Owner	Pose
Carrie Kelley	Carrie Kelley finished rehearsal, gathering up her things in her backback and slinging it over one shoulder as she makes her way out. She's the understudy for Viola in Twelfth Night, a lead part but she's still only the back-up, which means she'll perform mostly only for the matinee shows and leave the heavy lifting to the main lead, a girl named Marjorie Keane. More conventionally pretty, maybe, but Carrie thinks her androgynous charms would be better suited for the part. Ah, well, whatever. Probably only cause Marjorie was a senior and, despite being in school for six years, Carrie was still technically only a junior. That's where you ended up when you had to get part time jobs to pay your tuition and didn't have a rich daddy to do it for you. She has on a green khaki jacket and has her short blonde hair tucked up under a stocking cap. She's slender built and quick on her feet, her hands tucked in her pocket. She walks a little more boldly than a young woman alone probably should in Gotham, late at night, but then she could handle herself better than most. Maybe she even invited a little bit of trouble. Might take her mind off her ambivalence about school. She was getting hungry, though, and did not relish the idea of trying to eat the cold pizza in her fridge from two days ago.
Harper Row	Ms. Row is on the prowl. Back to haunt her old stomping grounds, in a general sense. Her brother has his eye on higher and more expensive learning. And it was only natural that his protective older Sis would want to scope the grounds and poke her nose into things he seemed to be interested in. It had been what hooked her years ago into also being a fan of KarateKay, after repeated viewings, against her better judgement. Her brother has gone to hang with friends, which has left her to put her extra time to checking out culturally uplifting events. It was the proximity, she'd profess. The rafters, and all those electrical staging and rigging going on had absolutely done a KarateKick to her brain. What it must be like, during a full show, the organization and orchestration of helpers doing technical stuff...it had grabbed her by the spine and given it a shake. But there's another reason to have shook her, as the kids' say. Because spotlights and stages tend to single out certain souls. And now, by Glob, she's actually tailing one such. And she's got post-it notes of excuses plastered to the inside of her skull. Footsteps behind Carrie as another individual is taking the same route. Her footfalls coming faster to try and close the distance on such a bold stride. "Sweet baby jebus..." she mutters, because this girl in front of her must do cardio or crossfit. Her sly way of stealing a march on the actress not coming off slick with the way her sneakers have to really pick up the pace to catch up. With some frustration, she reaches up to rake at her temples and faux-hawk, flustered and not nearly as cool as a cucumber. Her shoulders hunch under her leather jacket as the few streetlights glint off the buttons, chain and piercings that dot parts of her facial real estate. Gotta be careful not to twist an ankle on these Gotham streets. She's been away too long. Huffing along like a tourist. "...What means this here lady...left no rings in her...and stuff." She butchers part of the play's monologue.
Carrie Kelley	Carrie Kelley hears the fragment of the bard's work and turns to look over her shoulder at Harper coming up behind her. She's got a piercing of her own, a septum ring that sparkles silver in the streetlights and her stoic face breaks into a bit of a grin. Dyed hair, piercings, this was one of her tribe, at the very least. "Don't wear yourself out, there's still a big hill up ahead," she says. She slows her own pace a little bit, "Here, I'll keep you company, then you won't feel so rushed," she says. "There's an all night noodle place up on the Hill, too. I was thinking about getting some pho. Maybe some pho you, too?" she says. Okay, that pun was terrible but she does have dimples, so maybe she can get away with it?
Harper Row	Harper bulldogs her lower jar for a sec, her lower pearly whites flashing as she overdoes it on how hard she's working to catch up. She pumps her arms like a children Show's mascot for extra marks until she can stride beside. For some reason, the blue-haired gal is a bit pleasantly taken aback with the response she gets. Gleefully surprised, which she tries to umbrella with a demeanor that she tries to appear ~less so~. She's tickled all the same as she tries to slouch into being too cool for school. Carrie definitely can get away with this, with gusto. Harper's eyes slide side-long to Carrie to catch her eye, and she grins wryly. "Pho sho. I could definitely canoodle some noodles." She adds a nod and clomps along in her boots. "I guess we don't need to race after all. But yeah, that sounds great. If the hill doesn't kickstart the appetite, I'm sure it'll pre-burn the calories or serve as a pitstop." Harper casts her head over her shoulder briefly, noting where she's left her bike in her head for later. She clucks her tongue. "My bro is into your Show." She shrugs, as if this can get in front of some things. "Hey, major props for the Show. And any place open evenings in this city. Right?"
Carrie Kelley	"Isn't canoodling like smooching? If you're going to make out with a bowl of noodles, I am definitely paying, it's only fair. I'm an actress, so I respect an artist at work." She ducks her head a bit, "Thanks, although I'm only barely in the show. I'm basically the emergency back up in case the lead gets food poisoning or catches something from her promiscuous fratboy boyfriend," she says, then winces, "Ugh, that sounds catty. I should be supportive of my fellow artist. But she really is just a rich bitch," she shrugs. "Here, link arms with me, we'll help each other up the hill. Make a pact to drag the other to the top if they fall," she says. "I like night time in Gotham myself. It sucks that it's, y'know, incredibly dangerous most of the time."
Harper Row	Harper chews on her bottom lip, tugging at a ring, pinching metal between enamel as she digests some fleeting thoughts. The piercing pops free. "Mmm...would be a shame if the lead couldn't perform. Quite a pickle." Her delivery is a bit deadpan, purposely void of warmth. Like a villain might intone while considering a scheme. She blinks. Her brain plays catchup and the wry grin resurfaces from the dark side. Harper's arm moves to hook up with Carrie's. "This is more binding than a pinkie swear, just warning you. But then, that's like me preaching to choir. You...uh...ever been around the Barrens? Where'd you hang your skates?" Okay, Harper, cycle to a lower gear, and stop being so nosey. Too late. "Gawd, if you let me talk about what I think about monocle wearing folk and what they get up to in this town, we'll need more than 1 round of noodles. I will tangle them around my tongue three times over as I froth at the mouth. It'll be embarassing, you'll call up the whitecoats from the Ark, just truely terrible. So don't worry about casting some shade at the high society. You're a better girl than I." Harper licks the corners of her mouth and finds a stride to match. "Night time can be the best time, especially from a high vantage, when everything is laid out like one of your stages."
Carrie Kelley	Carrie Kelley listens to the vaguely sinister pitch in regards to the lead of the play, "Believe me, I've thought about slipping some laxative into her Starbucks, both to get a better chance on stage and for the sheer satisfaction of knowing that she's frothier than a frappe in the theatre department's extremely sub-par backstage toilets," she says. "Do people really wear monocles? It always seemed like a terrible idea. Just wear glasses. Even if you have different prescriptions. That's just a balancing act you don't need, the nose and the ear supports are, like, so useful and you have the bonus of not looking like a villain from a silent film," she says. "I moved around a lot. Chelsea, mostly, but we weren't that far from the Barrens, sometimes. I got to go suburb for a little while as a teenager, but I always felt like a weird alien amongst them. Like Mean Girls except I ended up getting suspended for punching the queen bee in the throat with my physics book," she grins. The pair is finally almost to the top of the steep hill, "I'm going to take you up on seeing you do tongue tricks with your noodles. You can't go back on that now."
Harper Row	Harper's face winces and her lips purse while she tries not to giggle-snort too loudly. Such a vivid description has delighted her imagination. "Right?" This in comment to the challenging glasswear. "Dressing like penguins, walking like gazelles, talking like seagulls." A low whistle, as her brain has to tack to a different scenario in her head of Carrie going KarataKai on someone's deserving throat. Clearly she would have wanted to see it happen if not offer forth the text book herself. She's got a bias. Near the top of the hill, Harper side-eyes again, her mouth having blustered and made bets she'll have to defend. Again. "I'm a girl of her word when it matters." she pushes out her chest. What comes next is a ridiculous pantomime, ignorant of theatre warm-ups, and sounding like a zebra whinnying as she does fake exercises with her pierced tongue. Making each cheek bulge before curling and flicking. Okay, it's just for a few seconds. "Warm up. I'm a professional. I don't do cherry stems neither, none of those knots. Nah, the secret to tongue tricks is picking locks. Start with bike locks and then move up to handcuffs." She doesn't blow a raspberry at Carrie, but she does offer her a silly flick-flick of tongue-stud. Maybe joking. Maybe not.
Carrie Kelley	Carrie Kelley opens the door to the noodle shop, letting the warm, steamy interior blow over her face. It's a noodle shop after all, 24/7 pots boiling, eggs cooking, noodles dished out. It's late enough that there are only a few other patrons and Carrie leads the way over to one of the corner booths, slipping into a seat and inviting Harper to sit across from her. "I have to admit it, I'm impressed. You have to teach me the unlocking thing. I can't say I get handcuffed that often, but I also can't say it's never happened and not always by people, like, I want it to happen to," she says, then realizes she's kind of breaking kayfabe. Something about Harper makes her feel at ease, casual, even though it's still a new connection. "I'm already dutifully impressed, though. You can be my tongue-fu master. Teach me your ways," she says, pressing her palms together and giving a playful little half bow where she sits. She pulls off her hat, letting her blonde hair spilled out, dark at the roots and a little long in the back. It might be a mullet, by some definitions. She doesn't mind. "So, like...are you in school?"
Harper Row	One of Harper's eyebrows raise a teensy bit. There's some choice comments in there that deserve pouring over and smoothing flat. She's been wrong footed in the best way for a lot of this social interaction. Stuff going under the radar that's messing with her sensor suite. It is not boring. It is full of stuff that hits her right in the OCD. A terrier with its teeth sunk into a bone. It's hard to keep her interest in check and not go detective birdbrain. "Secret of Iron Tongue was within you all along." she intones with mock gravitas and takes her seat. She can't help but put a little flourish into making her grip reverse the chair so she can sit astride like a truth-spewing Teacher who is edgy as F. The kind where you can fold your forearms over, and tilt a cap backwards if she wore one. Gawd, the question sort of pins her in place like she's on a dissection tray. She tilts her head to the side so her hair falls over one side of her face to admit the truth. "Nah." She sucks in air. "School and me parted ways after Gotham High. I've been flirting with a less regimented course schedule that allows for earning the dollah dollah bills, and not cut completely into my nightlife. I'm secretly a kick ass lead singer in a Punk band, see." she adds, "I wish. I'm mostly into tech and software. I suppose in another life I'd have already graduated with my Engineering degree, and me being the obstinate type rules-adverse contrary type, I gotta do it the worst possible way. I gotta do it myyyyy waaaaay." She winks. "Are you majoring in the Arts? ~You wanna be a movie star, and live large? A big house, five cars, you're in chaaaarge?~"
Carrie Kelley	Carrie Kelley grins, "And hear I thought you were flirting with me,' she teases. "Now I'm jealous of your less regimented course schedule. What does it have that I don't?" "No, no, I totally get it, I've been...I still want to act, I still want to write, I still want to do what I want to do, but there are other opportunities and distractions here in the world and it's hard to just...sink into that stuff. Like, the other students just seem like college is the whole world for them and they don't even notice the rest of Gotham? Or maybe they just don't wanna deal with it, cause it isn't always pretty or nice or easy. Gotham's messy, but so am I, so I guess I belong here," she says with a shrug. She blinks when hearing about Harper's specialties, "Dang, so you're like, smart smart and not just a humanities softbrain skating by reading dead people's words out loud. Cool cool," she jokes. "Nah, I don't wanna be a movie star, not in the...I'd be more like a character actor, I think. I wanna wear weird wigs and talk in funny accents. Like, movies, sure, but independent movies, I don't think I'd be...I'm not suited for Hollywood block busters. My tits are way too small for one.>"
Harper Row	Harper opens her mouth to peanut gallery comment to something in regards to how messy Carrie may appear. It's on the tip of her tongue like an invisible adornment. It hangs there briefly and she pulls back, her tongue curling as she continues to listen to her fellow Noodle enjoyer. Her fingers however do scritch along the enamel of the chair she supports herself against. The chipped nails protruding from her fingerless gloves drag and dab. Like she's doing some stenography on a keyboard you can't see. Her tongue tents the side of one cheek again and her shoulders hunch up and roll back. "Jeez, now I wish I was sharing your course load." She does a bit of whirly abracadabra with one hand, fingers spooling. "If I was really smart, I'd be enrolled, like you, rather than finding out the best way not to get road rash. Or...or! Or how fast you can get out of handcuffs upside down. Listen...Oh kindred spirit, OMG, I wish I'd run into you earlier." Harper sits up, smacking the side of her temple with a palm. "Oh. My. God. You. You! You'd have been so choice for some advice on how to be all character actor-y. Weird wigs and funny sounding words? And it would be messy.... reaaaaal messy. But for a good cause." Harper is starting at the end, trying to sell something she hasn't even explained yet. She seems to catch onto this critical error and scooches her chair closer, rests a hand down on the table opposite your own. "You can act." Duh. "You can become someone else and convince them you're someone else." Again, stating but not getting to the point. "Your tits are great." "That part that people don't wanna see or deal with? Something here, something important. Wanna get messy?"
Carrie Kelley	Carrie Kelley takes a sip of the tea that they're offered first, a fragrant home-brewed thing that washes her face in more steam. She waves a hand in the air dismissively at some of it, "Never imitate me. I am a prodigy of bad judgment. A guru of mistakes. I have done more dumb things before noon than most people do all year," she says. "I can still put you in lots of wigs and teach you how to do accents. That's the fun part of all this stuff. It's the memorizing and the make-up and the oh god I have to kiss up to this person even though they're obviously phoning it in but they have say on who gets cast and I can't miss getting a part in a play this season or I'll never get enough credits to become a 'senior'," she says, making quote marks in the air. At the last, she sits up a little straighter and grins, "There is no way you can check out my tits under this coat. Hell, even in my shirt," she says. Still, she shrugs off the coat, leaving her in an emerald button down with a chain hanging down into it from where it's around her throat, a pendant of a bird on the end of it nestled in the relatively minimal cleavage she has. She undoes an extra button, though.