Log:Blowhard

Blowhard
Participants CB and Elliot	27 November 2017 Elliot finds out that she has the all-clear from the Collective to work at Cat-22
Location Cat-22 Collective
It's afternoon. Post lunch rush, it's fairly quiet in here. C.B. is behind the counter, working, if you call "working" sitting on a stool, reading La Chute by Camus in the original French, glasses on, hair mussed, stubble on his cheeks, wearing a rumpled gray henley, and looking utterly miserable. He occasionally sips from a mug, bringing the cup to his lips with a trembling hand. Playing over the speakers is some Steve Reich, 'cause who doesn't like a little minimalist classical music with their coffee? Yossarian, the gray and white Cymric cat, sits enthroned on his cat tower, surveying everything. Nothing escapes his notice. Of course, he's just a cat... Elliot's been working here for a few days now, putting in hours even though her application is still up in the air. Her presence has been a quiet, largely unobtrusive thing -- she comes in, she goes about her work, she leaves. She very rarely takes breaks and she doesn't try to assert herself into anyone's -- *cough* CB's *cough* -- life unnecessarily. She doesn't harass him. She doesn't ask him a lot of questions. She doesn't fuss over him. That goes for just about everyone here; she polite, she's friendly but there is a hushed distance. She watches, though. She watches everything. She stays away from the Writer's Nook and the woman has largely occupied herself with cleaning -- the main room, the bathroom, the kitchen -- and doing dishes. She takes out the trash. Right now? She's bussing tables so is making trips to and from the kitchen. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. On her latest trip past CB, Elliot cranes her neck a bit to peek into his mug. It is getting low so she clears her throat gently before asking: "Would you like a refill?" See? She can do customer service when she wants to. Lookit her go! C.B. waves her away. "I'm working, Elliot. You don't have to do stuff like that. But here, c'mere for a minute." He finally puts the book down and gestures her straight back, even though he just waved her away. Sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair. He looks like he hasn't showered or slept for a few days now. Both are probably true. That flick of his hand immediately sends her off -- once dismissed, he doesn't need to any anything further to be assured that he won't be bothered again. She doesn't have the personality type seen in so many that would have her coming back again and again and again -- 'Are you sure?' 'Let me get you a refill!' 'What are you reading?' 'What are you doing?' 'Talk to me!' 'SMILE.' 'You look like you need some rest.' 'Are you /okay/?' Sure, she might think some of those things, wonder about his life, but she does not -- I repeat, DOES NOT -- intrude. So she's already a few steps along on her way back to the kitchen when he pulls her back with that '..c'mere for a minute'. She's wearing an apron and the woman rubs her hands along the front of it -- an anxious gesture? Probably. This is it, isn't it? He's going to tell her what the Collective has decided. Elliot is nervous. Heading back over, she stands close (but not too close) to where he sits. She smiles. There are dimples. "What do you need? I already noticed that the bathroom sink pipe is dripping; I was planning to see if I can fix it after I finish the dishes from the lunch rush." Yep, this is it. C.B., in all his super-formal glory, is going to break the news to her. He waves a hand around, a twitchy little gesture. "So, you're hired. I guess we'll give you some backpay for the work you've been doing. Everything seems to check out okay, we just need to formalize your hours. Next Committee meeting's two weeks from now and you're welcome to attend, if you want to be an owner. Like I said, you don't have to be." He shoves his chin into splayed, inkstained fingers and stares at her for a moment, gauging her reaction. Her reaction isn't a big one. She doesn't rush forward or try to hug him. Her eyes don't well up with grateful tears. She doesn't assault him with a million 'thank you's. But there is very clear and present relief in her expression -- worry leaves her brow, her shoulders loosen slightly, and her smile deepens just a tad. Hands that had been clutching at the edges of her apron release the damp fabric and the woman sighs softly, anxiety released on that little sigh. "That is good to hear." Say thank you, silly! Pause. "Thank you for the opportunity." Her eyes crinkle up and her dimples hit peak cuteness; she immediately turns around to .. leave. To get back to work. After all, they didn't hire her to stand around and talk! She's not about to make them -- the Collective -- regret their decision to employ her after all. However, after a step or two, she seems to realize that she is dashing off too quickly; he /did/ mention that they need to formalize her hours. Back again! She comes back again, a little bit of color high in her cheeks. "Sorry. Um, I can come every day. Any time, really, although I tend to put in my hours at the laundromat late at night." As grumpy and sometimes clueless about other people's emotions as he is, C.B.'s face softens a touch as Elliot seems obvious pleased by this news. He even almost smiles. "No need to thank me. There were no nays. All yays." But he can't help but roll his eyes at the mention of the laundromat. "Right. Well, that's fine. Like I said, weekends are when we need people the most, but since you're not really doing counter work, it's not a huge deal. You can come in every day if you want, but we probably need to cap you at forty hours. Some additional overtime on occasion's okay, though." The faded denim of his blue eyes wanders over her face. "You know, if you're in serious need, I can give you a loan. No questions asked. No strings attached." She notices the eye-roll -- how could she not? -- and it makes her curious. The other time she mentioned the laundromat, he reacted. Her eyes sweep over his general person quickly, noting the rumpled state of his clothing. Maybe .. maybe he just doesn't like clean clothes? Maybe laundry soap is bad for the environment. Elliot squints a little and then does something that she doesn't usually do: she pries a little bit. "Do you not like the laundromat?" she asks, slowly. It is likely that if he snaps at her or pushes back, she will abandon this line of questioning. It's odd, with her. It's not that she is sensitive to being yelled at; when CB was flipping out about his notebook the other night, she mostly observed passively (other than shielding her head when the chair went flying). It more like .. She has a reverence for people's privacy. "I will make certain that I don't work more than forty hours," she assures him with a quick nod that brings some of her tatty locks forward. "And I don't need a loan, thank you; I think just working will be enough. You are very kind to offer, though. I appreciate it." And she does! C.B.'s mouth tends to have two settings: shut off or full-force. On the topic of the laundromat, he seems more than happy to go full-force. "You're talking about Dirty Laundry, right? Just think the guy who owns it is a blowhard of the highest order." Says the blowhard. Wait, is that why they don't /entirely/ get along? "Though he's good at paintball, I'll give him that. I /try/ to like the guy, I really do, but Jesus, he makes it /difficult/ sometimes." Scowling, he reaches for his cold coffee and takes a large mouthful. Then he nods a little, looking away from her. "Yeah, well, if you find yourself in dire straits, just ask, okay? There's no harm in taking a loan when you're in a scrape. You shouldn't have to work yourself into the ground over a debt." He assumes most millennials are in debt, rightly so. Like a curious little bird, her head tips from side to side as she listens to CB go off. Does she regret asking him? No. Is she startled by his reaction? Maybe a little bit puzzled but she's not flustered. "You're talking about Count, right?" She /assumes/ that he's the owner but Elliot isn't exactly sure; he's just the dude who hired her. "He seems alright. He shares his food with me." There is a moment spent in silence, the subdued woman clearly trying to figure something out on her own. But in the end, she just asks: "What's a blowhard?" It's an .. odd question. And she seems a little cautious in asking it, grabbling with the desire to educate herself and the need to not appear too weird. But if she doesn't ask, she won't ever know (someone needs to introduce her to the internet and Google) and since their aren't a lot of people around to gawk at her, it seems an appropriate time to go out on that limb. "And I'm not in debt. I just don't really have much. But it's okay. I'm okay." And to assure him that this is true, she smiles again. Dimple dimple cute! See? Everything is fiiiiine. "Yeah. I'm talking about Count." C.B. sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking at her with faintly troubled eyes. Maybe not troubled about anything to do with her, granted. "He's generous, I guess. But he still pisses me off." He clears his throat and answers her without even asking why she wants to know. Or why she doesn't already know. "A blowhard is a person who talks too much or too loudly, especially in a bragging or self-important manner. See also: well, most people in this town, actually." C.B.'s eyebrows raise as he smirks, amusing himself. Then he just shrugs at her next revelation. "Well, okay, kid. Offer stands." She laughs. There it is again: 'kid'. Maybe someday it will stop amusing her but that day isn't today. They're the same(ish) age! Heck, she might even be a little older than him. But she gets it (or, at least, she thinks she does). She doesn't come off as particularly worldly so maybe she's a 'kid' in the face of this fast-paced existence that she trying to navigate. "Well, I will make sure not to talk about my work at the laundromat when I am here. Deal?" Elliot has been standing this entire time but she takes a seat now. But! Just on the very edge of one of the stools; she isn't getting comfortable. No siree! If she needs to be up on her feet again, she can be so in a flash. Lickety-split! His explanation of what a blowhard is causes her to 'huh' softly and she eventually nods her head as she digests this new information. "A lot of people are blowhards then, hm? It seems like everyone always has something to say about how great they are." Look at her. If it weren't for the smiles and the dimples and her general air of kindliness, she's be a curmudgeon in the making! Besides, C.B. /does/ act like he's about a thousand years old. At least...when he's not acting like an angry young man. Hmm. Confusing. Then he just shrugs. "I don't care what you do or don't talk about. I'm not going to police your speech." Speaking of police...his eyes trail to a squad car outside as it puts its lights on and drives away. Another one just pulls up in its place. Then he nods to her, lips pursed. "Exactly. This is a whole town full of self-important idiots who think what they do matters more than what everyone else does. Remember that." Remember that. She will! Elliot nods her head firmly, her expression serious when she tells him: "I won't forget." She seems to have a general, overall wariness of people already -- if he's paid attention at all over the past few days, he'd have noticed that she is always keeping an eye on the customers. Now with his warning that everyone is predominately concerned with their own needs? She probably has even more reason to be careful. "So, can I ask you about the police officers?" Oh boy, here it comes. Why are they here? What did he do? Blah blah blah. But no, that's not what she wants to know: "What's their usual behavior? Do they just patrol around outside? What is typical?" She folds her hands in her lap and gazes at him intently with those soft doe-eyes of hers. "Their usual behavior?" One brow quirks up as C.B. fidgets, readjusting his bony butt on the stool. "They're fucking pigs. What do you think their usual behavior is? Most of the time, they /won't/ be here if /I'm/ not." The other brow moves up to join its cousin. "Surely you've noticed that by now. They like to keep a squad car here to keep an eye on me when I'm here. Otherwise, you won't see 'em. Why?" His eyes narrow and he leans forward, trying to get a better look at her. "You on the run for something? The fuzz got you down? Goddamn pigs." His teeth grit as he stares at the new squad car. "Always ruining everybody's goddamn lives." And now? Now she's said too much. Elliot smiles -- but it a little bit strained, this one -- and shakes her head. "The police aren't after me. I promise." She's probably afraid that sharing her situation might make him second guess employing her. After all, if he already has trouble with the local law enforcement, having someone around who could possibly amplify that might not be high on his list of wants and needs. "I should probably get going on those dishes," she says, jerking a thumb toward the kitchen and sliiiiiding forward off her stool. "It's going to start getting busy again before we know it and it wouldn't do to be out of clean plates. Plus," she gestures to his book and his mostly empty cup. "I'm bothering you! You probably need to get back to work, too." And with that? She dashes into the back room. ZIP ZOOM BYE-BYE!