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Post by Paolo Carassa on Oct 16, 2008 11:00:20 GMT -5
He walked down the road with the tired sort of limp one sees of the working class. Not half a shuffle, not half a jounce, hands shoved into worn jean pockets and elbows kept tucked. Broadman's shoulders haunched around a long neck, bright eyes peeking from a heavy brow as he strolled, hungry-shaped.
The men behind him wanted to grab him by his long dark hair and make him eat curb, and they weren't subtle in their movements. They didn't have to be, really, him being all alone and fresh to the rules.
Grubby construct-man didn't feel dressed enough for the finer clothing stores well within reach and retreat, and found himslef shaking scared in front of a coffee shop just busy enough to disappear through. He'd been on the bad side of a beating enough in his life to want no trouble from no body.
The group of four hovered around the cement patio before filtering in to brood at each corner of the cheerfully lit serving area. The foggy morning seemed growl at the scene, rainclouds casting a gray pallor in defense.
Grubby construct-man stretched his legs beneath a dainty cafe table, ready to play the waiting game. Fingering a breakfast menu, he tucked his chin to his chest and hid his eyes. Showing your belly only you got you worse, he'd found. Dark brown flannel thrown over a sweaty undershirt was feeble defense for the aggressive air conditioning, and soon the man quaked from cold as well as fear. He weren't no daisy-do himself by any means, but the four lean and dangerous things tailing him had nearly killed a kid just months past for 'territory violation'. Roughs like that just had to have something diseased in place of thought.
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Post by jaeden on Oct 16, 2008 12:11:44 GMT -5
Jae really hated working mornings. She digged the late night shifts with the all nighters. The men she called her co-workers where all mainly that of non-english speaking dialect and where always a blast to converse with. Whats more, the sort that went through the cafe at all hours where the interesting type, men, women, families driving through and trying to keep themselves awake. But this morning shit.. Get up at dawn, get her ass ready and drive down to meet with the pompous twits who thought it be a good idea to get business done over a cup of coffee and a Croissant. They where the type of louts who didn't give a fig for their waitress. Especially not the type who suited the 1950's decor a little better than she should of have.
Nobody really complained about the way she arrived at work. Not the open toed pumps, or the High stylized hair, or the evident make-up. Most people didn't even blink at it, although after reading her incorrect name tag (a Joke that never got old) some men did end up feeling confused. After all, she didn't look a Jimmy-bob. More of a James.
Sighing, she donned the familiar apron around her waist and picked up her note pad. It wasn't too bad this morning a slight chatter to the atmosphere but nothing that was gonna get her feet overworked. She'd noticed the beaten man as soon as he came in. It wasn't really his physique that got get cocking a curious brow at him, like her co-workers elbowed her for. But the man's body language. Now, she did a psychological course once.. sure it was only for about two months and it was in Greece, but she knew someone who was on the edge when she saw it.
Flipping the end of her pony tail over her shoulder she meandered her way towards the scrappy beast who looked like he could tell her a thing or two about hard work. Stopping here or there to listen to Drink refills and dirty request with good graces and quick wit. "You alright there darlin'?" She addressed him quite informally when she finally got to him, a slight twinge on the end of her letters that gave a southern feel. Something after all her years of traveling never truly left her. By his rough and tumble look, it seemed like the poor thing could handle being called darling without being offended... like that yuppie last week. She had to fight to stop her eyes from rolling madly in her head in memory. Getting out her paper and pen, poised for quick work of the mans order, light brown brows set high in question. "You ready to order...? Seem quite cold don't ya..? Kinda..." she narrowed her eyes in thought. "Kinda shaky, you alright? Ain't gonna pass out on me are ya? I had that once.. Short skinny thing, had to save him from drowning in his soup - you though. Man your size be harder to move from the throes of danger - Coffee, tea, Somethin' ta snack on?"
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Post by Paolo Carassa on Oct 22, 2008 8:31:59 GMT -5
"--Hot coffee." Construct-man blinked away his uncharacteristic pause, wrapping his hands around an imaginary steaming mug of joe on the table before him to will the shivers to taper off. His fingers curled in on themselves instead, hiding dirtied nails and knuckles so dry that they wept by noon. It was as much the waitress's outlandish look (women like that only existed in flipbooks and posters on the walls of elderly bachelors' television dens and maybe in the circus, selling bubblegum and rollerskates and lingerie)--as it was her accent, which matched his own in cadence but not in twang. A graduated Texan, he'd have guessed. Someone who made it northwise and then elsewise and never looked back. Or Alabama, or Tennessee or Virginia or even Louisiana. They were all Texas to him--less dusky, less crowded (less abandoned), but still just as hot and familiar.
"An' call th' police if ya could, ma'am." He straightened in his chair, trying to meet her eyes but only landing across the freckles on her cheeks. His hands tightened against themselves.
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Post by jaeden on Oct 22, 2008 9:04:51 GMT -5
Writing down the order, she crooked her eyebrow. "Boiling Java with a side of bacon, will do.." putting the pen in her hair Jae lent forward, lowering her voice. "Someone abouts troublein' you? A Big boy like you oughtn't get all jittery for nothing." hearing his own twange hers got a little stronger. Not the thick Georgian drawl of her parents, but a little heavier than the moment she addresses you. "Aint my business.. But if someones big 'n scary enough ta get you fearful, it aint someone I want my customers to get involved with."
She stared at him for a moment, and then stood.. "Like I said though. Aint my business." She looked at him once more before Jottering off to the kitchen and Getting the Phone. Alerting the Cops to a possible shuffle, she got the man his Coffee and after fighting off the friendly regulars, and the overly friendly truckers she finally got back to him with the Coffee. ".. you sure you don want any food or anythin'?" She put her hand in the pocket of her apron. "And I did that thing.. they said they're gonna keep an eye out, but without anything happenin' they dont seem ta care."
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Post by Paolo Carassa on Oct 22, 2008 11:12:26 GMT -5
Ain't not a body in this world gonna take care'a you, boy. Y'got ta get yerself taken care of. By yourself.
The side-of-bacon quip confused him momentarily, mind on the stares heating pinpoint spots in his hair. He tried not to blanch under the sort-of complimentary observation that he was 'big' enough to take care of himself. Fit enough, sure. Maybe. He took the coffee close, staring into its steam, breathing deep. Keen to stall, he picked up the laminate menu again and scanned it with eyes that darted from hash and eggs to the far corner to desert pies to the door to specialty coffees and back. One hand warming itself against the hot ceramic mug.
In truth, he couldn't afford to stall.
"Ain't much on me right now." He seemed to jerk himself awake, digging in pockets for change to cover the coffee, half expecting to get scolded for having sat down at a table without washing first--or taking a hurried sip of the delicate tar without saying grace. Not that the open-toed pumps and colorful makeup hinted that the southern girl was of any harsh tradition, but damn where were his manners? "Ma'am." A nod as way of thanks for the trouble, for the call and the compassion. He hunkered into his coffee, wishing his bulk could disappear through the linoleum. Was it the steam of the coffee, or were her hips and bust making him blush?
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Post by jaeden on Nov 5, 2008 8:34:01 GMT -5
She grinned at him. It was rare anyone had the good manners to call her Ma'am. Hell it was pulling teeth for a damn thank you now days. "You just sit tight alright? Nobody's gonna bother you in here." Shaking her head, she found the man amusing. Old enough, big enough, if Jae walked past the man she would have thought him to be a different character. In fact, he was more like a child perminately stuck in his parents clothes. A shy little boy just trying to play-adult. And it was damn endearing. It was rare to find a man with humility now-a-days. Didn't hurt his case that he shared a southern Drawl. She always had a soft spot for home even though she hadn't been back in years.
Finishing her tables and throwing the lot into the washer she ordered up some bacon and eggs. He'd probably see it as charity, maybe even try and return it. But he could suck it up for all Jaeden cared, she was feeling especially soft today and he'd damn well just have to deal with that. About ten minuets later she checked to see if he was still nursing his coffee. Plate in one hand and coffee jug in the other she refreshed his drink and put the food in front of with a gentle ease. "Now I don't wanna hear anythin' about it, alright? Hate t' see a grown' man starve."
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Post by Paolo Carassa on Nov 10, 2008 11:39:45 GMT -5
He shifted for the plate of food to land, natural as if he'd actually ordered it, forgetting he hadn't until she reminded him in a reprimand that took him back home. A genuine smile crept its way through the man's stubbled features, of thanks and feigned exasperation. He still couldn't quite meet her eyes, landing in the neighborhood of bright red gloss and getting caught up in the gleam of a ball bearing settled just under her bottom lip.
"Thank y'." A frown. "I can come back to repay ya, for the trouble." He added apprehensively, as one of the hostiles shifted from position and made the casual approach. A forkful of hash went down with forced casualty, construct man keen to keep everything normal for as long as possible. Because his waitress reminded him of the hometown girls, and what he would have done were it one of them inadvertently involved, and how much he could not afford to be thrown in jail for brawling.
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