[H.C Eastman] The streets are pretty quiet, its late. Very late. There's few places still open to grab a bite to eat, but H.C knows where to look and where to pester in order to get a good meal around here. It's a small place, it doesn't even have a room. A line of seats along a counter opening onto the street.
H.C Eastman sits in one, his hat rests on the counter beside his elbows while he chopsticks migoreng into his mouth. He looks better than when James last saw him, he wears a clean and tightly fitting dark grey suit - no tie however. The top few buttons of his black shirt are undone. He's been at the University, reading in the library of the Anthropology department. He hasn't even been home yet, decided he would stop for a bite to eat instead.
He texted James, asking if he'd like to join him. Not really in an attempt to see the deaf man. More hoping that he will bring along that little thing he had on his arm the previous night.
[E. Littleton] Homesickness is a strange thing, a wanderer's curse, a half-known failing that slips in, all of a sudden, to consume and weary. Emily's brother-of-sorts has been away for a week, now. Her friend (and possibly more) had been away for a week, and they key he'd left behind is still burning a hole in her pocket-full-of-promises she doesn't expect him to keep. It's late summer, but not yet Autumn and the leaves have barely begun threatening to turn. This is limbo, Purgatory, the waiting place.
She hates waiting.
And so she is out in the small hours, walking, alone, through the Southside streets. Emily doesn't have her messenger bag, tonight. Just dark jeans, and a crisp white shirt with a mandarin collar (a nod, perhaps, to the culture of this corner of Chicago). She reads none of the languages posted on the storefronts, only their brief and often inaccurate English annotations. She cannot read the circulars that litter the street. The Taiwanese market, there, is advertising odd fruits she does not know the English name for, knows them only by sight, and smell, and taste. But she knows how to point, how to nod, when to smile and when to shake her head no to navigate the language barrier with confidence if not ease.
This late night excursion brings her to the counter, with its late night fare. Her stay there begins with a smile, and a Ni hao?, a greeting. She peruses the menu boards, orders something in broken but technically correct Chinese pronunciation, and manages a Xie xie at the end that sounds a little more practiced.
The girl is painfully white, with barely sun-bronzed skin and darkly blue eyes. There's no hint of Asian heritage there, no glimmer of almond shaped eyes, no hint of black-dark to her brown hair. Emily slides onto a stool at the far enough of the counter, keeps enough space between her and the man she doesn't know to imply separateness. She's Other, and it's wrapped around her words, the cant of her voice, the ways she thinks nothing of being surrounded by a sea of information she cannot partake in, cultures she can't ever own. It's comfortable, this, and it pushes back the homesickness.
Emily gathers her hair in her hands, twists it deftly into a small knot at the nape of her neck. She rests her elbows on the counter, leans her chin against her hands.
[James Blake] Normally he gives blokes his number and they want to meet up for drinks. So they can pick up girls and compare scars or whatever it is that of age men do in bars on week nights. Sometimes they want to meet for dinner though. And that always strikes him as odd. Those texts take longer for him to answer. 5 minutes vs. 30 seconds. It was after one of those long pauses that James told him he would be there in half an hour. Last night he had been dressed like a slobby frat brother. Tonight he looks...well he still looks young enough to be a uni student but if he's any resemblance to a frat brother he's at least a clean one. He wears nice shoes and dark jeans and a dark blue shirt. The sleeves are rolled up and he wears no jewelry other than a ring on his right thumb. You can't see the huge bruise on his upper arm. He walks a little more steadily than he did last night. When he gets to the restaurant he has to try and remember what this Eastman guy looks like. Last night is kind of a blur. He recognises Emily before he recognises Eastman.
[E. Littleton] [Awareness: Let's see if I'm paying any attention tonight...]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 3, 5, 8, 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)
[H.C Eastman] Static x 2
- Pursuit
- Stubbornness
to E. Littleton
[James Blake] (( James has traces of Entropy, Mind, Prime and Time magic around him in addition to his resonance. Not sure how much you get from 1 success LOL. ))
to E. Littleton
[H.C Eastman] When she gets closer she will see that there's an old leather bound journal resting on the counter in front of the man's dish. His eyes are intensely focused upon it and he thumbs through the pages. He barely even notices her browsing the menu's and sitting down.
He doesn't even lift his head to talk, eyes still staring at the pages and reading.
"Late night for a pretty thing like yourself to be out." He closes the book and tilts his head to look at her, a sly smile creeps into his face like he's just seen something entertaining. Or perhaps something he doesn't like at all, its hard to tell with him. Always that dry sarcastic grin.
"You meeting someone?"
[E. Littleton] James hasn't heard from Emily since she wrote to pass on the news that Molly was okay. Aside from pushing community information his way, she's been rather self-sufficient, solitary. He doesn't know her well enough to know how that bodes. So he recognizes her here, in a place where she doesn't expect to be found out or scrutinized. In a moment where her head is gently bowed and her eyes are focused on not-here, not-now, in a flavour of repose that is reserved for truly quiet moments of contemplation. She is unguarded here, not safely ensconced behind a pleasant mask or quick to easy answers.
But the quiet parts, and the feel of resonance tickles the small hairs on the back of her neck. There is a familiar brush of something almost comforting (of the calm before the fall [of downfall] destruction) that draws back her shoulders, slightly, that breaks the repose and pulls her more to sitting upright. This without him ever speaking her name, or reaching out to tap her shoulder. Emily is Aware, if dimly so, and then she blinks to clear the sleep-walking thoughts from her eyes. She turns her head and regards him quizzically.
There is no hello, just yet, because after finding James her gaze slides on to the man at the counter, who tastes of dogged chasings, of hunting, of dug-in-heels and that certainty, the itch of being followed. She shifts a bit, on her stool, so that this man is never out of her peripheral vision. It is a sutble wariness, a thing learned, not an active decision.
When he addresses her, she smiles. It's a warm enough smile. Just inviting enough to get her into all the wrong sorts of trouble with the wrong sorts of men. Emily doesn't quite know that, for all the nascent wariness she has. Her voice is curious, touched with far away places more openly now that she speaks in English.
"Mmm, no. Just out on my own. I'm homesick and looking for something familiar," she says, but the accent speaks of the Isles and not the Orient, and there is something askew there. "What about you? Like you said: it's late..."
This fades away into a half-asked question, as Emily accepts her food from the man behind the counter. She does not eat, yet, rather folds the take away box closed and tucks a pair of chopsticks between the thumb and index finger of her left hand. They are a familiar tool, no doubt about it.
[H.C Eastman] His skin is tanned, weather beaten. And despite having shaved that morning, he now already has a mesh of stubble growing along his jaw and over his chin and around his lips. His voice is deep, harsh and gravelly. American to its core. He's noticed James' of course, but his eyes stay on Emily, he doesn't even acknowledge the man's presence just yet.
A foreigner. He likes that.
"Ain't nothing about you that says -any- of this should be familiar doll."
He pushes his chopsticks down into his dish and leaves them there and finally he turns his head to James, gives him a nod. "Hey Kid, take a seat."
[E. Littleton] He calls her doll. That moves one of Emily's eyebrows up just a touch. It's a challenging sort of half-reply, echoed in the bare curl of her mouth. Lopsided. Wry.
"There is a saying about judging books by their covers," she cautions, in a light and obviously amused tone. It's easy, this amusement, free. She should be more cautious with it but Emily, just now, isn't thinking about caution.
She looks over to James again, now, as he's offered a seat.
[James Blake] He has a lot of text messages from a lot of people that he hasn't answered. Most of them women. Most of them wanting something from him. Emily is one of the ones who had sent him a text lately. It had to do with Molly though. It went unanswered for some reason. The last several messages she'd sent...they'd been answered. He looks worse for wear tonight. He's paler than usual and he's not walking with his normal confidence. Like he's trying to avoid jostling something that hurts. He waves to Emily. Glances at Eastman as if to say One second. Moves his hand in Emily's sight to get her attention if she's not looking at him. Eastman might be surprised to hear him actually speak...not just slur and yell nonsense. It doesn't sound much better than last night but at least it sounds like English.
"Sorry I no' answer your tex's," he says. And he does look sorry. "Ha' some t'ouble." Frown. "Okay...a lo' of t'ouble."
[E. Littleton] [Alertness: Is you hurt?]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 2, 2, 3, 5 (Botch x 1 at target 6)
to James Blake
[H.C Eastman] She's smiling at him, even he can tell that. She wants him, its only natural. His smirk doesn't fade while she speaks and he's quick to reply.
"Well ain't nothing wrong with your cover, so don't beat yourself up about it."
He says all too knowingly, like she even meant that by her statement. Like he could possibly know anything about her, like he doesn't need to read her cover at all. Like he's already read the whole damn book.
But James is there, talking to this girl like he knows her and suddenly he's rather impressed. Two girls, two nights. He's deaf but he's keeping up with Eastman anyway. It's admirable.
The words of a deaf man are easier to swallow when you're shit faced, but Eastman is old, he's been through enough not to flinch at the sound of improperly vocalised words. Not because he doesn't find them odd, just because he doesn't care enough to have a response.
[E. Littleton] [Re-trying this with Medicine + Int (analytical)... c'mon kahseeno, this isn't rocket science!]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 3, 3, 6, 8, 9, 10 (Success x 4 at target 6) Re-rolls: 1
to James Blake
[E. Littleton] James says a lot of trouble and the wryness fades. The curl of her mouth slips into a thin-lipped appraisal. Now, all at once, she seems to place the way he's walking, the pallor, the extended silence. Emily, who has very little room to talk, nods once. (Okay.) She catches his eyes, then looks at the seat next to her. It's not really an invitation, more like a firm request. She slides the take away box over to rest in front of that stool, hands the chopsticks to him.
Even without verbal cues, it's easy to parse what she means. Sit. Eat. Surely, not long after, they'll reach Explain.
"I'm glad you're okay," she says, finally, while he's deciding whether or not to join them.
[eileen] Blog entry of the evening:
dogs and cats living together, chinatown is ripe tonight! closing windows. clooosing windows.
So of course she closes the windows and puts on the fanciest heels she owns which are black suede and peep-toe and amazing, tops them with a miniskirt that clings to her hips and her thighs and shows off her isn't-she-just long legs and yanks a blue flannel button-down over it all, the buttons mismatched because she just can't be bothered to bother lining them up.
Those heels tap the ground as she walks and take her right into this here restaurant which is either stalking or karma, and she's more inclined to believe in karma. Maybe not fate. But some sort of balance to the universe, some kind of tit for tat, some kind of meaning behind the constant cycling from one day to the other and this face and that voice and creepy old men and pretty young women and that guy from the fountain.
James doesn't know that she lives in Chinatown. That was expensive, him getting dropped off first, but if he'd cracked his head on some sidewalk or passed out and had a two hundred dollar cab fare because of it she would've just felt so bad but as it is
it probably looks a little weird that she's hanging around Chinatown again. Not as weird as her coming alongside him, waiting a second to ensure that at least his peripheral vision catches her, then throwing her arms around him and giving him a squeeze. "Hi!"
And to Dr. Eastman, who does not get a hug, a wave. "Hi!"
And to Emily, who she stares at a moment then grins at. "Hi!"
[H.C Eastman] "Speaking of trouble.."
[E. Littleton] It's hard to be a stern-faced apprentice when someone in amazing heels is counterbalancing your worrying with hugs and cheerful helloes. James is spared, then, the worry that Emily might have after his lot of trouble. The tightness around her mouth and eyes recants as Perky, who does not have a name yet but does have a far closer friendship with him, envelops the Singer in an embrace.
She looks past the two of them to Eastman. Then looks down at her dinner, which she's just offered to James.
"Hey," she says, to the smiles and friendliness. It's warm enough, and canted toward an accent that is neither here nor now. Emily leans against the counter with one arm, casually. Easy.
[James Blake] He looks between the bloke he'd saved last night - like or not that's what happened! - and the woman who might be his apprentice. It shouldn't surprise him that Eastman is talking to her. He'd seen the way he talked to anyone with a 2nd X chromosome last night. Sort of. His memory of last night isn't too hot. James is starting to ask if they know each other when a rather petite female comes up alongside him. And hugs him. The tall man gives Eastman an amused - if startled - look. Back to his question.
"You two know ea' other," he says, finger moving between Eileen and Eastman. "Em'ly, you me' Do'tor Ea'tman or Eileen?"
[H.C Eastman] Eileen is there, in her heels and her little skirt. Just begging for him to be a total creep. He doesn't though, that ship sailed. Maybe she'll be pleased about that. She gets a nod and a Hey in response and then he orders all three of them a beer each.
When the beverages are slid over the counter he pushes two of them along before opening his own and taking a swig. James introduces them all and he frowns.
"Come on kid, don't call me doctor alright?" There's reasons of course. The first being he can't stand titles, the second being that as soon as anyone finds out he's a doctor - they want to know what kind of doctor. And if some how they find that out they almost always reply with Oh.. so not a real doctor then...
[E. Littleton] No is one of the few signs she knows. James knows this from that night at the park. So her response to him comes quickly, and almost as an aside to how she reacts to the others. It's a clear negative. But her smile warms a little, to encompass them as friends-of-James not just random strangers. It approaches genuinely friendly, this smile.
"Pleased to meet you both," she says, in that muddled but foreign accent of hers. It's predominantly British, but impure. When she's offered a drink, Emily politely declines.
"I would, but I have to head home before long," she explains. She doesn't wear a watch, or Emily would throw in the nice cue of checking her left wrist to sell the statement. "I just stopped by to grab a bit of dinner."
Of everyone here, only James would know how far out of her way she'd strayed to grab a meal. Emily doesn't live around this part of town.
[H.C Eastman] [SORRY FOUR IM NOT GOOD AT THE MATHEMATICS]
[eileen] Truth be told -- and it should be! -- Eileen has no closer a relationship with James than with Dr. Eastman. But Emily doesn't know that. And Eileen doesn't know Emily. Yet, she would say,
and does, smiling at Emily. "No! Not yet. I'm Eileen."
And again, if one is honest, she doesn't know Dr. Eastman, either. She never got his name, just stole his hat briefly which ended up being quite the bad idea. "What do we call you then?"
[James Blake] OK, he signs. Not really knowing what else to call him. For some reason "Colin" doesn't jump out when he tries to remember what had been so funny about his name last night. His fingers wiggle like they're thinking. He's aware of his surroundings tonight...and what other people are saying. So the women speak, and when Eileen asks what they should call him he turns back toward the professor with his eyebrows raised. Interested in the answer himself.
[H.C Eastman] Emily is quite polite, says its a pleasure to meet both of them and he returns the politeness, if weakly. "Likewise." And then he shrugs his shoulders to her decline of a drink. "Suit yourself." He takes it back, placing it in front of him.
But they're all looking at him, wondering what they should call him. He sighs.
"Names Henry Colin Eastman. Pick one, I don't care which."
[E. Littleton] "We've already got a Henri," she says, with that light wry note returning to her voice. She's assuming a kinship, here, that has not yet been spoken. It's a presumption, true, but one Emily feels comfortable making in a light-heated way. "You may wish to be Colin, if only to differentiate yourself."
Because the other Henri, you see, was a menace. Brilliant. Inspired. Likely to burn the city down by accident.
"Just a thought," she adds, to gentle the warning.
[eileen] "Ooh, a beer," are the next words out of Eileen's mouth, as she reaches for the fourth that Dr. Eastman ordered. And just like that, all creepery thus far is forgiven and forgotten. Tit for tat. Balancing act. She has the freshly minted college graduate's delight for free booze, as well as the freshly minted college graduate's surprising skill for opening a beer bottle on just about anything.
In this case: the edge of the bar and a sharp thwack of her hand and VOILA.
A bottlecap goes skittering and Eileen offers her bottle around to tap it against whoever is up for an impromptu, nonverbal toast. "I'm going to go with 'Henry'," she says, even though Emily just said there's already a Henri. She uses the word 'we', but that isn't what Eileen zeroes in on. She drinks, and she fiddles with the hem of her shirt, fiddles with the tousles of her long hair. "Do you guys live around here or something? You're, like, always around now."
Always being twice, now. But nevermind that.
[James Blake] Emily decides to call him Colin. Eileen goes for Henry. James looks around, then shrugs and says, "Fi', I jus' call you Ea'tman then. No Do'tor." He picks up his beer. He seems impressed by Eileen's skill in getting the bottle open. He goes for a less impressive method...he uses his lighter to get the thing open. Tosses down the cap and silently toasts. Eileen asks a question. He swallows his beer before answering, "I wa' gonna as' you same t'ing. Ea'tman keep' d'aggin' me out 'roun' here."
[H.C Eastman] Theres already a Henri.. Well, H.C couldn't really care less if there was ten thousand other Henry's. He told them his name, told them they could call him what they like. That's about all there is to it, he has no preference.
"Henry's fine." A nod to Eileen. "Colin's also fine.." A smirk to Emily "Yea kid, Eastman's fine too. Just don't call me doc." and he taps his beer with Eileen's and then James'.
"Well I keep dragging you down here because I live near here. Besides, I like it round here. The people can't understand half of what you're saying, you can't understand them. Nobody tries too hard for meaning down here."
[E. Littleton] Henry's fine, he says. And Colin's fine. And Eastman's fine. All of this prompts Emily to quip: A man of many names. In an approving fashion. As she slides off her seat at the counter. The same approving tone is applied to the Nice, a side comment for Eileen's deft booze-wrangling skills.
She places a hand on James's shoulder, waits until he glances her way, then says, "We'll catch up later?" This is actually a question, a curiousity, and there's very little push to it tonight.
"I'm sure I'll see you all around," she tells them, but it's clearly time for Emily to go. And time for her dinner to stay, and feed another Singer who is somewhat worse for wear tonight. "I'm going to try to catch the next El. Have a nice evening."
She waves a bit, and stays long enough for good byes (but not long enough for James to connect The El to the light rail to the long and round-about way home).
[eileen] clink. clink. clinkclinkclinkclinkclink.
There's a round of soft glass-on-glass action. Drink. Eileen hasn't taken a seat anywhere yet, and seems content to stand there drinking her beer because it's free beer. She salutes Emily with her bottle as the woman heads out. "Good meeting you!" she says, and it seems genuine. Sincere. It really was good, to meet someone new, someone who smiled and approved of bottlecap-wrestling and who did not go off on a bitchrant in front of total strangers. Eileen similarly approves.
For whatever that's worth, and she might be the first to say that it isn't worth much more than a couple of bottlecaps rubbed together. Bottlecaps which she is gathering up from where James and Henry and herself left them, scooping them into her shirt's breast pocket. Drink.
"I live around here, too," Eileen tells Henry and James, belated by a few moments. Drink. "But not for such philosophical reasons." She pauses, and looks at James. She slows down. And considering at least 25% of what she says has to be inferred given how fast she talkes normally, slowing down doesn't put her at a crawl, it just makes her sound normal. "I don't really know any sign, but you probably guessed that. Is it easier if I talk slower, or are you just guessing really, really well?"
[H.C Eastman] He picks up his chopsticks after putting down his beer and drags a bit of the food into his mouth. It's gone cold. He chews it, swallows and pushes the dish away from him. The chopsticks in his hand are replaced once more by the bottle.
She remains standing and so he turns in his chair, leans his back against the counter with both elbows resting upon it. She says she lives around her too.. but not for the same reasons.. For a moment he wonders what those reasons are, then shrugs it away. Probably something trivial, not any of his business, not his concern. Her next question to James does interest him slightly though and he regards the deaf kid, curious to his response.
[James Blake] Emily doesn't have to wait long. He looks over when she touches him, his eyebrows raised. He smiles and signs Yes. Laughs. It sounds more like a heavy breath. "Tex' me this wee'. I answer this ti'." And then she goes. Leaving her food behind. It makes the man frown but he doesn't nag. There's been enough of that lately. He waves Bye. Looks curious when Eileen collects their caps. He watches her speech change. Decides to actually sit down next to Eastman instead of looming over Eileen...amazing shoes or no.
He grins when she asks if he's guessing, then signs No. Even though she can't understand his signing...he does it. But he does speak what his hands say. "I wen' to a hear' school. Go' p'etty goo' a' li' reading. I' you don' ta' real fa' or real slow, I un'erstan'. Mo' peo'le ha' more t'ouble un'erstan' me than I ha' t'ouble und'erstan' them. So if you can' un'erstan'...tell me. I write."
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