Log:Curriculum Vitae

Curriculum Vitae
Participants Count and Elliot	14 November 2017 Elliot needs many jobs; she lands the first of hopefully many.
Location Dirty Laundry
The door to the laundromat opens, a cold gust of air pushing in a young woman. Are we sure it's a chick? Yes. Despite being bundled up, signs are pointing to it being someone of the female persuasion -- she's wearing a skirt and the shape of her generally gives her away. Once inside, she pulls off her mittens and lets them drop but they don't hit the floor -- they're the kind of mittens attached to a string that goes up one coat sleeve and down the other so they just hang there at her cuffs. Then she tugs off her hat, her raggedy hair going fluffy for a moment from all the static in the air. Blink. Blinkblink. She looks around, from side to side, and takes in the lay of the land. There are a few people here but they are busy doing laundry; whoever they are, her business is not with them. Also? She apparently isn't here to clean any clothes of her own; she carries no hamper, just a messenger bag slung across her body. Pushing her mouth from one side to the other, a dimple flashes briefly in one cheek before she heads over toward the counter. Leaning against it, she looks through the slightly ajar doorway into the employee only area. She clears her throat. Waits. She clears her throat again, a little bit louder. Waits some more. "Hello?" The laundromat is an odd combination of warm and frigid, the seats near the glass storefront are in the freeze zone, the single pane window not the best insulator, leaving those that sit to wait for thier clothes in a less than comfortable position. Unless you are near the bank of driers: that entire side of the laundromat is a bastion of heat and warmth and the scent of dryer sheets. No one greets her as she comes into this coin operated utopia, where everything is Automated, including the cameras that have been watching her every move since she came into the plaza. Tick. Tock. Nothing, no one comes for her as she stands there, clearing her throat. Even after she says hello there is a definite derth of answers for her. Tick. To- The employees only door opens and out of it pops the head of a man with dyed black hair in quite a tangle, eyes smeared with yesterdays eyeliner looking sleepy, and wearing bedraggled clothes that were taken from the top of the hamper. Those eyes, a deep golden brown, look her up and down, and then a brow above raises curiously, pushing the door open wider so that he may prop himself up against the frame. "Can I help you Miss?" He wasn't here for her entrance so he wouldn't know that she is laundry-less; maybe she is having quarter issues. She probably is having quarter issues. That's usually what people need help with -- that dumb machine is always causing trouble. But no! That's not what she needs help with, nope. "May I have a job application, please?" she asks, polite as can be. If Count is something seedy and wrong, she is his polar opposite: wholesome and doe-eyed. Her cheeks are stained rosy from the cold and she's not wearing any makeup, not even chapstick. However, she doesn't seem startled by the man's appearance; she leans against the counter a bit more and cocks her head a liiiiiiitle bit to one side. Curious? Curious. He looks her up and down. She does the same, looking him over from top to bottom once he's leaning against the frame. Mental notes are being jotted down, catalogued and filed. Yup. Sure, but Count watches cameras like some sort of voyeur too, perhaps that is what took him so long, rewinding, watching back, like some sort of Reality TiVo. When she asks for an application, he looks at her confused for a moment, squinting at her and raising an eyebrow. "An application?" his tone suggesting that such a thing was absurd. "You know, I'm not sure I have any of those." He is however focusing a little more, standing a touch straighter, taking more time to look her over, up and now, taking in that seemingly innocent kindness that radiates from her and almost immediately distrusting it. Damned Winters. "However, my normal girl ran off to start following Phish again, or whatever th' fuck she does.... what's yer name? We don't pay much." When he looks confused, she grows uncertain. Is she doing this wrong? That's how one gets a job, right? Ask for an application? "Should I give you a resume?" the woman asks slowly. A resume? For a laundromat? Her hands curl back and grab at her dangling mittens, clutching at them in an unconsciously anxious gesture. And he's talking gibberish but she can't let on that she has no idea what he's yammering on about. Just roll with it. You're normal. Just a normal, regular person. Deep breaths. She lets go of her mittens, smiles and oh my goooosh, she's so cute. Her eyes squint into non-existence, her nose scrunches and POW! Dimples! She sticks out a hand. "She's following a fish. Okay. Cool! I'm Elliot. And that's okay, I don't need much." Totally normal person! Mission accomplished. Yeah, those eyes narrow again, watching her, wondering perhaps if she is one of his kind, with a strengthened mask, and his attention darts to her shadow, curiously, before he looks back to her and cracks a lazy feline smile and reaches out to take her hand. "A Resume? Haha, no, no, that wont be required, I mean unless you insist on paying taxes, I prefer to pay in cash." he considers her as he talks, stepping closer, just a little bit, and then starts to circle to one side. "People call me Count, you know, like Dracula, very droll, old joke right? I'm used to it." Talk talk, watch her closely. "Yer not colorblind are you? No aversion to laundry soap? you can fold things, and not steal too much? if i catch you stealing well, that's a paddling, but otherwise..." he shrugs. There's a Pause. "You want to work... here?" No forms? Off the books? Her dimpled smile grows even wider. Elliot is pleased with this arrangement, that much is abundantly clear. "It is nice to meet you, Count," she says, shaking his hand. She doesn't ask for a last name; she doesn't offer her own. After all, if he's paying her under the table, then he doesn't need to know it. She watches him as he comes closer, minute changes in her posture indicating that there is slight wariness there. Nervous? Maybe a little. Maybe always. But still smiling, her dark eyes ever kind. "No, not colorblind. Not soap averse. Can fold, don't steal. But.." Elliot tips her head to one side, shaggy waves slipping over her shoulder. "I usually just clean and stay out of the way. Do the stuff no one likes to do, yeah?" Does she want to work here? She nods her head, smile pushing lopsided. "Yeah, I came in, didn't I?" To explain further, though, she nods to the exit. "I live in the area and I don't have a car. It's convenient and it doesn't seem like I would have to deal with customers too much." Too good to be true is what this is! Count watches her for another silent moment, and then twists his lips, thinking it over. "New in town? Me too, well, sorta, by way of San Fran..." he lies. "Alright, we'll give it a go, don't clean the sock pile in the break room, that belongs to Lulu, sweep and you know, whatever? Sometimes customers leave clothes to be washed and folded, Lulu usually does that but like I said, following Phish." he makes a face and then relaxes. "Don't like dealing with people, smiles really big when I said no paperwork? I aint gonna have no thugs with guns showing up am I? Only I just had these floors cleaned." Now, Elliot doesn't like to lie but she's not a lay-the-whole-truth-out-there kind of girl either. The smile washes away and in its place is a neutral expression, the woman studying Count carefully. "Everyone has something they're trying to leave behind," she says and leaves it at that. It's not a yes. It's not a no. But she is clutching her mittens again. Is she one of his kind? Does she just have her mask strengthened? Possibly. She's kind of throwing off those vibes, isn't she? Paranoid. A bit out of place. Keen to be paid under the table. None of these are definitive markers though. She could just be /weird/. And she's back to smiling now, although not quite so widely as before. "Thank you for giving me a job, Count. How often would you like me to work? Do you ..post a schedule or anything?" Count?! A Schedule?! The beast laughs at the suggestion and shakes his head. "Yer paid hourly, whenever you wanna show up well, that's up to you yeah? Just don't let the work pile up, yer not here, you don't get paid, of course." You know, a DREAM JOB That attention on her grows a little more critical, but then he simply nods and smiles "Fair enough..." because there is always time to pry later. "Well Elliot, the Chinese place down thew way is killer..." It's Not, but it's cheap and crunchy and spicy when it needs to be. "... And everyone here's pretty friendly in this plaza, cept fer the bitch at the flower shop, avoid her at all costs." "The Chinese place?" She turns and looks toward the exit again, chewing on her lower lip thoughtfully for a second or two. "Do you know if they need a dishwasher?" Now, he could reach one of two conclusions: maybe she has a lot of get up and go, a lot of hustle. Why work one job when you can work two! More money, right? Or. OR! He might realize that working there is the only way she can eat beyond her Top Ramen food budget. As if to give him a hint, her tummy rumbles. Pressing a hand against it, Elliot looks back at Count sheepishly. Em-barr-assing. "I'll just go there and ask them myself," she says. Smile. Dimple. "So, if it's okay, I will start work tomorrow. I'll come and clean .. what do you want me to clean? The floors? The back room? The bathroom?" Count has two (AND ONLY TWO!) character flaws. The first is that he is a sucker for someone in need, and Elliot's sweet innocent girl act is triggering his charity flaw like woah (also that predatory corrupter thing but he's holding that off for the moment). The other flaw is that he really likes to feed people. That sort of ties into the first one tho, so in reality, Count only has ONE character flaw. He watches her hand move to her stomach at the mention of a restaurant and he purses his lips. "yeah, the Wongs are not my biggest fans, I got no idea what they need, but hold on, you look hungry. If yer new in town and need to eat, I got leftovers, I need to show you the break room anyway." He then turns to the door behind him, and then to the keypad. "05747575, is the code..." and look at that, the break room door has a code lock.... with an 8 digit code on it?! She'll find that the door too is heavy... odd for a laundromat. "Come back with me." Count heads into the back, the fabled employees 'lounge'. Elliot heads into the back, the fabled employees 'lounge'. She blinks. "057.." And then she trails off, already losing the code. Elliot flips open the flap of her bag and roots around inside as she follows after Count, the heavy door hitting her in the shoulder as she didn't expect the weight of it; it nearly knocks her back since she wasn't paying attention. Luckily, she keeps her feet and once the woman has made it into the backroom, she has a little notebook and pencil in hand. "What was that again?" Is she really going to write the code down? Where anyone can snatch it? What she's written down so far though is: 170. Which is not 057. Um. As she waits for him to repeat the code, Elliot glances around the backroom. Which isn't .. much. Does this count as a room? It looks like a stairwell with a microwave and a some chairs. Granted, she's not picky and he's going to feed her so... Back room it is! It /is/ a stairwell with a microwave and some chairs... and a folding table. It's the bottom or the stairwell too so there's a low curved 'ceiling' covering half the area,. and in one corner a large pile of miscellaneous socks. He frowns at her and shakes his head and points to the postit note on the employee side of the door, with the code on it. Apparently no one else could remember it either. "I'll be right back." he says, and then, up the stairs he goes, and provided she does not follow him, he returns not too long later with a car board box that was cut in half, in which there are many half finished, and cold, Chinese dishes. These he brings over tot he folding table, and then offers her over in one hand both a fork and some chopsticks. "So what made you move out here? You lkike me and doing more of that 'leaving the past behind' stuff?" He points and she turns, following his gesture. Post-it note. Numbers. Code. Huh. Well. That won't help her much when she's stuck on the other side of the door. Elliot waits -- just like he wants her to! -- and once he's upstairs, she scrawls down the number. Or, well, her version of it. The note reads '05747575'; she writes '17082145'. Quickly, she shoves her pad and pencil back into her bag and takes a seat at the table, getting settled a fraction of second before her boss (her boss!!) reappears. Accepting what he offers her, the woman gives thanks -- genuine thanks -- and doesn't answer him right away because she's already shoveling food into her mouth. Hungry! It's only after she's swallowed a couple mouthfuls that she carefully offers a reply. "Seemed as good a place as any, right?" she says, chopsticks in one hand and fork in the other. "Why did you come here? Family?" If yer on the other side of the door without the code you done fucked up! Somewhere in Count's genetic makeup, he shares a gene with grandmothers everywhere, and he enjoys feeding people, especially the ravenous. He's kept a small box to himself, the remains of some salt and pepper deep fried pork and he's idly eating with his fingers as he watches the girl push her face into the food. "Nah, I just needed a change of scenery, a bit of wanderlust, you know?" Lying liar that tells lies. He's good at telling lies, but they are lies all the same. "Sometimes looking at the same things brings back bad memories." Well at least that is remotely true. Crunch Crunch, he eats, and if she pays attention she might notice that he licks his fingers clean after every morsel, in a weird fastidious and almost feline manner. "Mmn-hmm," she comments with a nod, still shoving food into her mouth. The pace she's eating seems to indicate that:       a) she hasn't eaten in a while,       b) she's afraid she won't get to eat again any time soon or,       c) all of the above One might worry that, if she doesn't slow down, she might puke it all up promptly. Maaaaaybe she spent most of her money to get here. Maaaaaaybe she used the rest of it to pay for the first month on her tiny, crappy apartment. Maaaaaybe that was a couple days ago. Eventually, Elliot isn't jamming the Chinese into her face quite so rapidly and she leans back in her chair slowly, cheeks puffing out as she lets loose a long, slow sigh. She looks at Count. Is she going to start asking questions now? "Thanks." Nope! Apparently not! "This is really good." See, /asking/ questions /invites/ questions and she's happy to leave things where they lie. No need to know where he came from; no need to know where she's been. The woman smiles, her lips a bit shiny-greasy from all the grub. "I told you." Count says with a grin, and then steps over, dragging the chair beside her out a bit and plotting right now, just at the border of ones personal space bubble. "They know how to add that perfect crispness, so it's there even under the sauce, even a day later, that's talent." Closer to her, he flicks his tongue out once, almost like some distracted gesture, when really the chimera is tasting the air around her, she still makes him curious, but Count is loathe to dig with a hatchett. "So generally, we don't like to get the cops involved in shit here, if some kids are dealing weed in the back, we tend to ignore it, tho if somone is starting fights, wrecking the place, of course call them up. We're just not uptight, know what I mean?" It's warm back here, probably too warm for her coat and scarf. Plus, her mittens -- hanging there from her sleeves -- keep getting in the way. However, Elliot makes no move to get comfortable and for all her smiles and gratitude (which, it should be noted, /is/ sincere), she is not relaxed. Maybe it's the cramped quarters. Maybe it's his proximity to her personal space. Maybe it's because he just licked the air -- that was weird, right? Whatever it is, the woman's just a bit on edge. Just a little bit nervous. But fuck, she's hungry. And she's not done eating. She's just taking a little breather before she's ready to dig in again. So she stays. Listening to him lay out the ground rules, the shaggy blonde nods slowly. "I stay out of other people's business," she replies, this seeming to be a broad life-philosophy and not just her approach to her new job at the laundromat. She's just here to clean some toilets and get paid, not to narc on anyone or get anyone's life story. In turn, she doesn't expect anyone to go digging for her own. Yeah? Yeah. After a moment's hesitation spent just looking at him -- /looking at him/ -- she starts to dig into the last of the leftovers. Om nom nom... They both seem to be watching one another, curious? Wary? Prying? Count is patient, and that smile of his remains lazy, a little wicked, but not unkind. He's a charitable father figure after all, right? After she turns away, he nods to himself, and then reaches over to touch her, just to stroke her hair, in a friendly way. "You and I will get along just fine." This of course being after her assurance that she minds her own business. Count? Count does not mind his own business, and this one is a wee little bundle of adorable red flags. Maybe he should stalk her some, yes, that sounds good. Follow her home, snoop about her pace. Already forming plans in his head, he lets his eyes wander over her, along the shape of her jaw, down to her throat. Father figure? They seem to be about the same age. And he's wearing day old eyeliner and hamper clothes. What kind of father figure does he imagine himself to be? Granted, he is feeding her so there is the provider angle. So she's not going to argue this point, not until she's completely full anyway. She continues to eat, the woman slightly hunched over the food as if ready to defend it from anyone who might try to swoop in and take it from her before she's done. Out the corner of her eye, she sees movement; she jerks slightly when he .. Did he just pet her? Elliot blinks a few times, looking utterly and absolutely confused. She has no idea what to do with this. It's like .. she just doesn't /know/ if this is normal or not. She doesn't /know/ if she should just roll with it or be alarmed. What's the regular person response here? In the end, she simply looks like a deer in headlights. This gives Count all that much more time to appraise her: what is there to see? She's modestly dressed (although that could be because of the cold rather than any kind of fashion choice anchored in morality) so it's hard to get a read on what her body is like. Wholesome. No effort as far as hair and makeup go. No jewelry or tattoos from what can be seen. It's like she's taken pains to be forgettable. Eventually, she starts chewing again, deciding to not freak out about having her hair stroked. The Chinese is almost gone; the metaphorical hourglass is is nearly empty. Forgettable is a tactic Count knows, and one he rarely employs, instead he is a display, hiding in plain sight, and if he so chose to go 'au natural' it would be that much harder to recognize him. It was sort of a pet, running fingers through her hair, grazing the back of her neck, definitely the way one would touch a pet, or some subservient, or maybe just... something else. Count communicates with touch. Not many people do so like him. Creep. When she jerks, his fingers retreat, but there is no flinch, or even hurry about it. "If you hunger, let me know, I am a bit of a chef myself, perhaps if you give a guy some warning, you might get something special just fer you. So tomorrow... late afternoon sharp, yeah?" Now that she's decided that the reaction to hair petting is to .. not react, he could probably resume doing so. Elliot picks up pieces of pork -- some with the chopsticks, some with the fork, so she can keep the food steadily moving into her mouth without pause. Go ahead, Count. Pet her again. You want to, don't you? While her hair is nothing special to look at, it is soft. So soft. What an odd person she is. Is she Lost? She's awkward enough to be one of his kind. Her closed off nature might indicate that she's Winter as well which would also explain the strengthened Mask if that is indeed what is going on. Curious, huh? Worth digging. Worth exploring. Worth snooping? Maybe. She finishes off the last of the food and licks the utensils slowly. Then she looks at him. Then at the empty boxes. And he has to realize that she is actually considering licking those, too. SHE DOESN'T THOUGH. But probably only because he's promised to feed her tomorrow. Slowly, she pushes her chair back away from him and rises to her feet. "Thank you for the food, Count," Elliot says with a smile, dimples appearing in each cheek. Cutie. "It was delicious. I will be back tomorrow and not just for a meal. I promise, I am a hard worker. You can depend on me. I am no trouble, no trouble at all." Whenever someone assure you that they are no trouble? It usually means that they are.