Midnight At The Lost And Found

[BEATE-MAREN McCANN]

Date: December 5th 2008
Tag(s): Elliot Bridges

Having been on a mission, and arriving back in the US a mere hour or two ago, Bea found herself swept up in that odd vortex of tired wakefulness that could only really be effectively dealt with by staying up, waiting to lie down when you finally felt ready to fall down. The body said sleep, go to sleep, but the brain was still as wired as it had been earlier on, and hence the need to do something, anything, to occupy herself. Having dumped the equipment back at Headquarters and changed briefly, she headed into town, and to one of those all-night diners that you would never, ever find in Northern Ireland. Trenton was large, and so there were a few such establishments, but the one nearest to the BPRD was set back from the road slightly, down a side alley whose quota of dumpsters made it harder to spot the entrance to ‘Bugsy’s’, as the place was called. If she had to hazard a guess, she’d put money on the fact that she wasn’t the only employee to frequent this establishment – not that there was anything in particular to recommend it, but convenience and a need to get out produced a powerful impetus in most agents; it wasn’t as if the warder ever seemed to leave anyhow (and once this thought skittered through her head, she realised just how odd that fact was . . .).

The sign in the window was starting to blink on and off on odd letters, the neon flashing gaudily through the blinds in order to attempt to lure all the night-wanderers in to refuel and rest. The diner itself was filled only with silence at this hour of the night, or the morning, depending on which term was preferred. The entire place was presided over by one waitress who looked dead on her feet, propped up in a chair and gazing off into space, and a chef who grumbled about some apparently unsatisfactory sports results he was watching on the small wall-mounted television. The booths were made up of garish turquoise pleather seating and silver tables with deep groves scored into them from years of use. When she’d walked in and slid into one of the booths, the server had actually managed to get herself over to the corner speedily, armed with a menu and a suddenly chipper attitude. Bea had ordered a tea - the woman hadn’t understood her through the haze of her accent at first, leading to a careful enunciation on the Agent’s part that made her feel patronising despite its necessity - and snagged a slightly crumpled copy of yesterday's Times of Trenton to read now that she had the chance. The liquid contained in the mug (chipped, almost imperceptibly, on a small section of the lip Bea noted with a flicker of disdain) was an almost nutty shade of brown, the steam that billowed upwards dancing as she absently poured in sugar to counteract the strength of the taste – builder’s tea, really.

The sharp noise of the buzzer harshly sounded to denote the entrance of another patron and made her jump just a little; however, Bea was glad in a way that she had glanced upwards, because this was an apparent stranger whose profile tweaked at her memory but whose details were not forthcoming. Bea brushed her fringe out of her eyes – she was utterly positive that she knew those features – but staring at them was not making the details any more forthcoming. More to the point, it was rude, and so she tried to once more immerse herself in the minute doings of this little slice of New Jersey.

Thread Inspiration Song: Augustana - Boston

[ELLIOT BRIDGES]

He sits alone at a table in a small cafe
Drowning his tears in a bottomless cup of coffee

The days and nights had all began to roll into one for Elliot. Tonight was no different. It was easily midnight by the time had finished sifting through the stack of papers for his classes and risen from his desk. With an eight am class looming the next morning, it seemed hardly worth it going home to sleep, only to get up, shower and head back into work in around six hours time. It would most likely be another shower in the university facilities, so much so that he'd taken to keeping several sets of clothes (lack luster white shirts and brown trousers as per) and towels in his office. He pulled his tweed jacket off the back of his chair and snatched a rather heavy looking text book from the shelf. The time between teaching classes and marking parkers were usually filled with studying for another degree.

The campus was quiet and still when he left, making for a peaceful walk and he often longed during the day for those few minutes alone in the cool crisp air, unburdened by work of the day, before the work of the night. He made light work of the distance between the university and his typical midnight haunts, his long legs covering the ground with ease and little exertion. The walk was over too quick tonight for his liking and he pushed on, covering another few blocks until the dim yellow glow of the street lights. All night diners were his savior. He loved nothing more than to sit in the usually empty diners with a hot cup of coffee. The last almost eight years of his life had been fueled by the stuff, almost to a point where he couldn't remember the last decaffeinated drink he'd had. It brought a smile to his face when his friends pointed out that if they cut him, he'd more than likely bleed coffee rather than blood.

Bugsy's wasn't one of this usual places to spend the night but the place had it's charm. The neon sign was partly obscured by dumpsters in the alleyway it was situated making it quite hard to see if you didn't know where to look which was one of the reasons he liked it. Tucked off the main streets, it was usually empty at this time of night where he could drink and read in peace. He pushed the door open as gently as he could, hoping not to make too much noise but was hampered by the buzzer. He smiled to the waitress as she looked over at him, almost apologetically for causing a noise at this time of night. "Could I get a black coffee please? Expresso if you can?" Elliot asked, seemingly a little nervous like he did not want to bother the waitress and cook to actually do any work this late on. In her fairly chipper manner, she was more than happy to get him a coffee and set about stoking the coffee pot in the corner. The brew was thick and black - so much so you could probably use it to tar roads but that matter little to him. Coffee was coffee and the darker the better. The expression was 'once you go black, you never go back' but he feared the phrase leant itself to more than coffee.

Turning to pick a booth, Elliot's dull hazel gaze met that of Beate as she stared at him from her seat, a puzzled look in her eyes like she knew him from somewhere and couldn't quite place him. With a tendency to remember everything he'd ever seen or read, he placed her easily in his mind, recalling the loud, thick irish voice that had broken his concentrating in the library in New York only a few days earlier. On loan to the university of New Jersey for a few months lecturing, he relished the time he got to spend back in New York but the distractions, especially in such a quiet place like a library, often bittered the sweet reprise. He assumed she hadn't quite placed him as she turned back to her newspaper. He couldn't quite understand why as he was aware he was quite distinguishable, towering at 6'3 and usually wearing an old tweed jacket. The jacket itself was probably older than him, at a mere 26. He picked a booth two up from Beate. His book make a light thud as he placed it on the table, followed by the painful thud of his knees hitting the underside of the table top as he sat down.

ooc. I'm sorry it turned out so big. I got carried away.
wordcount. too many.
tags. Bea <3
muse. so excited to thread with you.

[THE STAFF]

Closed out of respect of Sue's absence.
Closed on: 2011 June 20 by The Staff