sixwordstories | (no subject)

Anson enters the diner, brushing snow off his shoulders. The place is almost deserted, most of the city being holed up at home watching the snow pile up. If not for a late meeting, Anson would be there, too. He's anxious to get home to Arthur, but with the cabs not running and another ten blocks to walk, the warm glow of the diner is too alluring to resist. He sits down at the end of the counter and strips off his gloves. He'll have a cup of coffee or two to warm himself up, then head on home.

Rupert glances over at the man as he sits down and finds himself unable to stop glancing at him over the course of the next couple minutes. There's nothing else interesting to look at and plus, he thinks the man has an interesting face. He can't say just why yet and he'd like to keep it that way for a few minutes longer; his eyes and brain are weary and have had enough of analyzing things for one day.

He catches the man's eyes once and looks away quickly, sinking a slice of lemon into his tea with a small splash. But when it happens again, he feels the need to smile, although he still can't meet his gaze. Still, he doesn't want to seem rude.

Anson noticed the stranger as soon as he sat down, of course. Kind of hard to miss him when there's only three people in the diner, one of whom is the waitress. Anson stirs his coffee, checking him out discreetly as he reaches for the cream. He's attractive, even pretty, with light grey eyes and dark brown hair that just touches the collar of his coat. The stranger glances over at Anson and their eyes meet, then he looks away quickly. Such shyness is unusual these days, especially in New York. It intrigues Anson, makes him want to know more. He catches the smile, fleeting as it is, and it emboldens him.

"Some storm, huh?" Okay, no points for originality, but the weather's always a safe place to start. "It's really coming down out there."

Rupert now lets his eyes rest comfortably on the man. He too was just about to bring up the topic of weather, although he was afraid it would make him seem like a sad and lonely person. But then he remembered that he is somewhat of a sad and lonely person, so perhaps it would have been the best way of going about things.

'Yes,' he replies with a soft Irish lilt, his voice so quiet the clink of his spoon against the cup nearly covers it completely. 'The city almost seems deserted. It's eerie.' He pauses for awhile, almost long enough to seem as if he's stopped speaking and is waiting for a response. But he starts again, hesitant. 'I've been working all day and came in here in hopes of getting some sort of human contact, but I haven't had much luck. Until just now that is.'

Anson smiles.

"I guess I fit the bill all right," he jokes, taking a sip of his coffee. He sets the cup down on the counter and holds out his hand. "I'm Anson. Anson Greene. And you sound like you're a long way from home, my friend."

Rupert slides his cup closer to the man, following shortly behind it. He grasps Anson’s warm hand with his icy cold one, shakes it and introduces himself as Rupert St John, pronouncing 'Sinjun' with a hint of an aristocratic sniff. "And don't pay much mind to that. I've moved about enough times to realise that home is where you make it. I am, however, quite new to this city. Have you lived here long?"

"Almost three years now." Anson takes another sip of his coffee and idly flips the plastic-covered menu over, perusing the specials. He's going to be here awhile, might as well fortify himself with a bowl of chowder before heading back out into the blizzard. He glances up at the pale-eyed stranger. "You said you came from work. What is it you do, Mister...Sinjun?" He smiles. "Did I say it right?"

"Just Rupert is fine." He smiles back, feeling something begin to stir within him. Rupert doesn’t need chowder to fortify himself; the man will provide the nutrition he really requires.

"I am a painter, of portraits mainly. Today I was unusally busy. I was working at a commission into the evening, until my sitter just couldn’t sit anymore." He sips his tea. "It seems either I do a great amount of work in a day or I do barely anything at all. It's an odd profession."

Anson orders the chowder and a piece of apple pie for dessert. He needs plenty of energy to keep his core temperature up out in the cold, after all.

He chuckles at Rupert's words, nodding his thanks as the waitress refills his coffee.

"Sounds like my job. I'm with Mansfield & Greene, over on 67th? We do corporate security consulting and investigations. I guess it's kinda like what they say about acting, huh? Long periods of boredom punctuated by a few seconds of excitement?" He laughs and reaches for the sugar. "Me, I'm happiest working cases. Running surveillance, doing wiretaps, that's where it's at for me. Unfortunately, I seem to spend more and more time these days stuck in the office, especially with my brother out of the country."