This was not the sort of situation Tayler got herself into. This was the sort of thing only Gavin would find himself in, or that only Gavin could drag her into. And yet, despite all logic, here she is, standing in a noisy bar full of intoxicated celebrants with her right pointer finger sharing an unusually expensive-looking finger trap with a complete stranger.
At least he's a good-looking stranger...
She gives it a tug, trying to pull back on the dragon face resting over her knuckle, but it doesn't seem to work like every other stupid finger trap in the world.
She looks up at him, nervousness in her weak smile. "There must be some trick to it, right?"
"Do you know why they call it a 'Chinese' finger trap? Rumor has it--" Because the futility of pulling or pushing has already been demonstrated, his free hand is all over the bronze body of the the toy, looking for a catch and not resuming his train of thought until every nook and cranny has been poked, prodded, squeezed, and caressed "--It’s fine. It’s fine, really, I’ve got this. Anyway, back in ye olde Imperial days, the emperor used them on his mandarins before they could sit on the council. Final exam."
Though this has ruffled his feathers a bit, things could be worse. Finger-cuffed (and, let’s be honest - drunk to a degree that most ordinary human beings wouldn’t be bothered where they stuck their finger) to a stranger he may be, but she’s no Nancy Grace. She is, in fact, almost offensively cute.
His eyes meet hers for half a second when he finally gives the puzzle a rest, then he swings his chin at the passing bartender.
"One more of these." Tony reaches around his awkwardly immobilized arm to give his empty glass a nudge. Then another glance at the girl. "What are you drinking?"
Despite being a copper in a bar, Tayler isn't drunk. She never allows herself to get past the warm tingly pleasant feeling of slight intoxication if she isn't absolutely sure of who is taking her home - or who she's taking home - because a woman her size impaired on the streets is much too easy a target and she's seen far too many bruises and bodies to ever disbelieve it. Besides, even out of uniform she has a duty to be prepared to serve and protect, as the American's say.
And she does have a bit of a soft spot for Americans. Far from being irritated with the extended pause he takes in speaking as he examines the thing trapping their fingers, she finds his intensity and focus even while drunk to be rather charming. His slightly flustered assurances are quite cute in fact and it eases the nervousness out of her and lets her natural good humor back in with full force. Though he isn't especially tall there is something about him that is a little imposing, and she gets the feeling he is the sort of man who might be used to having things his own way, but as a keen observer of humanity these last few moments have assured her at least that he doesn't intend to pose any threat to her. "If the emperor's traps were anything like this one, I'd be surprised if he had any council seats filled at all."
The half a second where his eyes meet hers capture her attention even as he moves on to signal to the bartender. It's the difference between young men and older, more experienced ones, a depth and nuance to the expression of the eyes. She's put more thought into the the subject than she would ever readily admit, except in a joking fashion or in reference to Harrison Ford, but the look of his make her interested to know him better.
Her elbow rests on the bar and when he asks, her fingers run over the shape of the almost empty bottle in front of her. Pulling a slightly sheepish face, she replies, "Corona." A constable's salary doesn't exactly provide for fine Cabernet.
"That...is a genuine a tragedy. Let’s not repeat it." Tony pulls his lips snug to his teeth and whistles. "Hey, nevermind, crack open that Cristal for us, would you?" Even with the Macallan already poised to pour, the bartender does not miss a single beat in redirecting his reach from one of those miserable, piss-colored bottles beneath the bar toward the gold-wrapped one in its place of neglected honor in the windowed cooler.
"I won't tell Jay-Z if you don't," he says -- out the side of his mouth without looking directly at her, but his volume isn’t exactly conspiratorial. On his long list of talents and shorter list of super powers, subtlety does not make a single appearance.
The crystal clinks on the bartop when the flutes come out, and on that cue Tony does does turn back to his new friend. He knows how this looks: champagne, little redhead, a hint of bondage. But it is one hundred percent innocent.
She’s just been a really, really good sport about the finger trap from hell. She'll be a better sport after another drink or two.
"I don't think you gave me your name. Or you did, and I just didn't-- Anyway, hit me again.
The reference goes over her head, but she nods anyway. Yanks often talk a lot of nonsense in her experience, but it's kind of part of their charm. And normally she would be more than a little hesitant to allow someone to buy her such an expensive drink, but he hasn't hit on her or tried to touch her or even leered so she reckons he's safe. Even still, she's a bit apprehensive of the fancy glasses and gold bottle if only because if the next round is meant to be her shout she'll be washing dishes in back for a week in order to pay for it. But hopefully his generosity holds out because she is more than a little curious to have a taste of a drink with that kind of price tag, especially after a bottle of Corona.
She cocks her head and looks at him with a little crooked smile. If he's drunk enough to believe he might have already forgotten her name, she could probably really have him on. But perhaps the finger trap is enough of a gag on both of them and she decides to go easy. Besides, he's a bit older than her usual marks. Wide eyed younger boys are so much more easily lead astray. "I haven't given you my name yet. It's Tayler." She turns her eyes off him for a minute as she takes her first sip, and it's certainly a far sight better than anything they might shell out for even at the officers' ball. "And you know, despite our obvious connection," with a amused lilt in her voice as she nods towards the devil contraption holding onto their fingers, "you haven't told me yours either."
Introductions are weird when just about everybody in the free world knows your name and half the folks in the unfree one've had a relative blown up by a rocket with your name on it. But they do still come up sometimes, and he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy the occasional novelty that comes with anonymity. If that's what this is. Chances are excellent she knows exactly who she's cuffed to.
Or he could just be a guy in a bar.
"Well, Ms. Tayler," he answers, raising his own glass to the lady before putting it to his lips, "I will take your word for it. Consider yourself introduced. Officially." In the interest of giving her a polite head start, he limits himself to a sip, eyes still on her while he wiggles his trapped finger. "I'm Tony. I'd shake your hand, but I feel like this might have us covered."
And she in turn is trying to deserve his chivalry by sipping slowly rather than knocking back her drink like she might if she were sitting at a table with Dave and Gavin. Much as she loves her work mates, it is very nice to not feel as if she might be called upon at any moment to prove she can run and fight and drink like the guys. Working your way through the ranks of a boys' club has its rewards, but that doesn't mean it isn't exhausting as well.
She wiggles her finger inside the trap as well like a tiny version of a hand shake and also in part to reassure herself she still can. There really isn't anything to worry about as long as they still have circulation to their fingers. Smiling like a little imp, she can't help but let the humor of the situation get to her. "Pleased to meet you, Tony. And since we're now properly acquainted, maybe you won't mind if I ask if you often find yourself in situations like this?" She's been handcuffed to some interesting people, but never stuck in a finger trap with one.
Tayler is a perfectly reasonable person, really, and while her fuse isn't always exactly long she has been sitting in this fluorescent-lit, cookie cutter, boring, noisy terminal for four hours. The chair is uncomfortable, she's spent eight hours on a plane already today, with six still to go. It really would be asking too much for the goddamn flight to be on time, wouldn't it?
She slouches, then sits up straight, tries to read but finds herself unable to concentrate. She gets up and walks in a wide circle around the row of chairs where her stuff is resting (it's too much to drag around just to stretch her legs but she obviously can't let it out of her sight). Finally, she comes back to her seat and sits again.
Maybe the most insufferable thing is that she hasn't got anyone to talk to. But maybe there's something that can be done about that. She's naturally social and bubbly, so starting a conversation with a complete stranger is hardly even an effort. She looks up at the older man sitting across from her, smiles a little sarcastically and puffs her cheeks. "Do you ever feel like time just sloooows down when you're stuck in an airport?"
It is utterly unacceptable that Norman be stuck in an airport for so damn long and it's a fact that he's readily let the airline staff know multiple times. Oh, he was calm at first and managed to con a few vouchers out of them but each time he had to go back up the more irate he got. If it had been weather related he might have been more understanding but it wasn't it was something to do with overbooking and computer malfunction that just proved more and more that they are all incapable idiots and this would be the last time he'd be flying this little airline, thank-you-very-much.
Worse is that he can't even drink since business never stops and some important deals are in the air so not only does he get stuck in this hellhole of an airport, he gets all the fun of not knowing if his current business deal is going to sink or swim and is between phone calls. All while sober. Yay.
While his thoughts swirl on how he'll exact revenge on said airline, the deals and their effects if they fall through and how damn uncomfortable the chairs are here when a woman across the row speaks, presumably to him. He had really seen anyone else talking to her though he had been quite preoccupied to really notice or care.
"To the point I assume we're in purgatory." With a disgusted sigh he tosses the business section down to his feet with the rest of the paper - he's already gone over it four times, it's not like it's going to change. "To what sin do you owe the dubious pleasure of being here - other than choosing this airline, I mean."
Well, at least starting a conversation has broken the insufferable tedium. And she's fortunate in that the man doesn't seem opposed to having a chat, so hopefully they can take each other's minds off the delayed flight a bit, even if they do only complain about it.
"Headed home from holiday. As if I didn't already have to spend far too much time in airplanes going from New York to Sydney. I hardly even know where I am anymore, much less how long it's been since I got up this morning." She laughs, but it's more than a little dry and irritated. "And you?"
"A business trip, a rather important one that I'm soon going to be late for." He throws a withering glance at the counter employee but knows it won't do any good. Just his luck. He'll be making sure to write some scathing letter to the CEO of this place. Perhaps he could file a lawsuit too.
With her accent it's not hard to tell which one was home and which was the vacation. "Quite a vacation you took, how did you like New York?" Because anything is better than brooding on the deals impending, looming over him.
She might have guessed he was the high-powered business type. She hadn't been listening in the few times she saw him go up to the counter, but he did have that sort of imperious air about him. The corners of her lips curve down, a face pulled of sympathetic concern.
The change of subject is welcome though, not only because it takes her mind off of being trapped in the mumbley, fluorescent hell but also because she is not remotely conversant in business terms if they should have continued on the tack of his reason for traveling. "I loved it!" She brightens up just thinking about it, a broad smile pulling at her lips. "Busy and exciting, and so full of culture!" If she tries really hard, she can pretend she's still there. With a laugh, "The weather is terrible, though. And the harbour isn't quite as pretty as Sydney, but it is gorgeous. Are you from there?"
He's rather glad she doesn't ask more abut it either. It's a complicated deal but he'd also rather not spill any details in such a public space. The last thing he needs is a similarly stranded competitor catching wind or something. Paranoid maybe but not unheard of.
Norman's not entirely sure how to deal with the face she's making but thankfully his comment on her vacation turns things completely around. Now she's all smiles, which proves she was definitely a tourist in New York since no one actually fro there would say a positive thing about it. Well, unless someone tried to disparage it in front of them, then they'd have plenty to say. "I am, yes." He resists the urge to mention that likely she passed by many of his buildings while touring - there's no real need to draw more attention to himself at the moment.
"Mm, you did come in the proverbial rainy season - though it beats the snow and ice, I suppose." So many people whine about the travel conditions then, try to beg off work because of a little snow on the ground. Ridiculous. "Can't say I can really compare the two harbors, I've never seen the Sydney one except for pictures."
She has no illusions that New York has it's dark side, but she wasn't on loan to the NYPD so she didn't give it any thought further than to be considerate of where she walked after dark when she was on her own. Thankfully, that wasn't all that often.
"Snow and ice might have been interesting, we don't get very much of either in New South Wales, but I think I would take humane temperatures over interest." She leans back a little in her chair, more comfortable now for some reason than she has been in the last few hours. "You should visit! Sydney harbor is widely known as the most beautiful harbor in the world. I've spent quite a lot of time on it myself, so I can attest to that opinion from extensive personal experience."
"They are less interesting and more of a mess, overall. You didn't miss much, really." Maybe the Christmas decorations if you're into that sort of thing but really, beyond that and it's just more of an annoyance.
"I see and you clearly don't have any bias at all." He speaks with a brow raised. "Unfortunately it's just a lay over in Sydney so I can get to Hong Kong." Hong Kong: where all business occurs at one point or another. "I'll have to keep it in mind though." For when he goes on vacation. Which is never.
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pixiecopper) wrote2015-06-24 08:47 pm
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At least he's a good-looking stranger...
She gives it a tug, trying to pull back on the dragon face resting over her knuckle, but it doesn't seem to work like every other stupid finger trap in the world.
She looks up at him, nervousness in her weak smile. "There must be some trick to it, right?"
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Though this has ruffled his feathers a bit, things could be worse. Finger-cuffed (and, let’s be honest - drunk to a degree that most ordinary human beings wouldn’t be bothered where they stuck their finger) to a stranger he may be, but she’s no Nancy Grace. She is, in fact, almost offensively cute.
His eyes meet hers for half a second when he finally gives the puzzle a rest, then he swings his chin at the passing bartender.
"One more of these." Tony reaches around his awkwardly immobilized arm to give his empty glass a nudge. Then another glance at the girl. "What are you drinking?"
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And she does have a bit of a soft spot for Americans. Far from being irritated with the extended pause he takes in speaking as he examines the thing trapping their fingers, she finds his intensity and focus even while drunk to be rather charming. His slightly flustered assurances are quite cute in fact and it eases the nervousness out of her and lets her natural good humor back in with full force. Though he isn't especially tall there is something about him that is a little imposing, and she gets the feeling he is the sort of man who might be used to having things his own way, but as a keen observer of humanity these last few moments have assured her at least that he doesn't intend to pose any threat to her. "If the emperor's traps were anything like this one, I'd be surprised if he had any council seats filled at all."
The half a second where his eyes meet hers capture her attention even as he moves on to signal to the bartender. It's the difference between young men and older, more experienced ones, a depth and nuance to the expression of the eyes. She's put more thought into the the subject than she would ever readily admit, except in a joking fashion or in reference to Harrison Ford, but the look of his make her interested to know him better.
Her elbow rests on the bar and when he asks, her fingers run over the shape of the almost empty bottle in front of her. Pulling a slightly sheepish face, she replies, "Corona." A constable's salary doesn't exactly provide for fine Cabernet.
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"I won't tell Jay-Z if you don't," he says -- out the side of his mouth without looking directly at her, but his volume isn’t exactly conspiratorial. On his long list of talents and shorter list of super powers, subtlety does not make a single appearance.
The crystal clinks on the bartop when the flutes come out, and on that cue Tony does does turn back to his new friend. He knows how this looks: champagne, little redhead, a hint of bondage. But it is one hundred percent innocent.
She’s just been a really, really good sport about the finger trap from hell. She'll be a better sport after another drink or two.
"I don't think you gave me your name. Or you did, and I just didn't-- Anyway, hit me again.
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She cocks her head and looks at him with a little crooked smile. If he's drunk enough to believe he might have already forgotten her name, she could probably really have him on. But perhaps the finger trap is enough of a gag on both of them and she decides to go easy. Besides, he's a bit older than her usual marks. Wide eyed younger boys are so much more easily lead astray. "I haven't given you my name yet. It's Tayler." She turns her eyes off him for a minute as she takes her first sip, and it's certainly a far sight better than anything they might shell out for even at the officers' ball. "And you know, despite our obvious connection," with a amused lilt in her voice as she nods towards the devil contraption holding onto their fingers, "you haven't told me yours either."
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Or he could just be a guy in a bar.
"Well, Ms. Tayler," he answers, raising his own glass to the lady before putting it to his lips, "I will take your word for it. Consider yourself introduced. Officially." In the interest of giving her a polite head start, he limits himself to a sip, eyes still on her while he wiggles his trapped finger. "I'm Tony. I'd shake your hand, but I feel like this might have us covered."
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She wiggles her finger inside the trap as well like a tiny version of a hand shake and also in part to reassure herself she still can. There really isn't anything to worry about as long as they still have circulation to their fingers. Smiling like a little imp, she can't help but let the humor of the situation get to her. "Pleased to meet you, Tony. And since we're now properly acquainted, maybe you won't mind if I ask if you often find yourself in situations like this?" She's been handcuffed to some interesting people, but never stuck in a finger trap with one.
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She slouches, then sits up straight, tries to read but finds herself unable to concentrate. She gets up and walks in a wide circle around the row of chairs where her stuff is resting (it's too much to drag around just to stretch her legs but she obviously can't let it out of her sight). Finally, she comes back to her seat and sits again.
Maybe the most insufferable thing is that she hasn't got anyone to talk to. But maybe there's something that can be done about that. She's naturally social and bubbly, so starting a conversation with a complete stranger is hardly even an effort. She looks up at the older man sitting across from her, smiles a little sarcastically and puffs her cheeks. "Do you ever feel like time just sloooows down when you're stuck in an airport?"
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Worse is that he can't even drink since business never stops and some important deals are in the air so not only does he get stuck in this hellhole of an airport, he gets all the fun of not knowing if his current business deal is going to sink or swim and is between phone calls. All while sober. Yay.
While his thoughts swirl on how he'll exact revenge on said airline, the deals and their effects if they fall through and how damn uncomfortable the chairs are here when a woman across the row speaks, presumably to him. He had really seen anyone else talking to her though he had been quite preoccupied to really notice or care.
"To the point I assume we're in purgatory." With a disgusted sigh he tosses the business section down to his feet with the rest of the paper - he's already gone over it four times, it's not like it's going to change. "To what sin do you owe the dubious pleasure of being here - other than choosing this airline, I mean."
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"Headed home from holiday. As if I didn't already have to spend far too much time in airplanes going from New York to Sydney. I hardly even know where I am anymore, much less how long it's been since I got up this morning." She laughs, but it's more than a little dry and irritated. "And you?"
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With her accent it's not hard to tell which one was home and which was the vacation. "Quite a vacation you took, how did you like New York?" Because anything is better than brooding on the deals impending, looming over him.
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The change of subject is welcome though, not only because it takes her mind off of being trapped in the mumbley, fluorescent hell but also because she is not remotely conversant in business terms if they should have continued on the tack of his reason for traveling. "I loved it!" She brightens up just thinking about it, a broad smile pulling at her lips. "Busy and exciting, and so full of culture!" If she tries really hard, she can pretend she's still there. With a laugh, "The weather is terrible, though. And the harbour isn't quite as pretty as Sydney, but it is gorgeous. Are you from there?"
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Norman's not entirely sure how to deal with the face she's making but thankfully his comment on her vacation turns things completely around. Now she's all smiles, which proves she was definitely a tourist in New York since no one actually fro there would say a positive thing about it. Well, unless someone tried to disparage it in front of them, then they'd have plenty to say. "I am, yes." He resists the urge to mention that likely she passed by many of his buildings while touring - there's no real need to draw more attention to himself at the moment.
"Mm, you did come in the proverbial rainy season - though it beats the snow and ice, I suppose." So many people whine about the travel conditions then, try to beg off work because of a little snow on the ground. Ridiculous. "Can't say I can really compare the two harbors, I've never seen the Sydney one except for pictures."
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"Snow and ice might have been interesting, we don't get very much of either in New South Wales, but I think I would take humane temperatures over interest." She leans back a little in her chair, more comfortable now for some reason than she has been in the last few hours. "You should visit! Sydney harbor is widely known as the most beautiful harbor in the world. I've spent quite a lot of time on it myself, so I can attest to that opinion from extensive personal experience."
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"I see and you clearly don't have any bias at all." He speaks with a brow raised. "Unfortunately it's just a lay over in Sydney so I can get to Hong Kong." Hong Kong: where all business occurs at one point or another. "I'll have to keep it in mind though." For when he goes on vacation. Which is never.