2013.03.17 - The Nerd and The Waitress

Taking a break from organizing his class notes and pondering a 'team bonding' exercise at the Xavier Institute, Doug Ramsey settles himself down at a coffee table, with a pastry, waiting for his latte to arrive. 
Cracking his knuckles, Doug logs into the free 'net, and then goes back to -work- looking up websites on where he could take the new team. Anywhere in the world, really, thanks to having Illyana aboard for the ride. Canada, Spain, Russia, Australia, Hawaii... 
... or he could just close all that and -play- MMORGs for a while. Of course, he'd have to switch to the -other- feed... but that's pretty easy. And soon enough, the computer's beeping with silly MMORG noises. 
The streets of New York are alive with revelers celebrating St. Patrick's Day, natives and tourists alike. Off work today, Fern Fiddlehead decided that she didn't want to spend the day alone, even if that means going out among strangers. She's not really the 'bar type' so has mostly been meandering around to window shop and watch everyone else have fun. 
 
She's been out a while and the cold is starting to get to her, but one only need go a few feet in the city to find somewhere to get in out of the weather. A coffee shop catches her eye, and she pulls open the door, letting herself into the crowded little shop. Immediately she unbuttons her navy blue bomber jacket, letting the warm air get in to her cold self. The coat itself isn't very festive, but her shirt beneath is green with white lettering that says 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish', and there are shamrocks drawn onto an old pair of jeans with green marker. It's passably festive, but the shirt may not have been the best choice for a girl alone in the city. At least she's at a coffee shop and not a bar. 
 
She pauses when in, stepping aside and near to Doug as she digs into her jeans and pulls out a handful of change and a couple bills. Starting to count it to make sure she can actually afford a cup of coffee, she's jostled by a self-absorbed blond on a cell phone heading out. "Umph," she grunts softly from the elbow in the ribs, as her change goes clattering to Doug's table. 
Reflexes honed by much practice dodging bullets and laser beams, Doug quickly pulls back from his table, standing up. As soon as he realizes it's just change, the young blond mutant is already gathering up change from the table. 
Offering a wry grin, body language already shifting from distractedly focused on the game to full attentiveness for the moment on the woman across from him, Doug bows just a bit gallantly, the coins proffered to her. "Here you go, miss," Doug offers, momentarily before the computer makes a -fwooooop- noise. 
"Aw damn, I died," Doug sighs. "Oh well..." A few taps, and the MMORG is killed, the screen switching back to the last thing he was looking up before the game - scenic, lovely COLD Canada. 
"I'm so sorry," Fern gasps, trying to gather up change as well, bumping hands with Doug as she goes for the same coins and withdrawing her quickly. She pauses, then holds her hand out to accept the change offered. "Thank you," she says softly, before she frowns and glances to the computer. "Aw, I'm sorry," she repeats, knowing what a noise like that usually means. "I hope that wasn't something important you were in the middle of." 
 
Her head tilts as she focuses on Doug's face, an apologetic look on her face. Everything about her speaks of the sincerity of her apology, something not quite common in New York. She also just generally doesn't look quite as 'It's St. Patrick's Day Happy' as most of those out and about do. 
"Well, it's only a game," Doug offers a grin. "No worries." Tilting his head as he reads the sincerity of her apology, as well as the mood, Doug tilts his head. "Something the matter?" he asks, as he considers. "It's all right. Have a seat, if you like." 
Head turns as his number's called, and Doug excuses himself for a minute to pick up his latte. "Sorry about that," the young man says as he returns with his coffee. "You okay?" 
There's a tentative smile in return, apologetic look shifting to one of gratitude at he actually asks about her well being instead of responding with the anger she half expects. "No.. it's just... no, it's nothing." She waffles her answer for a moment before deciding on the simplest course. 
 
Fern's head turns as Doug's does, though she doesn't know that's his number until he moves off. She considers the invitation as he goes to collect his drink, and she gets back to the quick count of her resources. Short. Blue eyes glance to the window, then to Doug over at the counter. Back out into the cold because she can't afford a cup of coffee, or talk to a stranger and buy a little warm time? 
 
By the time Doug returns Fern's smile is in place, her talent for faking it coming to the fore to avoid being cold. And alone. "It's ok," she says, with a light wave of her hand to dismiss the apology. "Yeah, I'm good. If you really wouldn't mind...?" The question tapers off as she glances to the other chair at the table. 
Unfortunately for Fern, Doug's talent extends to body language and the -faking- it is seen clearly, although the tone indicates she really wouldn't mind staying. Tilting his head, Doug nods, motioning towards the chair. "It's all right. If you're having troubles...?" The cup of coffee is set in front of Fern as she's taking her seat. "Have some mocha latte. It's on me," he says, offering a grin. "I'll just order another one. You seem like you could use one." 
As soon as he repeats the invitation Fern is dropping to sit, shrugging her coat off her shoulders, but keeping her arms in the sleeves as she wraps it around her. "Oh wow," she says, red brows arching in surprise, "That's so nice of you. I really couldn't take your coffee." 
 
His grin brings more of an honesty to her own smile as she studies his face for a beat. She could actually use it, though, and she has a weakness for mocha latte, something she seldom splurges on. 
 
"Tell ya what," comes a counter-offer, "I'll let you treat for the coffee if you come to the restaurant where I work sometime and let me treat you to some homemade cannoli." Because yes, she's letting him treat, she's not all but destitute and grateful for the kindness. 
"It's all right," Doug returns with a smile. It -was- a bit easier to maintain his own smile now that Fern was showing a more -natural- body language about her. "You just seemed to need a coffee." There's a tilt of his head. "Well, it's not necessary, but... all right, I'll take it. Especially if the cannoli's good." Flashing a warmer smile, Doug motions towards the pastry on the table. "Help yourself to some of that, if you like, I'm going to order another latte. Keep an eye on my computer, will you?" Maybe just a bit -trusting-, that young man, or maybe he has a good read off her body language as to what sort of mood she's in. 
"Best cannoli you've ever had," comes the easy promise from the young woman as she hugs her coat around her middle. Fern's eyes hold for a moment more as Doug's smile warms, before dropping to the pastry then flicking to the computer. The circuit completes as she looks back to Doug, nodding, "I will." She's possibly one of the least dishonest looking people in the coffee shop, but still, sometimes the innocent looking ones turn out to be the dangerous ones. Luckily for Doug, Fern isn't one of those people. 
The coffee ordered, Doug slides back into his seat, motioning towards the computer. "Just looking through things for a field trip for a class," the young blonde grins. Really young-looking for a teacher, isn't he? And he knows it, by the sheepish abashed smile he offers back. "It's more of a field instructor thing." He shifts to close his computer - as enthused as he is about gaming, there was something called -manners- that applied. 
As soon as the laptop is closed, Doug tucks it away, glancing back at Fern. "So, uh, everything all right?" A sympathetic look is offered, as well as a cool language going 'hey, whatever you want to do, I'm easy.' 
While Doug was back up at the counter, Fern couldn't help her eyes straying to the computer, going as far as to lean so she can see the site about Canada that he's left up. She straightens quickly with his return, blushing lightly at having been caught, one hand raising to hastily flip a lock of hair out of her eyes. "You're a teacher?" She gives him a quick once over again, judging him not too far from her own age but she doesn't question that part of it. 
 
His question again sobers her slightly, and she stops hugging herself to let her hands come up and wrap around the drink he gave her. Slender shoulders shrug, a lift of green, "Just... parted ways with a friend recently." Her eyes lift and the smile is forced back, looking natural to anyone less perceptive. "Just one of those things, ya know?" 
"Not exactly. Field instructor's more like it," laughs Doug. "I guess you could say I'm more like a career counselor, too, if you want to put it that way. Working at the Xavier Institute."
Tilting his head, Doug frowns at the forced smile. "Didn't go well, did it?" he says sympathetically. "What happened? These things rarely are 'one of those things', especially if you're not happy."
For a moment Fern's eyes moisten as the smile fades, the concern of this stranger unexpected, but she takes a quick breath and shakes her head. "It's so complicated, I'm not even sure," she admits. 
 
She brings the cup to her lips for a drink, pausing first to blow lightly on the surface, eyes lowered to the task. As she sets it back on the table, keeping both hands around the warmth, she looks up again, her personal matter tucked down and firmly put out of mind. "I've never heard of that, is it in the city? The Xavier Institute," she muses, as if testing the words. 
A smile of sympathy, and Doug reaches out to pat Fern on the shoulder once, something not too -invasive-, but at the same time friendly enough and nothing more. And that's that, as the young man wasn't going to press further. "Yeah." No real sense of saying 'it's okay', since it clearly -wasn't- okay, but at least Doug could convey some empathy in that move. 
Doug's number is called, and he glances down. "Well, the Institute's out by Westchester. It's pretty much a school for gifted people." The young mutant smiles as he gets up, excuses himself to get his coffee, and pushes the untouched pastry forward. 
As soon as he returns and seats himself once again, Doug takes a sip, before commenting, "You're a waitress?" 
Fern was brought up in a simple household where no one was overly reserved with their affection. She has found precious little of that in New York, people more often on their guard than not, touches shied away from. So the simple gesture brings her natural smile out, open and warm. 
 
Again, her brows arch at the term 'gifted', but she doesn't question it as he goes for his second coffee. She turns to watch him walk away, but by the time he returns there is clear evidence that she's given in to temptation by the bite missing from the pastry. She's just swallowing as he sits, and she grins, looking a bit sheepish. "That's really good," she declares softly, pointing to it. "You should try it." 
 
Her humor only grows a bit at his question and she shakes her head. "I am not," she says with mock indignance. "I just happen to have a steady gig playing the part of a waitress on a regular enough basis to get my bills paid. I'm an actress." This last is almost comically grand, though still at low volume. 
"Oh, it's all right," Doug comments as he settles back in for his coffee. "I'll tell you what..." he says as he takes the pastry, tears it in half, and offers her the half with the bite. "You can take half, I'll eat the other half." 
Leaning back to take a bite of his half of the pastry, Doug grins, half-a-sticky smear on his face. "An actress?" And no, Doug wasn't doing much to hide his surprise here, because he regards Fern again. "Playing what? Broadway? Under what stage name?" There's a brief pause as Doug takes a sip of his drink, before he coughs. "Oh. Sorry, I haven't introduced myself yet, and I should before asking who you play. The name's Ramsey. Doug Ramsey." Did he actually reference James Bond? Actually, yes, yes he did, judging by the way he straightened up and affected a formal look. 
Fern accepts her half with one finger and her thumb, pinching it for minimal sticky transference. "Thank you." She immediately takes another bite, closing her eyes for a second in a moment of sugary bliss before her focus is back on Doug. The introduction draws a soft laugh from her and her reply comes with a casual tease. "It's nice to meet you, Ramsey Doug Ramsey. I'm Fern Fiddlehead." 
 
She motions toward the side of her lips, mirroring where Doug has that sugary decoration. "You've got a little.... just there...." She goes on, watching to make sure he gets the spot, "I've done some off... off..." her voice drops to a whisper, "off, off, off..." and raises again, "Broadway." She clears her throat, then takes a sip of coffee. 
Slightly deflated at the way the little pop culture reference had been turned around, Doug tilts his head. "That's... a stage name?" he asks, before he reaches for a napkin, and dabs at the indicated spot. "Because either that's -really- off Broadway, or..." He pauses, tilting his head trying to get a read off whether she was perfectly serious about that name. 
Fern tilts her head, studying Doug's handiwork openly, then nods her satisfaction that he tidied up well. "Nope, that's my name. Stage names are out. Have been since John Mellancamp." She waves the last bit of pastry toward him, "One day you'll see my name up in lights on Broadway. They just might need a few more lights for it." 
"John Cougar Mellancamp," Doug automatically expands, before coughing. "Well, Fiddlehead is..." The young mutant looks for a word. "... unique." The smile on his face... well, Doug -knows- it's not quite sincere, and is offering it up as a part apology as well, judging by his sheepish body language. 
"Well, which off-Broadway production are you working on? Little Shop of Horrors?" the blonde inquires as he drinks his coffee, and eats his pastry just a bit more carefully. 
"Exactly," she nods to his display of 80's music trivia talent. A frown is attempted but it comes out more a squint. "Not everyone can have an easy name like Doug Ramsey." There's a put-upon huff to her tone that doesn't match the gleam in her eyes. 
 
One red brow quirks and Fern looks amused. A plant joke to poke at her name? Sharp. "I did some theater back home, and since I've been here there's been a lot of auditions and a short lived production of A Hat Full Of Rain. I do have a callback for a part in this summer's Shakespeare In The Park," she adds brightly. 
"Douglas Aaron Ramsey," Doug intones, in much the manner of a person being scolded. "I like it, though. Which is good, because I'd hate to imagine what happens if you hate the name you're born with. Adopt a symbol instead for a name?" 
Wrinkling his nose, Doug looks just a wee bit disappointed at not knowing any of the names being brought up, with the exception of Shakespeare, which he latches onto with the desperation of a man lacking water in an cultural desert. "Oh good, Shakespeare in the Park. Which part? For that matter, which play? Don't they usually have several different Shakespeare plays acted out? You getting multiple roles?" 
Fern look at Doug thoughtfully as she repeats his name, "Douglas Aaron Ramsey." She considers, then nods, "It suits you. I approve." Surely he will sleep better tonight now. "You could be like Prince and not stick with any of your names, not even the symbol. I'm perfectly happy with my name." 
 
She pops her last bite of the pastry into her mouth, hand poised as she chews and swallows. Then, absently, she licks the lingering icing off first her finger then her thumb. Ok, not germ-phobic. 
 
"I tried out for two of the plays they'll be doing, but my callback is for A Midsummer Night's Dream. I'm hoping to get one of the fairy parts." 
 
She picks up her napkin and hastily wipes her hands, then rests her elbows on the table, leaning forward to peer at Doug. "What sort of careers do you council kids to go for?
"I'm glad you approve," Doug grins, half ironically and half sincerely. Doing the same with his pastry, as apparently it -is- perfectly okay to do what she does, Doug licks off the last bit of sugar before wiping his hands with the napkin, and taking a swig of coffee. "You'd definitely look the part," the young man says, a smile crossing his face as he idly pictures the possible roles, before blinking as Fern leans forward. 
"Oh, uh... a lot of things, it depends on what suits them," Doug replies. "I don't much see the point of making them fit society as much as making sure society fits -them-." Laura, for example? Let's not go there.
Briefly, color lightly tints Fern's cheeks again at what she considers a nice compliment. "That must be satisfying. You're helping to shape the next generation of the world." She smirks, "And I'm still playing pretend." 
 
One hand comes up to support her chin as she leans. "And what kind of field trip to Canada are you planning? Won't the kids all need passports?" She's never been, and hasn't paid a lot of attention to the law changes about what's needed to cross the Canadian border. It's not really on her radar but now that it's occurred to her it's worth a thought. 
"Well, it's not -playing- pretend as much as it's... enlightening minds," Doug offers with a smile. "There's something to be said about getting people excited for -other- worlds too, because it'll lead them to explore this one more." 
Leaning forward, Doug grins. "Well, yeah they'll need passports, but... well, a lot of them have already come a long way to get here. And besides, a little camping fun won't hurt. Teach them to work together." 
Fern looks clearly pleased and doesn't hesitate to say as much. "That's about the nicest way that anyone has ever put it. Thank you." Despite it being a fairly compact table, she doesn't move back as Doug leans forward as well, comfortable enough to not give it much thought. "Gonna do the whole 'trust fall' thing?" She can't help but smirk, having seen a fair share of the videos of trust falls gone wrong. 
"No," Doug says, a wry half-grin crossing his face. "I don't think they trust each other -quite- that much." It wouldn't work. "Better to just let them work together towards a common goal for once, and see how they like working in groups. You can sort out people pretty quickly - the natural leaders, the bossy ones, the loners, the pain-in-the-asses." 
Leaning back slightly so that he can get his coffee and sip, Doug quirks an eyebrow. "Where do you work at in between acting jobs?" he asks. "Because I think you mentioned a cannoli...?" 
It's right there staring her in the face and Fern certainly can't resist another friendly tease, "What category do you fall into?" The reminder about the cannoli, brings a soft gasp, and she immediately straightens, hands dipping into her coat pockets and emerging with various scraps of papers. A quick inspection singles one out, the rest are stuffed away again, and Fern offers out the card to Doug. "Anita Bella, it's the best Italian food in Brooklyn." 
"I'm... I guess, the nerd," Doug grins, before he pulls back at the gasp. Watching the scrambling with wide eyes, the blond mutant blinks, before he takes the card, and inspects it. "Italian food?" he asks, glancing back at Fern's hair. "Not a family business, I take it. Or at least, not yours." 
Canting his head slightly, Doug wrinkles his head. "Say, when you mentioned being an actress, does that mean you came in from out of town?" 
"And the nerds shall inherit the Earth," Fern says absently, repeating something she heard somewhere. She grins, shaking her head, red strands shifting, "Not my family, no, but it is a family business. Julius and Anita Berg are the owners. Best bosses ever." There's genuine fondness in her voice for them. "All the recipes are from Anita's family, and everything is fresh. She even makes rosemary bread a few times a week." 
 
Another sip is taken from the rapidly cooling (and disappearing) coffee and this time a nod comes. "I do come from out of town. You couldn't tell I wasn't a native New Yorker? I must be getting better." There's an exaggerated pride in this, clearly a joke. 
"I honestly can't tell," Doug smiles. "For me, everyone speaks the same. Just in different ways." 
Tilting his head as he finishes his coffee, Doug glances up at the clock, and winces. "I've got to go. I'll take you up on cannoli at..." He glances at the card quickly. "Anita Bella. I don't know when. Maybe I'll bring the whole class." A smile, then, as Doug gathers up his computer. "I hope things'll get better for you soon. Enjoy the rest of your day!" 
Category:Log