Rain, rain...

[scardavis]

Scarlett watched the rain pour down the window of the diner, the water distorting the light emanating from the street lamps outside, creating splotches of yellow and red color on the far wall.
She had always loved the rain; it seemed to mask everything with a sleepy haze, and gave people a reason to do nothing. Being less of an ourdoorsman than most, she was happy to have an excuse to stay in. If it hadn't been for her overwhelming desire for something sickeningly greasy to eat, Isabelle would have quite contently remained in her motel room.

Poking the remnants of her dinner with her fork, Scar sighed heavily; she had grown so used to diner food that it was almost depressing. The waitress bobbed over to refill her coffee cup, she had headphones on, and seemed more or less oblivious to the fact that the thumping bass and treble vocal stylings of whatever she was listening to was attracting more strange looks than dog with three heads.

Smiling to herself,Scarlett returned to gazing out the window. It must have been nice, she thought, to be ignorant to everything going on around you. It was what she loved most about the rain; it was a distraction. Most people, if they did decide to venture out in it, had little time to stop and really look at what was going on around them. Watching as a prime example walked past, almost walking into a bollard while trying his best to keep his umbrella from turning inside out.

Hearing the tinny sound of the waitress' headphones approach her, Scarlett turned. The waitress picked up her empty plate, and balanced it on several other plates and bowls already on her arm. She left a dessert menu on the table and wandered back to the kitchen, the clink of plates rattling in her wake.

Scarlett eyed the desert menu for a moment before picking it up. Nothing sounded particularly appetizing, but she wasn't ready to go back to the motel yet. She peered over her menu at all the sullen faces around her; there was little chatter, little noise at all bar the radio sitting on the counter, which was more static than music. The clock on the wall which was shaped like an oversized cheeseburger, informed her that it was 11.15pm, and rubbing her tired eyes, she beckoned to the waitress.

Waiting until the waitress lowered her headphones, Scar ordered the Pecan Pie -apparently the most sought after dish to emerge from the establishment- and handed up her menu. As she sat, ripping a napkin into strips out of sheer boredom, the door opened, letting in a fierce gust of wind which blew her napkin strips onto the ground.
Groaning, she proceeded to pick them up as a new face entered..

[caleb]

“This ain’t a scene; it’s a goddamn arms race!”

True, it wasn’t the most adult of ring tones that he could have chosen for his beat up cell phone, but it was just oh-so-true, now wasn’t it?

And the little added bit in the beginning “I am an arms dealer…with weapons in the form of words”? It was enough to send him into fits of laughter every time he heard it. Damn his buddy Leo for blasting it every other hour when he’d crashed at his apartment. For two weeks now, it had been roaming around the dusty confines of his mind, making a happy little home in his subconscious. And now, as if answering the call of some higher power, he’d equipped his constantly ringing phone with the tune, as if he never wanted it to disperse.

Yeah, that, or he was finally going completely insane. The next thing he knew, he’d be printing out the lyrics and pasting them to his body.

Flipping open the phone, the man sighed into the receiver; his usual greeting. There were only three people that had the caller ID that he’d seen, and they knew better than to expect some chirpy ‘hello!’ from him.

“Yo, C-man!” Tick Tock- not his true name, obviously, but really did fit his persona; Tick Tock the Time Bomb, the resident psychopath- crowed, causing him to wince. “Whattup my homie?”

“Why won’t you just die and leave me alone?” Came the irritated answer as calloused hands ran themselves through dirty blond hair. His Irish accent thickened as he scowled down at his shoes. “The last time you sounded this perky, you ended up showing up at my place with a body. I’m on strike two, Ticky! I can’t deal with this shit!”

“Oh, please, that was a one time thing…and the guy really wasn’t completely dead. Just knocked out cold. But hell; here I am, being perky for the both of us, and you go all rabid on me. Not cool, Caleb. Definitely not cool.”

“I laugh at your displeasure. Ha. Haha.”

As if putting thought to action, the ex-con began snorting into the phone. Stopping as a stop light blinked sleepily ‘STOP FOR GAWDSAKES!’, as if invisible traffic were scrambling for a taste of his flesh, he leaned sideways against a lamppost. His gaunt features seemed to fade back into the solid, dark hues of his clothing. Simple dusky jeans, a black button up shirt and a very worn leather jacket completed the outfit, and a ‘why are you talking to me?’ scowl, leafy green eyes and very rumpled pelt completed the man.
Caleb O’Shay wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who walked around grumpy, but after having come out of a supposedly productive meeting with his parole officer- more like he’d sat there and listened while Joe proceeded to howl about his needing to find an actual job- he was in the mood to do some real stink-eyes. And maybe throw in some manly grunting, and old-man squinting, too.

As he listened to the youthful voice prattle off about manners and his lack thereof, he contented himself by glaring at whatever God was currently looking down at him, laughing Its head clean off. Then, pausing in mid-step, he turned his face up to the sky as a familiar scent assailed him.

Coffee. Coffee, coffee, coffee.

Like a bloodhound picking up a scent, he turned abruptly into a diner on the side of the street.

“But anyway, Caleb, I’ve got another job lined up for you.” Tick Tock went on, oblivious.

“Aw, c’mon, Ticky; I told you, I gotta keep my nose clean for the next few weeks and get Joe off my ass. I already did that bank job for you the other day; I’m done for a while. That is…unless you didn’t wire the money into my account. Do I have to come beat the shit outta you, Ticky?”

“Oh, please, like I’m THAT much of a schmuck. I might be crazy, but I’m not insane.”

Caleb bit back a retort, shouldering open the door. A burst of wind followed him and he had quite a happy time trying to shove the damn door shut behind him, but he managed without strangling himself with the open sign. Look at that; the day was getting better!

Rolling his eyes at himself, he balanced the phone between his shoulder and his cheek and started for an empty table near the back of the room. He’d order himself a coffee and something sweet, try to get himself out of this current funk and try not to get thrown back into jail for being a dumbass. Some deep breaths and a caffeine fix later, and he’d be back to his old self.

Or so he’d thought, before his booted foot found a few strands of napkin and proceeded to forget that it actually had treds made for stability. With a squeal, his foot slid on the napkin, sending him flying backwards.

“—this job, Caleb! I swear, it won’t get you killed!” Ticky’s voice sounded next to his ear, where the phone had dropped.

As for him? He was too busy staring up into the face of a pretty brunette, while his brain proceeded to rattle around his head to care if anyone was listening in. "...You’ve got a face like an angel, darlin’. Give us a kiss?”
---


((Heeello! Hope you don't mind me dropping in here and sorry about the book of a post. I babble; it's a syndrome. ^___^ ))

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