2008-03-07: Some Static


Elle_icon.gif Mikhail_icon.gif

Summary: There could have been no talking, but a small shock did the trick.

Date It Happened: March 7, 2008

Some Static or Mikhailllll Meets Crazy Blonnnnnnd (Suggested Alternate Title)


There's nothing like spending some more time outside and on the streets of New York, especially when it's Chinatown. It's just as lively and busy as Times Square, more or less, or any other well-populated area surrounded by towering structures and whatnot.

All's fine and well - why not make it another slacking day away from college art stuff? Walking along with the crowd flow, Mikhail casually wanders, stopping along the way to look at shops and their goods. It doesn't help that he's also standing out against the usual fashion of people; it's like he stepped out of one of those crazy fashion magazines. But it's all within good taste. Maybe.

Another young fashionista, Elle Bishop draws her jacket tighter around herself before stepping out of the restaurant, onto the busy street. Only she doesn't stand out, with her business-like attire; she's just another professional, which is the way she'd like to keep it. There is no cast on her leg any more, no walking apparatus, but she limps just the same, residual effects from her recent injury. "— didn't get a look at them before I left," she's saying into the cell phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, her head tilted awkwardly to one side. She's not at all looking where she's going as she turns down the street.

Fashion wins, apparently, no matter the number of degrees taken. The art student leans forward to look at the prices on a rack of clothing, eyes scanning over each tag and design available. He then steps back, nodding to the shop owner before continuing on his way. Boots scuff against the sidewalk, the look of heaviness contradicting with his weightless stride. Mikhail is paying attention to the crowd at least, and he does see that Elle's preoccupied with the phone. To make sure he doesn't run into her, he'll try to step to the side. This only becomes a little more difficult when the other strollers don't move out of the way.

Clutching a paper bag in her hand, Elle rolls her eyes at something said on the phone. "It's the weekend, Jenny." She's made no attempt to hide her exasperation, though it's half-hearted at best. "I think it can wait." You'd think in a city like New York, she'd have learned by now not to make sudden moves on the busy sidewalk without looking to make sure she won't run into anyone. But Elle really hasn't spent that much time out on the streets, despite having spent her entire life here. "Yeah, well, that's why I'm the— hang on." Limping still, she veers sharply to the side to avoid a drip from melting ice overhead, snapping to attention just as she does.

Adjusting the shoulder strap of his bag, Mikhail does what he can to go around without too much of a hassle. And seeing how it's impossible to go anywhere without bumping into someone, he figures he'll just apologize quickly after he does it. Sweet and simple.

He barely makes it, brushing past Elle. With…a shock!? The flow of energy runs through him, making the poor teenager jump in surprise. Even his blank expression shows it. He turns around, a little more than confused as he rubs his arm. "Ow…?"

Though she's aware of the shock which escapes her at the near-collision, it's Mikhail's little expression of surprise that drives Elle to turn around. She whirls to face him somewhat too sharply, wincing at the movement and the way her weakened leg reacts. She stumbles, quickly catching herself. "Sorry," she says quickly, looking to Mikhail with a frown, drawing the bag of take-out closer to her chest. For a second or two she says nothing, watching him with an odd expression, appraising the damage she's done. It… couldn't have been that much, she thinks. The phone is snapped shut, dropped into her pocket. "Are you okay?"

Bleached hair still stands a little higher than he had it earlier, a few strands floating downward. "Whoa," the young man reacts to Elle's turn, holding out an arm just in case she decided to suddenly topple over. She recovers nicely, and as she looks at him, he can't help but stare back. All for the sake of random observation. "…I'm all right," Mikhail finally says after a few beats. "Just…" Shocked? It felt like a major static jolt, but maybe he's exagerrating it too much in his mind. He shakes his head, blinking at the woman. "But, are you? I mean…" Hands indicate her leg with a few short gestures.

The longer she stares at Mikhail, the more Elle is becoming aware of just how surreal his entire get-up is. Her expression is quickly morphing from mild concern to bewilderment, unchecked. She's never been one for subtlety. "I'm fine," she replies with a shake of her head, shifting her weight slightly. Her mouth opens as if to say something else, then closes again. No, she doesn't need to tell him that she was shot. See? She's making progress with this 'social grace' thing. Right up until she gestures towards him and says: "You should tone it down a notch."

The teenager probably pulls off this sort of thing better than most fashionistas would. That is, if they are stupidly brave enough to go through with it. Mikhail nods, pausing midway to arch a brow at her comment. He takes a moment to look at what he has on, checking each layer. Yeah, it's all on him. Blue gray eyes glance back at Elle, unphased. "I don't…I was cold." Good answer. He knows how to be social, too. And he needed to do laundry. He forgot to again. Lips purse for a moment before he speaks again. "Would 'artsy' be a good excuse for it?"

"Not really." Tipping her head to the side, Elle can't help the smirk that sneaks onto her face. "There's a lot to be said for subtlety, kid." Kid? With her leg in its current state, she's relegated to wearing flats, making her stunning lack of height plainly obvious. She's tiny, dwarfed by the people around her. "You stand out. That's all I'm saying."

He snorts. "Darn." It's all done in good humor, but he doesn't really show it. And he can't just give up the style. It's interesting to him. "Well, I can wear something that's close to normal standards. I just don't do it as much anymore," Mikhail explains with a shrug. A lame answer, but an answer nonetheless.

Elle, too, is speaking in good humour whether or not that comes across. "Really," she quips, arching a brow as her smirk returns. "I couldn't guess." Her eyes have hardly left him since she first turned around, watching him for any sign he might be suspicious of the little shock he received from her. "Artsy type, huh? See, when I first saw you, I had you pegged for model. I figured you left a shoot or something." Which is not helping the 'you look ridiculous' thing, is it? Shaking her head, she says, "Forget 'normal.' There's no such thing any more."

If he's suspicious, he's pretty good at hiding the fact that he's still wondering about it. Both players are holding their own as they speak, and both have proven they can carry on talking as they please. Eyebrows lift. "Model?" he asks, a smirk playing across his features. "I never got that one before." He shifts, leaning back a little as he keeps his eyes on Elle. "And you look like a business sort of person. The air of professionalism is there, at least." Something similar to saying 'clean cut and blunt, but it works.'

The smirk sort of fades when she mentions nothing is normal. Normal. What is normal? Will anything return to normal? "Was it ever normal?" Mikhail murmurs, eyes casting downward prior to returning toward the woman. "Nice. Cynicism becomes you."

Not quite sure how to take that, Elle shifts her weight once more. She's as likely to be amused by what he said as she is to be offended - and in the end, she opts to simply shake her head, dismissing it. "That's me. 'Business sort of person.' A business sort of person whose— " She stumbles over her words now, clearly conflicted over what to say next. Haltingly, she continues, "— friend is going to wonder why I'm home so late and bringing cold food with me." Because what else do you call the ex-serial-killer who tried to kill you, then saved you, whom you've both saved and tried to kill, with whom you occasionally do things you shouldn't? 'Friend' is something of a loaded term here. Complicated.

She was doing so well. Mikhail sort of forgot the fact she was holding a take-out bag with her, now eying that for the moment as she recovers her wording. "Oh shoot, sorry about that," he says after a pause. "If you need to go, then I'll let you go." Seriously - he didn't mean to.

"Don't worry about it." Drawing in a breath, Elle takes one of her awkward steps forward. She extends her free hand, making an attempt, though he won't realize the significance, to be more personable than she's used to. "Elle," she offers, her tone clearly an introductory one. "Didn't mean to hurt you, if I did. I drag my feet too much, especially right now. Sometimes it comes out as a little zap."

A pause. The artist also reaches out to shake Elle's hand, his motions a little more forward than usual. "Mikhail," he replies with a small grin. He then chuckles, nodding his head. "And I see. It was quite a shock."

"Looks like you're going to live through it," Elle replies with a grin of her own, pulling her hand back. "I'll try not to get you next time we run into each other." Not even a question, there; she's spent enough time outside the Company walls now to know that even in a city of millions, she can't help but run into people she knows, however peripherally. "For the record? Some things were normal once." Like her. "See you around, Mikhail." And with that, she shrugs her shoulders and turns from him, paying mind to the other pedestrians as she starts away.

Mikhail smirks. "Not a problem," he replies, also unsure whether or not he will ever run into her again as well. And with what was said next, he laughs softly. It's like he understands what Elle means by it. Saying nothing more, he waves back, watching her go. It doesn't take too long for him to 'disappear' into the crowd again, either.

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