[ LOG ] 21.10.24 Tapestries

Street(#172604RLJ)

It's just an ordinary city street with cars and parking meters and sidewalks and stores. You can 'tport #learn' the teleport pattern here, if you wish to return.

[ Obvious Exits: [D]iner, [P]he's [B]rownstone, [S]hopping [A]rcade, [A]lley ]

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( It's late afternoon on a late summer day that's still clinging on to the balmy warmth of the earlier season. But as the daylight turns to golden yellow and rusty red from the setting sun, the city's pulse heightens with folks leaving work, heading out for graveyard shifts, or just emerging to enjoy the day as it cools down a touch. )

( The streets aren't quiet, is any street in NY ever truly quiet? But even that relative background noise is suddenly broken up by the low rumble of an approaching motorcycle heading towards the diner's general area. With a screech of tires on blacktop the bike's rider slingshots it into a parking space, missing the cars in front and behind it by only a couple inches, then dismounts from the solid black vehicle so he can put change in the meter. )

( From across the street somewhere, there's a wolf whistle. Which, like, isn't all that much cause for anyone to snap to attention. But given that it came from the leggy hyena-looking woman crossing the street, maybe a little attention. She's got a wrap and a drink in one hand, from the bodega she just exited and, approaches the other side of the road, she points to the motorcycle that was just parked. "Nice ride." )

Brice hasn't even taken his helmet off when he hears the cat call so, at first, he pays it no mind. That is until he spots the woman walking over and realizes oh, it was directed at /him/. Judging by the expression on his face when he pulls off his helmet he's clearly confused and maybe even a bit suspicious. "Thanks." He'll be polite for now. No reason to be rude even if it is NY. "Hopefully it's gonna stay nice."

Laur circles the bike and the dog like a predator, but what comes off on the outside as a wee bit intimidating, is just her getting a good look at the bike. "Mainly gotta worry about it getting stolen," she comments, taking a sip of her drink before she crouches down on the opposite side of the bike from the dog to check it out closer. "Scrambler, yeah? You work on it yourself?"

Brice tucks his helmet under one arm and adjusts the black leather jacket he's currently wearing over, of all things, a hoodie. How is he not roasting to death? He shrugs in response to her question, passing over the stolen comment she makes, and double checks to make sure the meter accepted his money. "Yeah, it's a decent bike. I tinker with it but I'm nowhere close to being a mechanic."

Laur rises back to her feet, stretching on her tip-toes for a second before dropping back flat-footed with a soft thump to the pavement. "I hear 'em called hipster bikes a lot, but I like their aesthetics. Sort of a middle-ground between dirtbikes and crotch rockets." She perks her ears a bit, "Yeah? My shop's got a guy that specialized in foreign bikes and, well, I sure don't mind my workplace getting more business," she laughs, a bit of a cackle typical of her species.

Brice lets out a laugh that almost sounds like he's not used to laughing. It's a bit awkward but there is some genuine humor behind it. "It works well enough for me. I'm not a Harley kind of guy anyhow." He flicks an ear back, trying to hide the awkwardness of talking to a total stranger in a city he's still pretty new to. "...it couldn't hurt to have a decent shop that hopefully won't rip me off. There's only so much work I can do to it on my own. I'm a reporter, not a mechanic." He pauses, then seemingly remembers his manners, and holds out his hand. "Brice."

Laur shakes the offered hand, "Laurie," she replies, and then ooohs, "A reporter, huh? Well you shouldn't have any shortage of shit to root around in in this town." She taps her drink with a claw as she thinks a moment, "You live in the neighborhood, or just passing through?"

Brice, after finishing the shake, runs that hand through his already messy looking hair. "Hopefully. I don't have the best of luck, sometimes." He glances around the unfamiliar street for a moment, "Apartment hunting, actually. You seem to know the area, have you heard of any places for rent?"

Laur mmmms, "I haven't been looking, I got lucky with my place through a family friend. But I know some folks..." She pulls out her phone and taps on it a couple times before offering it over to the dog, the screen showing a 'new contact' entry, "Let me get your number and I can pass the info on to you." Is...is she hitting on him? It's honestly hard to tell.

Brice takes the phone but, for a second or two, looks like he's listening to something other than the woman. "It's fine," he mutters under his breath as he puts his number into her phone; curiously enough it has an area code that's nowhere close to being from the state. "Thanks. Oh," the dog reaches into his jacket, rummages around, and hands her a business card that simply reads, 'Brice. Reporter for Hire', along with his number printed on it. "If you know of any papers or businesses hiring. I'm used to freelancing..."

Laur, when the phone is back in her hands, taps to add something to the contact listing - a motorcycle emoji. The out of state area code doesn't even register, everyone's got out of state numbers here. She takes the business card and tucks it in her jacket. "You might be better off freelancing. I'd say seventy-five percent of news in the city revolves around, well, you know who."

Brice tilts his head a little bit and does that he's hearing something else look, briefly. "Sorry. I don't know who. Care to inform me?" He does turn to check the meter and tosses a couple more coins into it just in case. "I, uh, literally just got into town. It was a long drive and I was going to grab myself something to eat." He gestures over towards the diner.

Laur mulls something over for a moment before she clicks her tongue and motions for him to follow. "I'll fill you in, since apparently you've been under a rock for awhile," she comments as she steps towards the diner, "What buttfuck nowhere did you come from, anyhow?"

Brice looks offended for a moment. "I didn't know San Fr--" He stops himself, mutters a few words under his breath, and shakes his head. "I've had more important things to worry about." He adjusts his jacket and follows her over to the diner, after securing his helmet to the back of his bike.

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Diner(#177197RLJ)

It's a little bigger than a hole-in-the-wall and relatively cozy, all things considered, but it's clear this diner has been around a long time. A long wooden counter stretches along one wall with stove tops and cooking ranges set behind it. There's room for employees to move back there, but not much room for anything else. A cash register sits at one end of the counter. In the seating area, booths are all that's available, both along the wall and down the center of the establishment.

[ Obvious Exits: [S]treet ]

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Laur waves a hand in the air, "See, that's a better excuse," she says as she steps into the diner, the little door bell dingling to announce a customer's entrance. When it does, the person at the counter gives her a look and motions to the food in her hands. "Hey, hey! I'm buying, don't worry!" The worker gives her a bit of a look before she jerks a thumb back towards Brice and leans on the counter. "It's this boy's first taste of NYC, don't be so cranky." Over her shoulder, she grins, all teeth, "Y'gotta do pizza. I'll buy, you can get me back another time."

Brice quirks his brow as he follows her into the diner. "Diner pizza. I've heard I should get pizza from an actual pizza shop." It's hard to tell if he's joking, given his weary, almost deadpan voice. "I will take some coffee though. Black." When she mentions paying her back another time he tenses up, slightly, then mutters to himself again.

Laur rolls her eyes, "It's pizza in New York and you're starving from a long ride, don't be so fuckin' picky." She looks back over at the worker, "Two slices, pepperoni, and a black coffee at six in the evening." She's absolutely giving Brice a little shit. She leaves a twenty on the counter, plenty more than the actual cost and points the dog to a corner booth, pretty far from the counter and any other customers.

Brice quirks his brows a little, huffs, then heads for the gestured booth without a fight. He looks exhausted but maybe that's just his usual appearance? Hard to tell. Even when he sits down on the booth's seat he still keeps his leather jacket on. "Thanks. But what's the catch? New Yorkers aren't this friendly."

Laur laughs as she sits down, finally unwrapping her sandwich from across the street, "Nah, nah. New Yorkers are plenty friendly, they just don't bullshit. And I'm midwest-ish born and raised, which I was gonna say makes me a little nicer, but....not really." She shrugs, taking a bite of her wrap - probably a gyro? Smells good either way. "So what brings a beach boy all the way across the country? I mean, I guess aside from looking for work."

Brice shrugs, "I got tired of the coast. I needed a change of scenery. There wasn't much left for me back there." His ears briefly flatten against his head before popping back up. He adjusts his jacket a little while muttering yet again. "Figured I'd go on one of those finding myself journeys."

Laur leans back in her seat, "Eh, that ain't too bad. Better than sitting around boo-hooing about it. I can relate. A little. Kinda." She shrugs, not going into detail. "So you're here in the big apple with no place to stay? I wanna be surprised but you are absolutely not the first."

Brice smiles again, in that weary/tired sort of way that he never seems to break out of. "Isn't that how most people arrive in the city? Come with nothing, leave with nothing. I'll take the risk. It can't be worse than what I left behind." At that point he turns his head to look for his coffee.

Laur snorts, "That's what I hear." But it seems she's not the existential sort. As of on cue, a worker rolls up with his coffee and both of their pizza slices. Which prompts the hybrid to roll her wrap back up. "Thanks," she offers in a chipper tone as the worker departs. "So, what? You're couch surfing? Do you even know anyone in these parts?"

Brice looks like he's about to speak but, thankfully, coffee. And food. But coffee first. He nods to the waitress as he takes the cup and drinks a good third of it down, ignoring how hot it is. His coat... moves? Maybe he just subtly shrugged it. "I rented a cheap Air B&B thing," he answers, setting his cup down onto the booth's table. "It works for now but I can't stay there forever."

Laur is, honestly, not scrutinizing this dude all that closely, so she doesn't notice the movement. "That ain't bad, but yeah, definitely not a permanent solution." She pulls her phone out and taps away at it for a few seconds before sitting it near her on the table. "You're gonna get a lot of rental agencies talking big on what neighborhoods are protected by who, but it's mostly bullshit."

Brice smiles a little. For once it seems genuine. "I'm not worried about... wait, protection? Do I have to pay the Triad, or any other mob group, for housing around here?" He keeps his voice low. "I'm used to it but I don't like it."

Laur laughs, a full hyena cackle, "No, no. Just superheroes. Rental agencies really dove into the 'well this area is commonly frequented by THIS A-lister' to jack up prices." She takes a bite of her pizza, "So avoid, like, Midtown and shit if you don't want fuckall expensive rent. Honestly, like, all of Manhattan."

Brice headtilts. "Superheroes?" Either he's playing dumb very well or he doesn't get it. "A-lister?" When she's not looking he grabs his slice of pizza and holds it close to his jacket. CHOMP. A bite's taken out of it and he then goes to take another bite for himself.

Laur gives him A Look. "I refuse to believe you're a reporter and don't know shit about any superhero shit here in the city.'

Brice has another bite of the pizza, then drinks more of his coffee before he replies. "I've heard rumors. I don't trust rumors," he says. "I'm a reporter for just that reason."

Laur squints at him, attempting to process his response. "That's....that's... Yeah, sure. Rumors. Okay." Is it because she runs with a couple that the realization that people outside that sphere would have no fuckin' clue? Is it because he's from California?

Brice finishes off the pizza slice and the coffee as well. "I mean, I've seen news reports about the..." He frowns and rubs at his nose. "There was a major incident here. The whole city got ruined. Rumors of aliens?" He shakes his head and snorts.

Laur says, "See, there y'go. But yeah, it's a thing. There's a lot of smaller vigilante groups that've made a name for themselves, too." She shrugs, "But for the most part it's just typical NYC weirdness across the board, masked crusaders or not."

Brice suddenly growls at his own shoulder, muttering again, while frowning. He then snaps his attention back to Laur and clenches his jaw before exhaling. "I'm just a reporter. I'm here to cover the truth, not the gossip."

Laur raises an eyebrow slowly. Does not comment. "I mean, that's fair, too. Not nearly as fun as the gossip usually, though. What sort of shit have you covered in the past?"

Brice looks a little uncomfortable. "The Life Foundation fiasco," he admits, after chugging down the rest of his coffee.

Laur ahhhs then OOOOHHHS, "I knew your name sounded familiar. Saw some wild tabloid shit in the wake of that. Certainly was a fiasco, that's for sure."

Brice splays his ears and looks away. "I should go." He tosses a handful of dollars down onto the table as he slides out of the booth.

Laur gives him a look and laughs, "Dude, I literally do not care. Sit your ass back down and don't be so dramatic." Care about what? Who knows. She's not going to elaborate.

Brice gives her a look, briefly, then heads out of the diner.