It is currently 20:08 Pacific Time on Sun Feb 13 2005.

Currently the moon is in the waxing Crescent Moon phase (33% full).

Currently in Saint Claire, it is mostly sunny today. The temperature is 46
      degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is currently coming in 
      from the southwest at 12 mph. The barometric pressure reading is 30.12 
      and falling, and the relative humidity is 60 percent. The dewpoint is 33 
      degrees Fahrenheit (0 degrees Celsius.)

Quik-Mart(#2071RJ)

Bright colors and many signs seem to be the decor of choice in this small
      store. There are aisles of standard junk food items for sale -- candy, 
      chips, soft drinks, Hostess goodies. Another whole aisle is dedicated to 
      beer and wine and other types of alcohol. One aisle sells everything 
      else, from breakfast cereal to spaghetti sauce to band-aids. A counter 
      stands at the end of the room, where cigarettes and lottery tickets are 
      sold. Near the counter is also a display of automobile accessories, 
      including tree-shaped air fresheners. Against the back wall, opposite the 
      counter, is a pair of video games and a display of comic books. Near the 
      door are a couple of pay phones.

[Charlie]
There's not a lot going for this guy. He's on the short side and kind of puny
      -- fair game for even a high-school bully. His clothes don't improve the 
      outlook, consisting of a plain blue button-up shirt -- untucked -- over a 
      pair of wrinkled khakis. And the face just reinforces the rest of the 
      "motif." His curly red hair sits tight against the skull, and it's 
      recession places him somewhere in his mid-thirties. Charlie's eyes are 
      very light blue, but somewhat bugged, giving him a vaguely surprised 
      look, and a pensive mouth sits above a relatively weak chin (made more so 
      by a prominent adam's apple). Charlie would be decent enough to look at 
      if he tried -- but apparently he doesn't.

Charlie stands behind the counter, wearing a red apron. A bright tag affixed to
      the cloth reads: "Hi, I'm CHARLIE and I'd like to Help!" If you took a 
      picture it could easily be a poster in a high-school somewhere with the 
      caption: "Still Think College Isn't Important?"

He'd probably be staring off into space with a vague expression due to the
      store's current emptiness, but no, apparently this is some kind of 
      /motivated/ slacker: he's scrawling rather intently in a small notepad 
      with a stub of pencil.

Gert, one of the regulars that Charlie's come to recognize in the weeks since
      he got this job, comes in after buying some gas (ten dollars, paid at the 
      pump, just like usual). Since it's long past five, she's dressed in her 
      casual clothes, the sloppy black hoodie and jeans that make her look more 
      like a high school kid than a responsible adult. Lately, she's been 
      looking a little run-down, overtired and stressed, and today is no 
      exception; there are circles under her eyes and her mouth is tight. 
      Heading over to the one aisle of grocery stuff, she gets some instant 
      noodles, grabs a two-liter bottle of Pepsi from the soda display, and 
      makes her way over to the front counter. She gives an automatically 
      polite (if unsmiling), "Hi," to Charlie as she sets down her stuff. Just 
      like usual.

Charlie jumps as the bottle hits the counter. He didn't seem to hear anything
      before that, not even the "Hi." Quickly recovering, he closes the small 
      notepad and sets it aside. "Sorry," he murmers quietly, "brain won't shut 
      up tonight..." He grabs the noodles and taps their price into the 
      register.

Gert's mouth twitches into a wan little smile. "Know what you mean," she says,
      stuffing her hands into her hoodie pockets and watching his hands ply the 
      register.

Taptaptap...tap. The pepsi is reduced to its component numbers. Charle pauses,
      then looks up at her, daring to make eye contact for an instant. "Don't 
      you usually get chips, too?" He asks softly.

Gert, blinking a bit, hesitates before answering, looking first surprised, then
      guarded. "Ye-ah," she says slowly. She shrugs. "Wasn't in the mood for 
      them tonight, though. Dunno, just lost my appetite for 'em."

Charlie nods quickly and looks down. He hits the total button and the little
      digital display offers judgement: "$3.06." He clears his throat in an 
      awkward sort of way. "That'll be, uh, three-oh-six."

Gert nods and gets out her wallet. She passes over a fiver, a nickel, and a
      penny, then glances over at the notepad Charlie was scribbling on. 
      "What're you writing?"

Panic-mode. Charlie -- rather sadly -- is not a naturally "cool customer" and
      it couldn't be more obvious that he feels like he's writing something 
      akin to state secrets. "Notes." He blurts a little too loud and a little 
      too fast. "Er, um, you know, /notes/." He says the last word in an 
      artificially smooth way that sounds even worse. "College notes." And this 
      actually sounds like he just came up with that and is a little proud of 
      the deceit. No. Not a cool customer. Not one bit -- though watching him 
      struggle like this is endearing in an I-like-Hugh-Grant-movies kind of 
      way.

Gert raises her eyebrows. "Notes," she repeats, sounding dubious. Head cocked,
      she leans over and tries to take a look at the (to her) upside-down 
      scrawlings. "What class?"

Charlie's hand shoots out and swipes them off the little shelf behind the
      counter. The notepad lands on the floor in a little tent-shape. 
      "Oops...!" Charlie says, and even he seems to realize how unconvincing 
      he's being at this point. He leans down real slow and retrieves it, 
      answering her question without having to make eye-contact. "Uh, it's for, 
      you know...um, Cryptozoology." He stands and gives a friendly smile. His 
      face is quite unnaturally red.

Gert looks even more skeptical at this. "Huh. I didn't know SCCU offered
      classes in that." She tilts her head, looking at him with a direct, open, 
      perceptive stare. "I've been thinking of applying there, but I'm just not 
      sure about what I want to study. What major are you?"

You know that look deer get when they're standing in the middle of a highway
      and they've just been bracketed in the lights of a Hummer doing ninety? 
      Well Gert does now. The deer in this case (Charlie) just stares at her, 
      looking quite frankly into her eyes. He swallows, and his adam's apple 
      bobs precariously. The mouth opens and manages to offer a few 
      unintelligible syllables by way of reply before snapping shut. Finally, 
      he just deflates and stares at the floor. "I should just give up, 
      shouldn't I?"

Gert actually smiles at that, and this -- in Charlie's experience -- is a rare
      thing. Though not cruel or mean, that smile, it's definitely amused; she 
      knows she's caught him out, and this is a satisfying thing. Bluntly, she 
      says, "Yeah. You're a shitty liar."

Charlie laughs too and looks up at her. "Yeah, I know." His face is still
      bright red. "It's a real liability in my line of work." The smile falters 
      and he quickly presses on, "You know, if I were to get robbed or 
      something, I'd tell the creeps anything they'd want to know. Is what I 
      mean." He shakes his head and rubs a hand through his hair. "And people 
      like you don't, you know-" The words are cut off suddenly and he looks 
      down, as if making sure he didn't just bite off his tongue. "Idiot...!" 
      He mutters to himself; nope, tongue's still there.

"Don't what?" Gert asks, her gaze still direct.

Charlie looks up. "What...?" he answers weakly.

Gert shakes her head, the smile fading. "Nevermind." She finally stops staring
      at him with those dark eyes that are, perhaps, _far_ too perceptive for 
      Charlie's peace of mind and looks down at the food she's paid for -- and 
      still waiting for change from.

Charlie's eyes follow her gaze. "Oh." Then: "OH." He taps a few more buttons
      and the register pops open. "Idiot...!" Again directed at himself. He 
      quickly makes change and closes the drawer with a CLUNK. He hands her the 
      receipt and money. "Two dollars is your change." He gives another smile 
      and his face is beginning to look normal again.

Gert takes her change with a quiet, "Thanks," and puts the two singles and her
      wallet away.

"I didn't mean Asians!" Charlie suddenly blurts. There's an awkward three
      second pause. He puts a hand up to his face. "Oh god, I hope you didn't 
      think I meant Asians when I said 'people like you.'" He puts his hand 
      back down, both of them now gripping the counter edge anxiously. Poor guy 
      doesn't seem to know when to shut up, either. Not cool. Not at all. He 
      rambles on, heedless of her reaction, stumbling his words together in an 
      attempt to explain... "I just meant girls. I mean /women/. Women. You 
      know, like...not all women. Just the..." His face realizes what he's 
      about to say before the mouth says it. An almost resigned expression 
      breaks across his features as the words come out: "P-pretty women." He. 
      Just. Stops. "Stricken" is a good word for the emotions circulating here. 
      There's another pause. "God, I hate myself right now." The last comes out 
      in a breathy whisper and he's finally done. And red again. Oh boy is he 
      /red/.

Gert's eyes snap back up to his face at the outburst, and through it all she
      stares at him. Just _stares_. "Uh," she says when he's finished. "Wow." 
      She's completely nonplussed.

Charlie couldn't agree more. He suddenly nods with a tight little waggle of his
      head, looking at her with a perfect see-I-told-you-I'm-an-idiot 
      expression. "I know," he says (somewhat shrilly), "I /know/. I'm 
      completely unable to do the 'conversation' thing. I'm just not good at 
      it. It's genetic." He breathes out and stares deeply into the scarred 
      counter as if trying to read his future in the interplay of scuffs made 
      by endless twelve-packs. "I should just get my shoes made out of certs." 
      His head rises and he gives her an apologetic glance. "Would you like a 
      bag?"

Gert, still a little bemused, nods. "You know, I didn't think you meant
      Asians," she says a moment later, hands back in the pockets of her 
      hoodie. She tilts her head, eyeing him in an almost considering sort of 
      way. "You working tomorrow?"

Charlie blinks, and then nods. "If the manager doesn't check the security tapes
      and thus witnesses my inability to deal with people...yeah. I'll be here. 
      And so will you if I remember correctly." He gives a small smile, the 
      kind that seems to be sharing a personal joke with someone -- it's the 
      best fit yet.

Gert smirks. "I'm a creature of habit. But. Well." In her own way, she seems
      almost as awkward as he is; she's just more dignified about it. Aloof and 
      curt rather than stammering and red. "When do you get off? I was thinking 
      of going out to see a movie tomorrow. You know, try to forget it's 
      Valentine's Day." She says the holiday's name with a slight grimace and a 
      nose-wrinkle of irritation.

Charlie's answer is automatic. "Ten." He stops, and then really /stares/ at
      her. "Wait, you mean...? Did you...?" He points to his red apron, nearly 
      spearing the gaudy name tag. "Do you mean, like, with me?" A look that 
      surprised couldn't be an act. He shakes it off. "Ten," he replies again, 
      almost robotically.

"I think _Boogieman_'s playing at midnight over at the Royal," says Gert. "It's
      probably crap and late as fuck, but." She shrugs. "I'm probably going to 
      call in sick Tuesday anyway."

"So will I," Charlie echoes almost unconciously. Then, "I mean, I'd love to. Go
      to the movies. If you're sure..." He adds hastily.

Gert shrugs again. "Why not? I was just gonna sit at home and think hateful
      thoughts about Valentine's Day. This way, I can think hateful thoughts 
      about a bad movie." She smirks faintly, apparantly joking, though her 
      tone's very deadpan.

Charlie smiles back. "It's a date." The smile drops. "I mean, you know, like a
      meeting date. I don't want to imply that..." He shifts gears. "I mean, I 
      wouldn't mind if--" He laughs at his own inability to talk and shakes his 
      head. "Here we go again." He just looks up at her with an amused glitter 
      in his eyes -- the first time he's seemed more than completely lost. "I'm 
      just gonna stop now, okay?"

Gert utters a throaty little 'heh'. "Seems fair." She takes her bags of
      convenience store goodies and starts for the door. "See you tomorrow."

Charlie nods. "Yeah, see you. You can just meet me here at ten if you want." He
      gives a wave.

Gert pauses at the door, hesitates a bit, and then nods. "Okay." Then she heads
      out.

Charlie watches her go with a look somewhere between confusion and exultation.
      "You're still an idiot, Charlie," he says out loud to the empty store, 
      "but you're an idiot with a /date/." He finds himself inadvertently 
      grinning as he picks up his notepad.