OPEN | prompt one | RAIN

[wrens]

prompt one | R A I N I have been one acquainted with the night. I have walked out in rain - and back in rain. I have outwalked the furthest city light. I have looked down the saddest city lane.

 

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[wastenot]

[ Patrick usually likes being settled in the midsts of a crowd, but the lunchtime rush is a bit more of a herd. Stepping out of the shop just in time to meet the wave of hungry eyes, he unfurls his umbrella into the faces of those who huddle at the edges of the payment, using it as a battering ram of sorts to make way down the sidewalk. He apologizes, of course, but he doesn't stop, shaking the stings of annoyance off his shoulders like a bird ruffling its feathers.

He's not all that eager to drive in this weather as much as he is to get to his car. Maybe he'll call in late and take his lunch in there. He doubts the family in today wants to watch their overpriced hole in the earth spill mud all over the fresh casket they just bought - it really is all about the presentation.

There's a woman at the corner of the street, hiding under a sheaf of paper that is quickly soaking through. One could make a decent analogy out of that. Patrick isn't a poet, nor does he consider himself much a gentleman, but a damsel in distress is worthy, at least, of a passing attention. He's tall, taller than her, at least. As he steps closer to the curb, he sidles up beside her and sweeps the long, black canvas of his umbrella over her head like the shadow of a wide wing. ]

You look like you could use a friend.

[ He'll joke, low with a mild curl to his lips. ]

[extortion]

[ Were she a different sort of person, Amelia would probably take the gesture as proof of hope for humanity, an act of kindness or pay it forward. But unfortunately (or fortunately — that's how she would see it) she's not a different sort of person, she's the person she is and has been ever since the day she was born. And what Amelia's learned since then, being the person that she is, is this: everybody wants something. Whether that's power or influence or money, love or understanding or compassion, it doesn't matter. Life, as a process, is constructed out of a series of exchanges — Trades, to put a not so fine point on it. Her particular speciality in understanding this is finding out how much a person is willing to trade in order to keep things like dignity and reputation and social standing. Then, once she finds out that price, she adds a little more.

Amelia wonders idly what this gentleman could possibly want in exchange for a bit of samaritanism. None of that shows on her face when she looks up at him, though, her mouth curving a crooked smile as she begins to refold what's left of her newspaper. ]

That obvious? Never a good sign.

[wastenot]

Playing chicken with pneumonia's probably a worse one.

[ He smirks in return; he looks more curious than patronizing. It's true: everything comes with a price, and Pat happens to know the exact ballpark figure he's going for these days. But not everything has to come tit for tat -although he had a brief assessment of the former as he was arriving- and he really was planning to go this way to cross the street to the carpark.

If it looks like he's dressed for a funeral under the thick undercoat, it's because he is. And planning to eat lunch there as well, if the bag in his other hand is any indication. ]

What're you trying to do here, flag a ride?

[extortion]

I was actually trying to see what looking like a poor, unfortunate soul would win me, [ Amelia says with a bit of a smile as she attempts to wring a bit of rainwater out of her hair. There's no point to it, really, as soon as he wandered off again and took his umbrella with him, she'd be out of luck. But the respite is nice, however temporary; there comes a point when being wet stops being simply damp and starts becoming annoying and Amelia had crossed over that threshold a good long while ago.

Wiping her dripping bangs to one side, she blinks at the stranger through the wetness still clinging to her lashes. ] You wouldn't happen to be going that way, would you?

[ She points down the street in the direction she'd been originally travelling. ] Traveling that way and in need of a little polite conversation between points A and B?