Summary:Cindy Moon runs into Laura Kinney, and the two bond over their appetites and their struggle to fit into New York City. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
It's midday, and Harlem is busy, with the bustle and movement of people of many creeds and colors. It is a section where people don't tend to notice people, too, unless you're too out of place or don't seem to know what you're doing. As long as you don't stand out too much, nobody really gives a flying F.
Cindy Moon is, however, possibly one of those peoples. She is getting a few looks as she is dressed in clothes that look like they've been run through the wash cycle several times too many, faded. A pair of simple shorts, and a t-shirt so faded you can't even read the logo or the words that used to be on it, just the faintest impression that -something- used to be there.
But that's not where she stands out at. Most people in Harlem don't stand just outside the edge of foot-traffic, counting their money like she is. And it's not like she's counting benjamins. Lincolns, at best. More likely, though, washingtons. And change.
"—the fuck out, I told you yesterday, and if you come back again, I'm calling the cops. I'm serious. Go!" As Cindy is counting her money, a little bit down the block, someone is getting pushed out of a small coffee shop — the kind that's popped up more and more in Harlem in recent months, to cater to a new audience of young white people who have been driving the rent numbers up.
The person being pushed out is a petite, black-haired woman who looks like she might still be a high schooler. She's dressed even more outlandishly than Laura, in yoga pants that might be a size too big from how they don't exactly CLING, a pair of flip-flops that have cartoon characters on them, and a t-shirt that's way too big for her, advertising '"REGGAE IN THE PARK" JAMAICAN MUSIC FESTIVAL 2007.' The worker at the coffee shop has resorted to physically pushing the girl out, but every time they push, the girl moves and then stands her ground, so it takes, like… six pushes to get her out on the sidewalk.
Cindy sighs, "I'm so going to have to get a real job, soon," she tells herself, before she glances over towards the coffee shop owner, frowning. The girl being pushed out doesn't seem to be causing any issues, no fighting back, no bad talk, nothing that would out her as a 'problem' needing to be pushed back. Her features set, and she decides to champion this girl, apparently, because she's already closing the distance, quite quickly at that.
"Hey. Leave her alone," she tells the barista, or owner, whoever. "She's not doing anything, jerk."
The short girl stands there, looking from the shop owner to Cindy with an expression like she's waiting in a long line at the grocery store, rather than being thrown out of a place of business.
The shop owner gives Cindy an exasperated look: "Jerk? Jerk? This is the second day in a row she's come into my shop and tried to eat people's leftovers. She's freaking out my customers. How's that for not doing anything? Tell you what, if you're her friend, go help her find somewhere else to be a nuisance. Calling me a jerk. Unbelievable." The shop owner clearly has no interest in continuing the conversation, and turns to go back into the restaurant.
The short girl stands where she was pushed to, and her green eyes fix on Cindy, like she's trying to get a read on what the other woman is up to. There's no 'thank you.' There's nothing at all, really. Just that kind of creepy stare.
"Maybe …," Cindy doesn't get a chance to finish as the 'jerk' or not jerk, as you prefer, moves back into the store. "Jerk," she says, after him.
Then, Cindy sighs. She looks at Laura, up and down, guesses, "You're hungry right? I was just about to go get something myself. I'm Cindy." She offers Laura a smile, genuine, adds, "I'm - kinda new here. So. Well. Not new. But. Getting reaquaintd, I guess? I've been - gone a little while. Anyways. You wanna come get some lunch?"
The look that Cindy gets from the young girl in the reggae festival shirt is the same kind of look that one would expect upon asking 'Hey, so, want to go give blood together?' Green eyes keep scanning over Cindy with a face that seems to mix suspicion and confusion in equal amounts. Then again, maybe whoever this girl is, she was taught about the realities of Stranger Danger.
After longer than is probably comfortable, the short girl says, "Okay." She turns to face Cindy completely, as if ready to follow.
Cindy eyes the girl for a few moments longer, trying to figure out if she's okay or not, the nods. "C'mon." She doesn't reach out to grab Laura's hand and lead her, though that might be her initial thought or desire - that the girl needs help. But, the walk isn't far.
There's a foodstand nearby where the vendor is selling hotdogs.
Cindy pulls out her money, … and orders a dozen. She looks sheepishly at the vendor who gives the two small girls a once over, makes a comment to himself quietly about never looking a gift horse in the mouth and proceeds to make the dogs. "Everything on 'em," Cindy proclaims. Pausing, looking to Laura. "You like everything? Or, you want some stuff left off?"
The black-haired girl certainly looks physically okay. She doesn't seem to have any trouble moving, and there's no bruising or other signs of injury on what's visible of her skin. (Between her leggings and the vastly-too-big T-shirt, that's not a whole lot.) When Cindy walks, the girl follows, at a perfectly matced pace, always staying one step behind.
The green-eyed mystery girl watches Cindy order, and then shrugs as an answer to her question. A half-beat later she adds: "Everything is good." The way she says it is so flat that it's almost a parody, matching her tone of voice to the words she's saying.
The entirety of Cindy's front pocket is emptied, including the last few dollars and change in change, and the dozen dogs are handed over in a neat little tray. Cindy then leads Laura over to a bench along the street that she sits down at, setting the box of dogs next to herself and leaving a space for Laura to sit at on the other side of the box.
"I have a pretty big appetite. But you can have all you want." She at least has rations she can go back to, and realizes that Laura has, likely, nothing. "Help yourself."
With that said, she takes a dog in her hand, adding, "I'm Cindy." A grin, then she's stuffing the dog into her face. Laura isn't the only hungry one.
"Mm Wowuh." Apparently, the black-haired girl just gave her name? It's hard to tell what it is she exactly SAID, though, because she immediately crammed half a hot dog into her mouth as soon as they sat down. She doesn't seem to mind that she just got relish all over the front of her shirt. As hungry as Cindy is, there's really no comparing to someone who eats like she was raised by wolves. Not only is she pigging out, she's making a mess of herself in doing so.
That first hot dog is gone in two bites that she probably barely chewed, and on to the second one. Whoever this kid is, she's either starving or she's even weirder than Cindy probably guessed.
Cindy writes it off as the girl being homeless, especially given the way she's eating. But there's no judging here! Not from her. She eats hungrily, just not in the huge, gulping swallows that Laura is, telling the girl after her own first dog, "Relax. It's not going anywhere. Promise. Enjoy it. It's good food. Taste it." She sounds humored, more than anything.
Her second dog is chewed, enjoyably. It's been a long while since she's had an authentic new york dog, even if helping someone out cost the last of her available cash Betty had given her, it's worth it. All of it.
She also manages to slide some of the napkins over to Laura, still grinning. "Nice to meet you, Wowuh."
Cindy gets a look from 'Wowuh' like she's not sure what the hell Cindy is even talking about. Slow down? Enjoy food? It's as if Cindy had told her that the proper way to enjoy a New York dog is to hold it up to your mouth using only your feet.
Still, Laura seems to obey this directive: she slows down considerably, chewing a full twenty-four times before swallowing. She doesn't seem to make use to the napkins that are pushed her way, though. "Laura," she says, halfway into hot dog #2.
"Good to meet you, Laura," Cindy reiterates, clearly humored by the jovial tone of her voice, and the huge grin on her features. "Looks like you've got an appetite to match mine." She pauses, asks more soberly, but no less kindly, "When's the last time you had a real meal?"
Laura's tone stays flat and deadpan, the same as her expression. She doesn't seem to mind being humored, but it's almost impossible to tell what WOULD get a reaction out of her. The question makes her stop and think. She looks at her knees, brow knitting for a moment, before she shrugs. "I don't keep track," she finally says, looking back at the other woman, and then finishing her hot dog while keeping eye contact in what may seem deeply, deeply weird.
Cindy nods, considering things. "Do you have a place to stay?" Is her next question. Oh, she's noticed the staring. She couldn't not notice the staring. But she's doing a mostly decent job of not calling attention to the staring, instead focusing on what she could be doing to help this girl who clearly needs help.
Her second dog is finished, her third started casually, now. "I've got some food I could share with you, back where I'm staying. If it would help."
Laura reaches for the third hot dog to even up the score. While she does so, she answers Cindy's question, but by shaking her head 'no' instead of issuing a verbal response. The interesting thing about Laura's answer to the question of "do you have a place to stay" is that it comes seemingly without shame, or even sadness — like the question was along the lines of "do you think it might rain?"
Cindy furrows her brow. "I'm sorry. I'd help you there if I could," she says, with genuine empathy and even a bit of guilt that she can't. "But, I don't even have a job yet. I've been - gone for awhile. And, well, it's complicated. But if you don't mind military rations that don't expire almost ever, I can get some to you?" It's the best she can do. Another pause, "And I've got a lot of clothes too. If you need some."
Laura eats the third hot dog in silence. For a second, it's like she's intentionally ignoring Cindy. She's looking at the other woman, yes, but she's not reacting, and it's as if she's simply not hearing the words coming out of Cindy's mouth. It's only after finishing the third hot dog that she asks: "Why?"
The other dark-haired girl smiles, "Because it's the right thing to do. I have some, you have none. Besides. I've got way more than I can eat. And now that — well, now that some things have changed, I won't need it all. So, I want to help you. Because you need it. That's why." She stuffs her face with the last bite of her third dog, and doesn't seem to take the fourth just yet.
"Though I don't have a phone yet. Or I'd give you my number, too. Besides. I can use all the friends I can get right now. Friends are good things to have."
Laura doesn't wait. The fourth hot dog on her tally is alreayd being worked over while Cindy explains herself. She actually looks away from Cindy this time, which might seem more normal for a second until it becomes kind of clear that Laura isn't really looking at anything in particular. It's really hard to tell when this little weirdo is listening to people.
"Why do you have military rations?" comes the next question from Laura, as she looks back over at Cindy. Her poker face remains perfect, but there definitely seems to be a pointed edge to that question, and maybe a subtle emphasis on the word 'military.'
Cindy sighs, as she takes the fourth hot dog. "It's a long story. Complicated. But, I had to stay somewhere where I couldn't go outside, or - do things like I'm doing now. Some bad people were after me. So a friend helped me hide, and military rations were easy to keep on hand," she explains without giving away too much. "I'm not out now because the people who were after me are dead. So it's okay if I'm out."
The way that Laura stares at Cindy would probably make most people very uncomfortable. It's like Laura has decided to make blinking optional. She's watching Cindy so closely, and to what end? To be a little human lie detector, maybe? Or a telepath, poking around in Cindy's brain?
After that, Laura nods, like she accepts whatever Cindy is telling her. "Okay," she says, with one single nod. Like Cindy just passed a test.
"It's okay. It's true. But, I understand if you're skeptical. It's kind of weird, I know," Cindy agrees, feeling comfortable enough to talk for them both and trying to not draw ttention to Laura's oddities. "Wanna tell me a little about yourself? You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, though. But, if we're going to be friends, I should at least know something about you, right?"
Hot dog number four is gone. Five is about to meet its fate. Laura raises one eyebrow at Cindy, like she finds Cindy talking about how 'weird' her story is to be weirder than the story itself. She nods again when asked to talk about herself. "My name is Laura. I'm eighteen years old. I'm five foot one inches tall. I think hot dogs taste good."
"Well, Laura, I like hot dogs too. Here." She takes the napkin and starts to gently dab some of the relish and gunk away from Laura's shirt, then tosses the napkin into the trashbin. "How long have you been in the city?" She tries, to get a few clues to the girl.
Laura almost flinches when Cindy starts to try to clean her shirt. (It doesn't seem like she's wearing anything under it, so that might be why she's acting skittish about being touched.) "A little while," Laura replies. If nothing else, she's definitely going to be a clue-resistant type: that much is as clear as the green in her eyes.
"A few years? Months? Weeks?" Cindy prompts, curiously not getting frustrated. Helping Laura is, perhaps, helping her forget her own personal problems which is a good thing to be distracted from even if only temporarily so.
She retreats back to give Laura personal space, and doesn't seem to be touching any of the dogs anymore. Likely she'll let Laura finish them off, or carry the rest of them off for later.
"I just got back a couple weeks ago myself, I'd been gone just under two years. A lot has changed," she shares.
It looks like Laura is going to keep eating for as long as food is left in front of her. This will result in her sitting there and eating a total of nine hot dogs with everything, without ever once showing signs of discomfort or getting full. "Couple weeks," Laura replies in between chewing. She's at least not talking with her mouth full again. "I'm new here."
Fumbling, Cindy finds a pencil in her pocket, and then she scribbles a username onto a piece of paper: cm2112. "You can message me on Friendkeeper," an old and outdated, but still used, instant message service. "I get internet service where I stay. So it's cool. And if you don't have internet, you can get service at the library. We can meet here, if you want to meet again. It'll be like, our spot, okay?"
Laura stares at the 'cm2112' for what feels like ten whole seconds, before nodding. She doesn't take the piece of paper. "I'll remember," she says, and she sounds like she means it.
Then Laura looks up, and around. Not at the people walking around them, but at landmarks: buildings, signs, various things that would help her find this exact spot if she wanted to look for it. Eventually her gaze settles back on Cindy: "When?"
That inquiry sort of catches Cindy off guard. "Well. How about tomorrow? Same time?" She looks up for the time, and points at a nearby sign that displays the current time in brightly digital red. "I can bring some of that food for you, and some clothes, too," she offers, helpfully. "That sound good?"
Laura nods. She does seem… somehow more at ease than when she first started talking with Cindy, but it's a matter of degrees. Unless someone was really studying and knew what to look for, they might not track much of a difference at all. "Okay. Bye," she says, and then stands up and starts walking away. It's incredibly rude, but more in an ignorant way than in an intentional one.
"Um. Okay. See you … tomorrow?" Cindy waves, somewhat uncertainly to Laura's back, and then exhales, and says lower to herself, "Well, Cindy. Let's hope we can make her life just a little better. Time to go home and think, I think."
With that, Cindy gets up too, and begins to head in the vauge direction of the warehouse district.