2009-11-02: Slim Jims With The Suits



Date: Nov. 2nd, 2009


Lena and a less than sober Tiago run into the Man. Or rather, the Man runs into them.

Slim Jims With the Suits

Manhattan, NYC - Battery Park

So the text went out about an hour ago: "all done here meet me @ Battery Park? i got munchy stuff 4 u. waterfront benches." True to her word, Lena is seated on one of the benches facing the harbor, dressed in her street best, eating Doritos from the bag and not worrying about the orange powder that's crumbled over the fingers of her black gloves. Beside her is a mesh shopping bag filled with similar junk food, such as slim jims, candy bars, and honey buns. Resting on the ground, between her Converse sneakers, is an opened 2-liter bottle of Mountain Dew. Lena had not been exaggerating about having a haul of junk appropriate to someone on a high.

As Tiago makes his way through the park, it's not difficult to see that he's pretty…messed up. His eyes are as wild as a child's and his button up Hawaiian shirt (something he would NEVER wear in public otherwise) is not buttoned up whatsoever, despite the chill that hangs in the air. It's taken him a ridiculous amount of time to get to her, and as he approaches said benches, it's clear why. He'll begin walking, only to be side-tracked with a tree, or something else, and he will veer away from the path and reach out to run his hands on the bark in a hippie-esque fashion. "Whoa…" Soon enough, he spots Lena however and makes his way to her, so proud and so happy. "Lena! Le-ena! Lovely Lena. Hi. Shit, foods, what didya get, babe!"

Lena pauses with a chip halfway to her mouth, eyes cutting over to the lovely tripping figure of her roommate. She slowly lowers the snack and simply stares at him a moment (a Hawaiian shirt? Really?) before beckoning him to the bench. "Jesus, Chi, you're a mess! Sit down before you…ugh, here." The bag of chips is held out to the man. "There's slim jims too, and some candy bars. I didn't know what kind you like best. Eat something. And…" And let her button up your shirt, you silly man, something which Lena reaches to do once he's close enough.

It's cool and crisp, the sort of autumn evening that seems almost designed for a waterfront stroll. Lena and Tiago appear to have taken this to heart, the former seated on a bench facing the harbor and the latter standing beside it. Lena's just handed the man a bag of Doritos, and is in the process of brushing her gloved fingers off on her jeans to rid them of chip-dust. Elsewhere, the park is modestly populated, full of strolling couples, joggers and the occasional photographer snapping pictures of the boats out on the water.

"What? No, no, I aint a mess." Tiago protests petulantly, pouting over to the girl, but reluctantly accepting the bag of chips. He's kind of giving the impression that the only reason he doesn't pull away from the girl, who happens to but buttoning up his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt, is because she has just provided him with food. "I'm good, man! I'm fuckin' /good/…so good. It was like - the wind felt good 'gainst my body, so I was like, without it, yeah? God you're hot." He has the vacant stare, the appetite and the attention span of a stoner - and this is due mostly because he is positively stoned out of his mind right now. The pair are standing by a bench, filled with an assortment of munchies all around.

Felix is in his usual drab clothes - twentyfive years in America, and Fel still dressed like he's found USSR surplus somewhere to shop out of: plain black wool overcoat, dark gray scarf, black gloves, and that indefinable air of general pigtasticness. He's gazing out over the water towards Lady Liberty with a thoughtful, rather weary expression, and seems to bewaiting for someone.

There's a couple more guys heading the other way - one dressed in light gray jogging sweats, the other in a T-shirt and jeans. "I'm too out of practice to get in on it myself," George says to the other guy, "but I can put in an appearance at the 26-mile mark, help cheer them on for the last leg." He waves casually to Felix and keeps going a little further: no, he is evidently not playing the Deep Throat role tonight.

Lena is crisp and efficient in tidying Tiago's appearance, although there's really not much else to be done after his shirt has been buttoned. "I'm stupid is what I am," she says, mild frustration strengthening a southern accent. A maternal sort of frown is tipped up at the Brazilian. "No more until you come down, okay? I can't believe you made it here in one piece. Cmon, sit…you can have the rest of the bag. I got Mountain Dew too." A tug is given to the man's arm to encourage the concept of sitting instead of jittering on his feet, and a quick glance around pinpoints anyone in the immediate area who might notice her roommate's behavior. So many witnesses. This is bad.

Tiago's eyebrows shoot upwards, his expression turning quite innocent as he munches on his doritos. "What? You aint stupid, Lena! You're like…the smartestest person I know!" Which…coming from him, probably doesn't mean much. "Dude, I'm /good/ alright? And - ugh, whoa, I guess I'm sittin', too." He narrates as her tug makes him practically fall onto the bench with a blink. Once this is down however, the happiness returns, and he looks down to the bag as he systematically empties it, swinging his legs to and fro like a giant seven year old.

Fel's attention veers slowly but surely their way. He doesn't look particularly outraged, or inclined to interfere. This is New York, after all. He blinks at them from behind his glasses, as if not entirely certain if he should know them, or not.

The guy in the jeans nods to George, taking down some notes. "Thanks, I know you're busy, whatever you can offer." It's a cursory reply - he's just ticking a box and they both know it, the real spotlight will be on Nike and Evian and the like - and he heads off in another direction soon after, already dialing the next name on his list.

Meanwhile, George's attention drifts over to the pair by the bench as well, only he decides to go ahead and approach. "Here," he calls out, "sounds like he needs this more." An unopened water bottle is tossed toward Lena in an easy underhand arc. She might recognize him; he doesn't get on TV much, this early in his career, but there are still some old campaign flyers posted here and there around town.

"Yeah, if I was so smart, I'd have brought this stuff back to the apartment. And made you take a *cold* shower." It's not easy for Lena to maintain any sort of sternness when faced with a six foot seven year old, though. By the time she resettled on the bench, seating herself cross-legged, a smile is pulling at her lips. While looking at Tiago, her gaze slides past him to the surplus store victim loitering nearby. It's a brief look before the girl ducks her head. Unfortunately, that puts her in the position of missing the bottle-as-missle aimed for her. It connects with the girl's arm, earning George a yelp of shock and a wide-eyed look for his troubles. "What the hell, man?"

Before long, the chips have been demolished, and Tiago does not do his image any favors with the way he crumples up the bag and then tosses it over his shoulder casually, looking around Lena curiously for his next stomach fodder. "Your smart! I like ya." Because that clearly qualifies her intelligence. However, when she is attacked by the water bottle, the man blinks. Not once, but thrice, and he actually lifts up a hand to rub at his eyes before peering over to George. His next words are delivered in a stage whisper that is not remotely silent or low in volume. "Who's he…I think I know him…Shit, man! Maybe he's some famous actor or some shit, huh? We should go get autographs or somethin'!" During the entirety of this interaction, comrade Felix is not noticed quite yet.

That's okay. Fel's equally distracted by George's appearance, and his thoughtful expression turns a little wary. "Congressman," he says, politely, though his tone is more than a bit dry.

Well, crap. He should've aimed for an empty spot on the bench instead. This is why he didn't play football in high school. "Agent," he replies to Felix in much the same tone of voice - he is an agent for someone or other, yes? - before calling out again to Lena. "Sorry, my bad. You okay?" And yes, Tiago, he might be mistaken for a movie star at that distance. It's happened before.

Lena bends down to pick up the bottle from its new place on the ground, fixing George with a look that is nowhere near as starstruck as Tiago's. No, Lena goes more for the wary approach. Mistrustful, even, as if normal people don't just do nice things without ulterior motives. "I don't recognize him…yeah, whatever, I'm fine. Here, Chi." She cracks the seal on the bottle before handing it over to her companion, her eyes shifting from George to the fellow in the long coat. Congressman? Agent? She really needs to work up a good cover for that instantly recognizable expression of dismay. "Uh. Thank you. Sir."

Tiago made the suggestion, and that's just about all he's willing to do, seeing as though he squints at George a bit longer but remains firmly in his seat. Reluctantly, he turns his head towards Lena, his attention robbed away completely when she offers the water bottle. There is a pause, followed by a shrug and he makes a grab for the bottle and twists it open, chugging down half of the contents before bumping into Lena's shoulder with his almost playfully. "Where's the beef jerky? And who's the sir? Why don't you ever call me sir? Sir Tiago…noble steed. No no - wait, I aint your pony. That's all /wrong/…I think. It is, right?"

Felix is an agent for any number of organizations, apparently. He flashes George a conspirator's grin, even as his gaze slides to Lena. The grin broadens a hair. I see you, yes I do. "Evening," he adds, quietly.

While Felix takes on the weighty responsibility of sweating Lena even worse than she was doing on her own, George heads over toward Tiago, offering the confused fellow a handshake once he finishes dealing with the water bottle. "Not necessarily," he offers, "but you do need a license. Or I think the NYPD's mounted division may be hiring, depending how the budget talks play out."

Lena ducks her head, avoiding Felix's smile by rummaging about in the mesh shopping bag between the rough-edged pair. Maybe if she feeds the man-child, he will shut up. "Because you don't work for the fucking government, *Chi*," she mutters, shoving a handful of slim jims in his general direction. Post-warning, she glances up at George and frowns. Jokes from The Man do not compute. She slips her own hands safely beneath her thighs, avoiding any future offers of handshakes even though she has gloves on. "Yeah, like…please don't encourage him."

Tiago doesn't comprehend Lena's ire with him. He does, however, realize that all of a sudden a bunch of Slim Jims are being thrown at him, and so his smile grows broad and quite pleased. He is in the process of trying to tear the plastic off of one with his teeth when, low and behold, maybe movie star George approaches him. The politician earns a blink, before the man breaks into a boyish grin and returns the handshake firmly. "Yo, sir, yo! So what movie're you from again? I- …err, what? Budget cuts?" It's only fitting that the joke fly right over his international head.

George's joke has Felix laughing. "Considering the budget cuts for the NYPD as a whole, yeah," he agrees. "They'd more likely hire you as the mount. Contingent on you having the right costume." To Tiago, he explains, patiently, "He's a congressman. Possibly -your- congressman, depending on what district you're in."

George glances sidelong at Felix. "I'm only pushing certain targets, but that doesn't make for a good tweet. They liked me fine the last time I visited." With a sigh, he slips his hands into his pockets as he turns to face Lena. "If I had a nickel for everyone who wanted 'just a few minutes of your time'— egging people on in my free time is how I get through the day." He declines to comment on what or who gets him through the nights.

Now they're *both* encouraging Tiago, which is the last thing Lena needs. Her eyes shift back and forth between George and Felix as they exchange sentences that may as well be Greek. But that last bit, from George…that last bit she understands. "What, so you get off on getting people to act up 'cause you don't get to? Nice guy." The bridge of her nose is crinkled, both men treated to the sort of scornful look only teenage girls are capable of.

Tiago blinks, surprise written on his features as he turns to peer over at Felix. Then back to George. And then over to Lena, just for good measure. What follows then is a bright laugh, complete with a slap of his own knee. "Aw, shit, no way!" He exclaims brightly, beaming over to George. Clearly he doesn't see the danger of the situation, but perhaps this is a good thing. After all, his smile is pleasant and faintly infectious. "You're a /suit/, man? one of them folks? Well fuck - d'you want some beef jerky? Huh? I gots plenty!" He ignores all the talk that he doesn't really understand, which is most of it, in favor of chilling like the sunny fourthgrader he is on the inside and drinking the rest of his water.

"A suit?" Felix wonders, expression turning a little arch, even though it really wasn't addressed to him.

"I already ha— You know what? Sure, I'll take some." George accepts the proffered jerky from Tiago, passing it behind his back and handing it back to Lena on the other side. "What? No, it's a litmus test. The ones who get offended—" He doesn't actually say 'fuck 'em' out loud, but it's all over his face. "The ones who're cool about it, those are the ones worth listening to." Though not necessarily taking entirely at face value; he may be odd, but he's not way out in left field like Tiago is. Though Tiago may think differently.

"Like, white-collar," Lena explains for Tiago, giving Felix another of those wary glances. "Suit and tie for work." Yeah. That's the ticket. Really, the only reason she's speaking directly to Agent Cossack there is to keep herself from spazzing out over the fact that her roommate just gleefully offered their slim jims to a US Congressman. That is just not *done*. Even when George is being somewhat cool. She stares blankly at the man for a moment before reaching out to pluck the rescued jerky from his hand. "For serious? That's…huh. You piss folks off a lot, I bet."

"It's a - yeah! Yeah, man, what she says!" Tiago uses his half-eaten stick of jerky to point to Lena, and he shoots her a particularly brilliant smile, despite her general discomfort with the situation, before looking over to Felix. "See? Aint she smart. I keep tellin' her, she's so smart." It's said with good intentions, even though it probably only serves to embarrass her. Only then does he bite off another bit of jerky and peer over to George. "Who's you, then, man. Your name, sir. What's it?"

"Indeed, she is," Felix affirms, expression perfectly deadpan. There's a twinkle of amusement in the pale eyes, though. Maybe he's not as immune to the humor of the situation as he might seem.

"Occasionally," the other man muses. "I'm George," he adds, then, inclining his head to Tiago. "And you two are?" Congrats, you're on a first-name basis with the suit now.

Lena shifts uncomfortably on the bench, swinging her feet to the ground and stealing another look at Felix. The slim jim is tapped rapidly against her palm as she tries to decipher just what his expression means. "Huh? Oh…Lena. Nice to meet y'all," she says, by reflex. First names it is! Please excuse her if she does not offer a handshake, even now.

"Shit, I was Zorro couple days back, yeah. I'm Tiago now. Chi-ah-go. Ya'll're cool people, you are." Tiago offers over to the lot of them, but one fleeting glance over to Lena, and his expression switches up considerably. It's as though something finally registered in his addled mind, making him recognize her discomfort with the situation, and so after finishing off the stick of jerky with a thoughtful munch, he then declares, "Yo, Lena baby. I want ta go home, yeah? Wanna go?"

Felix doesn't supply his name, at first. But after a moment's hesitation, he says, simply, "Felix," His tone is a little more friendly than his lack of expression'd indicate.

"That was you? Wow, I—" Okay, the ringing of a cell phone says fun time is over for now, at least for its owner. "Dawson," he replies, suddenly all business again. " —the Kenyans, yes, tomorrow morning at ten." Excuse me, he mouths silently, waving and heading off down a nearby walking trail.

"Yeah." Lena's reply is too immediate to indicate anything other than relief. Their snack supply is shoved back into the mesh bag, its loop hung around her wrist before she stands up. Then she seizes Tiago by the elbow, doing what she can to haul him bodily from the bench and off in a direction that leads away from the suits.

Tiago pads off, practically dragged by Lena, but he does offer a friendly sort of, "See ya!" To both the departing George and stoic Felix. That is before tripping over his own feet.

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