22
logiccosmic
the Prince of Word Crimes
- Location
- the Hague, formerly
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Operation Wyldhand 5.8
Holding the door open, I asked, "Do you have a disguise for your hair? It's uh-"
I stopped myself. That might be an insult. In fact, she might well be very sensitive at the changes her power had caused, or worse yet, they weren't from the power, they were genetic or congenital. I opened my mouth to apologize, but she beat me to it.
"Oh, we can pick up my bag. It has my wig and real clothes. I leave it in a locker in Grand Central whenever I come to the city. That way, I can pick it up on the way out," she said quietly, her fists clenching a bit before she relaxed and added on "which is when I need it. My van is there too."
I swallowed my unnecessary apology. I added, "I'll disguise myself too, then."
"Oh right, you're a Changer," she said, nodding along.
"Right."
"So you can look like, anyone, right?" she asked, looking at me closely.
I nodded.
"So, could you look older? Like, middle age old?" Her staring was starting to get a bit uncomfortable.
"I haven't tried, but I think I can," I responded.
"So for today, you could look older then? Like, for food?"
In answer, I turned the lights off, closing the door. Shadows curled around me, obvious to me, but not to her. I opened the door again, and said, "Let's go."
"Awesome," she breathed, looking at my new face. I couldn't see it, but I knew she saw a slightly wrinkled face, framed by graying hair.
"It does have it uses," I candidly admitted, locking the door and motioning for her to follow.
"I bet," she replied, as we moved down the hall. Faint shouting came from a door as we passed it, and by unspoken agreement, we hurried past. She opened the door for me, and we walked outside.
"Where are we?" she asked, still following my lead up the street.
"Near Columbia."
"Uh, so where are we?" she repeated.
"North-west Manhattan," I clarified.
"Ah," she said, falling silent. I waved down a cab, this one a van, rather than the standard sedan. As it pulled up, the door automatically opened. Daphne followed me in, taking the closer seat as I took the farther seat.
"Grand Central," I told the driver, and the van started moving.
"So what's the plan, then, after we pick up my bag?" Daphne asked.
Eyes widening, I motioned my head towards the driver, trying to communicate that we shouldn't talk about all that in front of a witness. She shook her head, minutely, and said, "And then the grocery store, right?"
"And other supplies, of course," I replied, keeping my voice level.
"Okay, because your apartment really needs food."
I frowned. Either she was letting me know she had caught my drift, or I had totally missed. Well, we could talk later, about acquiring items of a less than legal nature. She seemed to not be overly hung up on following the letter of the law. Which made sense, as she was a vigilante. She embraced the spirit, more than the letter.
"And, can we get breakfast then?" she asked.
"I'm hungry too," I agreed.
A few moments of silence later, I paid the driver, and we stepped out in front of Grand Central Station. We had arrived on the lower level – there was a road curving around above us – and I looked up, not so much in awe, as in some interest. The station was a bit different from the surrounding buildings, being both smaller, at a mere two stories, and significantly fancier. Decorative stone work framed its arches and corners, and it had large glass windows. Impressive, since to my knowledge, it was from an era when glass was far more expensive.
"This way," Daphne said, walking into the station. I trailed her into the station, and passing through the crowds of people, right to a row of lockers. About the size of a computer tower, or maybe a bit bigger, stacked several high and several dozen long. Daphne took a key out, and opened her's. She pulled a backpack out, and made a beeline away. Right to the bathrooms, as I followed at a more sedate pace. I waited outside, not wanting to draw more attention to her, than her white hair already had.
Not two minutes later, she came out dressed in her own clothes, which fit her far better, and a black wig. I walked up to her, and we ambled to a coffee shop. Luckily, we were the next in line, after a hurried man, and I purchased pastries and coffee for us both.
"And now, let's go get my van," Daphne said through a hurriedly consumed mouthful of pastry.
I followed her out of the station, and we walked a few blocks to a parking garage, a subterranean one to be precise. She pulled a slip of paper from her backpack and paid the enclosed teller. We passed his glass box, and Daphne walked up to a green van, not ten cars down from the entrance.
"It's not much, but I got it for cheap, and for cash," she said, slightly defensively.
"Nice. No traces that way, right?" I said, agreeing with her reasoning.
"Right. And, it was cheap," she said as she unlocked the driver's side door. I walked around to the passenger side, and waited a moment for her to unlock the door to let me in. I slid into the seat, and wrinkled my nose at the smell.
"What is that?" I asked, almost coughing.
"The reason it was so cheap. Some stoner, along with his dog drove all across the country in it. Then he needed money, so I gave him a thousand dollars."
"That's pot?" I clarified. Drug identifications were not my forte.
"Yeah. I've tried everything, and it still won't come out. I even left it open for a week, trying to air it out, and it got worse," she griped.
"Ah."
"Mm-hmm. I don't like it either," she commiserated. She turned her key, and backed us out, showing her slip to the machine at the entrance. The arm that had blocked us in lifted, and we drove out.
"Do you know where we can find a grocery store?" I asked, realizing too late.
"No, I thought you would," she replied, puzzled.
"I've only been here a week, and just got that apartment. I haven't really looked around."
"Well, I think there is one over in New Jersey, fairly close. We can try that one?" making her statement more a question.
"Let's," I confirmed.
"Good, because I was already driving there."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Ten minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot, and Daphne, after two attempts to park straight, got us into a spot close to the door. I pulled a cart along, taking it from the line of them in front of the door, and headed straight for the vegetables. Daphne tagged along, poking through the isles as I filled the upper portion of the cart. A quick stop through dry goods yielded rice and pasta, and then I topped it off with condiments and sauces, before grabbing a pair of pots and pans while I was at it. A good start. I wouldn't mind cooking again. I yielded the cart to her, saying, "Anything else you can think of, add. I'm going to the butcher counter, to get some meats."
"I'll bring it over in a bit, then?" she queried.
"That's fine."
After a brief bout of indecision, I had a pound of chicken and a pound of beef. And right on time, Daphne pushed the cart right to me. I looked into the cart, which had gotten much fuller in my absence. I set the meat down on its new occupants. I asked, eyebrows raised, "What's all that?"
Tapping her fingers on the cart, she said, "Well, I got chocolate chip cookies, and then pistachio cookies. And then I got some chocolate chip pistachio cookies. Oh, and lady fingers. And I got -"
"That's a lot of sweets," I cut her off, and then looked over the other items. Bottles, and boxes. The boxes were obviously TV dinners and other junk food, but I didn't know what the bottles were. Giving up, not wanting to break her sweet tooth, or insult her, I started pushing the cart to the checkout lanes.
"Well, I can't eat too many, or else I break out in zits, even now. Besides, you're buying the stuff that will keep us alive, I'm buying us some of the stuff that will keep us happy" she said, frowning, even as she paced the cart.
I nodded along, rather than speak. What some would term 'girl-talk' was one of my rusty skills. I hadn't had a friend since Emma, and even then, we never really talked about skin or boys or whatever. The lines were empty this early in the day, and, passing the cashier several hundred dollar bills, we left the store quickly, heading right back for the van.
She manually unlocked the rear doors, and we loaded the bags of groceries into her van. The pot smell was strong enough to give me a headache. Upon finishing, I took a few thankful deep breaths, away from the back of the van as I put the cart away. I got in, nearly half a minute after Daphne had closed her own door. I rolled down my window, cranking the handle as fast as I could without breaking it. Hers was already down.
"I prefer being cold over not being able to breathe, too," she remarked grimly.
I cleared my throat. "Where do we go for the other stuff."
"Other stuff," she parroted, confused.
"You know, other stuff," I clarified, with more emphasis.
"No?"
"Illegal stuff," I said, exasperated.
"Oh! Right. Other stuff. I've got some numbers."
Holding the door open, I asked, "Do you have a disguise for your hair? It's uh-"
I stopped myself. That might be an insult. In fact, she might well be very sensitive at the changes her power had caused, or worse yet, they weren't from the power, they were genetic or congenital. I opened my mouth to apologize, but she beat me to it.
"Oh, we can pick up my bag. It has my wig and real clothes. I leave it in a locker in Grand Central whenever I come to the city. That way, I can pick it up on the way out," she said quietly, her fists clenching a bit before she relaxed and added on "which is when I need it. My van is there too."
I swallowed my unnecessary apology. I added, "I'll disguise myself too, then."
"Oh right, you're a Changer," she said, nodding along.
"Right."
"So you can look like, anyone, right?" she asked, looking at me closely.
I nodded.
"So, could you look older? Like, middle age old?" Her staring was starting to get a bit uncomfortable.
"I haven't tried, but I think I can," I responded.
"So for today, you could look older then? Like, for food?"
In answer, I turned the lights off, closing the door. Shadows curled around me, obvious to me, but not to her. I opened the door again, and said, "Let's go."
"Awesome," she breathed, looking at my new face. I couldn't see it, but I knew she saw a slightly wrinkled face, framed by graying hair.
"It does have it uses," I candidly admitted, locking the door and motioning for her to follow.
"I bet," she replied, as we moved down the hall. Faint shouting came from a door as we passed it, and by unspoken agreement, we hurried past. She opened the door for me, and we walked outside.
"Where are we?" she asked, still following my lead up the street.
"Near Columbia."
"Uh, so where are we?" she repeated.
"North-west Manhattan," I clarified.
"Ah," she said, falling silent. I waved down a cab, this one a van, rather than the standard sedan. As it pulled up, the door automatically opened. Daphne followed me in, taking the closer seat as I took the farther seat.
"Grand Central," I told the driver, and the van started moving.
"So what's the plan, then, after we pick up my bag?" Daphne asked.
Eyes widening, I motioned my head towards the driver, trying to communicate that we shouldn't talk about all that in front of a witness. She shook her head, minutely, and said, "And then the grocery store, right?"
"And other supplies, of course," I replied, keeping my voice level.
"Okay, because your apartment really needs food."
I frowned. Either she was letting me know she had caught my drift, or I had totally missed. Well, we could talk later, about acquiring items of a less than legal nature. She seemed to not be overly hung up on following the letter of the law. Which made sense, as she was a vigilante. She embraced the spirit, more than the letter.
"And, can we get breakfast then?" she asked.
"I'm hungry too," I agreed.
A few moments of silence later, I paid the driver, and we stepped out in front of Grand Central Station. We had arrived on the lower level – there was a road curving around above us – and I looked up, not so much in awe, as in some interest. The station was a bit different from the surrounding buildings, being both smaller, at a mere two stories, and significantly fancier. Decorative stone work framed its arches and corners, and it had large glass windows. Impressive, since to my knowledge, it was from an era when glass was far more expensive.
"This way," Daphne said, walking into the station. I trailed her into the station, and passing through the crowds of people, right to a row of lockers. About the size of a computer tower, or maybe a bit bigger, stacked several high and several dozen long. Daphne took a key out, and opened her's. She pulled a backpack out, and made a beeline away. Right to the bathrooms, as I followed at a more sedate pace. I waited outside, not wanting to draw more attention to her, than her white hair already had.
Not two minutes later, she came out dressed in her own clothes, which fit her far better, and a black wig. I walked up to her, and we ambled to a coffee shop. Luckily, we were the next in line, after a hurried man, and I purchased pastries and coffee for us both.
"And now, let's go get my van," Daphne said through a hurriedly consumed mouthful of pastry.
I followed her out of the station, and we walked a few blocks to a parking garage, a subterranean one to be precise. She pulled a slip of paper from her backpack and paid the enclosed teller. We passed his glass box, and Daphne walked up to a green van, not ten cars down from the entrance.
"It's not much, but I got it for cheap, and for cash," she said, slightly defensively.
"Nice. No traces that way, right?" I said, agreeing with her reasoning.
"Right. And, it was cheap," she said as she unlocked the driver's side door. I walked around to the passenger side, and waited a moment for her to unlock the door to let me in. I slid into the seat, and wrinkled my nose at the smell.
"What is that?" I asked, almost coughing.
"The reason it was so cheap. Some stoner, along with his dog drove all across the country in it. Then he needed money, so I gave him a thousand dollars."
"That's pot?" I clarified. Drug identifications were not my forte.
"Yeah. I've tried everything, and it still won't come out. I even left it open for a week, trying to air it out, and it got worse," she griped.
"Ah."
"Mm-hmm. I don't like it either," she commiserated. She turned her key, and backed us out, showing her slip to the machine at the entrance. The arm that had blocked us in lifted, and we drove out.
"Do you know where we can find a grocery store?" I asked, realizing too late.
"No, I thought you would," she replied, puzzled.
"I've only been here a week, and just got that apartment. I haven't really looked around."
"Well, I think there is one over in New Jersey, fairly close. We can try that one?" making her statement more a question.
"Let's," I confirmed.
"Good, because I was already driving there."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Ten minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot, and Daphne, after two attempts to park straight, got us into a spot close to the door. I pulled a cart along, taking it from the line of them in front of the door, and headed straight for the vegetables. Daphne tagged along, poking through the isles as I filled the upper portion of the cart. A quick stop through dry goods yielded rice and pasta, and then I topped it off with condiments and sauces, before grabbing a pair of pots and pans while I was at it. A good start. I wouldn't mind cooking again. I yielded the cart to her, saying, "Anything else you can think of, add. I'm going to the butcher counter, to get some meats."
"I'll bring it over in a bit, then?" she queried.
"That's fine."
After a brief bout of indecision, I had a pound of chicken and a pound of beef. And right on time, Daphne pushed the cart right to me. I looked into the cart, which had gotten much fuller in my absence. I set the meat down on its new occupants. I asked, eyebrows raised, "What's all that?"
Tapping her fingers on the cart, she said, "Well, I got chocolate chip cookies, and then pistachio cookies. And then I got some chocolate chip pistachio cookies. Oh, and lady fingers. And I got -"
"That's a lot of sweets," I cut her off, and then looked over the other items. Bottles, and boxes. The boxes were obviously TV dinners and other junk food, but I didn't know what the bottles were. Giving up, not wanting to break her sweet tooth, or insult her, I started pushing the cart to the checkout lanes.
"Well, I can't eat too many, or else I break out in zits, even now. Besides, you're buying the stuff that will keep us alive, I'm buying us some of the stuff that will keep us happy" she said, frowning, even as she paced the cart.
I nodded along, rather than speak. What some would term 'girl-talk' was one of my rusty skills. I hadn't had a friend since Emma, and even then, we never really talked about skin or boys or whatever. The lines were empty this early in the day, and, passing the cashier several hundred dollar bills, we left the store quickly, heading right back for the van.
She manually unlocked the rear doors, and we loaded the bags of groceries into her van. The pot smell was strong enough to give me a headache. Upon finishing, I took a few thankful deep breaths, away from the back of the van as I put the cart away. I got in, nearly half a minute after Daphne had closed her own door. I rolled down my window, cranking the handle as fast as I could without breaking it. Hers was already down.
"I prefer being cold over not being able to breathe, too," she remarked grimly.
I cleared my throat. "Where do we go for the other stuff."
"Other stuff," she parroted, confused.
"You know, other stuff," I clarified, with more emphasis.
"No?"
"Illegal stuff," I said, exasperated.
"Oh! Right. Other stuff. I've got some numbers."
