3006/Untitled

Untitled
Date of Scene:	29 October 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Buttercup

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Ares has posed:
    The graveyard shift for the Local Construction Union 477 tends to run until the sun's just creeping up over the horizon this time of year. It's when the sky starts to slip to the reds and oranges of the morning that most of the workers start to get their belongings together, to check in with their crew chiefs, and then punch out and head off on their own. Their current project is what was once an old ragged tenement that had seen better days until a large Apokolipsian ship had crashed into its side, causing it to collapse. So now... the task of repairing the place had fallen to these newcomers, these men in the hard hats who were trying to restore something to the rough neighborhood.
    Of course it didn't help things that on the chain link fence that surrounds the work site the sign proclaims it's a LexCorp project for the betterment of mankind, ever since Lex took the PR hit of being suspected of working with the aliens. But for a man like John Aaron, who tends to ignore things like politics... it makes little difference to him.
    That is, until he's walking away from the work site, yellow construction helmet on his hip and moving to the car park where he had left his vehicle that he started being shadowed by a group of men who seemed unhappy about the work was going on.
    "Hey..." The six of them followed the large man, and from the size of him it was clear they felt they'd need at least that number if they wanted to get away with what they planned. "Hey you. Give me a dollar."
    And such is how it starts.

Buttercup has posed:
Not everyone living in the half-collapsed tenement had had the wherewithal to move. After work, and with some hours still of nighttime remaining to her, Biejje had dressed down in a pair of baggy grey sweatpants and a white tee shirt with a pink star on the front, and come around to the blighted neighborhood, where she'd spent the tail end of the evening helping four children sleep comfortably in their cold and noisy room and tending to their sick mother, whose one-room squat in the far side of the tenement had not been affected by the impact and so who still abides therein, with no where else to go and no energy to look for a place. Leaving a big half-gallon bin of Port-Lee's Famous Mac & Cheese behind, she crawls out over a bit of rubble into the light of dawn, basking in Sunna's good graces for a moment before noticing the six men setting upon the construction worker coming off-duty. She rummages in a deep sweatpant pocket for her bus fare. "I have a dollar, if you guys need one," she offers.

Ares has posed:
    At first the tall man doesn't stop, doesn't even acknowledge the men. His gait is this easy and precise thing that takes seemingly little focus leaving his thoughts to wander. But then at the second sentence he'll pause long enough to look to the side, brow furrowing as his expression darkens. The backpack over his shoulder shifts slightly as he adjusts his grip, then glances the other way as one of the men moves to get around behind him should he make a break for it.
    "This ain't about money, Beej. You know that." One of the taller men grimaces and wipes a forearm over his mouth, grabbing a discarded length of pipe with a mass of concrete at the end of it, refuse from the wreckage. "How much you got on you, guy? Lex pays good, don't he?"
    A tilt of his head as the worker looks them over, "Seventy dollars an hour." There's a pause, then he adds with a faint smirk as he knows it's not about the money either. "They're hiring."
    One of the men blinks, "You serious?"
    "Back the fuck up, Tyler!"
    Tyler frowns, but does as the ringleader asks him.

Buttercup has posed:
Buttercup sucks some air in between her teeth in a subtle tsk, putting her bus money back where it came from, "Yeah, I figured, Rej," she replies, stepping without aggression or timidity toward where the confrontation is imminent. "It's not his fa-- seventy? Really?" she gets briefly distracted by the lavish pay for manual labor. But, clearing her throat, she gets back on track. "It's not his fault, he's just at work, just like the worst of us." She gives Tyler a supportive squeeze about the waist, a subtle boost of soothing warmth in her hand to help diffuse the tension, lure him off the edge a little more. "Why not leave that pipe alone, we can all go get breakfast or something."

Ares has posed:
    The woman had made an impression on the men of the neighborhood since she had appeared. She always seemed to have the right things to say, the right way to put things at ease. Even when tensions were high at a time like this, all it took for her was a touch, a caress, a small smile. It was enough then, and now... for a moment with tempers so high it might seem like it wasn't enough. She could feel the anger in the man, the way his body twitched a little.
    But then the pipe was dropped, some of the concrete flaking off with its impact on the sidewalk. He says sharply, "Fine... fine. Fuck it. C'mon." He says as he starts to step away, their footsteps quiet and subdued as they move back towards the livable areas of the building that's being renovated.
    But it leaves her there with the tall construction worker who is looking at her curiously, head tilted to the side and his expression a little amused, a little curious. But then he says, "Beej." An eyebrow cocks, "You do those men a kindness."

Buttercup has posed:
Buttercup sneaks a hug around 'Rej when he decides to 'fuck it,' burying her head briefly against his chest and using the distraction to sneak her bus money into one of his pant pocket for him to discover later. She'll find another way home, no problem. She turns her attention to the tall drink of water who'd been keeping the kids up all night, but there's no anger in her eyes, at least. "They're scared. The anger is just... fear turned outward. You have to see things from their point of view-- it's not their fault, any more than it is yours." A beat, and her expression shifts from somber pacifism to wry skepticism, "Do you really make seventy bucks an hour riding jackhammer, or were you just posturing for the guys?" she wonders.

Ares has posed:
    The tall man's eyes follow after those men as they depart, she had managed to disarm them, curious. But then those dark brown eyes find hers and he gives a small nod to her in answer aided with a half-smirk, "Yes. Though I do have a bit of seniority and training." He turns away from the men as they disappear from view and then faces her fully.
    He's tall, a good halfway from six to seven feet, but she's assuredly seen taller. And he's broad of chest, but in this day and age with such figures frequenting the skies and the covers of magazines, she's assuredly seen broader. But there definitely is something to the man that has him set apart from most. Perhaps it's in that smirk or the casual way he never felt threatened during the men accosting him.
    "Why? Are you thinking of applying?"

Buttercup has posed:
"Hell, I might," Buttercup's lying, but it's a playful lie, more of a joke than a purposeful falsehood, bathed in a broad grin. "Or I might just let you buy me breakfast. I'm starving and you're like rolling in it over there," she quirks a tighter smile in a playful fashion. She's not sticking him up or anything, but she did just save him a fight with six guys (even one he could foreseeably win), so he might think about it, at least. She is comparatively bitty. Hell, even objectively bitty, at her whopping five foot three. But she bears herself with much the same fearless confidence that makes up for her lack of the typical Asgardian stature.

Ares has posed:
    One eyebrow scrunches up as he eyes her, his expression filled with suspicion but it's a good-natured variety of it. He heaves a small grunt, then gestures with a slight nod of his head sidelong. "If you know of a place, then lead on. I will listen to your words and gauge whether your aid and your voice are worth the price of a Grand Slam."
    And with that said he turns and begins walking down the street again, adjusting the grip on his backpack as he goes, though he does slow his gait long enough to let her catch up where they can fall into step together. To the side he'll tell her, "My name is John Aaron. And you are a Beej of some sort?" He asks, eyebrow quirking with curiousity as he continues on his way.

Buttercup has posed:
"Buttercup," she replies, with the full unironic grace of someone who could very well actually be named Buttercup. "Buttercup Jonesy," she continues wending her way toward Beej without finishing it up with the pronunciation of her initials. There's a fast food joint already redolent of frying oil down a couple blocks, and she gestures that direction with a tilt of her head and then hurries up to fall in-- thogh her steps are two or three to his one, more brisk, but still unhurried. "How long do you think the repairs are going to take?" she wonders.

Ares has posed:
    "Buttercup," He repeats, as if trying to wrap it around his head, but then continues on allowing it to exist as it is in his world. For now. He just keeps on walking with that same easy gait he had when the men first accosted him.
    "Mmm, difficult to say. Sometimes there are stoppages and then we have to return once whatever reason for them is resolved." He lifts a hand and casually waves it to the side, as if brushing past those words and the sentiment. "Perhaps a year, perhaps less. Time tends to blur for me at times." He mentions this casually even as he eyes her sidelong.
    "And you, what is it you do, Buttercup? We've ruled out construction work. What else is there?"

Buttercup has posed:
"Time tends to blur? Have you seen a doctor about that?" Buttercup wonders, half-serious. "I guess there's time, then. As hard as it may be for these people to live in a half-wrecked building with noise from construction lasting all night, it's probabyl going to be worse for them once it's done. You'll fix the place up, get some good money in the door, and boom, the money leads the way-- squatters are swept, and people who do pay rent there can't afford the new prices," she sighs. "I don't doubt the construction schedule is meant to drive away as many squatters as possible. But these people don't really have anywhere else to go." A few quiet steps, and she looks aside-- and up. "Me? I'm a dancer."

Ares has posed:
    A small nod is given, "There are many victims to war." He tells her levelly as he walks, his eyes distanced. Though something in his tone might give one the idea that he does not mind such a fate for individuals. Yet not much time is given to reflection as he turns his head slightly as he moves, "A dancer?"
    A small hnh slips from him and he nods as he walks, "Would I have seen you in anything? I tend to take my son to what shows I can, though his interest seems to lean more towards Disney than I would like." As he says this he reaches the corner of the street and though the traffic is slow he'll push the button to bring the crosswalk sign to life.
    After a few moments he'll start to walk with her across the street, heading towards that greasy breakfast spot.

Buttercup has posed:
Buttercup agrees with his assessment, with somewhat a greater quantum of compassion in her eyes as she lowers them. His question, though, draws what might be the prototype of a half-conceived laugh all unwitting from her diaphragm. "I dunno, did you ever take your son to Port-Lee's Road Stop in Newark?" she asks, eyes sparkling with the mirth of someone who knows fairly well that this construction worker has probably never taken his son to such a place. "I make ten dollars an hour. And tips, though," she grins, as that is sort of the bulk of her income. So it's no wonder this sort of place is her breakfast of choice. Lots of calories for very few dollars. They've got bulletproof glass double-paned over a walk-up window.

Ares has posed:
    "Ah," He says succinctly, a small half-smile touching the corner of his mouth. "I didn't want to presume. But you do seem to have an element of grace to your steps, such dancing I am sure is not beyond you." He offers that at least in some small conciliatory way. "But no, I haven't been there."
    Once they reach the restaurant he pulls open the door, holding it for her to precede him and then following her in. A nod is spared to the hostess as he moves towards the booth seat they're pointed at, walking amongst the early morning crowd and not drawing too much attention. "Though I've done some fighting at Gunner's up on route 275." He mentions casually, a rather rough honky tonk that has something of a reputation for wild weekends and an underground fighting ring that's seen a lot of action over the years.

Buttercup has posed:
"I'm sure not," Buttercup is likewise confident in her abilities as a dancer, "But to get in the big shows, you really need, you know, connections. And the small shows pay less than Port-Lee's, if you take into account all the hours you have to work. Port-Lee's is also a lot more flexible on hours, y'know, if you need to skip a shift and maybe take another shift another night-- it's fine, Lee's, like... pretty chill about it all," she smiles. "And it's nice to be able to meet your audience face to face," she adds with a cheeky little grin. "Oh! You're a fighter on the side, huh? I guess I should have been able to tell. Sorry if I robbed you of your extracurriculars with the boys, but-- I'm sure you'll have your fun at Gunner's soon enough. How old's your son?" she wonders.

Ares has posed:
    "He's ten," The response is given easily as he settles down into the seat. "Almost eleven. Soon." Dark brown eyes meet her gaze and he says levelly, "I wouldn't have enjoyed defeating those men, it would have been unpleasant. So your interference wasn't entirely unwelcome."
    Once they're settled he'll nod to the waitress, ask for his coffee and gesture for her to order for herself. Nothing for him to eat for now, "I ate not too long ago," He'll offer in explanation. But then once the waitress heads off he'll settle in with his drink and add some cream and sugar while he speaks.
    "And what else do you do to entertain yourself, Buttercup? You seem rather athletic, a bit moreso than merely a dancer's allotted grace and strength."

Buttercup has posed:
Buttercup orders up-- a plate of bacon and eggs, three biscuits, a plate of extra-fried hash browns and a glass of milk. "And a stack of pancakes for dessert," she puts in that order, too, before she even starts. Between the milk arriving and the food arriving, she pulls out about a dozen little butter packets from the packet stacker tableside, with supplements from the one at the empty table behind them. "I dunno, work is fairly entertaining. Outside of that, I like to travel, meet people. Like Cynthia," the sick mother she was nursing all night, "See if there's anything I can do to help. For all I'm not the richest person in town, I sure have it better than some people. It's nice to be able to give back."

Ares has posed:
    "How altruistic." He says as he looks to her, head tilting to the side slightly. Once he's done treating his coffee, however, he'll take a sip even as she starts in on her prodigious breakfast. He'll pace himself with her eating, so he doesn't need too many refills as he watches this little person devour so much. His lip twists, "I'm afraid you perhaps share a more positive sentiment regarding humanity than I hold."
    He turns his head to the side slightly, looking out the window to the slowly growing traffic on the sidewalks as Manhattan's day begins in earnest. "But it is always interesting to meet people with different points of view. No matter how wrong." His lip twists further.

Buttercup has posed:
Buttercup peels back the foil from one of the butter packets, hardly able to help herself but idly poking the tip of her tongue into it and lapping some of it out of the small container while she listens to John's viewpoint on her altruistic lifestyle. Then there are three plates in front of her and she's splitting biscuits and buttering them up to let the sweet, sweet butterjuice sop into the already buttery dough. "Alright, I'll bite. What's your sentiment?" she wonders, using a piece of bacon to scrape up some egg and shove it into her mouth before beginning a second application of butter to the biscuits.

Ares has posed:
    Cradling his cup of coffee between both hands, John looks across the way towards her. In answer to her question he gets a small smirk, just an edged thing as if he knew better as he answers her, "A realistic one." He offers in rejoinder then lets his gaze wander towards the window. For a time he watches the ebb and flow of people on the sidewalk outside that greasy spoon. But then his attention returns towards her.
    "But it is perhaps fitting that to counter balance individuals such as myself in the world that those like you exist." He offers that small bit of insight with a nod and then lifts his cup of coffee slightly, as if offering her a mock salute.

Buttercup has posed:
Buttercup lifts up her milk glass and clinks it to the coffee mug before taking a swig, then biting into a buttery biscuit with a momentary lapse of facial discipline to mask the butterjoy she's in. "Mmgh," she clears her throat, gathering her wits and wiping some butter from the corner of her mouth and licking it off of her finger. "I guess if individuals like you didn't exist, individuals like me wouldn't have to," she grins, chomping on a rasher of bacon. "It's OK, though. It's easy to feel cynical about the world."

Ares has posed:
    A small snort slips from him as he again eyes her sidelong, shaking his head slightly. He crinkles his nose and tells her, "I've had enough experience to see the more negative aspects of humanity. I do believe that they are capable of great positive things. But only when they strive against their nature." A curious thing to say, and a curious way to phrase it.
    He finishes the last gulp of coffee and then sets the cup down with a resonant clink upon the saucer. His eyes meet hers and he tells her levelly, "Thank you for your assistance earlier, and thank you for the company." He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a wallet which he uses to toss a few bills on the tabletop in payment for their meal together.

Buttercup has posed:
Buttercup tips her head, opening her mouth in order to respond, no doubt some sort of counter-argument. Then, closing her mouth, she's quiet a moment, and when she finally does make an answer, it's in the form of a question: "They?" she wonders, simply, narrowing her eyes across the booth at her breakfasting partner, leaning forward as though trying to see whether she recognizes him or not.

Ares has posed:
    The way he nods to her, with a slight inclination to his eyebrow as if to say, 'of course,' that's all he gives to her in response to her query. But then he offers her a small smile, albeit thin as he shoulders his backpack back into place. "See you at the work site, Beej." And as easy as that he starts to walk down the aisle past the other booths, sparing a nod for the hostess as she wishes him a good day.
    Once he's out side he'll offer a small wave as he passes by, but then he's once more off on his own efforts, leaving her to reflection.