Monday Afternoon, Late
The madness that had been last week had finally cleaned itself up, and John decides that he can finally get around to showing Susan a few things, as he'd promised. He calls her on Friday, uncertain as to when they'll be able to meet. But apparently late Monday afternoon works well enough, and he heads to City Hall to meet her.
Susan still has, over the course of the weekend, managed to sit through all of Philadelphia, the selected snippets of Boys Don't Cry and has made three attempts to start on Full Metal Jacket. She had intended to watch everything before her meeting with John, but for her, film is something designed to tug on the heart strings. Beautiful romances, implausible fantasies come to life on the screen - not this hard, gritty pretense at real life. Nevertheless, she is ready to go by the time John arrives to pick her up, coat buttoned fast against the wind as she waits at the base of the steps at City Hall.
It's pure bitter, the air today, and John is almost hunched against it as he walks up to her. "Hello, Susan. Would you like to take a cab? It's not too far to walk, but we'll be chilled to the bones if we do."
"Thank you, John," Susan replies, a smile for his consideration. She lifts her hand, hailing a taxi within the first twenty seconds - grateful, at always, that the area outside city hall at the close of the business day is one regularly frequented by the city's drivers. This one is Manolis, a driver she saw last almost a week ago, and she greets him by name as she slides into the comfortable back seat of the cab. She doesn't know everyone in town yet, not by far - but she never forgets a name or a face, and her social network is slowly building.
John smiles at the fact that she knows the cab driver. It doesn't surprise him, not really; CJ does this, a queen to her populace who knows everyone and can be polite to all who are polite to her...and some who aren't. So he smiles at Manolis, tipping him well when they reach L'Orinoco, and helps Susan out of the cab, towards the private lift. It's cold enough that his face is red by the time they get inside.
"You live with CJ, I understand," Susan murmurs as the doors of the private lift close after them. "Will she be home, this evening?" A private meeting with the mayor's fiance is one thing, but she and CJ haven't really sat down and spent much time together, and she's still a little awed of CJ's political prowess - as much as Susan is ever awed of anyone.
"I think she's out gathering funds from the last of the donors. CJ dislikes those who are delinquent on their promises," he replies, swiping a card and turning a key. The lift begins to rise quickly. "Screwing her over is not an acceptable option, even for the little things. Which I'm sure you know."
"I do," Susan murmurs. "Although I suspect that certain businessmen are wondering, in the cold light of day, if they really want to donate $5 million to a charity, no matter how worthy it is." She turns a smile onto John, toothy and almost shark-like, with very little humour to it. "What a shame that they pledged it in public, and backing out would cause them far more than that in reputation?"
John raises an eyebrow and leans against the back of the lift. "Why, Ms Pevensie, you do know how to play hardball." He's nonchalant--blackmail's not pretty, but he's used it and had it used against him enough times to not be morally opposed to it. The door opens on a private foyer, and he leads her out and across nice crushed carpet to another door, which he opens in a similar manner to operating the lift. "Do come in."
"Thank you," Susan murmurs, unbuttoning her coat once they're inside the apartment. She utterly ignores his comment on her negotiating tactics - other than matching his raised eyebrow for a long moment. It isn't blackmail - not precisely - because she's not threatening anything. She doesn't have to. She'd made sure to spread news of their generosity enough on the night of the ball that reneging on that promise will bring its own punishments, without any further moves from her.
"Would you like coffee or tea, or something stronger?" He graciously helps her off with her coat and hangs it up in a small closet--small as much as anything is in CJ's penthouse, before taking his off. "This way..."
"Coffee," Susan replies, "providing you have the real kind. If it's instant, I'll go for something stronger." She makes herself comfortable, looking around as she draws her gloves from her fingers and unwraps the cashmere scarf from her neck, passing both to John once his hands are free to hang up with her coat.
"Of course we have the real kind." He takes her gloves and scarf, carefully hanging up the scarf and setting the gloves on a shelf, then leads her through to the living room. Without thinking about it. Like without thinking that she'd know what a police box was and not think it was just an antique.
There's... a police box. In the living room. A blue police box, just as they were back home, although she's reasonably certain the United States never used this sort. A touch of home, perhaps? A souvenier? He doesn't call attention to it, so she doesn't either, not batting an eyelid. To gawk would be unforgiveably rude. "Thank you, John. You have a lovely home."
Since she doesn't say anything, he doesn't either, though he's suddenly realised just how weird the TARDIS must seem. Best to ignore anything she doesn't ask about, then. "CJ did most of the decorating, I'm afraid. Or perhaps Carol. Still, it's suitable. Would you like to sit?" He gestures to a couch away from the TARDIS.
He doesn't know who decorated his house? Then again, the engagement is relatively recent. It's possible he's only been living here for a short time. The sheer size of the place dwarfs her own apartment, yet another measure of CJ's success that Susan quietly absorbs as she takes the indicated seat, her long legs crossing in front of her.
It's not too long to make the coffee. "How do you take yours," he calls back, voice not too loud and uncouth. "We have cream and sugar and fat-free milk...nasty stuff, that...and flavoured non-dairy creamer type things. Anything you like." While he waits, he prepares his standard PowerBook--not the one he keeps his own information on, and sets it on the counter.
((Preplayed via IM, going to comment SP.))
Susan still has, over the course of the weekend, managed to sit through all of Philadelphia, the selected snippets of Boys Don't Cry and has made three attempts to start on Full Metal Jacket. She had intended to watch everything before her meeting with John, but for her, film is something designed to tug on the heart strings. Beautiful romances, implausible fantasies come to life on the screen - not this hard, gritty pretense at real life. Nevertheless, she is ready to go by the time John arrives to pick her up, coat buttoned fast against the wind as she waits at the base of the steps at City Hall.
It's pure bitter, the air today, and John is almost hunched against it as he walks up to her. "Hello, Susan. Would you like to take a cab? It's not too far to walk, but we'll be chilled to the bones if we do."
"Thank you, John," Susan replies, a smile for his consideration. She lifts her hand, hailing a taxi within the first twenty seconds - grateful, at always, that the area outside city hall at the close of the business day is one regularly frequented by the city's drivers. This one is Manolis, a driver she saw last almost a week ago, and she greets him by name as she slides into the comfortable back seat of the cab. She doesn't know everyone in town yet, not by far - but she never forgets a name or a face, and her social network is slowly building.
John smiles at the fact that she knows the cab driver. It doesn't surprise him, not really; CJ does this, a queen to her populace who knows everyone and can be polite to all who are polite to her...and some who aren't. So he smiles at Manolis, tipping him well when they reach L'Orinoco, and helps Susan out of the cab, towards the private lift. It's cold enough that his face is red by the time they get inside.
"You live with CJ, I understand," Susan murmurs as the doors of the private lift close after them. "Will she be home, this evening?" A private meeting with the mayor's fiance is one thing, but she and CJ haven't really sat down and spent much time together, and she's still a little awed of CJ's political prowess - as much as Susan is ever awed of anyone.
"I think she's out gathering funds from the last of the donors. CJ dislikes those who are delinquent on their promises," he replies, swiping a card and turning a key. The lift begins to rise quickly. "Screwing her over is not an acceptable option, even for the little things. Which I'm sure you know."
"I do," Susan murmurs. "Although I suspect that certain businessmen are wondering, in the cold light of day, if they really want to donate $5 million to a charity, no matter how worthy it is." She turns a smile onto John, toothy and almost shark-like, with very little humour to it. "What a shame that they pledged it in public, and backing out would cause them far more than that in reputation?"
John raises an eyebrow and leans against the back of the lift. "Why, Ms Pevensie, you do know how to play hardball." He's nonchalant--blackmail's not pretty, but he's used it and had it used against him enough times to not be morally opposed to it. The door opens on a private foyer, and he leads her out and across nice crushed carpet to another door, which he opens in a similar manner to operating the lift. "Do come in."
"Thank you," Susan murmurs, unbuttoning her coat once they're inside the apartment. She utterly ignores his comment on her negotiating tactics - other than matching his raised eyebrow for a long moment. It isn't blackmail - not precisely - because she's not threatening anything. She doesn't have to. She'd made sure to spread news of their generosity enough on the night of the ball that reneging on that promise will bring its own punishments, without any further moves from her.
"Would you like coffee or tea, or something stronger?" He graciously helps her off with her coat and hangs it up in a small closet--small as much as anything is in CJ's penthouse, before taking his off. "This way..."
"Coffee," Susan replies, "providing you have the real kind. If it's instant, I'll go for something stronger." She makes herself comfortable, looking around as she draws her gloves from her fingers and unwraps the cashmere scarf from her neck, passing both to John once his hands are free to hang up with her coat.
"Of course we have the real kind." He takes her gloves and scarf, carefully hanging up the scarf and setting the gloves on a shelf, then leads her through to the living room. Without thinking about it. Like without thinking that she'd know what a police box was and not think it was just an antique.
There's... a police box. In the living room. A blue police box, just as they were back home, although she's reasonably certain the United States never used this sort. A touch of home, perhaps? A souvenier? He doesn't call attention to it, so she doesn't either, not batting an eyelid. To gawk would be unforgiveably rude. "Thank you, John. You have a lovely home."
Since she doesn't say anything, he doesn't either, though he's suddenly realised just how weird the TARDIS must seem. Best to ignore anything she doesn't ask about, then. "CJ did most of the decorating, I'm afraid. Or perhaps Carol. Still, it's suitable. Would you like to sit?" He gestures to a couch away from the TARDIS.
He doesn't know who decorated his house? Then again, the engagement is relatively recent. It's possible he's only been living here for a short time. The sheer size of the place dwarfs her own apartment, yet another measure of CJ's success that Susan quietly absorbs as she takes the indicated seat, her long legs crossing in front of her.
It's not too long to make the coffee. "How do you take yours," he calls back, voice not too loud and uncouth. "We have cream and sugar and fat-free milk...nasty stuff, that...and flavoured non-dairy creamer type things. Anything you like." While he waits, he prepares his standard PowerBook--not the one he keeps his own information on, and sets it on the counter.
((Preplayed via IM, going to comment SP.))