Fella Like You [Frost]

[Winston] A mild autumn, Winston had always (pessimistically) predicted, meant a particularly harsh winter was sure to be just around the bend. This year was as fine an example of this as any other. The park wasn't ferociously populated tonight, it wasn't a strong season for tourism (except for Sundays or Mondays, if a Bears game was at home stadium), but there were a few more joggers on paths and smatterings of couples lingering in the more open, public areas of the park where they would be safe from the rampant crime that was only barely tucked under the rug for such groomed and well-presented parts of the city. The weather was comfortable, with only a few clouds floating lazily across the sky, never fully obscuring the half-moon, with the temperatures mild enough for a long sleeved shirt or sweater, no need for a real jacket just yet.

But then, when it came to Winston, it didn't quite matter what you were supposed to wear for the season, he never followed those guidelines.

For instance: tonight the shabby young man was dressed in a pair of jeans with dark brown stains splattered throughout the material and rips in the knees, cuffs all frayed from dragging on the ground. His shirt was entirely too snug, even on his underfed and willowy frame, and a violent shade of neon pink. His hair was growing out from being shaved off, thick and rusty brown and quite unruly, to match the facial hair that had gone unshaven for weeks. He was sitting on a park bench with a hat upturned at his bare feet and a cardboard sign in his lap that read--
I promise not to buy cocaine, but that doesn't mean I won't buy crack. Sorry Whitney.
--in particularly scratchy handwriting.

His head was lolled backward so that his jugular was dangerously exposed, exaggerating the adam's apple under the patchy stubble on his throat, and his long arms were draped on the back of the bench. If one had to guess, he was passed out from an overdose of something or another.

Dirty bum.

[Frost] Frost had heard there was a jogging trail here and sure enough... it was a good run. The weather was good and she was dressed in a pink midrift and black spandex shorts, with white Nike's. Around her waist is a black fanny pack, that hangs like there's something heavy in it. Her feet struck the path in a steady rhythm as she glanced at the heart monitor. She'd been in her key zone for half an hour now. Good enough. She slows to a walk, reaching for the cloth tucked in the back of her shorts, where it bounced behind her like a pony tail, and dabbed the perspiration off her face. Rounding the bend she came upon a bum, and paused to look at his sign.

[Winston] The bum was, apparently, passed out, as previously stated.

However, this didn't stop him from noticing her, somehow. Without opening an eye (from what she could tell anyways), without twitching or jerking or even breathing differently than how he had been, and note that his breath was a sickly, whistling thing that sounded pained and labored, as though he'd just finished running a ten mile marathon that his body wasn't prepared for, he found his voice for her.

"A fanny pack, hm? Almost as sexy as those ass-shorts, toots."

His voice was a standard thing, not deep or particularly youthful, forgettable were it not so snide. His mouth, framed by unshaven brown hair, curved into a smirk that shifted and darkened the rest of his face into something animal and monster and mean, anything but jesting, friendly, and human.

[Frost] Men. They're all dog legs no matter how much or how little they possess. She snorts. "Don't think I can beat the fuck me fuchsia you've got going there buddy." She tucks the kerchief into her shorts at the hip this time.

[Winston] The sneering smirk broadened enough to show teeth that were surprisingly white for someone whose hygiene was so god-awful. It was the white of a predator's fang, the gleam of danger in the middle of the night rather than the manicured pearl of people with Crest whitening strips and bleach trays given to them by their dentists for a considerable cost (or deductible, depending on your benefits package at work). A low, rasping chuckle accompanied the widening expression.

"You like? Hey, I'll take it off for a Lincoln."

And with that, without lifting his head or arms or straightening up to sit properly at all, he nudged the hat (with a crumpled bill and a few handfuls of change) forward to jangle the little collection of coin he'd already accumulated.

"Surely you've got at least that in your pouch, 'Roo."

[Frost] Those icy blue eyes settle on him speculatively. The incongruency of his dental hygiene does not go unnoticed. She should probably move on. Not waste her time, but his comment and tone are so obviously meant to drive her away, or intimidate a few dollars out of her, that she instead makes a point of taking a seat on 'his' bench. "Actually, I'm thinking of setting out a hat and holding a sign that says, 'Give me the money instead, because I'm better looking'. Bet I'd do better than you."

[Winston] "Well, perhaps..."

When the weight on the bench shifts and the warmth of an exercised body settles beside him, Winston cracks open one eye and flexes his neck just enough to be able to view the woman more carefully now that she was settled so near. The revealed eye was precisely as unremarkable as his voice-- some indeterminable variety of hazel. It slips along the profile of her face first, then dips obviously to her chest.

The arm that had been on the back of the bench stays there, about her upper back, and the spider-like hand with unsuitably long fingers that didn't quite match the rest of his gangly body (making him look very nearly like he was still growing into his skin) crawled up and settled upon her shoulder.

He smelled like the streets, and like someone who hasn't showered in a while. His teeth stayed bared and the grin remained fixed on his face. "Well, you see, I obviously need it more. Your clothes are too nice, definitely not off a Wal*Mart shelf. And my honesty is far more blunt without being too obvious. ....But then, if you showed just a bit more tit, you'd probably win out."

[Frost] She doesn't sit too close... his aroma is far from enthralling. When he settles a hand on her shoulder she turns her head to look at it. "I hope you aren't going to make me break any of your bits, there buddy. And, no. I could beat ya without showing more tit. Although you've got me on the Walmart call. I won't give you any money. I might be convinced to buy you a burger though."

[Winston] "Ehhh...."

The sound is lazy more than it is submissive, like he doesn't care enough or have the energy to continue debate or put up an argument. He straightens up a little better, taps dirty fingernails at her shoulder, then stretches his arms up (which caused his bright pink shirt to raise to show a shallow stomach and a crawl of dark brown hair that went up past his navel from the dipping front of his jeans) and throws his weight forward to sit up straight. Bare feet slap the ground, and he grabs up the hat and works on dumping the change and solo dollar bill into his pocket.

"Alright, I'm sold." With the change put away, the hat (a grubby faded blue baseball cap) is jammed onto his head and the cardboard sign folded over and sunk into his back pocket. "No vegetarian boca burger bullshit, though. A man has to have standards you know, D-cup."

[Frost] Arches a brow as he goes for the grub call. That was unexpectedly quick. She rises slowly. "Mickey Dees it is. What are you called?" she asks as she starts walking in the direction the golden arches. She passed one on her way in to the park.

[Winston] She starts walking, and he falls into pace beside her. Truth be told he's only about three inches shorter than her (only, heh), but he stood slumped forward with his back curved and shoulders hunched, so it made him seem that much smaller. The bill of the hat blocked his eyes from her vantage point, and his hands had quickly vanished into his pants pockets, as though to silence the jangle of change so no scavengers would come steal it away from him before he had a chance to use it.

"Ohh," he responds, "all kinds of things. Bastard, scumball, waste of flesh, limpdick, Mule--," and that's significant right there, "--disease, wretch, fuckface..."

He could go on and on and on, and probably would, but possibly because of her face when he glimpses up or because he was running out of limited air and at the last word he coughed a little into his shoulder, turning his head away from her to do so, and wheezed painfully afterwards, he wraps up with something more suitable for public use.

"Winston works too, though."

[Frost] She's tall, has good posture and a sturdy build. Her long legs put a bit of speed into even a casual stroll, but she slows down just a little when he starts coughing. She gives him a sidelong look as he starts oozing a long list of unpleasant names, like pus from an open wound. It's anyone's guess why she'd bother to feed him. Nothing about her screams social worker. "Are you living in the park, Winston?"

[Winston] "Oh heavens no!"

The gushing is just heavy enough to be considered mockery, particularly the way that he pulls one hand free from his pocket for a moment exclusively so he would wave it in front of his face like a ninny. The face he pulls behind it is almost cartoonish, but slides easily back into that snide sneer of a smirk that seemed stuck in place soon enough, and that hand vanishes to protect hard-earned coins that could well earn him a shower at a travel station or a few packs of jerky at the convenience store.

"I live further south from here. Got myself a nice little set up in a bus, complete with blankets and everything!"

[Frost] A hint of a smile curls her lips as he objects to the suggestion. "I see. I suppose that's a bit more secure than the park, where all sorts of folks might... get nosy." Up ahead the golden arches loom.

[Winston] McDonalds was a faithful staple in every person's life, whether they wanted to admit it or not. They can go to organic food stores all they want, they can run and watch their weight and swear off meat, but at some point they worshiped the Happy Meal and the toys that came inside. If you weren't so snobbish about what you put in your stomach, it was a fast and easy meal that you could eat in the car while rushing from point a to point b, you could be running late and still manage to sneak a bit of meat and grease into your belly to tide you over for the next couple of hours.

Winston tipped his nose into the air and his nostrils flared (and lungs rasped wetly) as he inhaled the scent of fryers and the frozen meats and potatoes that they dipped into them.

"Nosy?" This was voiced curiously as he waited for a signal light before crossing the street with the Kinfolk. "Only if that nose gets close to my junk. The boys get cold when winter starts crawling up the pant leg, you know?"

[Frost] McDonalds. Not her favorite place to eat. Way too many calories. But Winston certainly looked like he could use a few extra calories in his diet, and no reputable restaurant was going to let him through the front door. She paused on the curb. "I can imagine," she says, although it's hard to imagine the preppy has ever suffered any real hardships in her life. "So... these boys, they share your crib?"

[Winston] His eyes flash with malice and excitement both, and Winston nods his head in a way that would be solemn were it not betrayed by the expression on his face.

"You could say that."

And with that he stuck a hand down his pants, cupped the aforementioned 'junk', and gave it a good wiggle, matched only by the wagging motion of his eyebrows.

"If you catch my drift, D-cup."

[Frost] Smirks and nods, waiting until they're in the middle of the street before she says, "No worries. I ain't got nothing against homosexuals. Good you can be open about it."

[Winston] "Nah, nah, never once did I say I was a fag." The hand comes up out of his pants, and a finger wags at her scoldingly. "I said I was a limpdick. You need to sort your insults out properly, miss." That hand drops into his pocket to join the other, and he rocks back on his heels to balance them on the yellow-painted curb just outside the parking lot. His head turned to look at the painted windows for the McDonald's playplace, then after a moment of quiet he cleared his throat into a fist, huffed as his breath caught and coughed quietly a few times before wheezing on an inhale and staring blandly at the Kin.

"...So, I've been banned from this premises.... You wouldn't mind just toddling your perky butt in and just fetching that, would you?"

The grin said 'scumball' and 'i'm pathetic feed me' all at once.

[Frost] "You're banned from McDonald's?" a hint of incredulity in her voice. "How the hell does anyone get banned from McDonalds? What did you do, pee on the kitty slide?"

[Winston] "I fell asleep in the bathroom," he explained with all sincerity to his voice, making himself out to be the hapless victim. He didn't have to mention that it was likely some sort of a drug or alcohol-induced state that had him crashed out in a fast-food restaurant's handicapped stall in the men's room, that sort of went without saying when it came to homeless people falling asleep in inappropriate places.

The rest of the story came in a quieter tone that slipped by the ear like water over smooth-washed stones. "..and broke the nose of the employee that walked in on me."

Hey, what else was he supposed to do? He was healing a wound, he was sick from the strain on his body to heal itself, and far more animal than he was human (even though it was an effective facade most of the time). Someone had stumbled upon him, spotted him in a state of disarray that no man should survive without life support, and startled him. It only made sense to react violently, cause his eyes to tear up so he wouldn't get the best of looks at him, and escape.

He wasn't precisely banned, but he didn't really want to push his luck with these humans. He'd wait another six months or so for the staff to cycle through completely. Didn't McDonalds have like a three-month turnover rate or something?

[Frost] "Ohh..." she nods slowly. "Fell asleep. What an inhospitable bunch of ass munches they must have working here." Passed out is more like it, she figures, looking amused. "So what do you want to eat?"

[Winston] "Meat."

The answer's about as vague as it gets. He thinks for a moment, then narrows it down.

"Red meat. Like, a lot of it." He didn't really have the educated words to express it, but he understood the different types of nutrients that came from different types of foods. He understood that his body needed the protein badly, that he needed to build up his strength and stock up on his body fat for winter. When you lived on the streets and just at the corner of the public eye at all times as he did, simply donning your fur to ride a winter storm out wasn't much of an option, and let's face it? He didn't win many fights over fire barrels or laundry vents.

[Frost] "I'll see what they've got," she says, stepping forward and heading into the restaurant. She waits in line for a pimply faced teenager to ogle here before asking for her order. Her eyes on the menu, the teenager's eyes on her chest, she says, "I'll have a filet of fish two quarter pounders with cheese, a McRib sandwich, large fries and two large Cokes." Paying with a fifty she leans over the register towards the boy and smiles. "Give me all ones and fives in change, darling." The boy blushes and stammers 'y-yes ma'am.' Frost is glad he isn't doing the cooking because he'd get drool in the food. The change goes into her fanny pak and she soon heads back out with a bag of chow, sipping a Coke.

[Winston] "Oh hell yes!"

The bag of chow delivered, Winston looks in and takes a big, honking whiff, sticking his nose directly into the bag and making a face somewhat akin to what it probably would be at sexual climax as well. He shivers about his shoulders with joy, then turns his head to the side to let out a few loud, rasping, painful sounding hacks of coughs before rubbing his throat tenderly with one hand, then tucking the greasy bag under his arm and lifting his free hand in a salute to the Kinfolk.

"Muffin'll be overjoyed when I get home with this. Thanks, toots!"

And with that said, the man turns to make his way off without much more of a farewell.

[Frost] Hillbillies. Never pay in adavance. Geeze. "It's Frost. Not Toots, not D-cup." She remains in step beside him. "Fella like you probably goes unnoticed in a lot of places. You hear anything interesting... there'll be more than a cheeseburger in it for ya," she says before they part ways.

[Winston] He didn't argue, but rather accepted the mention as something to keep in mind.
He wasn't sure what her idea of 'interesting' was, but hey, it wouldn't bother him any to come back to those tight jogging shorts and a free burger again.