Logan Dane
Scorpio ♏
Posts: 20
Age: Thirty-Nine
Occupation: Musician, Bouncer
♡ Status: Divorced
OOC: Velvet
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Post by Logan Dane on Jun 2, 2013 14:11:02 GMT
you may be good looking but you're not a piece of art | The salt breeze whipped at the air, pulling at the rigging of the anchored ships and carrying further the cloying scent of gelato. South Street Seaport was as crowded as befit the warm weather. He leaned his back against the railing behind him, watching idly as throngs of day-trippers flocked to the museum and that mediocre little mall.
Of one thing, Logan Dane was absolutely positive: Rob Johnson unconditionally and irrevocably owed him a drink.
A glare of sunlight was reflecting off the water, and his pale eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses. Families trampled over the wooden decking, leaving a trail of discarded metro cards and subway maps in their wake. It was bad enough that Rob had seen fit to set Logan up with some hippy-dippy girlfriend of his wife’s, but to go as far as to choose this godforsaken tourist trap as their neutral meeting place just added insult to injury. This wasn’t what he would call a favour; Logan found himself wondering which crime he was being punished for.
A veil of irritation had long since settled over his features. The concept of this — he hated to say it — matchmaking was interfering in itself. It implied a certain lack of confidence in his abilities. All right, Logan would own that his last respectable relationship was longer ago than he cared to remember, but that was a matter of choice - that was his business. It was a lifestyle.
Sally had probably made him out to be a loser who couldn’t get a date, with a shrine to his ex-wife hidden in his apartment; no wonder this woman wanted to meet him in daylight, in public. South Street was cheery and innocuous, free of much schmaltzy romantic connotation if this woman turned out - as he suspected - to be some clingy, neurotic creature with attachment issues. There were the historic vessels and the reflection of Brooklyn silhouetted in the sun-dappled water, but the cries of the gulls and the sugary, fried aromas emanating from the food stands killed that atmosphere entirely.
Logan tapped ash from the end of his cigarette, scanning the crowd for anyone who might be this Emma. A man in a baseball cap and sneakers approached him proffering a camera, wanting a photo taken of himself and grinning family standing in front of the Peking, but the expression on Logan’s face must have put that off and the tourist quickly moved to someone else. The waves, a dull grey tinged with turquoise, continued to roll slowly behind them. Paint streaked Logan’s shirt here and there from some earlier work, but he hadn’t particularly noticed. |
CODED BY ELECTRIC OF BTN AND GS |
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EMMA IRVING
Virgo ♍
Posts: 20
Age: 31
Occupation: Middle School English Teacher
♡ Status: Single
OOC: Lady
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Post by EMMA IRVING on Jun 3, 2013 3:31:35 GMT
WE WERE COLD AND CRYSTAL CLEAR  | Emma was a patient woman. She could stand screaming children and middle school fist fights and disobedience for hours on end but Sally had a way of grinding down her well-calloused composure and driving her absolutely mad. The woman talked and when she talked, usually, she plotted and planned. Sally was a woman keen to gossip and intervene and stick her nose in places it should not be stuck in. And one of those places was Emma’s lacking love life. It did not matter how many times Emma informed her that she was content and happy with her life. It did not matter how many times she said no to various other suggestions to ‘get her out’ there, she still went on and on like a child who talks simply our of the pleasure of hearing their own voice. She loved Sally, truly she did and it was why, after ages, she had finally agreed to let Sally set her up. What was one night wasted? At least she’d have an interesting story to tell.
Out of all people she thought she might be set up with she had not expected some washed up musician friend of Sally’s husband. The vague image she had in her mind of this Logan Dane, all based upon Sally’s quick short sentences and hand gestures, was mainly composed of deep set frown lines, bad tattoos and a pathetic, pining face seen on various middle-aged divorcees. This could be worse but they most certainly could be better.
As per usual with Emma, she walked down to where she’d be meeting him. Emma was not keen on meeting a stranger in some overly romantic dimly lit restaurant, as Sally had suggested, but somewhere much more...neutral. A place where two strangers might be able to walk awkwardly amongst a large crowd and attempt a polite conversation.
Standing among the busy tourists, Emma sucked in her cheeks and tapped her heels together, suddenly struck with the idea to run away, fake a migraine and apologize and hope nothing would be rescheduled. To be frank, although it would probably never be admitted, Emma was nervous. She couldn’t remember her last date, which had taken place in some crummy little pub and had convinced Emma she should give up on it all. Her last relationship was decent enough but ended badly and her mother would never let her forget what she had lost turning that kind young man down. She grimaced every time she thought of it.
Flustered from the quick walk over, her hair not as neat as it had been when she’d left the house and her smile the one she wore when meeting with the uptight principle, Emma finally approached the only person who appeared to fit the description that had been given to her. It was with great caution, an unsureness of what to say and a friendly tone that she spoke to the man with a paint speckled shirt and a cranky expression. If this was him, the initial impression gained was not a good one. Could he at least of tried to wear something clean?
“Hi,"one hand firmly clutching the strap of her bag, ready to be stuck out for a polite handshake or an apologetic wave if he wasn’t her ‘date’. She tried not to wrinkle her nose at the thought. “Logan?”
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LAIKA OF BTN!
ooc; no bb, it is just fine. |
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