Gainful Employment

[Morgan Lake] Early, around ten in the morning, the Mile is fairly quiet - the clubs are long since closed and most the restaurants are only starting to think about being open. The coffee shops have already done their bustling morning business and what people are about are of the reasonably affluent 'housewife' variety and enjoying some shopping or any of the up scale salons. There are, of course, a few other people about; students looking for a place to study, athletes who make this part of town a part of their loop . . .

. . . it's amongst the latter that one Morgan Lake is taking her leisure. Or, no, that's not quite accurate. She is one of the latter, clearly, in her short, fitted shorts and her tight, supportive tank top with her hair raked back into a pony-tail. She is red of face and sweaty of form, and clearly a serious runner, not just someone out for a quick jog. Now, though, she's almost still - one leg is up on a bike rack and she's stretching just there, between Borders and Starbucks.

[Malcolm Galloway] Malcolm is a bit late to the coffee rush, but at least that means he doesn't have to wait in line behind all the nice professional people... Just their wives or partners. He looks even worse than he did in the church, mostly because the light of day does not favor his insomniac's complexion. No real surprise that he's holding a grande travel cup, then. He sips on it as he steps outside, and in the same moment his phone trills an alert for a new text message.

He sighs as he flips it open. He might not be the tech savvy sort, but he at least has the coordination to walk, sip coffee, and struggle to type out a reply on the phone. Being that it's not the fancy kind with the full keyboard, he's left passing the intended letter time and time again, leaving him more frustration with each passing step. It's only after looking up to make sure there's no open holes in his path that he notices Morgan.

"Oh, hello there."

[Morgan Lake] "Hi." It takes a moment, but not long - last night was completely different time and mood. Now, she's riding on sunlight and endorphins, and her smile shows this. In this light, Malcolm can see freckles, and that her eyes are an interesting green-ish hazel. It also becomes oddly more difficult to gauge her age; in the church, she'd seemed young and vulnerable. Here, she could be any other student athlete. "Mr. Galloway, wasn't it?"

Oh, yes. Proper and polite, she, though she speaks with the same bland flatness (the same American non-accent that broadcasters across the country are taught) as any other native Chicagoan.

".....I was going to say I hope you're well this morning, but you look awful," she says honestly. "Are you alright?"

[Malcolm Galloway] "It's nothing, really," he says, trying and failing to sound chipper. The botched attempt only makes him sound more wretched. He has a large sip of coffee before adding, "I've been having trouble sleeping is all. Nightmares."

He glances down at his phone and frowns, then looks up in utter defeat. "I hate to impose, and this is probably a stupid question, but are you any good with text messaging? I have a client who acts like just calling is too much effort. And she's sending me these damn things constantly asking for updates." He sighs. "Spade never had to deal with this shit. Er, pardon."

The whole question about the phone is avoiding the real issue at hand, and he knows it just as well as she. It's too early and he's too tired to be smooth about it.

[Morgan Lake] "Yeah, I know how to text. And type, and manage a fair amount of excel, access and word, too. And file, and make good coffee," she adds with a teasing smile, "if you're looking for a spunky receptionist. What do you need sent, or do you just want a quick tutorial for how to do it on your own? Really, it's handy if you just want to get something across quick. I mean, a phone call takes five minutes at a bare minimum from starting dialing to hanging up, whereas a text takes one, tops."

She shrugs, puts down the foot that had been on the rack and puts up the other so that she can reach for its toes, stretching hamstring and calf. And there's amusement that plays across her face, though her eyes remain serious; there's a loss there, something haunted. In this, perhaps, like calls to like.

"And I'm a big girl, raised here and now. You certainly don't need to apologize for saying 'shit'."

[Malcolm Galloway] "It's more that I wish I hadn't said it. I know there's no reason not to curse now, but, well, it still doesn't feel right." He smiles a little, which makes him a little less like the walking dead. "And while I appreciate the offer, I'm afraid I can't afford even a surely receptionist who chews gum all the time. It's enough that I can pay my partner/chauffeur. Bastard's gouging me with the 'slash' position. Damn it, and again." He rubs his face and has another drink of coffee, then another.

"Oh, right, the message..." He hands over the phone, which just has a string of numbers in the recipient field. "Just 'working on it' is fine. And it's not that I don't know how to text, it's just that I have a knack for bypassing the letter I want."

[Morgan Lake] "I was taught that swear words were for the under educated and unimaginative, but there have been times where all the years I put into vocabulary study couldn't help me express what I wanted to as well as an emphatic 'fuck' could. Not that I swear often, but still." She shrugs, and clearly doesn't get the whole issue - whether or not she heard he was once a priest (she hadn't). All this as she takes his phone and thumbs out the message he wants to send, sends it and hands it back with the alacrity of a girl who can't remember a time that cell phones weren't a given.

Not particularly savvy, she, but clearly a product of the modern world.

"Doesn't seem like the best of partners. I don't know much about private investigation, but I'm going pre-law and I learn quickly. So if something changes keep me in mind, yeah?"

[Malcolm Galloway] He nods to Morgan as he slips the phone back in his pocket. "The real issue is, while I have a private investigator's license, I haven't had a driver's license for..." He stops, looks her off as if seeing her for the first time, and suddenly feels ancient. "A while. And the job's really not as glamorous as the books and movies make it out to me. Most of the work involves sitting outside of a trashy motel room for hours at a time waiting to get pictures." He sighs at that. "I guess I can't blame him."

He takes a few more sips of the coffee, not even trying to stagger the caffeine intake. He doesn't look that much better after practically inhaling half of it.

"But if you really want to help, I can think of something. I honestly can't pay much, though... You wouldn't happen to have any water stashed somewhere, would you?"

[Morgan Lake] She's been facing towards him all this time, and the set of 'pockets' she wears (unflattering, but useful) has been invisible behind her back; now, she reaches around to grab a bottle (Fuji, if anyone's keeping track) and hand it over.

"Bet you'd be a good reference later, though, if I needed one. In more ways than one, even." It's a bit cryptic, that last, but left to sit as it is when she continues with, "I've got a bit of money; while pay would be nice, I have a reasonable idea of how difficult it is to keep a business going. Not first hand, of course, but still. So in some ways, in some cases, experience is better."

She'd caught that look, the one that says while she may not be 'just a kid', she's certainly making him feel old, and she laughs before pulling her foot down and moving to nudge him briefly with her shoulder. She looks thin, but has a runners muscles - obviously strong legs, all over tone - and is appropriately solid against him. Not some waif, she, but the split second of contact is gone as quickly as it came.

"Maybe make it a work study thing. And I can drive, too, once I buy a new car. So maybe you won't have to pay your guy so much for the chauffeur part."

[Malcolm Galloway]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 1, 4, 5, 6, 7 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Malcolm Galloway] He takes the bottle, raises it in a combination of thanks and a toast... And pops the lid off his half empty cup off coffee to pour a dash of it in. He quickly slams the lid back on it, waits a moment, and raises the cup to his lips once more. He gives a very slight shudder, even utters a contented "ahh".

"Thanks," he says, handing the water back. "I needed that."

He takes another sip of the coffee and, curiously enough, the smell of liquor is suddenly on his breath. "But if you're in it for the... experience," a significant look at that. "I'll do what I can to help. I'm afraid I got into the business a bit late in life. In all honestly, I was a Priest before this, but... eh... Things changed."

[Morgan Lake] "Mr. Galloway," she says, and again there's that prim and proper, almost to the point of being stern, despite having just bumped his shoulder with hers, "if I were going to proposition you for anything other than job experience, I'd . . ."

She stops a moment, looks down at herself and the clothes she's wearing (so statically discerning, this girl, and entropically withering, with just a glimmer of dynamic growth that isn't of her but still resides with her) and bursts into laughter - it surprises her, the sound and the feel, and her eyes go wide. But it's a good thing, a healthy thing, and it stops when it should (for once, and it's a rarity these days) rather than edging up to the line between mirth or amusement and deceit.

"Well, anyway, yes. It would be for the experience, and I've been told I have an eye for things that other people miss. So who knows? It could be a good thing all around, and while I have seen a fair number of films and shows that glamorize the profession, I hardly expect it to be like what's in the media. And you're . . ." Sniff. Wrinkle nose. Eye water bottle, then cup of coffee, then Malcolm - so very serious and studious, those eyes, with haunted loss tucked behind that. ".....maybe more like the scripts than you think. Really? At ten in the morning?"

[Morgan Lake] [What are you up to there, mister? (Per + Aware)]
Dice Rolled:[ 5 d10 ] 4, 5, 7, 7, 9 (Success x 3 at target 6)

[Malcolm Galloway] The effect that radiates off the cup of coffee is faint, but it's there... And laid bare by Morgan's powers of perception. There's the same feeling of before, like some minor miracle has just been worked. It wasn't exactly water into wine, but some type of transubstantiation indeed just took place. Odd, then, that it didn't leave more of a mark.

"Hair of the dog," he says, having an unapologetic sip. "What can I say? Sleeping pills never did help." And just like before, he's changing the subject with breakneck speed. "I think maybe we understand each other a little better now, but make no mistake, just because I was defrocked doesn't mean I'm free from the vow of chastity. You're safe. But it's true I didn't get into other, esoteric fields until after I left the priesthood. It's only been a few years now."

[Morgan Lake] "My mom baked. My dad played cards. Everyone's got something that relaxes them enough to sleep." But other than that, she doesn't press the issue; it's not her business after all, not any more than the whiskey in his coffee that she's already let go. The bit about his vow of chastity gets a rather impressive scarlet blush, and her head ducking down while she completely declines to answer it.

"As for the other, it's only been a few months for me. A trying few months, certainly, and sometimes it seems like a lifetime, but that's it, really. I've learned a lot, though."

[Malcolm Galloway] "You're better off than I, then." He rests the cup of spiked coffee on the palm of his hand, content to pace himself now that he's gotten a little of the other substance in his system. He doesn't look any better off for it, though, just slightly flushed. It's nothing compared to Morgan's shade of red, and so he sends the conversation veering back into hopefully less embarrassing territory.

"It's not easy having your entire world view shattered in your thirties, especially not when you find yourself learning from people much younger than you... I'm getting better at that, though." Another sip of the coffee, unwittingly giving a tell to the little lie. "Are you really interested in the assistant/receptionist role? Understanding that the slash involved doesn't make the pay any better? That is, you're not just being polite?"

[Morgan Lake] "I guess I'm lucky that I'm learning from the same people I would be anyway, just off campus and outside of what I thought I'd be learning now. And I have a feeling it's not really easy to have your whole worldview shattered at any age," she says with a shrug, and don't think for a minute she's missed that tell, or that she'll forget it. (And she certainly hasn't stated her own age - he's welcome to make his own assumptions based on what she's offered.)

"The rest - yeah, I'll take it. With the understanding that if I have questions that don't violate client confidentiality you'll answer them?" There's a pause then, and she looks back up and gives a grin, almost impish; it's not difficult to see that she was one of the charmed ones, socially speaking. "And write me letters of recommendation if and when I need them, of course. That's the point of taking low paying grunt work jobs as a student, isn't it?"

[Malcolm Galloway] He grins at that. "Indeed it is. And there'll be glowing and eloquent recommendations galore, provided you don't run screaming as soon as you see the office." Yet another sip of coffee, this time just to have another drink. He doesn't look any less tired, but he does look a little more chipper by the moment. Hard to say which substance is contributing to that more, the caffeine or the liquor. "And I also feel I should warn you I'm in the chorus, but you might have guessed that with the whole disgraced and former priest revelation."

[Morgan Lake] "I'm an apprentice - my preconceived notions are few, as of yet, though my order-mates seem to have quite a few more of them than I do." It's all very casual and sidewalk appropriate - sure, someone in the know might get wht they're talking about, but it would take a minute at any rate. "Chorus doesn't bother me. Might my mentor - I suppose you'll have to meet her, she knows everyone - though not enough to say anything about the job. That, though . . ." she nods at the cup, shakes her head a little. "Just so you know, my mom taught me everything she knows about baking, and I've learned more since. Bread and cookies and cakes and pie activate the same pleasure centers, from what scientist friends have told me, without the fuzzy headedness. I'm not going to harp at you, it's not my place, but . . . well. It seems silly to not try to encourage somewhat healthier vices while I'm around."

[Malcolm Galloway] His brows go up. If he's touched by her concern, he's certainly not going to admit it. Instead he just clears his throat and looks out across the street. "This is the only one, I promise. Besides, I don't think cupcakes are going to stop the nightmares."

Just mentioning the nightmares again dredges up images that drive him to have another sip of his Irish coffee. "I appreciate the concern, but if you knew half of the--stuff swirling around in my mind, you'd be drinking too. My hidden talent doesn't exactly make things easier, either."

[Morgan Lake] "Booze doesn't either, quite frankly," she says matter of factly, "and it causes brain damage, where cupcakes will just make you fat if you aren't careful. I don't know what makes the nightmares go away, but I certainly don't hide in . . . what is that, whiskey? . . . to try that. Anyway, here, give me back your phone, unless you've already put my number in - no, wait, even if you have and I'll put in Ashley's, too. And when do you want me to start, and where?"

From there, it's all pragmatism and a perhaps-surprising efficiency for a college student of relatively indeterminate (beyond 'young') age. She has a no-nonsense sort of attitude that can be either overbearing or a breath of fresh air, depending on her mood and the people towards whom it's directed.