Scenario Entitled: These People Will RP About AnythingCharacters:
Walter
Rooke
Gareth
JT Frazier
Thanatos
Location: Wallside West and Drake Avenue
Date: Jander 10th, 108 P.A.
Rooke scuffs along the sidewalk from the east, fine powdery snow kicking up around her lower legs and misting the air as it falls to the side. Her shoulders are hunched slightly with her hands jammed into her hip pockets through the side slits in her coat, and she occasionally nods her head to jar a frosting of snow from her forelocks.
Gareth takes pains to tromp over and through any snow drifts that are anywhere near his path on the sidewalk. He reaches up to clasp his heavy trenchcoat's collar and try to make it cover a bit more of the tips of his ears with little success. A big yellow scarf of questionable quality and make has a stranglehold on his neck and hides his mouth from view. He is currently stalking about on the northern side of Drake.
A new-looking land-rover crests a small hill, heading south on Wallside--almost a bit too fast for the crumbly conditions of road. A skinny, beanpole of a man is driving, while Walter sits in the passenger seat talking on his cell phone.
Rooke shuffles to a halt as she nears the intersection area, regarding it warily and a bit distastefully. Her eyes shift to spot the largish figure across the avenue, and she almost self-consciously reaches up to tug her gray scarf up around her jaw area. Peripherally noting the reckless driver coming down the slope, she half-turns to look into the street ahead of him, just to see if there's going to be trouble imminently.
The driver flips on his turn signal, about to make a left-hand turn onto Drake. Other wheeled vehicles, passing in the opposite direction--perhaps fleeing Tolkeens seedier side for the trendy shopping districts on Wallside north--spin thier tires on the slippery, crumbly coating of slush coating the road, and fling brown muddy slush everywhere. When one car slows as it struggles up the small incline, others honk thier horns, perhaps cheering the driver on.. or threatening bodily injury.
Small puffs of vapor filter out through Gareth's bright happy scarf and momentarily cloud over his not-so happy gaze. A glance is cast out like a baited hook towards the driver of the vehicle coming into the immediate area. A few minor curses are cast towards the person benefitting from vehicular travel and he hunches up his shoulders as he approaches the very edge of the sidewalk. His bright yellow scarf blows cheerfully behind him like a flag from gleefulness-land.
Rooke gets jostled by the morning rush of pedestrians heading to a shuttle-bus stop at the corner, and finds herself walking forward again, only pausing at the curb to wait for a gap to appear in the traffic flow. She keeps her eyes slightly averted, perhaps studying the cars as they churn up the filthy snow of the road.
Gareth yanks his shivering hands from his pockets and presses them up against the hot breath coming out from his mouth. A sharp stabbing pain in his belly reminds him of an important errand and he impatiently waits to cross the road while these other ~blokes~ figure out where exactly they want to go.
The land-rover noses over to the middle of the thoroughfare, yellow turn-signal merrily blinking away in the overcast morning air. Without warning a small rust-red jalopy pulls out from Drake with it's wheels locked. The land-rover makes an attempt to avoid a collision, and succeeds.. barely. The jalopy slides to a stop mere inches away from the swerving land-rover. Now with it's wheels spinning, the red jalopy attempts to slowly turn left into traffic, while faster moving vehicles almost drive up onto the sidewalk to avoid the road-hazard.
Rooke watches the knot of cars distractedly as she begins to cross Drake at a steady pace, fairly confident that she can make it before the drivers can sort themselves out in the intersection. She mostly keeps her eyes on the muffled figure ahead, expression obscured by her scarf but for the hard look in her eyes.
The land-rover continues to move forward, now spinning slighty, missing the intended turn and instead winding up several yards past the stop in a small snow bank facing oncoming traffic. The red jalopy succeeds in it's attempt to join traffic, driving away with it's radio blaring. Waiting for the traffic snarl to clear, the driver and Walter seem to exchange a few heated words together.
A car skirts around the mess and roars by. Gareth receives a fine coating of cold slush from the kneecaps down, just about where the protection from his trenchcoat ends. His eyes roll up into their sockets and revolve for a few seconds before returning to their somewhat normal positions. Stiff shakings of the leg are administered while his attention is invariably drawn towards the kerfuffle between the two motorists. Gareth takes a small mote of joy in the fact that someone is having a hard time this lovely day. A crooked smirk arches somewhere underneath his scarf.
Walter opens up the passenger-side door of the land-rover and gingerly steps out of the vehicle, into the snow bank. Immediately sinking knee deep into the mess of half-melted snow and road-grit, Walter emits a loud curse at the driver, "Sydo! I told you to slow down! Now we're stuck, AND late!"Walter
For an average human, Walter Reily is fairly good looking. Standing about six feet tall, he appears to be around 25 years old. A cybernetic eye covers the left side of his face--glowing slightly in the cloudy weather. Although dominating his face, the metal prostesis does little to lessen his looks, in fact the cyber-eye increases them slightly through the contrast of man vs. machine. His right eye is brown, as is his hair--suffering slightly from a case of hat- hair. A pair of gloves are jammed into the deep pockets of his trendy black leather trencher--fashionable, but almost too thin to keep anything above a mild breeze from blowing through. A pair of over-sized boots cover his feet, obviusly designed to sacrifice looks for warmth; looking slightly ridiculous on him--giving him a waddling gait as he walks.Rooke steps up onto the thin cement median in time to miss the next available left-turner, spinning a bit in place to shoot a perturbed glance at the driver as he skims by. She looks up to eye Walter's dilemma in the snow bank, then looks around a little in uncertainty. Her eyes fall upon Gareth idly rubbernecking the misfortunes of the day, and she raises her hand to him from half-a- street away.
Walter continues to exchange heated words with the driver, while at the same time attempting to extricate himself from the snow-berm. Waiting briefly for a reprieve in the passing traffic, the driver opens up the door, and almost ends up getting it ripped off by another motor-vehicle. The argument continues, although it seems a bit one-sided with Walt's running commentary on the drivers problems, the damn snow, the drivers problems, and once again the damn snow.
Gareth lowers his gaze towards his soggy legs decides the best course of action to be someplace else completely different, or suffer the same fate again. He raises his morose mug up and thrusts himself onto the street, determined to get to the other side or cause severe damage to anything that hits him. It is about then that he sees a fem waving at him. He pauses to squint across the ways at her.
Rooke pivots her hand into a beckoning gesture as Gareth sees her, and she makes sure the road is clear before stepping out to wade through the churned slush towards Walter's snow-bound car. "Heya there," she calls as she approaches, obliviously interrupting the anchor-man's rant. "You need help getting out?"
The driver of the landrover-turned-snowberm-bait hops out of the vehicle, and tries to help Walt pull his foot out of the snowbank. They succeed, only to fall over into a puddle of slush. with Walter landing facedown with only his hands to support him. The driver, partially protected by his thick over-coat lands on his rear end; regaining his footing with only a little wounded pride and a soggy bottom.
Gareth minces across the road chaotically as he attempts to get over to where Rooke has gotten herself to. With none too small curiosity he finds himself very near the previously mentioned kerfuffle, his eyes darting over the those present, his scarf flapping into his face every now and then. The further suffering of others seems to dispel the cloud of gloom that hovers over him. What a guy.
Sydo, the driver of the land-rover notices Rooke's arrival and brings it to Walt's attention, cutting off a brief curse before it could fully bloom into a full-fledged rant. Apparently, chivalry isn't dead. With an almost total inversion of his mood, Walt switches from cursing official-bigshot-type-guy-mode to charming, witty, man-of-the-world- mode.
Rooke stares for a brief moment as she watches what looks like the beanpole guy attacking the guy stuck in the snow. Her scarf sags down below her chin, revealing her surprised mouth, as she moves forward at a quicker pace, looking once over her shoulder to check on Gareth. That he seems amused by the situation doesn't startle her in the least, however, and when she turns back to Walter, her expression is somber. "Hi.. Mister Riely, isn't it?" she inquires smoothly as if she weren't speaking to an underdressed, hat-headed man on his hands and knees in the freezing slush. "It's me, Rooke Del Reyhart.. I wondered if you could use a hand getting your car out..."
Gareth stumbles over the slippery road and reacts with some surprise that the Channel One news bloke is present. He hastily pulls down his bright scarf to reveal big white teeth and a feral grin. His glee subsides a little when he doesn't see any cameras on shoulders or in hands. He mews over Rooke's shoulder, "Aye, whut seems ta be tha prubb'em. Tires going ~wheee! wheee!~, S'truth?"
Walter regains his footing just as Rooke arrives, quickly raking a hand through the wild mess of his hair. He only partly succeeds in taming it, leaving a sprig of hair standing straight up, and giving him the rather comical appearance of the pre-rifts tv-star, "Alfalfa". He stutters slightly, "Uh.. uh.. Ms. Del Reyheart, I could actually use a hand.. you see we're late for an interview, and it could be over an hour for a tow-truck to arrive.." It seems it isn't bad form to ask a lady for a push, after all. Walt fails to notice the behemoth duck-walking up behind the female, although Sydo does. Blubbering silently Sydo taps Walter's shoulder while the giant speaks in tongues...
Rooke smiles a little at Walter as his facade cracks, keeping her eyes down away from the antennae-like protrusion at the top of his head. "It won't be any trouble at all, Mister Riely.. here's my... my friend, Gareth, to lend a hand, so we'll surely get you out in no time.. the snow is really piling up," she adds, stopping short of actually apologizing that the plows haven't been through yet this morning. That's not her job anymore. "When I saw the skidding cars, I thought here was going to be a crash and jam for sure." She begins to walk around to examine the Rover's position nose-first in the snow.
Gareth waddles towards Walter and widens his grin. "Aye, I'm'r pally, S'truth. We kin git'cher vroom-vroom out quick quick. All we gotta duew is git'cher out of tha snow, S'truth. I rememba me own mum gots'r lorry all stuck inna alleyway once..oh...just b'fore I wuz born...a real wicky time, S'truth..." He lets that trail off, copiously packed with uninteresting stuff as it is. He directs his attention towards Walter's car and nods silently while hoping it looks like he is calculating just what sort of force it will take to get it out of its predicament.
Sydo pipes in, after pausing a moment to regain his senses, apparently the tougue speaking demon, isn't here to snap a beanpole like him in two, "I'll teer!" He hops back up into the cab of the land-rover, obviously pleased with himself that he won't have to get himself wet..
Walter shakes his head, mumbling slightly under his breath on the idiocy of his partner. Walter follows Rooke's lead, and walks around to the front of the vehicle, where he places a soaking wet, ungloved hand on the front bumper and waits for the other two to join in.
Rooke suggests idly, "Perhaps one of us should get to the middle of the.. the street, and keep the other cars back so we can back up here.." After a split second, she decides that person should be her, even though it bruises her own male ego a tad. It's a small, out-of-the-way male ego, though, honest! She makes room for Gareth's bulk and trudges quickly out into the intersection to stop the traffic from advancing further ane blocking the way.
Gareth finds himself in the company of himself and trudges over towards the front of the vehicle along with Rooke and Walter. Before actually bending down to put his hands on the front of the car, he does a few warmup motions for no good reason other than in the vain hope that someone is watching him. A small voice echoes inside his head that he can never be too careful. Nodding to himself he gets into position like a wrestler before the automobile, staring into the front windshield for further instructions.
Sydo gets the clue, and restarts the engine. Reving it slightly for theatrical effect, he slips it into reverse and yells "Push!" Walt tries his hardest, his boots slipping in the mush, thrown up by the spinning tires.
Gareth puts his back into it when Sydo yells. His feet slip and he nearly topple
s into the bumper comedic ally. Thoroughly embarrassed, he hunkers down and uses his shoulder to help force the car backwards. A few colorful curses flounder out
over his broad lips, his scarf fwapping against his face now and then.
Rooke at first doesn't have much effect on the cars, who continue to plow into t
he intersection with the occasional horn blast. She holds her ground and even steps forward on a collision course with the one that would end up turning right behind Walter's car. It is forced to stop for the crazy lady, and the driver sullenly grips the wheel and nods for the Rover- extraction to proceed, as if he had suggested the whole strategy himself. Rooke looks over her shoulder at the progress of the menfolk.
JT Frazier is heading in the direction of G's spot, treading carefully on the icy sidewalks. He has a small canvas bag slung over one shoulder.
The land-rover's tires spin futily as the bean-pole driver revs the engine in reverse. Walter and Gareth are at the front bumper pushing for all their worth in an attempt to extricate the vehicle from a snow bank.
Gareth's feet find little purchase as he heaves against Walter's rover. Not expecting this much resistance from an inanimate object he redoubles his efforts, even adding the neato gritted teeth look of determination to the whole ordeal.
JT Frazier stops and watches as the land-rover spews slush, water and mud throughout the general vicinity. Head cocking to one side he approaches, careful to stay out of direct line of fire...
Rooke's face registers puzzlement at the guys' failure to unstick the Rover from the snow drift, especially considering Gareth participating... or perhaps.. her brow clouds with verging irritation and she eyes him suspiciously. She's standing somewhere in the middle of the intersection, defying a motorist from entering the space Walter's car should be backing into any time now... any time now, people.
Flinging snow under the feet of the two struggling gentlemen, the Land rover's engine roars as the driver over-zealously applies gas to the motor. Suddenly, Walt's feet give way beneath him, sending him to the ground. Winning a face full of slush and almost a quick-and-dirty tread inspection. He scrambles out of the way to regain his footing and gives a running start at the annoyingly persistent land-rover.
JT Frazier is walking toward the stuck land rover, head cocked to one side "Need a hand there Gareth?"
The land-rover's tires whir pitifully in the snowbank, melting the snow and digging a deeper and deeper rut for the two men to push through.
Gareth heaves his shoulder against the front of the rover and spits out a reply to JT in a sharp voice, "Naw!...~whump~...gots everythin taken care of, S'truth." His feet skate about as he lunges against the cold metal of the automobile.
Rooke stands in the middle of the slushy intersection, holding up traffic for Walter's sake as he and Gareth fight to get it out of the unplowed snow drift. A smile quirks the sides of her mouth as she observes JT approaching the fray. The expression becomes a slight groan as she spies a snow plow rolling up Wallside, about ten minutes too late.
JT Frazier leans against a convenient lamp past (odd how those things always crop up just when you need one) and eyes the ever deepening rut.
It's beginning to sound like an animal orchestra, what with all the grunting and the whining, and the thumping.. Hey, wait a minute.. it kind of also sounds like that annoying upstairs neighbor. What with all the grunting and thumping and whining...
Gareth backs up a bit, crouched over like some hunchback, only to charge the front of the vehicle again with the firm idea that either he goes through it or he moves the damn thing.
Thanatos decides to walk over and ask the nearest person what's going on.
The vehicle being blocked by Rooke comes out of idle and moves forward with a threatening *honk!* at her, as the Rover moves with agonizing slowness, backwards into the intersection. When Rooke doesn't even look like she's thinking of jumping back out of the way, the driver slams on the brakes again, skidding along to tap Rooke lightly in the knees. Instead of shattering into a thousand fragile shards, she's just knocked off balance, and sits down hard in the snow, her startled eyes beginning to burn with anger at the car before her.
Walter nearly slips once more, as the land-rover lurches a wheel back onto the s
treet. The vehicle backs up slowly, the tire on the pavement giving much-needed assistance to the two men.
JT Frazier glances over and says "Well, I don't know all the details, but it looks like Gareth there, and, Ummm, Walter I think, are trying to push that landrover out of a snowdrift, and succeding. " JT's gaze turns back to the intersection as Rooke goes down, pushing off from the lampost. "Bad move buddy" he says, as he eyes the petulant driver.
Gareth is oblivious to everything other than the finish and paint job on Walter's vehicle. With a small crumb of satisfaction he continues to heave at the damnable automobile. His fervent thought is that no one of consequence is watching the whole ordeal. Through his mind race countless way of trashing the Rover and dancing upon its plastic and metal bits.
Thanatos adjusts the turtle strapped to his back and shakes his head. "What a mess.."
Sydo, the driver starts to cheer at thier succsess and eases off the gas-pedal to preven the tire from melting on the strip on ice-free pavement. Walter hits a patch of almost walkable surface and continues to push the land-rover.
The driver obviously did not mean to strike Rooke, and he sits miserably in his
seat, ready to stay put like he was asked to, as long as he doesn't get into trouble. Rooke gets back on her feet, dripping slush, and trying to look dignified, having gotten over her shock there. She looks towards JT and shakes her head slightly, then simply calls over to the two intrepid Rover Tamers, "You guys, well... need any help? A plow is coming.. just might cover you all up if you don't hurry."
With an audible thump, the land-rover pops all four tires over the curb and back
onto the pavement. The loose suspensions system squeaks slightly as it readjust
s to the new terrain, those luxury 'sport utility vehicles' have such cushy shocks... With a grunt of surprise, Walt slips as the land-rover lurches away. Having nothing to grab on to save air, Walter lands flat on his face in the slush once more.
JT Frazier steps carefully over to Walter, reaching down to grab the shoulder on
the man's coat and lifting gently so as not to overbalance himself or Walter.
Gareth gets a little overconfident on how things are going and decides to put on a good show for everyone that may be gawking. With the grace of a cow on ice, Gareth flails about, only regaining his balance after a few really good wooshing arm gesticulations.
Rooke finally steps out of the left-turn area of the intersection, heading back towards the safety of the sidewalk, as traffic attempts to unclog itself and move in a more steady fashion, around Walter's vehicle.
Walter accepts JT's help, graciously.. well, as graciously as one can when one is covered head to toe in slush and has an "Alfalfa" style cowlick sticking up on ones head.
JT Frazier reaches into his canvas duffle and pulls out a towel, looking first Rooke, then Walter over. With an apologetic smile at Rooke he hands the towel to Walter "Here, Looks like you need this."
Sydo, the driver of the land-rover rolls down the window, and innocent as can be yells, "Thanks for the help guys!" He smiles one of his trademark IQ lowering grins, then asks Walter, "So.. uh Mr. Reily, sir, we still going to that interview?"
Walter grumbles a little, is Mount Reily about to explode? He struggles to regain his composure, could his training be the only thing preventing him from throttling the idiot?
Gareth removes his bright yellow scarf from around his neck and wipes the slush and crud from his face. The rest that is spattered from his chest downwards gets the evil eye and a cursory wipe. Clenching the scarf in one of his hands he eyes Walter's vehicle with a murderous glance. The look is banished by a large sneeze.
Rooke inclines her head and looks at JT with amusement, then mock indignation at being passed over for that drowned muskrat posing as a television reporter. She brushes idly at the seat of her coat, glancing to the side and offering a nod to Thanatos, whom she saw earlier with JT.
Thanatos blinks a little, being noticed. He returns the nod, smiling.
Walter accepts the towel, thanking JT briefly. Chivalry kicking in once more, Walter only dries his face off with a corner of the towel and offers the mostly dry towel to the mostly wet Rooke.
JT Frazier eyes the approaching snowplow, which seems oblivious to the people standing in or near the street and back onto the sidewalk once again, stepping well back from the street "Ummm, Guys, might want to move back" he says, loud enough to be heard over the traffic.
Rooke seems to deliberate a moment, not about the towel though. Her eyes stray to Gareth, brows lowering with a lingering irritation. Finally, she shakes her head towards the towel-offering fellow, dredging up a smile and saying quickly, "No thanks, Mister Riely, I really think you need it more, especially if you're heading off to do a shoot.. I.. I'd better get home anyway. I hope everything goes well... and that you get some belts for those tires," she can't resist adding. She then finishes with, "I'll see you guys later," while looking at JT, and turns to make off along Drake Avenue.
Gareth approaches the trio plus that Sydo bloke. Feeling rather wet and soggy and somewhat unrewarded he turns and heads for his gym just as the thin trickles of ice cold water start to wind down from his collar and down his torso. With a grumble and a shiver he stalks stiffly towards warm shelter. Tiny hisses escape his lips as no doubt, another drop of melting snow meets flesh.
JT Frazier nods. "You too" he says, his gaze following the departing woman.
Gareth reaches the sidewalk outside of G's Spot and subconsciously pats his pockets for something. With a wild back and forth shaking of his head his dreds untangle and whip about, sending droplets of water and snow into the air like a doggie.
Thanatos scratches the back of his neck and shakes his head, just watching.
Walter waves to the departing people, "Thank you both very much for the help." He finishes drying off his face, and then hands the towel back to JT, thanking him once more. With nary a threatening gesture he climbs into the passenger side door, leans over, turns up the heat, and only starts yelling when the two have driven a few yards down the street.
JT Frazier gives the towel a glance before tossing it across his shoulder. He turns towards the gym, but stops before coming in range of the flying slush and water. "Whats up Gareth?"
The land-rover swerves from side to side once, a little ways down the road, maybe Walt finally gave into his primal urges and kicked the interns ass for once. It'd serve him right..
Gareth scrubs the bottom of his boots at the foot of the steps leading up to G's Spot and begins trudging up them. He hunches his shoulders and the sound of his name and passes off a grumbly-mumbly explanation, one that does not hope for a follow up question. "..Mzzurbleurbin..S'truth." The sentence is punctuated by a loud sneeze and he stalks inside the gym stiffly as more cold water leaks down his back.
JT Frazier pulls the towel off his houlder and folds, then rolls it into a tight bundle before shoving it back into the duffel. With a soft chuckle he says "Somehow I'm not in the mood to work out anymore."
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