Currently the moon is in the waning Half Moon phase (54% full).
Currently in Saint Claire, it is a cloudy day. The temperature is 46 degrees Fahrenheit (7 degrees Celsius). The wind is calm today. The barometric pressure reading is 30.06 and steady, and the relative humidity is 93 percent. The dewpoint is 44 degrees Fahrenheit (6 degrees Celsius.)
Regan Avenue, Downtown
Tenements, small businesses, and tiny restaurants line the street. Heavy metal bars encase the glass fronts of the stores. Battered cars, almost falling apart with rust, are parked haphazardly here and there along the sidewalks. People travel in groups, here, wary of the small gangs of young boys at street corners. Several blocks have the same dull repetitiveness, from Fifth Street all the way to Twelfth. Only the graffiti marks a difference between the blocks, the occasional rudeness sometimes broken up by light colors and strange designs.
J.C.
She presents an unimpressive figure at best, barely over five feet tall, her thin form bundled into layers of old clothing. The battered green Army coat in particular is rather too big on her, the sleeves long enough to hide small hands cloaked in raggedly fingerless gloves. The stripes of a Marine Corporal are stitched onto the sleeves. A dark blue knit cap is pulled down low over her head, covering the tips of her ears and most of her forehead as well; no hair pokes out from underneath. Her red hooded sweatshirt has a tear in the collar, and a massive rip in the left knee of her stained, baggy jeans shows the yellowed thermal underwear she's wearing underneath. Her sneakers are held together with duct tape and prayer.
Her age is difficult to determine precisely; she looks anywhere between her mid teens and her very early twenties. She also appears to be suffering from a low-grade cold. Her brown eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and her prominent, bony nose is red and sniffly. Her skin's pale, her brown eyebrows almost nonexistent. Even cleaned up, she wouldn't be a beauty.
J.C. loiters at the mouth of an alley not far from the church-turned-club that is the Temple, blinking and sniffling as she watches people go this way and that way and utterly ignore her. Just a faceless homeless person. Don't make eye contact; she might ask you for a dollar. She shivers in the cold, arms folded tightly across her chest and hood pulled tight around her face and knit cap.
Shuffling down the dark street is Jeremy, wrapped up in black, that of which consists of a trench coat, baggy jeans, shirt and boots. A new look to the collar bearing kin, his blue eyes peering out from behind the thin rimmed glasses. Over one shoulder is his backpack, dangling heavily on his back, giving him an awkward stride. He doesn't appear to notice anyone as he moves, almost as if staring at his feet.
Here stands a young man just barely past the age of 18. Thin and with a pale complexion, it looks as if he didn't get enough sunshine during his years. Perhaps the most attractive feature Jeremy really has is the pair of beautiful blue eyes that usually seem to shine with a hint of curiousity. To finish off the slender frame of his face, he wears a pair of wire rimmed glasses. His hair is natural blonde, which has actually been dyed dark black, perhaps the only rebellious moment he's ever had in his life before graduation. The cheek length bangs are still blonde, giving an off-balance pattern when he combs them back. He isn't very athletically built, even though he has the potential to be 'good looking' if he gave himself half the chance.
The way he dresses is downright morose. His typical computer nerdish attire has been abandoned for slightly larger black jeans that barely cling to his thin frame. A solid black shirt, elbow length sleeves fit over his skinny body. A knee length trenchcoat covers the rest of him, dusty and beaten, perhaps bought from a garage sale. On his throat is a small leather collar with a metal hoop for a leash, held tightly on his neck.
As Jeremy passes the alley, J.C. clears her throat, a phlegmy sound. "Spare'a buck'ferra cuppa coffee?" Her voice is pitched low and toneless, like she doesn't expect a response.
Taking a few steps forward, Jeremy seems to have second thoughts as he turns around, staring at the homeless girl. Shifting on his feet, he works his teeth over his bottom lip slowly for a moment, before saying in a soft voice. "Why don't you use it for some dinner instead?"
J.C. blinks puffy, dark-shadowed eyes and squints at Jeremy with an expression of mild surprise. She sniffs, wiping a raw, chapped nose with the back of her knit-gloved hand. "A five'll get me dinner, sure. One'a them arches burgers." She grins, all dry, cracked lips and prominent, crooked teeth.
"How do I know you won't spend it on booze?" Jeremy asks as he leans forward a bit, resting on the alley wall. "Why not do something useful, buy a toothbrush, toothpaste? Maybe a clean shirt?" He says softly. "You know, I read a book one time about a college student who survived on ten dollars a week."
J.C.'s grin vanishes, all good nature in her expression curdling. "A book." She makes a rumbly, liquidy-gurgling noise in the back of her throat, leans over, and hawks a wad of snot onto the sidewalk not far from Jeremy's nice shoes. "Fuck you, slaveboy. I ain't no drunk."
Jeremy raises up a brow. "I don't know that." He says in a soft voice, peering out from behind his nerdy glasses. Sweeping a hand back through his hair, his lips twitch a bit. "I walk these streets all the time, from school to home, from home to work, and back again. And all I see is drunks. I wonder if /any/ of them /want/ to change their life."
"All you /see/," the homeless girl retorts, after wiping at her nose with the back of her glove again, "is what you fucking /want/ to see. 'N if they fucking drink, so fucking what? You think you're so much better, running back 'n forth the same fucking treadmill every fucking day, like a fucking zombie? Why don't you change /your/ life, you prissy, self-righteous little asshole?"
"First of all, I'm only eighteen years old. My life is just starting, so its really hard to change it." Jeremy says, his silver tongue coming to life, bravely. "Second, I enjoy my zombie like life, where I at least am secure enough in myself to know that I will make it out in the real world through hard work and dedication. /No one/ has ever gave me a free dollar so I can just use it to buy a pack of smokes and piss on a wall later. I believe that /anyone/ can work just as hard to get themselves a decent life, no matter at what stage they are in. McDonald's is /always/ hiring. They'll hire complete idiots. At least its money in the pocket. Why don't you go fill out an application or something?" Snorting, he shifts his glasses along his nose, then digs out a twenty from his jacket. Handing it over to her, one brow rises. "I may not like my life all that much myself, but I enjoy the fact I can go home to a warm bed."
J.C. crumples the twenty and throws it back at him. "Fuck your warm bed. Fuck your self-righteous bullshit. And fuck /you/." Folding her arms again, fingers tucked under her arms for warmth, she glares up at him. "Now piss off, before I fucking kick your ass." Which might sound ludicrous, considering her height and the hacking cough she gives afterwards, except there's that edge in her tone which suggests she's utterly serious.
Hardly, this young kin must weight 130 when wet, and he's about as nerdy as he comes. Its just the new gothy appearance of his that just looks a bit weird on him. Bending over, he picks up the dollar, then hands it back to her, growing calm. "Just take it ok?"
J.C. doesn't; the fact that he's trying to push it on her seems to piss her off all the more. "I /said/, piss /off/. As in leave, go, get the fuck out of here. I don't want your fucking twenty, asshole."
"Look, you are the one that got all uppity when I asked about the booze thing. I was going to give you the money, I just wanted to see yer' reaction. So knock it off and take the stupid money. Or I won't leave." Rolling his thin shoulders back, Jeremy widens his stance just a bit, in case she may actually attack him.
J.C.'s upper lip curls back from her front teeth. Abruptly, she snatches the bill out of Jeremy's hand and in swift, sudden, angry motions, tears it into little pieces. "/There/, you shitty little /fuck/." She flings the bits back at his face, stepping forward as she does so; another few inches and that flinging hand would smack into his face.
"You sure have a lotta damage." Jeremy says, letting out a breath as he doesn't flinch from her hand coming just nearly striking distance. Shifting his glasses again on his nose bridge, he says softly. "You can just screw the whole pride thing. How 'bout if I just buy you dinner instead? This is not a pity trip, I was just honestly curious."
J.C. sniffs back a noseful of snot and squints at him with a narrow-eyed frown. Her breath puffs out in cold-weather clouds as she peers up at him. Finally, she sniffs again and takes a step back out of his personal space. "Okay."
Jeremy smiles and glances about slowly, then murmurs to her. "So, whatcha' in the mood for?" He asks. "I'm starving for chinese myself."
J.C. shoves her hands into her coat pockets and hunches her shoulders. Her nose wrinkles at the word 'starving', but her spasm of temper seems to have subsided. That good-natured, crooked-toothed grin shows no signs of returning, though. "Chinese is fine," she says, grudgingly.
Jeremy offers her a quick, guarded smile as he slides his hands back into his jacket, rocking a bit on his boots. "Alright." Jerking his head slightly, he starts on, moving down the street. "C'mon, Hey.. I'm Jeremy by the way."
J.C. falls into step, giving him little sidelong glances. "Jenny."
Jeremy heads across the street and pushes on the handle of the chinese resturant and slips inside.
Tin-Yen Chop Suey
Despite the 50s era pink neon sign that hangs over the door of the restaurant there are very few Cantonese dishes; only those required for the qui-loh who know no better taste. Food here is cheap and abundant, although the decor hasn't been updated since avocado green formica and naugahyde were "in" color schemes and materials. There are only four or five tables, depending on the time of day, a few booths line each faux pine board plywood lined wall. At the front sits a cash register and an abacus, a mostly ignored tray of mints perhaps the most recent addition to the entire place. Toward the left wall is a spiral staircase which leads to the restroom facilities below. Despite all of this the place seems to do a fair business, with occasional waits.
Jeremy glances around slowly and then heads over towards a table after catching a wave from one of the waitresses who scurry about. Its slow tonight, and no bother waiting around to find a seat. After plopping down, his backpack is deposited next to him carefully, hands folding on the table.
J.C. sniffles as she follows Jeremy into the restaurant and wipes at her nose again, bloodshot eyes blinking as she looks around. A four-year-old child stares, wide-eyed, at the two of them, and for a moment, Jenny stares right back. Then she turns and drops into the chair across from Jeremy and pulls back her sweatshirt hood. The gloves come off, too, but the knit cap stays firmly in place.
One of the waitresses finally comes over, an eldery sort with a kind, withering smile. She dips her head polietly to the duo, giving the female a long, judging look. Street Trash, obviously, and the boy is pretty weird looking in that gothy, nerd way. Two menu's are handed over and she quickly shuffles off to get two cups of water.
Not only street trash, but smelly street trash at that; there are stains on Jenny's coat which don't bear close examination. She picks up the menu and studies the contents carefully, her teeth nibbling at a bit of dry skin flaking off her lower lip.
The young kin merely scans through the contents quickly for a few moments, then drops it down after consideration. Steepling his fingers, a light smile tugs upon Jeremy's face. "I'm ganna get the cherry chicken with shrimp fried rice."
"Me, too." Jenny squints at something on the plastic-covered page, then closes the menu and sets it down.
"You had it before?" Jeremy asks as he waves the waitress over, a smile brimming upon his lips. "Its /real/ good." He seems almost too at ease around you, hardly caring he's sitting in a booth across from a stinky bum with a bad cold.
J.C. wipes at her runny nose with the back of her wrist, ignoring the napkins that could easily serve the role of snotrag. "I'll take ya word for it."
After rambling off his order to the woman, he even orders them two cokes as well. "So Jenny, have you lived here yer'entire life? I'm kinda new here... less then ah'year."
J.C. shifts around in the chair, her eyes restless as Jeremy orders their identical dinners. She shifts her attention back to him, though, when he asks his question. "I'm newer," she replies, with a hint og a smirk. "Got here jus' before New Year's."
"Ahh.. gotcha." Jeremy says softly as he fiddles with a straw paper after plunging his own plastic utensil into his glass of coke that gets received. The waitress can't help but give them another look over before moving off. "So where you from?"
J.C. sniffs at her coke before dunking the straw in and taking a delicate little sip. "Mmn. Different places." Her manner's a little evasive about the matter; she shrugs like it doesn't matter much. "I've travelled around a lot."
"Ever been ta'California?" Leaning forward, Jeremy cups his chin with the palm of his hand as he listens to her intently, blue eyes transfixed upon hers.
J.C. shakes her head, her expression guarded. "Naw. Why, you from there?"
"No, just almost decided to go to school there, but ended up staying with my cousin instead." Offering a smile, Jeremy shrugs. "I was ganna go to Sac State."
"So you go to the school thing /here/ instead, huh?" Jenny toys with her straw, using it to stir the ice cubes around. She scratches at a sore on the back of her neck.
"Yah, I'm going to College here. Computer science and mathematics." Jeremy says softly as he shifts his gaze up to you. He looks about to say something else, when the waitress returns with the four plates of steaming food.
J.C. doesn't seem to think too highly of Jeremy's choice of academics, but the arrival of food forestalls any comment. She's shrugged out of her coat, letting it hang back over her chair, and pushes up her sweatshirt sleeves to reveal pale, splotchy arms. Then she tucks in. She's got an appetite, but doesn't eat like she's starving.
Picking at his food, Jeremy doesn't look like he's too hungry, but he does put down a few mouthfuls of food. It doesn't look like he eats much of anything at all, pasty lil computer nerd.