Junkfood run [Aidan]

Thus, we find one waifish streetrat huddled deep within an overized hoodie, the hood pulled low to keep her features in shadow, with her hands shoved deep into the ‘roo pocket. Her steps are quick, and designed to keep her mostly in the shadow between streetlights. it’s not the best area of town – but also not the worst.

Her objective? The AM/PM on the corner.
At least this time, she actually has enough cash to pay for it.

At any rate… presently the red-head was poking around inside of a convenience store, with a package of assorted pharmaceuticals resting safely in the old REI backpack which he had slung over one shoulder. He supposed to ought to be paranoid about that… but he wasn’t. Instead, he was contemplating a parched throat, and surveying the various beverage choices through the glass of the display case.

Everything about her screams streetrat. Her jeans are threadbare, and oft-patched, and she moves with the grace of one well used to hiding, blending into the background, dismissed without anyone thinking twice. Unless she’s stealing something, which – let’s face it – has been known to happen. Only thing missing is her backpack. She still feels naked without it, but its a matter of trust. He trusts her with his entire apartment. She trusts him enough to leave her pack there from time to time – even if she still hasn’t graduated to leaving her toothbrush in the bathroom, always returning it and everything else right back into her pack.

Babysteps.

A quick glance around the store marks where everyone is. Larry behind the counter, bored as usual and wondering how long till his break so that he can take care of the little problem he’s developed by thumbing through the nudie mags on the rack behind him. And Aidan, who appears to be thirsty. She lifts a hand toward Larry, showing the fact that she has a $20 folded into her palm. She’s paying for her snack tonight.

It’s straight to the dog stand then, to start putting together a disgusting display of deliciousness that only a streetrat can truly appreciate.

Brining his drink up to the counter, he set it down and reached into one of his pockets, digging about for some spare change without really making eye contact with the cashier. Coins were cointed up in his palm quickly, then handed over. Without waiting for a receipt, he popped the thing open and stepped to one side, downing a few quick, welcome gulps.

Larry’s never seen her face. Not entirely. The occasional glimpse of the line of her jaw, when she’d push back her hair. Maybe the hint that her eyes are incredibly dark when she glances up at the total on the register – but that’s it. Of course, Larry doesn’t give a shit either, so like as not he only can tell if her money is good, and only half the time gets her change right. She doesn’t complain.

She sets the to-go container, bag of cheetos (not a snack bag -no. the full sized bag, thank ya very much) and slushie on the counter, then hands Larry the $20. She glances at Aidan again, but doesn’t say anything.

Come to think of it, Larry ain’t never her her talk, neither.

Daniel had called. To check up on him, more than likely, so he stepped out onto the sidewalk outside and dialed the man’s number. What followed was a very bried, mutter conversation: “Hey, it’s me… yeah, I got it. No problems. I’ll drop it off at your place tomorrow.” The phone flipped shut, and he stuffed it back into his pocket before leaning back against the side of the building. He had some time to kill before he had to make his way over to the L. Time to stare blankly at the night sky, with its barely visible stars.

Fuck, he hated the city. But…it was what it was.

She follows Aidan out the door, just as he shuts the phone, and she looks at him for a moment, before she steps to the side and plops her ass down on the curb.

Everyone knows convenience store dogs taste better while loitering.

She puts the chips against one hip, the slushie against the other, and balances the to-go box’o’dogs on her knees. Another look at Aidan, and she lifts a hand to scrub at the line of her jaw for a moment. Then. “Want one?” of the dogs, presumable.

He was too pretty. It made him stand out in places like this. Still, he seemed comfortable. Not like the slumming college boy he probably resembled. After a moment’s hesitation, he invited himself over to the curb and sat down a few feet away from the girl with the hot dogs. He had a relaxed, quiet air about him. Thoughtful, maybe. He’d never been very good at making small talk. At least… not when he wasn’t working. And he really didn’t want to put on his “fake-charming Aidan” face right now.

“Weather’s getting a bit nicer.” He finally mused, just as much to himself as to her.

He sits down a little away from her, and she arches a brow slightly. Another glance as he muses, and she noisily washes down the first bite with a slurp of slushie. She swallows, carefully as a thin shoulder lifts in a shrug. “Yeah, ain’t bad.” better than her first few nights in town, at any rate.

“Ain’t seen ya here, before.” Her accent tells of everywhere and no where – all american girl, without any one location to pin down. Just a lot of bad grammar. It’s not an accusation, her statement. Just an idle observation.

“What about you? You live around here?” It was an idle line of questioning. Somehow he felt rather comfortable sitting here with this girl. Reminded him of simpler days. Setting his water bottle down, he leaned forward and draped his arms over his knees.

“Stayin with a friend round here. Ain’t been in town long though.”

Unspoken – may not be in town long at all.

“Hey, what’s your name?” Curiosity. He didn’t have anything better to occupy his time, so why not be curious?

Only then, only when she’s sure he’ll comply, does she tug her hood farther down, and go back to eating her meal. A bite, a swallow, and then. “Maija.” Mi-yah, she says. It’s offered easily enough that if not her real name, it’s one that she’s used for a while.

“Pretty name. Mine’s Aidan.” Good ole Irish name for a good ole Irish boy. Well… Irish by blood, anyway. Not that this held any particular meaning for him. His accent placed him as a native Chicagoan, though it was light.

She finishes off the first dog, and wipes her hands along her thighs, before she closes the to-go box and sets it aside, replacing it with that bag of Cheetos. Between crunches, she watches the parking lot, the street beyond, and more. Habit.

“So. Whatcha do, sides attempt t’push boundaries on folks ya jus’met?”

There. Now she would either take it in stride or get up and leave. At least you couldn’t say he wasn’t honest. “What about you?”

Bony shoulders lift in a shrug at his question. “Nuthin’ really. Not many places hire folks like me. S’alrigh’ though. Got a place t’stay, which makes it infinitely better than other places I been.”

“Travel around a bit, do you?”

She doesn’t answer his question right away, maybe trying to decide how she’s going too, or maybe it’s just time to eat another gutbustin’ hot dog. chips to her side, and she digs in again. Between bites, she answers. “Been all over in th’past year or two.”

No explanation, though.

He took a swig from his water, then wiped a bit of residue from his lips with his thumb. Almost more to himself, he added…”can’t see the stars.”

“Bein as ya job can be done anywhere, why ain’t ya jus’ go?”

Seems she won’t be answering his curiosity this time around. If ever. “Stars ain’t all that anyway. Jus’ big balls a’gas. Hear ya kin see em jus’ fine out in th’woods outside th’city.” Not a nature fan, Maija.

“Gotta be in a big city, to make decent money at it. Otherwise you end up just hustling on street corners… inviting who-the-hell-knows-what to happen to you.”

It wasn’t a complete answer. Anyway, it wasn’t like he was attached to his profession. But it was all he seemed willing to give, at the moment.

One thing she’s learned though – there’s always a way. An’ that’s saying something for the streetrat who arrived in town with $1.82 in her pocket, and all her possessions on her back. Course, she ain’t been a stranger to the ‘who-the-hell-knows’ happening, either.

“So change it.” That’s what she finally says, and in those three words are a wealth of wisdom, from someone who clearly hasn’t been on the good side of jus’ bout anything since long before she can remember – though she does qualify the statement by adding, “if ya so unhappy, I mean.”

Finally, he let slip just a little of what was making him so…prickly. “I’ve got responsibilities here.”

She don’t pry, though. It simply ain’t her way. She can’t expect folks to respect her own privacy and boundaries, if she ain’t willing to do the same. “Family?”

“I’d really rather not discuss it,” he said quietly. “Besides, you never answered my question.” Now he did turn to look at her, one eyebrow raised expectantly. It seemed that they were rather alike in some ways. Content to ask questions. Not terribly keen on answering them.

(…like that ever happens. Her hands are forever cold…)

She finally lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “Got tired a bein a punchin’ bag. Ain’t nuthin more than that.” Nothing that she’ll discuss, anyway.

“We moved here to get away from my dad. When I was little, I mean.” There. Something personal. And it had been difficult for him to say as much. That much was evident by the way he tucked his knees in to his chest. Like he was folding up. Like a hedgehog.

“Somebody following you?” By that, he was referring to her statement that she had been on the move a lot. Not just once.

She still watches the lot, the street, and even the alley where there was a fight the first night she was here. It’s almost casual the way she does it, though the tension that slides up and down her spine occasionally at the introduction of another sound into the night says that she’s still very much in flight or fight mode – despite how relaxed she seems.

He asks another question and she lifts a shoulder in a shrug. Under the hood, in those shadows, is a haunted little smirk that is little more than a micro-expression before it fades away again. “Ain’t never look back to see.”

But Aidan didn’t like thinking about his dad, for more than one reason. Logical reason said that people didn’t turn into wolves. But he remembered it. And that left questions he didn’t want to try and answer. Maybe he’d made it all up, anyway. Maybe he was going to end up just like his mother.

He laughed gently at her response. “I like you. You remind me of someone I used to know.”

At this point, a change of close and a bit of silence, and he wouldn’t be able to pick her out if she were standing right in front of him. It is no mistake that its so – it is survival first, always. Wonder what’ll happen when it gets too hot for that hoodie…

“That so…” It’s an invitation for him to continue, without expectation that he will.

And then, out of nowhere. “Looking for someone?”

He’d noticed the constant vigilance she seemed to be keeping. Like she half expected some shadowy figure leap out at any moment. Not that this was particularly unheard of, around here.

He asks if she’s looking for someone, and she shakes her head, slightly. “Ain’t on th’ road as much as me without learnin t’watch. Ain’t like Larry in there’d bust outa his attempts t’glue all the mag pages together t’bother gettin’ help if somethin’ happened.”

“I gotta get going so I can catch the train.” He looked up, then. At her mostly hidden face. “You know… if I don’t see what you look like, how will I recognize you next time we meet?” Ok, so, he was prying a little again.

She stands, and moves to dispose of the hotdog container in the nearbye garbage can, before grabbing up the cheetos back and her slurpee. He tries again to see what’s under that hood – this time with words, and it’s a good thing too. But what he don’t know…

“S’th’ only hoodie I got.” she says, before she starts to walk across the lot – apparently, that’s all he’s gonna get. “Later, Aidan.”

“Night Maija.” Was said to her back as she walked away. Then he stood up and slung his bag back over his shoulder before striding off in the opposite direction.