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Lost in Translation « Thread Started on Aug 8, 2009, 1:36am »
Date: March 6th, Friday, Week One Time Frame: Evening Place: Downtown Trenton, NJ Status: Open
He hadn’t meant to stay late at the little shop but it happened nevertheless. He also hadn’t mean for the simple evening to turn out like it did, but hey, he was lucky that way. The evening had started out normal, as normal as it was for Xavier. He had just settled on the couch, his record player scratching along to Earth Angel and the latest edition of Readers Digest he brought with him on his move. Littered around his apartment was a mini scale replica of the great wall of China of unpacked boxes. He folded his long legs under him and pulled the blue afghan up to his chin and absently reached for the cup of earl grey on a nearby box. Beside him, the calico Manx Zelda lounged and stared at the two other cats across the room as they ventured out of his bedroom.
A loud knock on his door sent all three felines skittering and while he pondered who it could be, he dog-eared the page he was on and got up to answer it. It had been his ex to weasel more money out of him, she had been there no more then two days ago for a hundred, said she needed to buy their son some new clothes. Now it was extra twenty because Elijah lost his inhaler. She left with an extra fifty she pocketed when he wasn’t looking to get her a glass of water. Xavier rubbed his cheek where she had left a smear of lipstick, standing on her tiptoes to reach him but the simple love peck was nothing but love. From underneath his afghan, Bill the orange tabby took over his spot as his master wandered around the small apartment to gather his coat, slip on some shoes and grab the set of keys on the counter before heading out.
He left on Johnny Cash’s A boy named Sue to keep his cats company and headed out, his inner sanctuary disturbed. He hit the pavement on foot, leaving his station wagon for work tomorrow evening. His feet and mind were on two separate wavelengths and while his mind had taken a course to mull over her ex and son, his feet had lead him towards some of the smaller and less crowded shopping centers of downtown. It was fate just as he looked up to cross the street and spotted a vintage store window filled with odds and ends, books bound in leather, an old record player and what looked to be a Macintosh portable computer from the 1980’s that probably weighed more then all his cats combined. He stopped, backed a step up and raised his hands to peer through the hazy window and saw vague shapes of bookcases. That was all that was needed and the man peeled himself from the window and opened the front door, hitting a bell that chimed his presence.
Three hours later, the little old shop keep found him sitting on the floor, cross-legged with a growing pile of books beside him. An old text of divine precognition was open on his lap and he had another book of human anatomy of the 17th century. He didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the suit of armor across from him or the fetus of an unknown animal floating in a jar. Foster looked up with a dull expression when the shopkeeper finally raised her voice to a booming level and even then it took him a moment to register she was talking to him.
“I’m sorry ma’am, what did you say?”
The woman huffed and set her hands on her hips before dropping them. She smiled, exposing crooked and yellow teeth at the prospect of selling her collection of odds and ends. “Have you found everything you need?” The raspy voice oozed with fake sincerity. “Perhaps a pictures frame for a family photo or jewelry for your wife?” It was easy to take notice of the ring on his finger. She waved a bony hand and drew the knitted shawl up around her shoulders. From beneath the heavy folds of her skirt, her legs twisted awkwardly and she momentarily gritted her teeth, baring them in another smile as the man missed the odd flutter of green around her eyes as if the pale makeup of her skin had run.
“Oh, well… thank you,” he replied, drawing out the appreciation as he thought how to explain that he wasn’t married anymore. Foster closed the book he was reading with a snap and unfolded his long limbs, wincing and reached forward to rub at the pins and needles jabbing his legs. “But, you see, I’m no longer married and that doesn’t essentially mean I cannot buy my ex wife jewelry, but,” he cleared his throat. “It’s a perfectly logical assumption since I do wear my ring on my left hand though tradition says I should either wear it on my right or take it off completely.”
“Actually I think it’s stuck and I haven’t been to get it off even with olive oil though I have thought about vegetable oil since most today are synthetics. The chemical compositions might allow for a slicker surface but then again, they say olive oil is better for you.” The man paused and raised a finger to tap his chin. “not sure, who they are.”
The elderly shopkeeper stared. “… If you need anything, I will be in the back.”
He was instantly pulled from his inner musings and absently smoothed out the wrinkles of the jacket he had shed an hour ago when he started to get warm. “O-okay. Thank you ma’am.” Foster leaned forward to watch the retreating figure of the woman from where he sat on the floor. “I promise not to steal anything either!” He called after her. “Not that I actually do. I’m not that kind of a person but… okay.” With a glance around him, he realized he was talking out loud to himself with a couple across the way staring at him.
“Evening?” The couple moved on, setting their things down as they quickly exited the store, leaving Foster to shrug his shoulders and reopen the book he was reading.
« Last Edit: Aug 13, 2009, 11:15pm by Xavier Foster »
Re: Lost in Translation « Reply #1 on Aug 17, 2009, 1:58pm »
Tabby's week had been so-so. There had been the awesomeness of being proclaimed Nuala's buddy in Bureau Buddies Week, and then that was followed by the awkwardness and emotional scarring of seeing that half snake dude eating a live mouse right after purchasing a companion for Tabby's own rodent. And her new iPod Touch had gotten a crack across the screen. The latter two reasons were why Tabby decided to make a break from the Bureau and go out this night. She needed something mundane, or maybe just a half dozen or so shots in a bar to settle her mind.
She pulled her multi-colored scarf tighter around her neck to ward off the chilly evening air as she stepped out of the taxi into downtown Trenton. She was wearing her usual jeans, steel-toes boots, and a jean jacket along with her scarf. Underneath was a sweater that hid her concealed Judge that she had grabbed from her desk before heading out. The way that things turned out the last few times she was outside the Bureau was a very compelling argument for her to bring it, and besides, it could make watermelons explode (or so the awesome commercial said), and that was good enough for her.
Tabby stopped into a coffee shop and got a cup of hot chocolate before continuing down the street, looking in shop windows as she passed by. She came to the same window as Foster did and looked at the record player inside. Her mom and dad's anniversary was coming up, and she vaguely wondered if maybe the shop would have any record needles. Her mom still had an old record player that she never used because she was afraid to break the needle, but Tabby knew her dad liked to play vintage Johnny Mathis records on them. She looked at her watch, decided, "I have time," and went into the store.
The first thing she saw was a gangly looking man on the floor, surrounded by books. She side-stepped him and walked to what she figured was the musical section by all the eight tracks and cassette tapes scattered about. It was right next to the man and his growing piles of books. She was just turning over an eight track in her hand and wondering just what the heck it was when the owner of the shop came in and spoke to the man on the floor. She watched the entire exchange with a growing smile, until it finally ended with a peak.
“I promise not to steal anything either! Not that I actually do. I’m not that kind of a person but… okay. Evening?”
Tabby giggled into her hand and flipped over a couple of records. She moved them aside and found a small box of record needles. "Jackpot!" She turned to find the register and her kneecap hit one of the man's piles of books. She had obviously misjudged the distance. She lurched to catch them and the moment threw her forward. Books went flying, so did the box of record needles, and before she knew what had happened, she was head-over-heels on top of the poor man. "Oh! Oh! I'm sorry!"
That turkey looks like it's from the fifties. Seriously. It looks worse than Stalin's mummy after Gorbachev was done eating the skin off of it. Wait, what?
Re: Lost in Translation « Reply #2 on Nov 4, 2009, 1:05pm »
Absorbed in the latest book he was mulling over, Foster missed the young woman step around him and licked the edge of index finger before turning the page. He squinted and leaned forward, his eyes sliding across the page to ponder over the text. If the chicken were to cross the road, it would be a building of his character, to forge into the unknown and possible dangers that he would encounter and from it, learn the importance of- He shifted in his position, stretching out a long leg and casually crossed it over the other and a shadow fell over him and the man only had time to cringe before he was smothered to death. Or at least it felt like it.
Books collided into him, leaning heavily in their stacked state against his side and a magazine that was precariously balancing on the edge of the bookshelf he was sitting again, slid off and atop his head. The shadow he had previously thought, now lay squirming on top of him, shoving him askew on the floor. He had only managed to make a sort of squished noise of the air rushing from his lungs before the deer in headlights moment wore off. The magazine slid off his head and he caught sight of an arm and a mass of red hair and he raised a hand only to find somehow he had tangled himself in a scarf that he didn’t remember wearing. The brilliant multicolored yarn was almost blinding after staring at pages of printed text for the last hour.
Foster attempted to righten himself, the heel of his shoe pushing uselessly against the floor as it collided with the person – a woman, oh dear – and he attempted to raise his other hand, pushing up with his elbow. “I am so sorry,” he mirrored the apology and tried to help the woman up, tangling himself further in the scarf and before he could end up strangling her on accident, he leaned up. The hand landed on something smooth and round and Foster jerked his hand back as if he had been burned and an edge of pure mortification edge into his voice. “Oh! I beg your pardon ma’am! I didn’t… oh wait, that was my knee.”
Somewhere he had managed to tuck a leg under him and into a semi straightened position that allowed him to start freeing himself from the scarf. How he did it, he wasn’t even sure, didn’t matter anymore. “I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have taken up the entire floor ma’am. These things,” he made a vague gesture towards his legs. “get away from me sometimes. Are you all right, ma’am? I didn't hurt you, did I?”
Re: Lost in Translation « Reply #3 on Nov 12, 2009, 11:47am »
This was like strip Twister from Tabby's first days in the government training program all over again, except for the fact that she was clothed and no one was crying in this activity. She felt pressure upon her neck and...just how did the scarf get entwined about the man as well? What in the-- A pile of books precariously tipped over on the two and Tabby felt the spine of a book collide with her own, more malleable backbone. "Oof!" She breathed.
“I am so sorry.”
The man tried to help her up, but they both seemed to be caught in a kind of limbo. Tabby's boot slipped on the floor and the cover of a book, and the man suddenly jerked backwards.
“Oh! I beg your pardon ma’am! I didn’t… oh wait, that was my knee.”
Tabby looked at herself quickly to perhaps see any unwanted grips on her body parts, but found none and watched as the man unbraided her scarf -- seriously, how did that even get tangle around him? WTF -- from around his neck and it appeared that among the carnage of the books and probably the box of record needles somewhere, the two had finally regained the upper hand over gravity.
“I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have taken up the entire floor ma’am. These things get away from me sometimes. Are you all right, ma’am? I didn't hurt you, did I?”
"I'm fine, thank you, but it's my fault. I misjudged distance. I didn't know I had crappy depth perception, but now it's a fact." Tabby straightened her scarf and tucked a frazzled section of red hair behind her ear. She looked at the man's legs and, indeed, they seemed to take up most of his body. She suddenly pictured a baby giraffe in her mind and fought back a snort of glee. "How about you? I wrecked your...your..." She looked at the carnage of books around them, "Your book fort."
That turkey looks like it's from the fifties. Seriously. It looks worse than Stalin's mummy after Gorbachev was done eating the skin off of it. Wait, what?
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