2012-10-25 Cupcakes at Grand Central

Regardless of the hour, Grand Central Terminal is always bustling with activity. People come and go, some happy, some sad, some just going through the motions. As the sun sets over the city that never sleeps, bright rays of golden red pierce through the terminal's large windows, casting the large American flag hanging from the ceiling and the rest of the expansive terminal in a spooky contrast that will only last so long as the rays of sun manage to enter at their near horizontal collapse into night.

Amongst the bustle, one young man sits on a bench by himself. With earbuds protecting himself from the world outside, he seems lost in thought as he watches those who come and go. However, the earbuds are little more than a shield, for there is no music playing in them. Aside from the nervous tapping of his shoe, he seems otherwise unbothered by the hustle and bustle.

Some people say that they occupy a lofty position over animals in plains and jungles. But others point out that we merely replaced caves with buildings, trees with steel, earth and grass with concrete. The jungle follows endlessly, in soul. Lunair has been shopping today, even bringing dinner to wherever she's going faithfully. It's a modest meal, tucked away in her shopping bags. She stands out a bit, for her odd, thousand yard stare. But she fits in, and might seem a little upper crust by comparison to some. She smiles politely, blankly at people in passing. She doesn't have head phones in, so the noise... the noise filters through to her.

But soon she passes by the bench. She looks curious, at the fellow who ... is he tapping to the music? Familiar somehow? But then, she's staring.

It's only a matter of time before Kwabena notices that he's being... well... stared at. A certain uncomfortableness seems to strike him, especially in the way his mis-matched eyes go from casual observance of passersby to a disquieted glare across the room. Finally, they snap over to the young lady who seems to be staring at him. One brown and one silver, his eyes lose the glowering brood only to be replaced by one of plaintive inquiry. After a few potentially awkward moments, he speaks up with an accent that is thickly African; Ghanaian, to the trained ear. "You do know it is impolite to stare."

Blink. It takes a moment. She turns a bit red. Lunair catches on. "Yes. Sorry. You looked like a friend I had lost touch with. I'm sorry." There's an apology and a faint disappointment. Perhaps she was hoping to find that friend. Her own eyes are a greenish hazel color. She bobs her head politely. "I did not mean to offend." Her speech seems a little... stiff. Almost wrong. Hard to pinpoint how exactly. She rubs the back of her head. "Um." That's awkward. "... you can have a cupcake if you want." Yes. That's how you make amends, yes?

... A cupcake?

Well, it couldn't hurt anything. Kwabena's plaintive stare slowly melts into something more humored, perhaps by Lunair's sudden and rather intense embarrassment, or the offer of a cupcake to make amends; perhaps both. He reaches up to flick the earbuds free and begins to wind them up around his index and middle finger, leaving enough slack to slip them off and into his pocket when finished.

"Sure," he answers, and scoots over to the edge of the bench, making plenty of room. "What kind of cupcake?" he asks, now watching Lunair with a certain sense of mirth.

Yes. A cupcake. She smiles faintly. Lunair shifts her bags, and pulls out a box. "There's red velvet and cream cheese, chocolate frosting on yellow, and just chocolate. You may pick." She seems fairly friendly, ish. In a really, stiff, awkward way. Did she get out much as a kid? "I really do feel a bit bad," She admits. She smiles and will sit then, keeping the box between them, so it isn't awkward. She tilts her head a little. She's definitely trying friendliness, but it's just ... off somehow. Pause. "I'm not sure what I say next exactly, but it is nice to meet you."

With a friendly sort of nod, Kwabena acknowledges her as she sits, then reaches over to lift the box lid and inspect the cupcakes inside. "I think I'll have the red velvet and cream cheese," he muses, before reaching inside and selecting the appropriate goodie.

Replacing the box lid, Kwabena then studies the girl with a sidelong glance while peeling back a bit of the paper in which the cupcake was baked. "It's the eyes, isn't it?" he asks, while shooting his eyebrows up into the air. "And no, it's not a contact lens, it is real." He smiles, humored somewhat by her awkward stiffness. However, there is something oddly familiar about it, not insomuch as if he'd seen or witnessed her specifically before, but rather, as if it were a sort of social apartness that he was only too familiar with. "I am Kwabena, Kwabena Odame. I hope you do not mind my accent, I am from Ghana." He turns and reaches out a hand, offering it to her in greeting, though in a way that almost seems instructive. Like suggesting, 'This is what you do next, you shake my hand.'

Lunair smiles faintly. "Good choice," She nods. She watches him quietly. It's an odd contrast. There's a sort of elegance, despite the oddity. It's an exercise in paradox. She takes one of the yellow and chocolate ones, watching him quietly for a moment. She hmms. "Well, it was that - and your face. It just seemed like his," She admits quietly. "That's all. I'm sorry I mistook you," She frowns. It seemed important.

She looks over quietly. Her stare is distant, the mark of - well, he's spot on. That apartness, as if she'd seen battle or something equally awful. She is at least, a gentle sort so far. "Pleased to meet you, Kwabena. I am Lunair Weir," American. Or 'no particular thing'. Or maybe she just doesn't really know. "I think it's a cool accent, actually. It's distinct." Nod. Well, it is. As far as she knows. She accepts his hand carefully. Not too bad so far. "I hope I didn't interrupt anything."

"I do my best to 'blend in'," answers Kwabena, as if to explain why his face might strike her like so many others. The head shaved bald, dark skin, the lack of any accoutrements, the plain clothes that aren't unlike what so many run of the mill New Yorkers wear... indeed, it seems he's gone to great efforts to merely blend in.

Withdrawing his hand, he begins to eat the cupcake while she speaks. He looks away, toward the rest of the terminal, and motions about with his free hand indicitavely. "The only thing you've interrupted is me, sitting here, watching the world spin by." Looking back over, he grins again. "Lunair Weir, that's an interesting name." He takes another bite of the cupcake, then makes an 'mmmmm' sound before lifting it in a mock toast to her.

"I see." She nods. "Well, you are a veritable chameleon. I just like lizards," Beam. Lunair reasons. "Sort of. A metaphorical lizard," She explains. It's an odd metaphor, but she's trying to compliment him on his blending. "In all fairness, I suspect my eyes are a bit sharper in some ways." There's a quiet uneasiness at that. She tilts her head and looks over before taking a bite. She seems glad he likes it and lifts her own cupcake back in returning the 'toast'. Hee. Once she finishes chewing, she looks thoughtful. "Do you see much interesting?" She asks. She seems almost normal when she cheers up, but not quite. She looks up to the sky a moment, thoughtful. "I usually go to fountains and gardens when I do that," She admits. "And thanks. I like yours, too. It sounds ... strong?" Yes.

"Oh, the Odame name is very strong," he answers. "But, as for Kwabena... well, that just means I was born on a Tuesday." It's not much of an education toward the culture of a Ghanaian villager, but it's enough to bring an earnest grin to his face.

Shifting, he looks back forward while resting the unfinished cupcake on his knee. "I've seen many things," he answers. "Been to many cities. Detroit, Chicago, Minneapolis, Cincinnati, Gotham..." He looks back over toward Lunair, only now, his jovial demeanor seems to have faded somewhat. "But I have to tell you, nothing is as unsettlingly fascinating as the things I have seen lately. People acting like gods and goddesses, strange old men with mysterious stories, mutants..." He lifts an eyebrow at that last one, before looking away again. "I suppose that is why I am a chameleon, as you say. I have had to blend in. To survive." As cryptic as that was, it's oddly offset by the way in which he raises the cupcake to eat; the irony of something childish and sugary next to such heavy words. "Perhaps that is what we recognize in each other," he adds, "the survival."

"I see." Lunair tilts her head. She's learning. Odame. "That must be important to you, and I appreciate you sharing it." It's a bit clumsy, but she explains it honestly. She'll likely file it away, smiling. His earnest grin seems to make her happy. She takes a bite of her cupcake and eats as he listens.

She watches him now quietly, as he answers. "You sound well traveled," She offers quietly. She seems ... reticent, quiet about her own past. But that makes her all the more happy to listen, her greenish hazel eyes intent and thoughtful. It's a calm sort of attention, appreciative and active. She furrows her eyebrows. "Yeah. I've seen it, too. It makes you feel like you're either in a dream, or ate something funny, huh?" She quirks a little smile. "I'm kind of jealous... some of them have wonderous, kind powers. And then others..." Well, herself. Her power is awful and dark and lethal. A part of her crumbled, a part has not. She furrows her eyebrows, smiling a bit less. Perhaps his words are catching. "Hopefully the cupcake can soften this a bit. But yes. I think I see what you mean now," She tilts her head. "That's ... a good way to put it. I - can tell the trust you put into that. Thank you."

"In a dream," agrees Kwabena. However, he seems to have noticed the quietness. He himself has felt much bolder lately, far more than he's ever felt before... perhaps so much that it's getting him into unnecessary trouble. "Well, trust is a fickle and difficult thing, Lunair Weir." He turns to face her directly, well at least with his head, now losing the almost whimsical demeanor he's carried only to have it replaced by something far more stark and far more real. "You don't talk about your own past much, do you?" he asks. "There's something you dislike about it, isn't there."

Lunair is impressed by his boldness, maybe even trust. Sort of. But then again, for all she knows, he could be omniscient and shoot lasers from his eyes. She watches him quietly, as he turns to face her directly. She pauses. "No. I don't. It's... nothing interesting." She'd be the queen of de nile. Her pants would literally burst into flames if such things were possible. "At least, not as far as I hear of people. So many people have awful pasts." She's not sure if hers is better or worse by comparison sometimes. She takes a deep breath. "Um. Was there something you were - curious about?"

As she speaks, Kwabena does the most curious thing; he finishes his cupcake. Yes, while looking at her with those stark, mismatched eyes, after having asked such a heavy question, he just eats the rest of his cupcake as if the sweetness belonged there. He scrunches the paper up and tosses it into a nearby waste bin, before looking back at Lunair.

And proves he is not omniscient.

"No, no," he says, suddenly lifting the weight that seemed to have fallen upon the conversation. "I suppose I was misunderstanding something."

Suddenly, Kwabena shifts, almost abruptly. "Well, Lunair Weir, it was a pleasure talking with you and I thank you for the cupcake. Unfortunately I must leave." He's halfway through standing when he stops, and turns to look at her with a quirky grin. He leans over a bit closer so that he can speak quietly.

"I have some people with awful pasts to go beat up." There's a certain charm in his eyes and the subtlest of smiles on his face, but by the tone of his voice, he absolutely, completely means it.

Whoops. The anvil of shame drops upon her. Oof. Lunair looks apologetic. And surprised. "Um. Me too. Sorry." She blushes, hunching her shoulder. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Kwabena Odame," She repeats quietly. "I hope that we do so again," She smiles at him. "And I am glad you liked it. Stay safe out there." She waves to him, her expression quietly charmed by his smile and that gaze. She, weirdly enough, accepts that he means it. "Just be careful. Some of them are very talented fighters. Still... I don't get the impression you're unaware of that," She smiles wryly. She seems to believe in him. With that, she grins.

Her last words draw a quiet and subdued laugh from him. Kwabena nods his head twice, then reaches up to tap at his temple knowingly. Then he's off, shrugging the black leather jacket tighter around his shoulders and disappearing into the crowd of passersby.