2007-07-17: Rigging The Contest

Starring:

McAlister_icon.gif Portia_icon.gif

Summary: Ali's contest has at least one entry that the DJ's taking a personal interest in.. and there's a bit of luck in running into her down in Chinatown -

Date It Happened: July 17, 2007

Rigging the Contest


10 AM, Chinatown.

Down one of the side streets in Chinatown, there's an open bar with an awning, where you simply get the absolute best noodles in New York. You don't go in. If you're not Chinese? You don't really get to read the menu - order a number one or two and don't ask what's in it. Everybody eats outside, and twenty-four-hours-a-day, seven days a week, you can find somebody getting a bowl and scarfing.

Today, there's no real line, and most of the seats are open. There's a tourist couple, a local with a paper babbling with the guy behind the counter? And… an Ali. Who is wearing an honest-to-god dress (she haz one!), has her head propped up on her left hand, chopsticks stuck in the bowl, bag at her feet.. and isn't moving. In fact, passing by and listening over the bustle of the market street and the shouting at that big truck across the way where they're unloading chickens? One might even hear a faint snore. Exhausted, the DJ apparently succumbed over noodles. Good noodles, at that.

—-
A recent habit Portia Maddox has developed lately is escaping from the Gomez household early in the morning, guitar strapped to her back, in an attempt to find somewhere to go practice. Really, she's not entirely sure anymore that coming to New York was such a great idea. Sure, the people were interesting. And there was all those people with abilities. But mostly she felt like an intruder in a new life her mother Desiree had established, and back home in Mississippi felt stifling with her asshole of a father who really didn't seem to get what she was all about. So Portia's been trying to make her own way. Yesterday, a chance encounter while playing guitar found her with $20 extra dollars in her pocket and a phone number if she got to perform. So, in celebration, Portia wandered through Chinatown in an attempt to find something good to eat. She was craving chinese.

—-
"China is here, Mr. Burton.." … a quote more apt to San Francisco, perhaps, but - it fits. China is here - in New York, and having flapping chickens or half-roasted pigs shoved your way if you look like a tourist is just par for the course.

The flapping chicken that's proffered Portia's way, in fact, could be considered a welcome to the neighborhood, Chinese rattled off expectantly, likely extolling the virtues of butchering your own fowl, while one young man with a polaroid camera and a "Celebrity Maps" standee calls over at Portia, "Hey, lady - just ten bucks! Check it out- we got Madonna's place, and Hugh Jackman's condo! Best maps in New York!"

And on her stool, the bustle passing her by, Ali doesn't so much as twitch. Yet.

—-
"Sorry, ten bucks is a bit much for something I can print off the internet." Portia offers a smile. Living in a big city like Paris for a year does wonders for one's self-concious and awareness of how things work in big cities, even for a fourteen year old. And then there's the noodle place. Really, she'd heard about it, mostly cause the internet was an endless source of useless (and useful!) knowledge and she'd been looking for chinese. So, hard-earned $20 in hand, Portia trots off to the noodle place, ordering her food.

—-
It's somewhere between the order and the shouting and the hiss of noodles in hot wok that Ali.. startles, slipping off of her hand and making a small sound that's suspiciously yelplike, though, admittedly, not overloud. Blinking, she looks up at the street, the booth, the noodles - oh, yes! Noodles! She regathers her chopsticks, in fact.

A yawn - and she takes a moment to reacquaint herself with her surroundings. Big City Instincts. And Portia? For a moment, there's no recognition at all. Then.. "Oh. Oh! Hey." Pointing wooden eating implement. "You!"

The map guy, perhaps used to that reception, goes back to hawking at other tourists.

—-
With her order of noodles received, Portia is ready to defend herself from the next hawker, only to find that it's simply Ali. She blinks for a moment, then offers a wave with her free hand, moving to head over. "Um, hi again. Do you mind if I sit?" Easier to communicate between bites if she's not standing awkwardly.

—-
Ali waves her chopsticks, flashing a smile. "No. Sure. Sit. I was thinking about you last night - ain't that odd?" She tries her own, now cold, but.. best noodles counts for something. Worth eating anyway. "A friend of mine I know would go on about there being 'no such thing as coincidence'. Sort of creepy how often she's right."

—-
"Really?" Now that's something Portia didn't expect of much of anyone. Someone thinking of her? She sets her bowl of noodles and chopsticks down, carefully taking her guitar off her back which she sets aside before making herself comfortable in the chair. "Yeah. I think that's doubly true of New York. Coincidences seem kinda planned here."

—-
"There's this new age stuff called 'Synchronicity'. I can't say I believe it, but… sometimes? Just sometimes.." Ali yawns again, widely - "Tell me you caught the show last night?" A pause, then.. an admission. "Kiddo? Seriously, I don't even remember your name. That's horrible, isn't it? So - uh. Yeah."

—-
"It's a big city, easy enough to forget names. I'm Portia. Not like the car." Portia states, glancing back over. "What show last night? Kinda not really been keeping up with anything current.. especially if it involves television, radio, or the 'net. I'm sorely lacking in current events. Summer makes you lazy, I guess."

—-
The teen's expression looks like someone hit her with a sack of bricks… but in a good way! Portia stares over at McAllister almost in disbelief, trying to gauge if she's serious, but after a moment, when she realizes that the other woman /is/ serious, she's taken off guard. "Y-Yeah, yeah! Of course!" And it's a lucky thing that Portia was actually carrying her bag with her music stuff in it. Sheet music, lyrics she's written, and her prized demo that she made in hopes of making it big. And she never really thought she'd get to use it. Pulling it from the bag, she offers it towards McAllister. "Oh, man.. that'd be the coolest thing. To actually be on the radio."

—-
McAlister takes another mouthful of noodles, not taking the demo.. yet. "You have another copy? Chances are, I won't be able to give that /back/, kiddo. And then - you sure that's the track you want?" Quite serious indeed - "I'm going to listen to it, first - be sure, right?"

—-
"Yeah, you can keep it. I've got it backed up on my laptop." Portia nods eagerly, taking a bite of noodles and chewing before trying to talk again. "I'm sure, though. That one's my favorite. I'm really proud of the lyrics, and it's catchy. I played it for a friend and he really liked them. It's called 'Open'."

—-
"Fair enough - " So, Ali reaches out to take the CD, flashing a grin. "Your parents are going to have to sign off if I can air it. Lawyer crap - I need a way to reach you. So - got a phone number? A place?"

—-
Portia nods eagerly, scribbling down an address and her phone number on a piece of paper from her lyric book. "I can get my mom to sign off for sure." Oh man, she can't wait to see her mom's face if she gets on the radio.

—-
Ali takes /that/, tucking it in with the CD - "No promises - don't get your hopes up. But if it's good? I'll put it out there - we'll set it up so that you get an on-air interview to talk about it, and.. a couple of security guards and up-too-late execs will get to hear it, right?" Her smile widens - "If you think you're up for it. It'll be.. something like one or two AM."

—-
"Totally!" Portia grins, just at the prospect of possibly being on the air. "Hey, that'll be neat. I appreciate it, even if it doesn't go anywhere. It's still a cool possibility."

—-
"Fair enough, kiddo." Ali works on her noodles, at that point, the CD kept comfortably close. "Where are you from, if you don't mind me askin'? Your accent isn't around here."

Behind the pair, that truck starts up with a roar of diesel engine and the yelling of a shopkeeper.

—-

"Mississippi originally, but I just got back from Paris. Spent a whole year there and it's where I learned to love music. Trying to broaden my horizons a little.. though I could tell you about all sorts of awesome French songs." Portia grins, digging into her noodles. Her mind's already elsewhere—on the possibility of actually being heard on the radio.

—-
Ali laughs, "Honestly? French songs scare me." She pushes back her bowl, snagging cd and bag. "Stay safe, kiddo - I'll be in touch, one way or another."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License