(no subject)
As the magic hours of five and six comes about this weekday, the station picks up in traffic. Filling with people liberated by their eight to five jobs, the people take the roles of cattle waiting to be herded into the crowded cars of the train. Some wishing to get rid of their stress by going to do something fun, others needing to do errands and some wish to go home. As a train pulls in and unloads it's passengers, there is a slight surge in the waiting lines. All those waiting wishing to get their spots on the train to avoid having to wait in line for another train. Departing one of these incoming trains is Bridget. Tired, and a little frustrated that her usual carpool had 'issues'. She starts to walk through the crowd. Slow, but still making progress.
As always, someone is bound by some law of circumstance to be intended on precisely what everyone else is not. This, namely, is proceeding in the opposite direction. Jareth defies majority destination and rush alike, seated on a bench with arms hoisted over the back, making no move involving any sort of hurry. His study of the crowd passes leisurely and clinical, detached interest to spend the moments.
Making her way towards a stairwell to lead to another track, she pauses in her approach as a small cluster of people cut off in front of her, running down the steps, the members of this group apparently giving no concern about the effects high speeds on uneven ground affects stability. As the announcement of the soon to be departing train is heard on the speakers, The librarian quickens her pace slightly for a few steps before aborting the half-assed effort. Her eyes watching as the train at the desired track closes its doors and starts to move off.
Drawn by the increased urgency, Jareth's attention and head accordingly and steadily pan to follow. He frowns in passing, fleetingly seeking to transmit displeasure to the careless masses by sheer force of furrowed eyebrows. With their departure, his notice falls on one remaining, and something ruefully sympathetic displays itself in his flicker of smile.
With a sigh followed by a slight unconscious shrug, Bridget back steps the two steps and glances around for a place to sit. Finding the bench Jareth sits at to be the closest she walks over, giving a polite smile, "May I?" Her hand gestures to the side of the bench not occupied.
A matching casual movement indicates the same section of bench, not bothering to lift the hand from atop the bench back. "Sure." Jareth looks up to take note with his answer, attention raised that corresponding notch to match the new proximity. "Missed your ride, huh?"
Plopping herself down, she leans back slightly, her hands resting on the seat of the bench in slight support, "It happens. There'll be another in a few minutes so nothing worth spraining an ankle for. Can always use the time for a breather."
Jareth adjusts his legs, stretched out across the floor while his foot flops lazily side to side. "Can't dispute that. There's no point rushing for the sake of five minutes, unless someone just called to say you won the Publisher's Clearinghouse." He turns from studying intriguing ceiling patterns to his companion. "Where are you headed?"
A quiet laugh followed by a shake of the head, her eyes noticing a piece of gum on the floor. "Salem Center." Her head turns to Jareth, "And you?"
People have much more in their favor than intriguing ceiling patterns, and so Jareth's attention remains directed toward the other end of the bench. "Westchester, so the same line, if memory serves." He examines something just as intriguing in the tracks. "Huh. Could have taken that same one. Oh, well. Five minutes longer to be able to sit on my ass."
"And we can battle the new crowd of people waiting for the train," Bridget muses aloud, her lower legs finding a resting spot slightly under the seat as she maintains a conversational tone. It does beat sitting in silence and provides some distraction. "Heading home from work?"
Jareth evaluates this by way of his face contorting in distaste. "Then again, being ahead of the bulls of Pamplona avoids them." One hand waves aside the following idea, still stubbornly clinging to its perch atop the bench. "Nah. Just back from a bit of shopping."
"But one of the worst places to be during a surge in a crowd is at the front" She reaches into her pocket to pull out her cell phone, fingers pressing buttons while the eyes are focused on the companion, "Fun or Necessity?"
Further evaluation is simply a dismissive pfft. "You just have to have fun with them. Stare into space and mumble to yourself. You could be mumbling a doctorate thesis on superstring theory, and as long as no one quite hears you, they'll make a berth as wide as Long Island."
Unlock keys, minibrowser, yes she's sure… connected, time to see the mail. She smiles at there being a decent signal where she just happened to sit. "I guess muttering about that would scare a few people off. Although for me I'd probably resort to a programming topic or maybe I'll borrow my co-worker's speech comparing a card-catalogue system to a computerized one."
Jareth offers a dry chuckle. "Talking about superstring theory in any case would drive off many people." His eyes flick to the phone briefly, but decorum intact, this is the only sense he turns on it. "And if you *really* want to avoid people, print up empty fliers with a big cross on the cover and smile *all* the *time*."
She shakes her head as eyes scan the inbox, seeing the from header with the name 'Ian' next to it. "Sadly that brings back memories of Confirmation class." Open. A picture of Rachel walking around appears. Looks like she triggered the AiBO a little too early. Delete email.
Jareth offers, if not quite the same, a roll of the eyes and shake of the head. "There's happy, and then there's too happy. Too many people you find on street corners with fliers are option B." A glance to his watch spurs another adjusting of legs, this time toward him to settle feet firmly on the floor. "I think ours should be along in a minute."
Close, close, side key, star, lock. "Shall we stake out a closer spot then?" Bridget asks, sliding the cell phone into her pocket. "Since we have no fliers with crosses on them, You can talk about the thesis and I'll do the programming chat." Her feet adjust to allow the heels to meet the floor as she sits up straight.
Jareth pushes to his feet and ambles a step before turning. "I think a headstart is a good idea. I'll start babbling about six-dimensional universes and hyperspheres while you babble about pointer variables and memory leaks." His hands meet to rub together while he smiles, followed by a gesture indicating the tracks. "Off to confuse the masses."
Standing up, Bridget looks towards the tracks, a mischievous look on her face "And after that, I'll start speaking in syntax." She starts stepping towards the stairs, "What do you think? R-code, Java, C, COBOL?"
Jareth's fingers tap out a rhythm against his lips amid his walking. "Speaking in syntax. Even better. Go for the old, obfuscated stuff. No one will have a damn clue what you're talking about. Maybe also some FORTRAN..." And the doors slide shut, with further conversation muffled behind them.
Jareth and Bridget meet on the train. It becomes quickly apparent why they should not be allowed creative outlets in public.