2007-02-13: There Are Absolutely No Explosions In This Log


Bekah_icon.gif Marcus_icon.gif TC_icon.gif

Summary: There is coffee. T.C. will not make a good criminal mastermind. Bekah will not make a good accomplice. Nothing explodes.

Date It Happened: February 13th, 2007

There Are Absolutely No Explosions In This Log


Bekah steps away from the counter with her big coffee drink and a plate with a scone. She heads towards one of the tables, settling her food on it. A backpack is slung down by her feet as she settles in. Starbucks is bustling even this time of the day, with most of the tables full.

Marcus has already settled into a chair at the next table from where Bekah has staked out, reading a news paper and sipping something hot and foamy.

T.C. does not yet have a table, nor a drink, though his order is has been placed already. He is lingering by the counter waiting for it to be prepared, a rather preoccupied frown on his face. There is a bag slung over one shoulder, resting on his hip, that looks like it probably holds a laptop; the backpack actually on his back seems much heavier. Grey eyes scan the room idly while he waits for his coffee, lingering over the customers.

Bekah slouches back in her seat. She's reaches down to the battered backpack to pull out some reading material and one of those classic yellow pads for notes, or doodling. A closer look might show that her reading material of choice seems to be medical journals.

Marcus looks over, notating the reading material of the woman at the neighboring table he raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment about it.

The barista slides T.C.'s drink across the counter — whatever it is, it is in the largest size cup — and the teenager saunters over towards the tables. He pauses by Bekah's, head tilting as he unabashedly peeks to try and catch the topic of whatever she is reading. He is still staring over at it as he drops his backpack heavily onto the ground and slides into a seat at a table right beside hers.

Bekah is reading from the most recent issue of the Journal of Emergency Medicine. She flips through to find and article that was dog eared and starts in on it, as she picks at her scone.

Marcus doesn't miss the young kids look at the older woman shaking his head some he takes a long drink of his coffee, or whatever it is and flips the page of his paper.

"What?" T.C. did not miss the head-shaking. His eyes narrow in puzzlement at Marcus as he slides a laptop out of his bag and sets it on the table. The next thing to come out is a ponderously heavy textbook. "Is something wrong?" He is still looking at Marcus as he sets the book down on the table beside the computer, a slim black Vaio notebook.

Bekah looks up from her journal and over to the two men as T.C. speaks. She doesn't interject yet, but she's looking curious in what is going on. And it's a good break to take a drink of her coffee.

Marcus chuckles softly to himself, "No nothing wrong at all, just another day in paradise" he gives TC a winning smile and a wink.

"What?" T.C. blinks, puzzled look growing into outright bafflement at the smile and the wink. "Then what was with the eyebrow raising and the head shaking? Your actions contradict your statement."

Bekah looks between them and then lets out a little snicker. "Paradise. Right." She says simply before she looks from her journal to the two men, splitting her focus for the moment, at least until she sees what will happen.

Marcus shakes his head again, "Wow someone is wound too tight today maybe you should lay off the java man."

"No," T.C. replies, his expression still baffled but his tone calm and patient, "you just aren't making any sense. It has nothing to do with caffeine, just conflicting behaviors. You raised your eyebrow at her --" And here, he points to Bekah "-- reading material, and you shook your head at me when I looked at it."

Bekah looks down to her journal. "Ah yes. Because medical journals are the very most thrilling thing in the world." She notes dryly, taking another drink of her own coffee.

Marcus shakes his head again, "Your very observant, aren't you, keeping a record in your little book of every movement of every strangers body? In case the aliens are out to get you right? Because they give themselves away with the smallest of details?

"What?" This is not even remotely helping T.C.'s puzzlement. He looks rather bewilderedly at Marcus. "Aliens? There are no aliens. Are you feeling okay? Because you're /really/ not making sense at all."

Bekah blinks over to Marcus before she shakes her head. "Yeah, someone needs to lay off the coffee." She mutters under her breath before she turns her gaze back to her journal.

Marcus chuckles again then turns back to his paper apparently disregarding T.C.

T.C., for his part, is happy to disregard Marcus as well. He sips slowly at his coffee as he powers his computer on. His grey eyes slide sideways back to Bekah's journal again. "Are — you a doctor?" he wonders shyly, quiet and curious.

Bekah looks over to T.C. and gives him a grin. "Well, that would be a good reason for reading these things I guess. Better than the entertainment value." She jokes before she nods. "I am a doctor, yep. At least that's what they call me at work."

Marcus listen quietly, and just continues thumbing through his paper.

T.C. smiles in response to Bekah's grin, the expression softening his serious features into something warmer, friendlier. "I'm just the kind of geek who would find it interesting anyway," he admits sheepishly, a hint of a blush creeping into his cheeks. "But I'm —" He tilts the weighty textbook up so that Bekah can see it — its subject is neurobiology. "Still really far from being a doctor, but I'm working towards it. Slowly. What field are you in?"

Bekah grins at that textbook. "Ah, the brain is fascinating, isn't it?" She holds up the journal a bit. "I work in the ER. Rarely a boring day there. Are you in college?"

"It really is. I mean there's so much untapped /potential/ and even just studying how it does everything it does is incredible." T.C.'s eyes get more animated, with this subject, reserved demeanor eclipsed by his passion for his field. "I'm a student, yes. Only undergrad, still. I can imagine. — That it isn't boring, I mean. Sorry. Sometimes I'm bad at being linear. My brain skips a lot."

"There is. It's amazing to think about what the brain could do if we were ever able to tap into that. I can be more of a global thinker as well. Though I've definately learned how to follow steps through the years." Bekah states. "I'm Bekah, by the way. Where do you go to school?"

"I'm T.C. Columbia. I'm from Texas. My folks were sort of jittery. New York's like a whole other world." He takes a slow sip of his coffee, lips still curved into a smile behind the rim of his glass. "I can follow steps in my school work but then I get out from behind my desk and my mind tries to jump everywhere at once. It's occasionally disastrous. Socially. Not in any real sense of disaster."

Bekah nods her head. "Columbia's a good school, I hear. Worth coming here from Texas for, I hope. I grew up in Boston, so it wasn't such a huge jump when I moved here for med school."

"It's good. It was worth the distance. I'm still acclimatizing to the cold." T.C. cradles his drink in both hands, long fingers lacing together around the cup. "My parents are still acclimatizing to the me being on the other side of the country," he adds with a wry smile. "I finished high school early, so I think it was a big — deal. Moving. I was just 16, so." He shrugs one shoulder. "But I haven't died yet and I assure them I still eat vegetables and don't stay up all night drinking, so it keeps the panic to a minimum."

Bekah takes a sip of her warm drink before she laughs. "Yeah, the city can be cold. Though I did my undergrad at Dartmouth in New Hampshire. They're winters are absolutely freezing." She gives him a smile. "I'm sure the whole eating your veggies thing just puts their mind totally at ease."

"New Hampshire?" Reflexively, T.C. shivers, though his smile doesn't fade. "I think any farther north and I'd be a popsicle. That's a good place, too. Dartmouth. Where do you work now? I mean, which hospital?"

Marcus picks up his paper, shakes his head again at TC and heads out the door, dropping the empty cofee cup in a bin.

Bekah laughs at that statement. "I grew up in Boston, though, not Texas. I'm pretty acclimated. I work at Mount Sinai, now. Are you hoping to stay in the city when you apply to med school?"

"Maybe — maybe. Columbia's great! But I might be ready for a change. Maybe Harvard. Maybe Johns Hopkins. Harvard's got that /north/ thing again, though. But I hear Boston is really pretty in the fall." The boy shrugs, and laughs quietly with a shake of his head. "I'm only in my second year of undergrad, though, so I have a little bit to think about it. I like New York, though. I do. They say the people are mean but I haven't found that. But I guess anything's better than /high school/."

Bekah nods her head. "I went to NYU. They've got a pretty good program, too. And anything is definately better than High School." She agrees before she picks at her scone. "Boston is pretty in most seasons."

"Why New York?" T.C. tilts his head, curious, at Bekah before his glance flicks back to his computer. The Linux splash screen has been patiently waiting for him to type in a login and password, and so he finally obliges it. "I mean, was it just school, or —?"

Bekah shrugs. "I like the city. The bustle and all that. And school was part of it, yeah. But the city itself is a great place to live and work. Let me tell you that ER work here gives you quite the variety of everything."

"It must get pretty hectic. I mean. Eight million people, I can't even imagine how many are busy getting themselves hurt every day." T.C. eyes his computer warily, now, fingers flexing slowly before he lowers them to the keyboard. He is unusually cautious as he brings up some documents, begins to type. "Still. I think it takes a special sort of person to point to the emergency room as a great cross-section of city life," he adds with a grin.

"My favorite are all the ways people manage to hurt themselves cooking and carving turkey's on Thanksgiving. It's worth working the holiday, just to see what they'll come up with." Bekah jokes before she gives T.C. a curious look at his wariness with his computer. "New computer or something?"

"Turkeys are dangerous birds," T.C. answers with a chuckle. "Though I would think once they're dead it would take away some of the risk. Apparently not." His head shakes slightly and he looks between the computer and Bekah with a wry twist of a grin. "Nooo. I just — I have extraordinarily bad luck with electronics. Technology and I really don't agree. I think if I look at it the wrong way it'll kill itself /just/ to spite me."

"That depends on how you try to cook the dead fowl. Deep frying, not the good idea it sounds like." Bekah notes with a dry tone that's pretty normal for her. "So, there's a good reason not to be a computer science major, I would suppose."

T.C. winces. "Deep frying accidents sound like they'd be ugly. And no. I mean yes. I mean —" He frowns slightly, trying to catch his train of thought. "I mean, it's bad enough just trying to write my essays without making the thing malfunction."

Bekah nods her head. "Ever considered investing in a typewriter?" She jokes before she nods. "Nothing that involvees hot oil and accident can ever be good. Hopefully whatever your writing will be much better."

"Better than a deep-frying calamity?" T.C. asks, brow furrowing. "I'd hope so! I don't think I'd get a very good grade for burning my skin off with oil."

Bekah flashes a grin over at him. "But doesn't everything seem better in comparison?" She's joking from the tone of voice she's using. "So I'm sure in comparison your paper will be amazing."

T.C. considers this, one long forefinger tapping idly against a cheekbone. "So what you're saying," he says, slowly, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth, "is that all I have to do to ace this paper is pour scalding oil over my professor /first/?"

Bekah nods her head with a laugh. "Exactly." She states before she raises her hand. "Though I would of course never advocate hurting anyone or anything that could possibly be construed as going against my Hippocratic Oath." She says jokingly.

"I'll leave your name out of it once the police arrest me for assaulting my teacher," T.C. assures her, solemnly.

"It would be wonderful if you could arrange to do it in a place where your professor would end up going to any hospital but Mount Sinai, too, thanks." Bekah notes.

T.C. scrubs at his cheek with the heel of his hand. "I don't usually plan my attacks that far in advance," he admits. "I think I'm a lousy criminal. No prep work at all."

Bekah sighs overly dramatically. "Ah well, I suppose there goes that plan. You'll just have to write a good paper if you want a good grade then. So sad."

T.C. nods his agreement at this, expression serious again. "I guess I'll have to. Life is pretty tough that way." He squints from his computer to his textbook with a wrinkle of his nose. The latter goes on his lap, opened to a bookmarked page. The former gets another wary look before he puts his hands gingerly to the keyboard again. "I'd better — get working on that, then. I mean. Since assault and battery is out."

Bekah takes a look at her watch and nods, stowing her journal back in her backpack. "And I'd better be getting off to work. I'm on tonight. It was nice to meet you. Good luck with the paper." She says, picking up her coffee to finish on the way.

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