Bo Thomas
Ahh the graveyard shift, no matter where you work the graveyard shift is like being in a whole other world. People are fewer, and the only light one can see by is what is generated via bulb, tube, or flame. At the gas station where Bo works the feeling of otherworldliness is magnified ten fold, the gas station an oasis of light in amongst the tiny island of manicured suburbia. Few cars come and go now that happy hour has passed, and drunks have all crawled off to bed save for those few, undeniably hardcore students who refused to give in.
Bo might well be with those students, if she was not stuck tending to that oasis of light in the darkness, her and her fellow employee, Steve were the sole operators this evening. Steve manning the store, while she took care of the carwash, in an hour or so they would rotate, and it would go on like this till the light of the real world dawned on the horizon...and the magic was dispelled.
Of course at this point in the evening, there really weren't any cars in need of washing, and so Bo had gone about doing what chores were necessary, but for now she sat on a concrete curb near the wash, a hot rod in one hand, and a bottle of water at her side. She sat watching the darkness beyond the wall of light, a dreamy look in those big green eyes.
She might be there in form....but one could easily tell the young woman of 21 was elsewhere in mind and spirit, out in the wide world beyond the oasis [prison] of light.
Nobody
[Let's see. How good is Jack's Mask? let's hope he left the ol' haven t'night.]
Dice: 8 d10 TN7 (3, 5, 5, 5, 6, 6, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )
Nobody
There are eyes in the dark. They gleam with an animal's radiance - some stray, passing beam catches on them and reflects. Ever notice that? How a predator's eyes, it'll throw the light back at the world - like it's casting a spell? Be afraid, the spell says, be wary - and there are eyes in the dark. They're a cat's eyes, though: a range-y, muscular Tom's eyes, the cat himself stretching out long and lean, chasing a mouse out've a bush. The mouse is barely a shadow, skittering toward the car wash. Then it darts this way, and that, and the cat loses it. There's a car passes by, too loud. The cat stops, and it just stares at Bo with that wary sort've grace some cats have. Like it's just moments away from getting squished.
Bo Thomas
The sudden nightly entertainment is unexpected, nothing happens here, save for the occasional prank from Steve [or on Steve] and the rare police car racing by, a blare of light and noise just beyond the walls of light. The young woman watches with a look of amusement, and just a hint of trepidation, as much as the cat needed to eat she really didn't want to watch it mow down on a just recently killed animal in her vicinity.
But then the mouse is gone and the cat freezes infront of her, wary and prepared. Humans weren't its friends, they never had been, he was an outdoor cat, perhaps even feral..and he looked after himself. But with the mouse departed, free and gone into whatever hole it could find the girl tilted her head and smiled at the cat. "That's an A for effort Sylvester. But a D for results." Her voice is clear and energized despite the lateness of the hour, the woman seeming fresh and invigorated even now. She takes part of her hot rod and breaks off the end, leaving a good inch of dried meat in one hand which she weighs for a moment, thoughtful before tossing it near the cat.
"There, can't say we human's never did anything for ya." She said as she took a bite from the remaining meat stick of her own and chewed it with a sigh.
"Least your out there livin the life big guy. Most action I'm gonna get tonight is hosing down the dirt traps, and let me tell you." She said with a waggle of her finger. "No one wants that sort of action."
Nobody
Now, cats are very expressive. This one is no different. Bo tosses the bit of meat towards him and for an instant his muscles tense and his tail lashes. Then he sits down as deliberately, offhandedly regal as any pharaoh ever was, and daintily are his paws together, and fixed are his eyes as he stares at the offering. Then looks back at Bo. Then licks his lips, and looks back at the offering, twitching an ear at her conversation as if to say, sure, I'm listening, though her waggled finger draws the cat's attention again. Then he scoops up the offering, takes a couple of low, quick strides further off to the side, tail low and curved like a hook, and he hunkers down and wolfs it (yes, wolfs it) down. He looks pretty damned pleased with himself.
As soon as it's done choking the meat down, the cat decides to prowl closer to Bo, ghosting up onto the cement kerb and angling to get behind her. She probably can't decide whether or not she's being stalked or courted.
And around this time, enter into the scene somebody else. Somebody else whose eyes do not gleam with an animal radiance. Somebody who does not have predator's eyes, who looks like a plain, average-bordering-on-ugly guy in his thirties, maybe, big ears, a long strange nose, sallow skin and eyes the color of which is best guessed at gray, an indeterminate gray that doesn't know whether its wants to be fog or cat's fur, so is the most forgettable thing about him.
Somebody who does not hunt mice.
"There you are," he says, and maybe for a moment Bo even thinks he's talking to her, because after a glance around he's looking right (more or less) at her.
Bo Thomas
Bo should know not to feed the animals, they tell you not to do that at the zoo all the time [even though on some exhibits they let you feed them anyways] the cat took the meat, after a few moments of consideration it glided towards her, sliding in behind her like only a cat on a mission can manage. She laughs, an energetic little thing before holding what remains of her hot rod close to her body. "Nu uh...you got your share, and unless your gonna start paying rent the rest of this is mine bub." She looked behind herself, trying to spot the animal.
She doesn't notice the 30 something year old until he speaks, and that has her whipping around, her hair flying and those big green eyes wide. Her hands rise up in a moment of self defense, the meat stick held out before her like some kind of weapon.
"Whoa dude, seriously! You do not sneak up on a girl in the middle of me time." She said with a deep breath as she quickly looked around to see if she could see Steve nearby.
"I'm gonna guess as we've never met...that your looking for Sylvester?" She asked, no longer looking behind her, she was after all, a small woman out in the dark on her own...it was best to pay attention to what was infront of you.
Nobody
"Apologies," Jack says, because that is - of course - who this man is. The man with the ears that stick out. The man with the nose that's as crooked as a crook and long. The man with eyes that don't know what gray they want to be: gray or grey. He's always Jack, even when the face changes. That's one of the few true things he knows, that he's certain of. He'd leaned over, hands on his questionable cargos, bracing himself in order to look, and he smiles. Let it be noted: this face has a good, even a little luminous smile, screws up his grey/gray eyes and makes them sunshine, puts some brightness into his goofy features, banishes the dark. There's a small gap between his two front teeth. "But I could point out," pleasant, even glib (honey-tongued, right, able to put just the right inflection), "that you seem to have a cat paying you attention, which makes this time the cat's. They're selfish bastards, and that one's more selfish than most."
He turns his attention back to 'Sylvester,' and bends over awkwardly - he's a tall man, Jack, and this mask is tall too - to tap the ground, flirting his fingers above it in the gesture universally acknowledged by people to be the best chance one has of getting a 'kitty, kitty' to 'c'mere.'
The cat does begin - very, very, very, very, very slowly, taking pains to look as if this is not its plan - to saunter, or swagger, arooooound Bo, like, well, mayyybe this saunter will take me over to you Jack, maaaayyyybe when I feeeeeel like it...
Bo Thomas
"Hey you can't blame a cat for knowing what it wants, sides were the ones who pay attention to them. Its like a really hot guy or girl..you kinda gotta ignore them for them to notice you." The young woman nods sagely, like it was a matter of fact. Ahh young logic, the sort of thing the youthful still chatter about when trying to get that special someone to pay attention.
Bo isn't trying to get anyones attention, not right now. She might like some of Steve's if only because she was out in the dark with a man she doesnt know. But his tone, that glib and disarming tone takes some of that apprehension out of the young woman as she watches the man call the cat.
"So this champion mouser is yours huh?" She inquires as she pulls her legs a little closer to her body, her gaze fixed on the man and the cat. "You and your sidekick got some names to go with yourselves?" She inquires casually, a vibrant little smile spreading across her lips.
"Cause I'm Bo." She tilts her head to the side. "Now you pretty much have to tell me yours, Just so you know." The smile becomes a smirk, like she thinks shes so smart to trap the man into giving a name.
Nobody
"Can't you always blame a cat for knowing what it wants," Jack says, with a rueful sigh, a weary shake of his head that implies better than any story might that the cat is a handful. The cat finally has made it to a patch of asphalt between Bo and Jack; it stops there and decides this is an excellent time to wash its paw, and then its stomach, and then its -
" - oh, come on Boots, we are out and in company - "
Jack says, the rue in his [whiskey, poured over ice, when it's low like this; crackle-y, crooner's] voice deepening into something like amused consternation. Jack sinks into a squat instead of straightening, his elbows balanced awkwardly, the fingertips of one hand still pointed down. First, for balance, and then to tap tap tap the cat's attention again. He flashes that look of amused consternation over and up at Bo; then settles back on his haunches.
"When his name isn't Boots, it's 'Bad Cat.' Does Bo sometimes hang out with another syllable or two? Should I only give you one syllable of my own name, to make it fair and square?"
Bo Thomas
"Only because we are rarely so certain." She says in retort, nary missing a beat as they exchange little quips and sentences. She seemed less anxious now, the man was obviously [or at least apparently] more interested in the cat then her, she was just an aside. An extra bit of amusement.
Speaking of amusement, when the cat gets down and starts to wash. The young womans voice breaks into a chortle that clears into a laugh, one hand rising up to block the view. "Oh you can tell he's got a way with the ladies, hes a right ol don juan this one." She forced her gaze to look at the unknown man for a moment before sighing at his inquiry.
She huffed a little, her shoulders rising briefly as she stuck the remains of the hot rod in the corner of her mouth and chewed on it idly. "Not since I was like...five and in sun dresses." She pauses to chew, leaving only the little nib of food beyond her lips.
"Before that it was Bonnie, but come on...do I look like a Bonnie to you? I dunno bout you but all I can think of is kansas and knitting needles when I think of a Bonnie."
Nobody
[Manip + Exp, + Specialty: Honey Tongued. How smooth you gon' be? (Yes, I'm rolling this entirely because I can't decide. Make the decision for me, dice.)]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 3, 4, 7, 9, 10) ( success x 3 ) Re-rolls: 1
Nobody
When Bo huffs, Boots looks up from his current pressing business to give her a curious stare. His leg is held stiff, straight-up, at attention; the tip of his tail twitches. He blinks, and darts a quick look back at Jack. Then ducks his head to finish up. As soon as he has, he flops over onto his side, coiling into a C that's so close he might as well be the end of a slinky. This time, when Jack wiggles his fingers, Boots looks over at them and his gaze fixates, becomes rapt.
Meanwhile, in the land of creatures taller than a scant few inches off the ground, Bo says: Do I look like a Bonnie to you? and goes on to (and she seems like a vital, vibrant little thing) energetically explain just why she does not think so. Jack looks at her like he's trying to find some sign of intrinsic Bonnieness. He looks reflective; sucks in both cheeks, making them as hollow as an 80s hairband star's or a Romantic poet's - one of those diseased, doomed artists who're all sharpnesses and shadows. Then he says: "I don't think of Kansas or knitting needles. I think of plaintive songs, of somebody singing to their sweetheart, of prettiness when it's alive and vibrant, and of pirates. Especially, I admit, of pirates. You?" he eyes her. "Well, I like Bo. It's short. I'm Jack." A brief, gap-toothed grin, warm and easy.
But his eyes've gone back to the cat. This time, when he taps his fingers, Boots rolls out've the C he's in and actually gets within a few inches of Jack's fingers. Almost there.
Bo Thomas
"Well Jack and boots, good to meet ya, just don't calling yourself Jack Boots, thats a little to WW2 for the good folks right?"
Boots continues to draw out Jacks attempt to get the cat within reaching distance and that act seems to amuse Bo to no end. She cant help but chuckle before shaking her head. "Come on Jack, you gotta play hard to get. He's got you on a line and hes jerkin you around!" She lets him do what he wishes however, only offering good hearted advice. It is in that moment that the last of the hot rod disappears between her lips, is chewed, and then is gone for good.
"So are you the sort who's into walking your cat and all that? I mean I don't see a harness, which is a thank god moment, cause those things are hideous..and those poor cats never look comfortable." She tilts her head slightly biting her lip.
"Or is it something else...cause I don't know anyone who walks their cat at three in the morning, even us night owls have better things to be doing then that."
Nobody
"Naw." This is something only this mask says; naw, the miniature guffaw. That shape one makes with their teeth, upper over lower, when one awws. Naw; that is for this face, certainly. Jack wisks his hand up, and scratches the side of his neck then rubs his jaw. Aw. That sound again. There's something blank in the look he gives her, brought on by the word 'harness,' like he surely cannot imagine what that word is doing in a sentence about cats. Maybe he's never seen them. He offers her that gap-toothed grin again, even if his attention seems halved. "We're just a couple of weirdos, brave lads on a quixotic adventure…" By the end of the sentence, he's sighing again, and his chin seems to rest more heavily (wearily [not exhaustion]) against his knuckes. He drops his hand again, and his head drops too - just a bare fraction of an inch.
"Or I just I don't get a good night's rest very often, and Boots here is an outdoor cat, so we wind up rambling more-or-less together until something comes up." A pause, and now - for the first time, perhaps - it looks like Jack's considering Bo, and what it is she is doing, at her leisure, sitting out at a gas station. He frowns from her, to the gas station store, the shadow of Steve smoking pot 'secretly' behind the cigarettes. "Are you waiting for a ride?"
Nobody
ooc: Ahem. "Or I just don't get" - strike that extra I from the record. Bad extra I.
Bo Thomas
"I'm serious dude, some folks actually stick their cats in a harness and attach a leash, it is one of the funniest, and saddest trends in the world of animal husbandry for reals." She laughs gently as she shook her head. "Don't even get me STARTED on bunny harnesses." She reached down and dusted down her pants then and once certain she was clean she brought them under herself and pushed up into a stand, her arms stretching out beside her as if she might take flight all of a sudden.
"Nah, I'm not out of here till dawns early light." She said with a gentle stretch, her arms rising higher till they were behind her head and pulling on all the muscles in her shoulders. "Me and captain chronic over there are the night crew at this little oasis of light, not that theres any point...but here we are."
With the cat at last in hand it seemed that perhaps their conversation was at an end, and having stretched out the young vibrant woman bobbed down to snatch up her water bottle and gestured towards him.
"Trust me...you'll thank me if you just start ignoring that cat. He'll be ALL over you then, used to work EVERY time with my aunts old cat." Her hands move as she talks, adding to the energy of very being, each arm swinging this way and that.
Nobody
"Is it always this dead?" Jack replies, tone devoid of irony (it's not as if Bo is in on the joke), with a half-glance around the station. Strange, isn't it, how the flickering white lights of gas stations in the midst of night's loneliness have that quality about them which makes everything flatter, starker, closer to a silverscreen scene, leeching colors away and polishing the world into blacks and whites. The world seems starker, doesn't it? except for the neon signs advertising Tequila and lotteries.
The man stays crouched. Boots finally rubs the edge of his head against Jack's hand, as if a reminder to pet him were needed; Jack obliges, and then takes Boots firmly by the scruff of the neck and holds him in place. Then he actually picks the cat up and drapes it over his shoulder. The claws come out, but only to get better purchase, hooking on Jack's cothes. Jack straightens precariously, careful not to give the cat more cause to claw him, though it wouldn't matter.
"What would you rather be doing with your life?"
The parting of ways is imminent; of course, this is no reason not to find out things. One never knows.
Bo Thomas
"At this time of night? You betcha, hell half the time we get out Steve's soccer ball and kick it around the lot. Gotta do something to keep our minds from leaking out of our ears and becoming street pizza." She points to her ear with a flick of a black painted finger before spinning her nail off into space.
She had been turning, preparing to go now that Jack had Boots up on his shoulder, the cat safely secured [as well as a cat can be secured. She had been ready to wave goodbye and wish the dynamic duo a good night...but he stops her with his question, the woman framed in that flat, harsh light in her profile and she looks towards him with a flick of her hair.
"EVERYTHING." She says it with intensity, like she really...truly meant it before a gentle laugh rolls from her lips and her hands grasped at her narrow hips. "I want to do everything there is Jack, and this is far, far from everything." She gestured to the small pocket universe of the gas station that was her prison.
"Anyways, not much I can do about that till the ol slave driver gets here in the morning. Then I can see about getting a little bit more of everything under my nicely pleated skirt."
Nobody
"If you run into me again," says he, although not as if this is any more likely than the other option, "we can debate 'everything,' and how far from your gas station it can be found on a map."
"You have a good night, Bo." He offers one more smile; this one doesn't show the gap in his teeth, and it sets crinkles up around the corners of his eyes, and it seemed to brighten up the greys (grays?).
Bo Thomas
"Toodles Jack and Boots." She says as she turned from the pair and strode off towards the store a potent spring in her step as she disappeared into the light.
Nobody
[FINIS.]
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