra thing?"
Liz nods. "It's where you normally find us viola players; orchestra in the ensemble. There aren't exactly a lot of solos written for that instrument. If you want to solo it's a far more sensible bet to go with the violin or cello. Do you play an instrument at all?"
"Cello," Natalie admits with a faintly embarassed smile. "Barely, though. But I know a girl who plays cello for the Phil - Lark Acarin? I don't know if she solos at all or not, though. Mostly ensemble stuff, I think."
Liz looks interested at the mention of the orchestra. "Really? I keep an eye out for audition notices, but I think I missed the boat on those a bit because I didn't have enough free time when I first got here." She sighs. "Still, always next year. So, what do you major in?" She looks conspiratorial. "And please tell me I just used the correct terminology for enquiring what it is you're studying?"
"Oh, I don't play in the orchestra-- I just-- uh." Natalie flusters for a moment and then shakes her head before offering, "Well. It would be if I were an undergrad, I suppose. I'm in the math department. I don't really have time for more than a bit here and there, really."
"Ah, you're under the curse of lack-of-free-time caused by being a postgraduate too?" Liz grins. "You never realise how much it eats your time until you look back in your diary and see how little you've managed to do in the past week that wasn't related somehow to your course." She looks mildly embarassed. "I'm terribly sorry, here I am babbling away and you're trying to work. I do apologise."
"And then some," Natalie answers with a short laugh. She waves her hand, leaning to stretch for her coffee on the side table so she can sip carefully at it before adding, "I think the only reason I ever see my best friend is that I work in a lab with him."
Liz chuckles. "Well, at least you have that much; think how strapped for time you'd be if you were in different ones." She takes a bite of sandwich.
"Yeah, ask my boyfriend about that one," Natalie returns wryly.
Liz blinks. "Gosh, yes, I can imagine." She pauses and thinks for a second. "Well, actually, being single, no I can't imagine, but I can appreciate the difficulty you must occasionally find yourself in. Is he studying here as well, or has he work?"
"Um." Natalie's expression shadows briefly and she frowns over the rim of her mug before sliding it sideways again. "He's on-- hiatus," she finally explains. "He was studying physical therapy here, but he's doing some part-time work now."
Liz nods, her expression deliberately neutral. "Probably sensible, to be honest, actually getting some work experience and a bit of a break from all of this." She waves a hand around at the other studying students at the word 'this'. "Constant studying for years on end can be hard to take at times."
"Yeah, sure," Natalie replies vaguely. She leans back slightly, pulling her laptop screen down to a light close as she studies Liz. "So postgrad in music? Do you want to perform or what, then?"
Liz takes a sip of her own coffee and nods slightly. "Ideally - I'd love to perform, but as I said, ther isn't that much call for violist soloists; I'll probably have to do violin as well. Although that being said, I wouldn't mind conducting - for all it's hard, you get a wonderful thrill out of it. How about you; what are you hoping to do after finishing here?"
"You can perform in ensembles," Natalie points out. "I mean, that's what Lark does. Philharmonic."
"Yes, I could, but...well, I've done it already. Orchestras - and ensembles, and, well, most group scenarios - tend to be, by definition, full of talented people - and talented people also tend to be highly strung. By soloing, I'd get to rise above all the drama that seems to inevitably emanate. Still, I'll end up doing ensemble playing first - ti's the only way you can move up the ranks, as it were."
"I'd think so," Natalie answers, brows lowering a touch. "I mean. Those are competitive enough, right? And it's not like you become a rock start playing the viola."
"Well, you can get fairly well known within the classical music world, but unless you follow Charlotte Church's example and branch out into popular music, or you manage to get people interested in your music regardless of genre like Pavarotti, then, no, you're never going to reach the equivalent of rock stardom."
Liz uncaps one of the highlighter pens and casts an idle eye over the score on her lap. "So, where are you from?"
"Me? Ohio, originally," Natalie supplies easily. "What about you? I mean, obviously not around here," she teases.
"The accent,I know, it blows my cover every time," she jokes. "England, in case you haven't already guessed...that being said, the number of people who have thought I was Australian has been astounding. From Surrey, specifically."
"Really? Australia?" Natalie baffles slightly. "But-- the accents aren't the same at all."
"I think it's that people expectme to sound like all English people do in films, and because I don't sound like a carbon copy of the queen or a spitting cockney, they decide I must come from elsewhere. If it's not that..." she shrugs. "Well, I'm out of explanations for it. It does expose me to some unusual questions from, ah, some of your countrymen who are less informed about my terra mater than they possibly should be."
"Well, to be fair, I doubt many Englishmen can accurately place most /American/ accents," Natalie points out with a grin.
Liz holds up her hands on mock surrender. "Certainly not - I'm shamefully unable to tell the difference between a glaswegian and a bristolian, so there's no way I'd be able to differentiate between someone from California as opposed to someone from Florida."
She grins. "But, in fairness, I've never asked anyone whether they've ever met your president either."
Natalie lifts a finger to jab it in mock accusation. "See? Anglo-centric Brit," she says cheerily.
Liz laughs. "I surrender, I surrender!" She says, raising her hands once again. "But at least I'm trying; I think I may even have the entire idea behind Thanksgiving down as well!" she adds, obviously joking.
"/Really/?" Natalie manages to look impressed, and she laughs slightly as she says it. "My lab partner's been in the US for years, and I'm not sure he's got it down yet."
Liz laughs again. "Well, I have always been told I'm a fast learner." She grins. "Where does your lab partner hail from then?"
"Bahir? Oh, he's from Bahrain," Natalie supplies.
Liz sighs. "And now my geography knowledge becomes even more publically lacking. Where's that?" She adds a smile to the end of the sentance to make it sounds self-depreciating.
"Middle East," Natalie answers blithely, with no more detail than that. "Don't worry about it, most people don't know. Just don't tell /him/ that," she suggests with a brief grin. "So did you study here for undergrad, too?"
"Oh no," Liz answers with a shake of her head. "Royal College of Music, London. You?"
"Well, US, yeah," Natalie supplies with a flick of her fingers. "But Chicago, for undergrad. I've been in New York-- what? Three years? Three and a half now?"
"Wow - how are you finding it? Or, rather, how did you find it at first? I assume had it been absolutely awful you wouldn't still be here after over three years."
Natalie's lips twist unpleasantly, and for a moment there is a susiiously heavy silence. Then she answers, "If I want to study pattern theory - which I do - this is the place to be."
Liz's eyebrow raises. "I assume then that you have minimum fondness for the city or the university itself?"
"Oh, no, Columbia's great," Natalie supplies with clear enthusiasm. "And, you know. New York has its ups and downs, these days."
"Oh, yes, I assume you mean all the, ah..." Liz pauses as if looking for a delicate way to phrase it. "...Activity?"
"Something like that," Natalie agrees wryly.
"I had the fortune not to be in the city at the time, so I can't say I've been much effected by it, but it must be awful for those that jave been trapped in the middle of it all." Her eyes are sharp in contrast to her otherwise nonchalant expression as she takes a sip of her coffee and watches Natalie for a reaction.
"At the time of /what/?" Natalie wonders, brows lifted. "It's hardly as if you're not going to encounter it now, you know."
"The rift, of course," Liz replies. "Did you see the videos circulating on YouTube? Although, that's hardly been th only upset that seems to have featured here in the past year, if you believe what's written in the majority of the papers."
"You think the newspapers tend to lie about that stuff?" Natalie wonders. Her voice has gone, perhaps, a touch tight.
"It's very hard to tell - especially given that its very hard to report such incidents without bias. Generally I tend to read all the reports there are on a particular incident in order to work out what I think happened, and then take even that with a pinch of salt. Becuase unless you were actually there...well, you're never going to know exactly what happened." Liz shrugs as if the entire topic is nothing to her, but continues to watch Natalie out of the corner of her eye.
"Bias isn't the same as making stuff up," Natalie points out.
"It can have a similar outcome, in that the reader is given a false impression of the events that took place..butb"
"...but you're right, there can be jounralists out there that lie; I tend to discount the possibility in the higher brow publications though - most of those have been thoroughly vetted and the uproar that would occur if one was ever found to be fabricating sources would be...well, he'd be unemployed for the rest of his career, if not life."
"So you think the newspapers tend to lie about that stuff?" Natalie repeats her question with an air of exasperated patience once Liz has walked all the way around it.
"Which ones?" Liz looks puzzled.""
Natalie lifts a hand to rub her thumb along the bridge of her nose, skimming up under the frame of her glasses before she sighs and shakes her head. "Nevermind."
Liz looks curious now. "No, I'm interested; is there one that's known for being unreliable in contrary to its presentation?"
"I wasn't remarking on the newspapers," Natalie explains patiently. "I was remarking on you."
Liz now looks utterly confused. "I'm afriad I don't understand - remarking on me how?"
"Seriously," Natalie answers, patience evaporating to exasperation. "Nevermind."
Liz raises an eyebrow, her expression becoming neutral once more. "Alright." She focuses on her score once more.
Natalie, in return, flips her laptop lid open again and drops her gaze back to her work.
Natalie meets a musician. All goes well until the topic of New York comes up. Crazy mutants!
11/18/2007
=NYC= IHOP - Queens
IHOP is more friendly than classy, but anyone who looks for class in an IHOP . . . well. It has seen better days. If the booths are more rubbery than soft, the tables more rickety than steady, and occasionally a patron knocks one entirely over, if the carpet is sort of a puced out green . . . the servers are enthusiastic and the pancakes are still pancakey and that is all that matters.
Natalie is nestled in with a cup of coffee (no food), her laptop, and a spiralbound notebook which is currently getting the vast majority of her attention. Her head's bent down, ponytail swung forward over her shoulder, and she chews on her lower lip in concentration before an absent-minded lift of her gaze upward catches on Scott in the boot opposite. For a moment, she's surprised to find someone suddenly in her line of vision, and she blinks.
The waitress brings back Scott's coffee, "Steak and eggs, steak medium rare, eggs over easy. White toast," Scott says to her with a smile, looking up at the woman as he holds out his menu, "Right back, suh," is the woman's reply as she goes off to fill the order. Scott's gaze scans the room slowly, settling on Natalie for a moment as he notices her gaze, giving her a nod before he lifts his paper and begins scanning the front page.
Natalie's eyes widen slightly as Scott catches her half-stare, and she looks instantly embarassed even as she ventures a faint smile before swiftly moving her gaze away and back to the safety of her work. Her fingers keep her pen moving, flashing back and forth with lightening speed as she thinks.
The paper ruffles as Scott moves to another page, "Youh order suh," the waitress says as she comes back with the pair of plates, one with steak and eggs and the other with the requested toast. "Anythin' else right now?" she asks politely. After Scott shakes his head he stops, "Oh yes, A1 sauce please," he says politely with a slight smile. She nods and moves off as Scott begins to cut up the steak in pieces while she's gone, reading the paper that is now just sitting on the table as both his hands are occupied.
On her way past, Natalie's quick to grab at the waitress, hand rising to catch her attention as she wonders, "Can I get a refill?"
"Shoa miss, decaf or regulah?" the waitress asks. Once she answers the woman heads off, getting the appropriate pot of coffee and the bottle of A1 sauce, filling the girl's cup on the way back to Scott's table. Scott nods his thanks and then pours some of the A1 sauce on the table, looking around as he savors his meal. Kind of slow for IHOP, but not anything that is really special.
"Uh-- refill?" Natalie prompts, brows lifted with an edge of disdain that may earn her more than coffee in her cup. In case that isn't clear enough, she reminds, "Regular. Preferably hot."
The waitress rolls his eyes but at least gets the coffee she wants, bringing it back and filling the cup. Rather than pouring it in Natalie's lap as she may want. Such professionalism! Scott just arches an eyebrow over at the other table, watching the little byplay
The eyeroll is echoed in Natalie's expression, although she does wait until the waitress has swept away. "Because remembering what sort of coffee I have is so /difficult/," she mutters under her breath once the coast is clear.
A chuckle issues from Scott's direction. He didn't catch the comment, but the tone and vague shapes of the words. His hearing is good but it's not that good. The man just flips the paper to the next page, keeping a vague eye on the rest of the restaurant.
It's Natalie's turn to raise her brows this time, gaze narrowing in on Scott again at the chuckle. Her lips purse.
"Something bothering you?" Scott asks, looking up to find the girl's gaze narrowed on him once more. The fork is put down on the table, the tines resting on the edge of the plate with the curve of the fork up. The tone of voice isn't confrontational, just curious. Both hands move to take the napkin and wipe his lips, putting the napkin back in his lap.
"Something funny?" Natalie retorts archly, fingers tightening around her pen. The poor coffee remains ignored.
"I wouldn't call it funny, perhaps slightly amusing?" Scott offers, "Though I didn't mean to offend in any way," he adds with a shrug. It was honest enough, chuckling at the fact that a waitress forgot coffee. It isn't Starbucks after all, not all that many types to remember.
"Something /slightly amusing/?" Natalie corrects with exagerated patience.
"A waitress forgetting what kind of coffee in a regular venue isn't slight amusing?" Scott asks, speaking clearly but loudly enough to be heard across the small distance. His own coffee is raised to his lips and slowly a sip is taken before the cup is placed back on the table.
Natalie stares at Scott for a moment longer, eyes still narrowed slightly, before she allows that to pacify whatever issues she had with the chuckle. Eventually, she drops her gaze and reaches for her cup.
The meal is quickly finished, his money left on the table for his own meal. His coffee is picked up and quickly finished. Paper is folded and picked up before he rises and walks over to Natalie, "I didn't intend to offend you and I apologize if I have," Scott offers as apology.
Natalie has sunk deep into her work again by the time Scott sweeps by. When he does, and with the apology, he gets a slightly sheepish glance upward, and she sighs into a headshake. "No," she assures him with a wave of her hand. "You're fine, sorry. I'm just-- stressed."
"Want someone to vent to that has no connection whatsoever to it?" Scott offers, glancing toward the seat opposite her, though the glance is accompanied by an exagerated lift of chin toward the chair opposite her.
"What, about the bit of algorithim that's not working as neatly as I'd like?" Natalie wonders with lifted brows.
"Ah yes, those type of problems. I'd probably be far out of my depth offering any assistance so I'll just leave you to your glares at the computer," Scott says, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. With a nod of his head politely he says, "Good day," and he turns to head toward the door
"Those types," Natalie agrees with a twist of her lips before she nods in return, hand waving as he turns away.
Natalie is stressed! Scott is amused.