Date: April 14, 2010
Janet looks for a job and gets a pep talk from Parker.
"Jobs Aren't Hobbies"
Janet's Apartment — New York City
Sitting at the kitchen table in her apartment, Janet has the classifieds open. She only recently got home from work so she's dressed in salmon (yuck — it's really NOT her colour) coloured scrubs. She holds a pen as she circles potential positions at various medical centres in NYC.
Anxiously she clicks the pen up and down making that annoying sound; jobs are scarce from the looks of things; especially for medical professionals. "Too many loans not to work," she mumbles as she puts the pen down and reaches for a cup of coffee within hand's reach.
"Lab technician. Well that's an option…" she wrinkles her nose, she was always cut for the hands-on medicine.
It remains quiet for a little bit longer through Janet's search, then there's a creak of a door, the soft padding of bare feet on floor.
Emerging from some inner sanctum, Parker is hardly appropriate for the hour. His one arm is raised above his head as he appears, the one clamped around back, forcing a stretch. The ensemble that accompanies this pose was either hastily put together, or more likely lazily never removed. Though his upper body is clung to by a, now wrinkled, pink dress-shirt, all that's going for him below is some cheerful Scooby-Doo boxers, leaving the rest of long legs naked.
Fittingly, he's yawning. An unabashed, wide-mouthed, I totally just got up and plan on doing nothing today while you totally just worked long hours yawn.
Janet, unfortunately, doesn't hear the stirring, not right away, anyways — she's too engrossed in her job search. The yawn, however, totally causes her to look up from the paper. She blinks at him while tilting her head and wrinkling her nose, "Did you — did you just get up?" She issues him a rather fatigued smile.
Wrinkling her nose again, she points to the coffee shop on the counter. She drums her fingers on the table and shakes her head just a little. "You coulda, you know, put some pants on." Again her nose wrinkles as she admires his Scooby-Doo boxers.
The high up hand falls into his currently manic curls, letting both arms prop his head up as though it might just fall off. Parker eyes her through a half-squinty gaze, eyes the coffee, then to any appliance that seems most likely to show the time. "Umm. Maybe. What day is it?" Somehow, he once passed classes like this, too.
But now the joyfully unhindered young man just ambles to the table, flopping down and releasing his arms to his sides. Two fingers pluck at the soft fabric at the side of his leg, somewhere near Shaggy's torso. "Nothing you've never seen before, duck-duck." He informs her carelessly, going so far as to actually stretch those totally pantsless legs across the way to nestle his feet against her on her own chair. They're clean feet, way too clean for a guy; they might be pedicured. "What are you doing, and is it as interesting as I want it to be?"
Suppressing a chuckle, Janet wrinkles her nose again. "I am completely innocent~" it's chimed in a sing-song voice with a grin. "It's Wednesday. You know. Wednesday." She issues him a broad grin before closing her eyes sleepily " — and I just pulled a twelve hour shift." Now it's her turn to yawn before she brings the coffee to her lips again. Running a hand through her flattened bob, she manages an idle smirk. "I'm looking for a new job. It's time to move on and I need to figure out something to do." Her smirk broadens into an all-out grin.
She just earns herself a playful nudge to the thigh with his foot for that sing-song spiel. Meanwhile, Parker's own expression crinkles lightly at the date. "Monday, Monday, Monday… I like Sunday. No, I like this just previous Sunday. Also, eww. Twelve hours of the doing the same thing? I am, like, not even missing this hospital stuff." Attempting to lean forward, he bats at the other sections of the newspaper, seeing if any especially awesome titles catch his eye. They don't.
Thump into the back of the chair. "Ohhh, Janet! New jobs are great. I get them all the time when I'm bored." One day, someone will teach him that hobbies are not jobs. Completely serious: "You should be that girl the guy at the circus throws knives at."
"Yeah, yeah. New jobs are awesome," Janet smiles, but her tone lacks any real sense of enthusiasm. "I'm just not sure that I'll be able to find anything medicine-y. Unlike some people I like healing sick people." She manages a wider smile while finishing her current cup of coffee. "And I like being a doctor! I'm good at it! I swear I am! Seriously, Park-er! What if I can't find a job and then we get kicked out and we end up living in a box, I'm too young and too pretty to live in a box — can you imagine?! It would be like a box, and it would totally suck."
Her cheeks flush a pale pink as she leans back in her own seat and runs a hand through her hair. Drumming her finger on the table she closes the newspaper. "And we both know that if a guy threw knives at me, he'd end up hitting me and I'd like get hit by a knife because I'm all swirly and panicky and crazy, and you know it would never do — you couldn't live without me so you'd probably take your own life. And then Tim — er — Morris would realize he can't live without me and end up taking his own life followed by half of my family that I no longer talk to because they'd be all filled with regret because I died by knife throwing. Not a good idea, eh?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm such a Grinch. I hate sick people, nyeh nyeh." Parker has found something to occupy himself with — the pen she was previously clicking and he's apparently decided she no longer needs. As he's considering her tale of woe, he attempts to doodle on his own arm. "That sounds pretty tragically amazing to me. Although I'm kind of fifty-fifty on if I'd be able to take my own life, that sounds like it involves some kind of effort, and possibly planning. More importantly — who is this Tim Er Morris and why does he get the slightly less honorable yet still notable position of being second to suicide, followed only by yours truly?"
But wait, there's more! "Most importantly," and here he abandons the swirly black ink cloud forming on his arm to, without looking, toss the pen into a vase on the next room's end-table. "I was completely being serious, Ja-netty. You didn't say you wanted to stay in the same profession. You said you wanted a new job and I just went with the naturally more exciting route of getting a new job."
"Oh. Well Morris is just a colleague," that Janet not-so-secretly pines for. "He's beautiful." Just what every man wants to be. "He has like the eyes and the smile — I mean, when he does smile, he's like serious most of the time. I bet you'd like him though. I call him Timmy." She shakes her head, "He doesn't like that." Her cheeks flush a ale pink again. "And I still think I should stay in medicine, you know? I mean, I could work and do stuff. And yeah, I need a new job, but PREFERABLY something medicinal."
She frowns now, "There isn't a lot available, I'm afraid." Biting her bottom lip, she shakes her head again. "Ah. I'm never going to find a new job and we will be homeless. Just wait for it. Homeless and then dead. The two always go together." Wagging her finger she reaches forward to tap Parker on the nose.
"I think I'd call him… George." Thus decided by Parker. "I like George better than Tim. Can he be a George? Actually… maybe not George either. George is not what you call a beautiful person. I'm going to work on this. And stop saying George." He nods, at first decisively, and then because he's happy with what he's decided.
He looks pleasantly unconcerned with the homeless theory, though more so when she gets him on the nose. He sniffs, rearing his head back and wiggling said nose like it itches. Since he then scratches at it, likely that was the right impression. "We're not gonna die, Emily Dickinson, because we're not gonna be homeless. Last resort, we steal one of the family yachts," he shrugs, "Who's gonna freakin' notice. Besides, it vaguely used to belong to me, so that's not even illegal." But, by mention of his family, he's looking a bit more sour. A knee bends, bringing one foot to the edge of her chair in half-escape.
"Alright, okay," he says in this new almost seriousness, mostly sullenness that he tries to crawl out of, "Medicine. I got it. You become a home-care nurse for one of the rich old broads who knows everybody there is to know, get in her good graces, sign you into her will — whatever — all that matters is you get invited to her glam evening parties and sneak me in so I can meet Christina Hendricks."
"Ha! Can you imagine us on a yacht?! FAIL! Seriously, FAIL! We'd like fall off or something!" Janet giggles lightly even though they mentioned his family. "I'd rather be homeless than let it come to that. I wouldn't go to my family either. Can you imagine any of them helping me out? That would be more painful than death." Although, things are semi-repaired with Erin, but she isn't about to say that aloud considering she's not supposed to be in communication with Erin at all.
"Well we really do need a ploy for you to meet Christina Hendricks. I think it's decided. I should marry wealthy, right?" her cheeks flush just a little. "I mean, I need to find a way to meet a wealthy sugar daddy and forget having to worry about money. Actually, all I need is someone to pay off my loans." She giggles again. It's a funny joke. "But then, I fail at relationships. You know that though. That's why Morris isn't interested in me."
Parker scoffs at her. "I think if I can cross a tight-rope, I can navigate a yacht." But he does pause to give this due consideration. But what if he couldn't… "Then I guess you'd better stop complaining about homelessness, honey bunches~" He grins that knowing, I've won, grin, "Being as death is better than family and homelessness leads to death rather than reunion."
When she agrees about the fair red-headed actress, he sighs for things undone. "We would get along so well…" Then a less committed one-shouldered shrug. "Eh. I don't know. Rich people suck. I wouldn't want to see you tied down to one. Sugar daddy's an option… or being able to elope later with all of his money…" He's since retracted one foot to his own chair, the knee near his face as he critically examines perfect nails. But with her comment, he glances out from under 'lids to properly glare at her. "If he isn't, then he isn't right," he informs her tartly, going back to his examination and sniffing idly. "You worry about your loans too much."
"So no rich guys for Janet? I could settle for that vampire Chris with his pecs Oh man." Janet fans herself with her hand. "He wouldn't have to say anything — just staring at him all day would be magical. I mean seriously, have you seen the man candy they've brought in for the new character on Afterlife. He really is beautiful. I met him at the club the other day… along with like Hallis Van Cortlandt, Soleil… other people. It was nuts. But he is man candy. Not much going on upstairs I don't think though. Not like my Parker." She grins broadly.
"I talk too much and I know it. You don't mind, but it like annoys everyone else. I ran into this guy at Walmart the other day while I was buying like medical stuff. ANYways… I seriously think I frightened him. He was breathing all heavy so I was doing my doctorly duty and tried to help him and I apparently made him like really scared or something." She shrugs. "Do I come on too strong to people? I mean ALL people. I've never thought about it, but could I be behind the McCarty family rift?"
Whatever Parker was mulling over before, it's snapped out of him as he looks up at Janet, truly scandalized. "You went to a club — you went to a club and ran into a bunch of people from a soap opera you, all judgment aside, watch? Does that even happen?! Huh… and here everybody tried to tell me that casts from shows don't hang out with each other that often. Take that. I hope you had the good decency to take a photo, even with a phone, or your points for today are going looooowwer." Just incase she didn't understand the words, he illustrates by plateauing his hand in front of him and then sliding it downwards a few increments. "Don't think I didn't catch that other part, though," he adds, turning the flat hand into an accusatory point. "I'd sell half my brain for a designer fall collection." Or several other things he's mentioned throughout their years of knowing each other and him having no regard for his own brain-matter.
"Doing a lot of running into these days, aren'tcha." Besides not caring how much she talks, he also seems to not care that he rambles back, occasionally overlapping her sentences or back-tracking topics. Between them, they probably suck all the air out of the room. "Whatever, people are always freaking out at doctors. Nobody wants anything to be wrong, except when they want to be right about what's wrong with them. Neehhh," a dismissive hand.
Then, eyeing her, he sighs. The leg on his chair spreads out again, touching base with her as he tilts his head and really studies his friend. But his answer is certain. "If you haven't thought about it before, why start and make the trouble."
"Well I didn't take a picture, but I did bandage Hallis Van Cortlandt's hand~" Janet brags in a sing-song voice. "She cut it on a glass and I stitched her up. And her crew totally rescued me from this creeper who was macking on me. It was DIS-GUST-ing. Like honestly, the creep just wouldn't take no for an answer and insisted he needed my name and crap." She wrinkles her nose in disgust. "Half your brain probably wouldn't buy a designer fall collection," she teases with raised eyebrows as she leans forward to jab him in the ribs. "Not that you aren't brilliant, darling~ it's just the collection is that expensive!"
Her eyes widen some. "Running? I'm running into a lot of people! It's weird because I know none of them and manage to talk to them all, or maybe that's normal for me?" She tilts her head. "I do talk a lot though. You know it's true. I mean, it's a wonder I can keep any secret ever."
"Because if it's my fault then, theoretically, I should be able to fix things. And with Erin — gone …." she winces again and then shrugs. "You know? Like what if I dropped tomorrow? It could happen… stranger things have happened…"
The hand jabbing in the air low below his shoulders is Parker's silent reply to her not having any pictures. "Shoot," he adds, though, unable to not talk for long, "I would've kicked that guy in the face. Although — maybe it's better this way, eh? Getting some big famous person to stand up for you? Should I be concerned? Replaced by — Somebody Von Plays An Evil Twin And An Amnesiac." He instinctively sucks in his stomach when she goes for his ribs, but he's stuck in a chair and she gets him and earns herself an "ah ah ah" of mild sensitivity. "You're right," he breathes out carefully, relaxing when her finger retreats, "It's all brain or nothing. I'll be the chic-est coma patient there ever was."
He's taking her more and more seriously, though, the longer these other topics go on. "Did I do it, did I sell my mind already? Because I don't remember you being this morbid, babykins. I know we planned your funeral, but that's just common sense…"
Finally, he hooks his feet on her chair and uses this to tug himself closer. Resting an elbow on the table sideways, he can settle for looking right at her, brushing random hair across and away from her face. "This Erin thing's really got you, huh? I'm sorry. You know I don't dwell well… but if you need to… — if it's a wonder you're keeping something from me…" He's going to be slightly offended. If slightly meant very.
Janet manages an easy enough smile, "I dunno." She manages to wave a flippant hand in the air, "A sister goes missing and it does funny things to a woman, you know?" She wrinkles her nose. "I think it's this job that's got me being morbid. Just… not my cup of tea. I like doctoring, but I need to leave where I'm at if that makes sense." She shrugs.
"On a more positive note, you're here so if I died tomorrow someone would notice," at this she's actually beaming. "Maybe not tomorrow, but you'd noticed eventually. I mean I don't even own a cat to miss me." She manages a small shrug and another smile.
"I… don't," Parker admits with a grimacing hiss that would sound more sheepish if were actually, you know, an ounce sheepish. "I don't actually know, having never had my sister out of my sight for years upon years. However, I do come armed with entire bookshelves worth of knowledge about how people in the movies take this news and go about fixing it. I'm fully prepared to take up a weapon for you should you feel the sudden need to magically know kung-fu and destroy a lot of Russians yelling 'I told you not to touch my family'. Alternatively, you could switch careers." He shrugs. Because both of these options are equal in value.
"I would totes notice," the young man assures her with casual ease and readiness, "When you ran out of food. B-T-W, I ruined some oatmeal. It's in your fridge because it seemed, I dunno, kind of weird to waste it. Also, I was vaguely interested in tossing it at your neighbors when I built up the energy in a couple of days."
Speaking of which — yaaaaaawnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn. Then, hand still braced near his mouth where he graciously covered it, he adds, "I'm way better than a cat. My hair's prettier, but I'll still purr if you rub it."
"Ooo! Can I learn kung fu?! That would be totally WIN! Seriously! I bet I would look really hot holding a sword!! OR NUNCHUKS!" judging by Janet's expression — a gaping mouth with lips curled into a smile, bright, widened eyes, and two dimples to boot — she thinks this is a brilliant idea! "PARK-ER! Why didn't you tell me about this earlier?! I could wear a latex unitard like Black Widow and kick badguy asses like the vigilante that I know is somewhere inside of me!" She giggles lightly at the notion. It really is funny.
"Thanks for that. I'm glad to know that I'm your meal ticket," her eyes roll before she grins. "And you are way prettier than a cat. Besides, I'm not really a cat person. Once I thought about getting one, but I don't want to be the cat lady." Her nose wrinkles as she shudders. "It would be like resigning and becoming the woman who would call her cats her babies." She grimaces, "And I'd have to change my name and never leave my house."
"And for the record, leaving medicine isn't an option. Not until I get those loans paid off~" she virtually sings.
After the brilliance of smiling that needs to follow Janet's display, Parker's face fades to something contemplative — but not too contemplative, because that would require 1) energy and 2) an attention span. "… I think I know kung-fu," he declares thoughtful and absent, "Or not that, but one of those other ones with the names that aren't popular songs. But Black Widow? Is that what you're going with? I mean, I understand the want to hang out with RDJ, but don't limit yourself or anything." Sniffing idly, he checks under a nail for residual… who knows, maybe that oatmeal he mysteriously couldn't make. "I don't know if I could pull it as a vigilante. They speak in husky voices and are upset all the time. I'm going to be that singing villain from the cartoon voice by Neil Patrick Harris."
She earns herself a beaming look of a happiness breaking through that settling-in boredom when she compliments his pretty factor, though. From there, he cheers enough to look at her, twisting to nudge his shoulder against hers affectionately. Possibly like a cat. "You're my baby, girl. So don't you worry about a thing."
The smile on Janet's face is something akin to otherworldly, "I think Iron Man is so sexy. It's not just RDJ; it's that whole, I have a giant iron suit and total mother issues, love me thing. You know?" She stifles a snicker. "And I could maybe be hot enough in a latex suit; mind you, I'd probably knock over like everything in sight. And I'm not nearly as sly as her. But even her name is hot!"
Janet nods emphatically, "You mean the Music Maester! Ohmygosh, I just saw that. I love NPH's voice. One day, somehow I'm going to meet him and then you and I will be his muses and make him sing Dr. Horrible for us all day. Wait! Maybe he's OUR muse and we will do something amazing if we're serenaded by Dr. Horrible all day long! I bet we would. You'd paint something brilliant and I'd like… write poetry… or something. OOO! OR you could paint me! Of course, we'll never get a touch of the fortune from your paintings until you're dead — "
"Darnit Parker, I missed you so much! You have no idea! Life has just been… crazy. And not fun." She lifts her cup off coffee before reciting, "May the rest of the year be awesome with my best friend at my side!"
"Well. It's either that or we kidnap him, stick him in the closet, and feed him through a crack in the door until intense Stockholm Syndrome sets in and he's our pet forever and ever." Parker thinks this over a second. "I like yours better. I like to imagine my secret stash of unfinished masterpieces I leave in the attic will provide for you after I'm gone, despite that it has been previously established in this scene that you will be the one dying first several times over. The point is— I've lost the point. But I could totally sing like that. Possibly in a higher pitch."
Sympathy resets at the sound of her woes and, as she is finished reciting, he pushes up towards her. Clasping both hands on either side of her head, he dips in to give her forehead a kiss. "From your lips to Morgan Freeman's ears." Already halfway there, he stands up the rest of the way and steps aside around her chair. "Call in sick tomorrow if you work, we're gonna find you something drop-dead awesome to wear to all these new interviews you'll be having for your new… oh yeah, still doctoring. Just not there. You interview for stuff like that, right? Right."
There's some barefoot padding back towards whence he came. "Do you think if I put on pants right now, that can count as my productive thing for the day?"
"I wonder if he'll let us call him Neil. Or Neil-y. I think that would be awesome. 'This is our good friend, Neil-y.'" Janet nods a little still grinning broadly. "Annnnnd! Oh! I bet he would an excellent muse. Well you can provide for my illegitimate children instead," she snickers at this. "I hope they all outlive me!"
She beams as the kiss is planet on her forehead. "And that is why you are, and always will be, first in my heart," she lifts a hand to her chest and over her heart. "And I'll need help dressing — I mean, seriously, I can't remember the last time I bought something other than scrubs. And yes, I will need interview clothes. Work will ruuuuule." She looks at him admiringly, "Have I every told you you're the best friend a gal could ever ask for?"
"Hmmm. I think between the pants and the pep talk, you've been VERY productive today." Beat. "As long as you put on pants."
"I don't care if I'm a hypocrite, I'm hiring a nanny if you leave me with your children," Parker informs her in all seriousness. "Unless… you can take small people on tour. Is that legal?" Eh, whatever. They're onto more important things like:
"Well, you're first in mine where my first is slightly ahead of your first like if my heart's line was the fast lane and yours was just the other lane next to it where people go to use the exits or if they're over fifty and can't hit the pedals hard enough anymore." So there. All casual still, though; the competition of who is more ahead in the other person's heart hardly needs to be bitter.
During the next portion of talking, Parker vanishes from the room, his voice raising in volume in order to keep the conversation from having one of those strange lulls. "You know I got you covered, pumpkin-muffin, I'll just ninja my way into the dressing room like last time. Jeez. Do you remember that girl who caught me? Making out, she says! It's like; please, if this thing costs over forty bucks you better believe we're more focused on putting it on." Which about covers 'best friend a gal could ask for' and then some more that only crazy people appreciate.
When he reappears, Parker's changed shirts to something fresh as well as put on a pair of skinny jeans to make any gal also hate him for pulling off. With a fluffy blue scarf wrapped around his ears, he approaches to toss a similar one around Janet's shoulders. "Pants accomplished. Level up. We've now opened up a new dungeon called 'that donut place you pointed out to me a couple days ago'. Hup!"
Jobs will still be… well, they may not be around. But Parker hardly cares, and when he's got it in his mind to do something, you either go along… or toss something shiny in the other direction. For Janet, the shiny may not be a choice lest she fall victim to her own ruse — so donuts at five in the evening may be the thing.