Summary:In which Darcy meets Fred or Fred meets Darcy and manages to get her phone number. Or what on earth has the poor boy gotten himself into!? Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
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It's mid-day in the city that never sleeps, which means that technically it could be any time of day, but for the purposes of our story it means just after noon. In the heart of the NYU campus, Fred, a recent arrival, has found himself a food truck that serves hot wings and burgers, and is currently in the process of chewing his way through 'the Hottest Wings on the East Coast' while idly watching the handful of mid-summer coeds in a wistful way. Not a creeper way. Wistful. His ankles crossed over each other, he has a relaxed atmosphere about him and looks pleased with his choice of lunch options.
Of the others at the nearby food truck and the wandering groups of college students, there is as ever, a constant stream coming and going.
Darcy drops herself at the same table/bench combination Fred was at, unashamed thta she doesn't know him and ould maybe be bothering him. She has her own lunch, a burger, fries, three hot wings, large soda. No backpack, but she does let the oversized purse slip from her shoulder and onto the ground near her. She drops the strap over the bench and sits on it before tucking her legs in and round the bag.
"Hi. Darcy. Mind if I sit with you to eat? Fuck, I'm hungry and the line at the grad office was stupid," she rambles, a warm smile on her face. Instead of offering a hand in greeting, she offers her food basket. "Fry?"
"Fred. Sit away," Fred answers, though he does look a bit wide-eyed that an older woman in college is talking to him, still a touch of the kid fresh out of high school lingering there. Looking at the food basket when she extends it to him, he reaches out and takes one, "I like the ones with uh," he has to look at his fries and think, "The chili powder? No, it's not that, it's what's it called? Paprika?" he indicates his fries while he talks and extends his own basket across the table to her. "The hot powder."
Pulling his basket back after the offering, he gets over his initial shock quickly and starts eating another wing. Now eating with gusto again, dipping his hot fries in a combination of hotsauce and ketchup.
"Are you a student here?" he asks, pausing to take a sip from his tall syrofoam cup full of Coke.
"No idea what it's called, but I get you," Darcy replies, bringing her food back to herself and tucking into her meal.
"Nah. Graduated from Culver. But the grad office's got intern noticed, so I was looking. And maybe seeing what Master's programs they've got here. Just in case, ya know? You? Do I need to be keeping my language PG13?"
"Culver? Oh, that's the one in New Jersey, right? That's cool, what was your major?" Fred asks while he eats, thinking about the mention of an intern notice. "And what kind of internship was it? Those pay, right?" he asks, smiling. He has a bit of hot sauce on his face and across his cheeks from eating the hotwings unabashed, but at least he tries occasionally to wipe it away with a handful of napkins. "And yes, I'm a student here," he fudges when he'll be starting, or if he has started already, that way she might think he's older. "You can swear all the fuck you want."
"Yeah. I'm a PoliSci major, trying desperating to avoid a classroom and Capital Hill, because can you just imagine me in a fucking classroom?" Darcy replies, eyes rolling.
"Right now? Anything. Hell, I'd even take a physics internship, and I hate science shit," she says, a shoulder rolling.
"Some pay. Some don't. I'm praying for a paying one, but Ill take anything that gets me some damn job experience," gets added, a napkin held out for him to wipe a bit more. She's not one to judge. She now has burger sauce on her cheek and chin.
"Fuck yes. Thank you," she says, glad to have gotten permission despite having been cussing this whole time.
"First off, yes, I can imagine you distracting everyone in class, and I just met you—the political science major who hates science," Fred remarks like it's a joke and then feels badly for it, and actually groans at his own bad joke. "Sorry." He chews on another wing, sucking it down to the bone and popping it out of his mouth while he listens to her talk about internships, nodding slightly at her.
Turning slightly in his seat, he opens his backpack and pulls out the school class directory, and starts flipping through it with one hand while he eats with the other. Looking for something.
"There's a water testing course that is listed as an internship. I think you go out to the Hudson or something and collect water samples a few times a week, bring them back, get internship credits," he mentions.
"It's the math, fucker," Darcy grouses, before laughing and waving it off. "S'all good, my dude." She goes back to eating, taking a bite of burger and then a fry and then a hot wing and chewing it all and drinking down some soda so she can start all over again. Her eyes flit to that directory, and she cranes up to try to see. Her glasses catch a bit of sunilght.
"Hmm.. water science. Fun times" she deadpans. "I'll think about it. I've applied for a few things already. Hopefuly I get some nibbles. Thanks for the tip, though. I'll keep it in mind."
"Yeah, fuckin' math," Fred agrees with a laugh and smiles at her a little between bites. Watching her over the edge of his styrofoam cup, he pulls out his phone and sets it aside, like he's waiting for a call. The scene is set. Back to conversation, he nods at her words and mentions, "I think I might have heard about an internship with the physics department too, when I was down in there the other day talking to a professor about my classes for the fall," he slides the conversation along further. "But I don't think it's listed."
A pause.
"You know, if you give me your number, I can text you about it?" he suggests and offers her his phone to input the numbers on.
Trap set. Bait laid. The only question reminds is, did Fred bait this trap well enough to get Darcy's phone number or is he going to strike out? Will he walk away a failure or a Master Baiter?
Darcy's eyes slide to the phone, then to Fred as he asks for her number and then offers her his phone. A brow quirks. Three full seconds pass before she sets her burger down, sucks off grease and mayonaise and ketchup and hot wing sauce, then wipes her hands with a napkin and THEN collects the phone to put in her number. She even, very helpfully, takes a selfie, neednig to redo it since the first one revealed to her the amount of stuff on her face.
Contact added: Darcy Lewis.
Darcy returns the phone and picks up her burger to finish it.
"Use that for a booty call, and I may have to kick your ass." Fair warning.
"Yes ma'am, no booty calls," Fred promises, not to say he won't call her for other reasons that aren't about internships, but she had taken a selfie and provided the number after making herself presentable. In Fred's young mind, he hasn't been shut down, and that means that no matter what happens later, he has succeeded. Turning his phone towards himself, he looks at the screen for several long moments before he lifts it up himself and takes a picture of himself.
A few seconds later, a picture pops up on her phone along with his upstate phone number.
Contact now available to be added, if she so chooses: the name in the message is Fred Davis. Along with his smiling face with some hot BBQ sauce on it.
"Don't go putting that on any restroom walls," he warns.
"Too late. That's the new wall paper in the computer labs," Darcy says, all without ever having opened the message to look at the picture. In face, despite her phone binging, she didn't even check it. She's eating nd having a conversation. The phone can fucking wait. Of course, she's not eating like a dainty lady. She's eating quick and rushed and well like a college student between classes sot hat in short order her meal is done.
"Ah! That was fuckign amazing. Thanks for hte company," she says after a burp. Face wiped, Darcy moves to stand. "Catch you around."