Communications Breakdown (Backdated!)

August 07, 2015:

A cleaning not-elf not-fae runs into an ancient druid whilst cleaning the city of New York. Or is run into. Language is confusing, sometimes.

New York City, New York

The August sun shimmers off the concrete sidewalks and the pox ridden asphalt streets that run towards the projects. Row houses that line the streets left over of days of Ellis Island and European great migration to the land of milk and honey seem to be glaring up at the hot afternoon sun in defiance. Houses not lucky enough to have air conditioning have windows open and low humming fans are pointed out towards the street can be heard. Cars move slowly down the street trying avoid bottoming out on the pot holes. People melting in the heat sit on their front stoops fanning themselves and sipping cold drinks. Near one of the fire hydrants a group of industrious children have gathered and are trying to open it.

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\#https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U0VrBaoTifw 'Mother's Little Helper' -- The Rolling Stones]


Fade In…

The August sun shimmers off the concrete sidewalks and the pox ridden asphalt streets that run towards the projects. Row houses that line the streets left over of days of Ellis Island and European great migration to the land of milk and honey seem to be glaring up at the hot afternoon sun in defiance. Houses not lucky enough to have air conditioning have windows open and low humming fans are pointed out towards the street can be heard. Cars move slowly down the street trying avoid bottoming out on the pot holes. People melting in the heat sit on their front stoops fanning themselves and sipping cold drinks. Near one of the fire hydrants a group of industrious children have gathered and are trying to open it. A woman leaning against a lamp post watches them. She is dressed in khaki shorts and three quarter sleeve black blouse that is high collar. Her golden hair is bound up with gold combs and there is glint of gold around her neck and left ring finger.

What a drag it is getting old
Kids are different today,
I hear ev'ry mother say, Mother needs something today to calm her down
And though she's not really ill
There's a little yellow pill
She goes running for the shelter of her little mother's helper
And it helps her on her way, gets her through her busy day…

The diminutive young woman known to some as Jay Donohue is engaging in her favorite past-time. Namely, that of cleaning. Though, in all honesty, cleaning is more of a not-quite-obsession with her, and so therefore could be considered 'work' versus 'play'. The singing isn't too bad, but she's definitely not the battered Stone that first gave voice to those lyrics…

That all set aside, the woman wears a black do-rag tightly wrapped around her head, sunglasses that look like they'd cost the average person a good month's pay, coveralls and beaten-up mismatched tennis shoes. Today she's turning a previously 'tagged' wall into a pristine immaculate showpiece of how it must have looked decades ago.

Her longtime goal? To clean all of New York? Though… is she going to get to it in this lifetime?

A smile appears on the woman golden hair lips. In moss green eyes an impish glint appears and she whispers something in a forgotten language underneath her breath. The cap where the hose would go on the hydrant gently pops off and the water free from its prison sprays the children to cool them. Her eyes are dancing as she watches them for a moment longer she then turns her head in the direction of Jay. The tag wall turns back to its once pristine condition. She clears her throat before she walks towards her. Once she reaches Jay, she clear her throat again. "City needs more green, there is no balance." Her accent is thick mix of welsh and Gaelic.

Things are different today,
I hear evry mother say
Cooking fresh food for a husbands just a drag
So she buys an instant cake and she burns her frozen steak
And goes running for the shelter of a mothers little helper
And two help her on her way, get her—

The custodial sort pauses in her cleaning efforts as she is approached. The do-rag twitches a bit in an odd sort of fashion as the young woman's head tilts.

"TheCityofNewYorkhasmoregreenspaceinitthanmostmajormetropolitanregions. Orareyoutalkingadifferentkindofgreen? BecauseI'mnotajoker, notasmoker, notamidnighttoker!"

Okay, so thick mix of Welsh and Gaelic meet… Jay's normal conversational speed….

Green eyes narrow in concentration when Jay speaks. She nods her head once she thinks she has it. "All these cities need more, None have enough and most is tainted and not in a natural way. I think the Roman's would be proud. "Come let me show you, what I think." She waves her hand at the custodial to follow her if she wishes. "What is a notamidnighttoker?" She tries to sound out what she thinks was said.

"Everyplacehasitsway! Toinsistonturningitawaycanonlybringmoreharm. Smallstepstoclean, thentothegreen."

The diminutive woman pauses and shakes her head vigorously, banging the side of it a few times. "Arrgh! HateitwhenIstartrhymingandchimingwithtimingandallthat! Butgivemeafewtocleanupthemess, it'snevercooltoleaveaplaceabiggermessthanyoufoundit!"

Then she pauses as she points to herself. "Notamidnighttoker!"

Okay, that might need some clarification momentarily.

Jay begins to clean with vigorous strokes on a second defaced wall with some expediency, removing marks that have lingered since the end of the Second World War…

As she scrubs away, are those hints of… sparkles… around the freshly cleaned areas?

Lost Lynwen touches her hair, using her fingers she digs through her hair to find a small round token that looks like a coin. She mutters a spell underneath her breath and the air around them shimmer. When she speaks again the accent is gone. "I am sorry but I did not understand you, you are not what?" Her eyes rest on the woman. "what are you doing and how are you cleaning , I see what speaks of magic."

What Jay says is "Notamidnighttoker". and points to herself again. What it TRANSLATES as is "I do not smoke weeds of dubious nature for pleasure". There's a bit of a tilt of her head as she scratches at her do-rag for a moment.

"Nope, nomagicotherthanhardwork! Whatmakesyouthinkthatitsmagic? Nothingtoseehere, nope!" TRANSLATION: "I clean really hard and it is almost like magic." Deferral. Denial. Denial.

"Ilookedtothiswallandnoticeditneedscleaning, butIhavenoguitarthatgentlyweeps!" TRANSLATION: "I was bored, it looked like a challenge, and I'm really stuck on old classic rock right now."

The sunglasses are lowered a bit as she looks at Lynwen, letting the top part of her slitted eyes gaze upon the druid.

"'snnotcooltodothatwithoutpermission!" TRANSLATION: "If you want to perform magic on my person, please ask, that was really rude."

"I am sorry but it is focused on me so I can understand, I am still learning this language. What is classic rock? Can a rock be classic or is it a really nice piece of crystal." Lynwen asks her. "Please except my apologies. If what you are doing is not magic, then how do you know what I did was magic." She asks warmly her eyes are dancing with the many questions she has not uttered yet but are rolling around her head.

"Classicrockisthebestrock!" TRANSLATION: Classic Rock and Roll, a version of music from a few decades ago, is superlative.

That's another twitch of the sides of the do-rag. "Apologiessortofaccepted. Givingmeaheadache" TRANSLATION: "I grudgingly accept the apology, I'm getting a migraine because I'm hearing both at once."

There's a tilt of the head and a point to the side of it. "Theearshearsall!" TRANSLATION: I hear the different words.

Is it possible for such a person to stamp menacingly? She looks like she's about to give it a go, even as thin lines appear around her mouth, as if she was forcing herself to keep her face neutral.

With a frown Lynwen reaches up and turns the device off. Her accent becomes thick again. "I am sorry, I will make it up to you for I did not wish to cause your head to heart. I will ask another to play this music for me. I have heard rap." She tells her. "Can I help you with your task or do you wish to be alone?"

The strange woman relaxes a bit as the words go 'back to normal'.

"Apologytrulyacceptednow. Youfixedtheproblemit'sallgood. Idon'thavemyStarkplayerwithme, butIcanfindsomeforyouifyouwant. Rapiscrap. Andonthisjob, ifyouwanttohelp?" She motions to a bucket loaded with sudsy soap that's pleasant to tne nose and a brush that is sticking out of it. "IfyouhittheareasI'vedonewiththesoapbrush, I'llkeepworkingwiththewirebrush!"

"A brush? I will find one for you, or do you want one made for you?" Lynwen asks her. She is clearly puzzled and it is written all over her face. "I will go and get this for you." She nods her head.

The thin girl moves over to her bucket and pulls out a big ol' scrubbing brush that's seen a lot of things to be cleaned and hands it to Lynwen with a slight wrinkling of her face — but no smile — and lets out a slight sigh. "Hereisabrushforyoutouse! Itiseasytouse, notcomplexlikemoderncleaningstuff. Justslapsoapandscrub. Painisjustweaknessleavingthebody!"

Her tone is entirely too perky for that subject material, even as she turns to some troublesomeareas and begins really scrubbing into some hard to reach spots, dust and smoke flying.

It's not every day that she gets someone that's willing to HELP her!

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