annie! - LOG: 001 David

Well. There are those that want to be found, and those that don't. David North absolutely epitomizes the second option. All it took was one nosy neighbor - some mousy-haired bint that meant well, but pushed one too many buttons. And when she showed up with still-warm leftovers, taking pity on the recluse a floor below and buzzing away on the doorbell - that was the final button, quite literally. It dawned on David, then. He needed somewhere without neighbors, without rent. And that's just why David is scouting condemned buildings in East Village, abandoned structures such as this one. Even if it also comes without running water or electricity, it's something. A private something, at that. This particular visit to this particular location is David's second, one with a slightly presumptuous motive. David is, more or less, beginning to move in. Having selected an apartment on the second floor, one tucked away from the dangerous staircase and possessing the added potential of being easily-fortified, David comes bearing gifts. Dark sweater sleeves rolled up to the elbow, David is burdened with a number of curious objects - oblong, wrapped hastily in stained and dirtied cloth. And David is, of course, picking his way through the rubble towards that staircase, intent on hiding the packages away upstairs.

The building may be abandoned, but that doesn't mean it's been left entirely alone. Tonight, a gangly young teen has also found her way here, her mind more on mischief than finding a place to stay. She works on a loose bit of the railing on the second landing, wiggling it this way and that, trying to prise it loose for no reason other than she's bored and it's a project. She sits with her feet hanging down over the stairs, and so spots the movement down below. Although she almost had the bar free, she pauses in her work to peer down, most of her features obscured behind that matted hair. There's a slight wariness to her watchful pose, still like a gargoyle that peers down into the darkness. For all that she can take care of herself, this might not be the right place to run into the wrong person. But then she's not going to be a chicken and run away either, so she just ... watches for now.

If David were the type to hum or whistle when under the impression of solitude, well, this would be the time. For the last thing the man expects is a fellow wayward soul, likeminded in their choice of locale if not reason for being there. He continues to labor towards the stairs in a rare moment of obliviousness. But even in David's fleeting naivety, the stranger's steps are sure-footed and quiet. His movements are not clumsy or bumbling, certainly not drunken. As if by force of habit, David navigates the ruined crib with practiced ease, undertaking the stairs. It is only once the man approaches that landing that Grey is noticed. Consider David frozen, caught in his own momentary stupidity. Stopped just four or five steps from the landing where Grey is perched and presumably still watching in quiet, David meets that stare. Though David's eyes are gray and quite visible, in contrast to the messy-haired youth of a gargoyle. No expression of surprise, though certainly David couldn't have expected someone. There was no one here earlier this afternoon, not a single sign of an occupant or residence. So this is unforeseen. If Grey is watching David extra-carefully in his sudden imitation of a statue, she might just notice gloved fingertips tightening around those shapeless packages, threatening to slip beneath their coverings.

Grey keeps up the staring match for a few moments, her unseen gaze flickering over the man several times, trying to size him up, assess the threat he might pose. But she's never one to shut up for long, and so finally she offers a somewhat wry, "Uh, hi. You talk?" It's not always a given around here, but her tone is a little more sarcastic than just polite inquiry as to whether or not he suffers from a disability. She hasn't moved yet, but finally gives her head a slight toss, parting the hair at least enough to reveal an eye and part of her nose, maybe enough for him to get gender and a rough approximation of age. "I'm not gonna steal your stuff," she adds more indignantly, noticing his tightening hold on his things.

Heh. Whether or not David recognizes such impudence, there is no immediate indication, no change in expression. For the cogs and wheels are turning on each other, possibilities springing to mind - only to be put aside, one after the other. Not that David immediately suspects the Germans have sent a stringbean of a brat to lower his defenses, but the idea isn't entirely dismissed either. But her snark isn't enough to earn a bullet in the brainpan, that's for sure. So David eases, releasing darker thoughts - such as which concealed weapon to draw, just how quick this unknown sprout might be, whether or not she might be armed. No, no. He pushes into movement again, mounting the stairs and stepping past Grey. She doesn't seem a threat, so David decides not to give up on the idea of settling down in this building. It just so happens that the apartment David was set on is nearby, within a few feet from Grey. "Yes. I talk." Not very much, apparently. And with the stalest of German accents, too.

Grey is blissfully unaware of these thoughts and how narrow her escape, so she just unwisely keeps up her slightly challenging look. She finally moves, turning her upper body to follow his movements as he makes his way past her. "Well, that's something then, I guess. Good for you," she fake-enthuses. She finally moves to get up, but in so doing, accidentally knocks loose that metal support she'd almost worked free from the railing. It begins falling towards the floor below, and the girl grimaces as she leans out through the hole to watch it go. And then, rather abruptly, it stops and actually begins shooting back up, before Grey realizes what it is she's doing... and then it finally falls to the ground with a clatter. She's still grimacing as she straightens back up, looking casually over at the man to see if he'd noticed anything amiss.

Just the smallest of frowns, the barest of suspicions. And only because something seems strange about the timing, from the grinding shift of that support's emancipation to its clattering a story below. But David certainly witnesses nothing - does not look back over his shoulder, does not catch something in his peripheral. No, no. There's no real reason to suspect anything from the runt in the poorly-lit hallway. So again, Grey is more than safe. Just within the doorway to the presumed new hovel, the German begins to stack the bundles on the dust-thick surface of an ancient dresser, its drawers removed and thus largely useless for anything other than a stomach-level surface. The bundles are methodically placed, though one might presume that will not be their final destination. As for Grey? Well, she gets not a grunt or a snort from the man. She certainly gets no return snark, nothing to justify or provoke further sarcasm. Not that David's brooding silence is likely to keep such from happening anyway, but.

A little more carefully this time, Grey hoists herself to her feet, leaning momentarily over the railing to see where the metal rod has rolled to, before straightening back up. Probably for the best, since the railing isn't very sturdy anymore. But with that project done, she has nothing to do but turn her attention on the strange, silent man. "You live here?" she inquires, watching as he lays out his things so carefully. "God, that must be depressing." She gives her head another jerk, pushing her hair aside enough to see again. "You got a smoke or anything? Something to drink? Maybe spare some change?" Why limit yourself to begging for just one thing.

Well, now that railing suits the majority of this place. And its precariousness is just perfect as far as David's concerned. He continues about his business, not bothering to toss a single glance in the girl's direction. His movements are just as precise, just as specific, just as practiced. Everything seems routine with David. Now, in such relative privacy, the cloth wrappings seem unnecessary - even with a youngster present, nearby. And so the man's belongings are uncovered for what they are - firearms. Not the full extent of David's arsenal, but three weapons of considerable value and danger. A G36C, a G24, and a P8 - an assault rifle, a sniper rifle, and a pistol respectively, all Heckler & Koch by maker. Of course, David makes no fast moves to indicate that Grey might be staring down the barrel of one of those weapons. He just matter-of-factly continues about his business. "Nein." That seems to be the extent of David's conversational skills, at least for several beats. Then, most curiously: "You should not smoke."

"Woah." By this time, Grey has come forward enough to get a good look at those weapons, however wise her approach might be considering, well, those weapons. And rather than fleeing as any sensible girl would, she just stares with wide eyes. "Man, are those /real/?" She sounds almost a little bit impressed - certainly awed by the sight of them. It takes her a moment to realize he's actually answered her. And lectured her, what's more. She gives him a skeptical sort of look. "Yeah, well do lotsa shit we shouldn't. I mean, I'm gonna guess you don't exactly have a permit. Are those things even street legal?" She hesitates slightly, but considering the man doesn't seem to be intending to try and shoot her, she's very slowly but certainly drifting over the threshold of his claimed room.

Oddly, David offers no immediate reprimand for snooping. Apparently, curiosity is a permitted vice - probably why that aforementioned neighbor, the one with the leftovers, is still breathing. He makes no added attempt, either, to shoo the snoop in question away. So long as Grey shows no intention to touch, David doesn't seem to sweat the widened eyes. Let her look. He ignores her counter, as clever as it might be. No, such German armaments are not street legal. These are the weapons of the special forces in Germany, not even American in design or use. He appears continuously busy, groping at his belt for a set of ammunition clips to be clapped on the dressertop. "They are real," is all David says.

"Uh huh," Grey replies, believing fairly easily that they are, in fact, real, especially as he adds the ammunition to the pile. "You're a real conversationalist, huh," she points out, tearing her gaze away to give him an unimpressed look. Never mind that most people seeking out these poorer quarters aren't often looking for company. She's bored, so he'll have to entertain her, that's all there is to it. "Not from America, are you?" It's either a non-sequitur, or she thinks foreigners aren't as chatty by nature - it's hard to tell from her tone which is the case. "On the run?" is her next guess.

And good guesses they are. David's making no show of covering his accents, obscuring his motives - if David wanted to come across as someone not on the run, he probably wouldn't be holing up in this dump. The man steps away and drops into a crouch, gray eyes turned downward. He props an elbow on one raised knee, tugging and rolling khaki fabric away from weathered bootstrings. These efforts expose a further addition to the man's weaponry - a KM2000 combat knife, complete with black leather sheath. He unstraps the blade from around his bare calf, slowly straightening to place the sheathed weapon on the makeshift counter. "You are smart, fraulein."

Grey quirks a little grin, cocking her head slightly in acknowledgment. She's smart and she knows it, and it clearly shows. "That's a cool blade. I want to get a knife too. You know how to use all this stuff or are you one of those people who just likes to make a big show of it? The bigger and scarier the gun, the less likely you have to use it, right?" Out of the kangaroo pocket of her sweatshirt, she pulls a Zippo lighter and begins absently flipping it open and shut with a spark and a dull clink, over and over. "So who you running from?"

Oh, come now. She can't expect to get anywhere with David, armed with such questions. And David calls her out on it. "Do not be so direct," the man advises - not scolding, not dismissive, merely matter-of-fact. She does manage to crack that mask of neutrality, though - her curiosity, interest, and spunk is enough to bring out an arched brow. Heh. For the first time since the stairwell, David considers Grey with a steady, even gaze. Then, after no more than ten seconds, David turns for the closest window. Testing the boards that have been crudely nailed across its frame, examining the tattered curtains. "Running from men worth running from." Any questioning of his capabilities is ignored, brushed aside.

Grey shrugs her shoulders, not exactly quailing under his gaze as he studies her. "Being vague was getting me nowhere," she points out. Her eyebrows go up slightly as she takes in this very vague answer to her direct question. "Guess it's better than running from men /not/ worth running from. That'd just be stupid. And you don't /seem/ stupid." But she'll leave room to change her mind should he prove her wrong. She watches as he examines the window. "You want those off? I could probably hook you up with a crowbar or something. Y'know, for a small and reasonable fee." On top of it all, she's an entrepreneur. "Anything, really. I got a good line on booze too. High quality stuff, we're talking, not bathtub gin or anything like that."

Both crowbar and top-notch booze are enough impetus for David to gesture back over his shoulder - something of a raised hand, perhaps a dismissive wave. Something to quiet her prattling. Clearly, neither freeing up the windows nor boozing the night away is on the agenda. "Nein." David moves to the next window, tapping at the rough barricade there. Both windows will need reinforcing, something to better keep prying eyes at bay. Should David need a fire or something one night, no flickering light need attract unwanted attention from the streets below. But though this is the second time Grey's hit David up for something, the German does take pause now. He turns slowly, dark against the wall with the boarded-up windows. "You need money." Not really a question, no.

"Who doesn't?" Grey replies easily, candidly. She's lost interest in David's study of the windows once she's found out there's no profit to be made there, and has gone back to examining the weaponry... But at least for now, she continues looking with her eyes, not her hands. "I'm good at getting, y'know, stuff. Just money is a little harder. But, well, whatever, I get by." She lets out a sigh, stirring up a few dust motes off the top of the dresser. "So like I said, if you need anything. I prefer cash, but I can barter too," she allows, glancing around at these quarters and guessing that he might not actually have much cash himself.

Some things are best kept ambiguous, yeah. David lapses into another silence, not so uncharacteristic for the Nordic man. He just studies the forthright youth, considering. After a heavy beat, David crosses to the dresser, unloading one of his few remaining armaments - a crumpled twenty. He flattens the currency against the dresser's surface, then pulls away from the money. A clear offer, though David doesn't retreat. "I need your services. Is that adequate?" He doesn't add what, and there's nothing suggestive about his tone, either - flat, business-like, almost bored.

Grey's eyebrows go up a bit as David spurs into action, watching curiously as he pulls out the money, not even hiding the fact that she's making note of where he got it. Though she's probably not so stupid to steal from someone with so many guns and such a scant sense of humour. Probably not. She brings a hand up to scratch her nose, studying the money and trying to feign disinterest at this late stage. "Maybe," she replies, even as she's moving forward to pick up the money, hold it up to the light. "Depends what you need." She folds the bill methodically and stuffs it away in the depths of her pocket. If it isn't adequate, negotiations will just have to start from there.

Apparently, David isn't too worried about pickpockets - or higher prices. He shoves that gloved hand back into the right pocket of his khakis, slamming another twenty where the other once was, moments ago. This one, too, is crumbled. David is obviously smart enough to not pack fresh-minted bills - it betters the image of a man without much money, whether or not that's the truth. "Forty a week. Two things. One: current events, hearsay, word on the street." A report, basically, whenever she drops by this cesspool to pick up an easy forty. He waits on her agreement, though that hand pulls away, freeing that second twenty for the taking.

Grey can't entirely hide how impressed she is as he so easily coughs up another twenty, but she otherwise plays it cool, not reaching to grab for the bill immediately. Only after he's listed his first request does she take it, folding it and squirreling it away with its kin. "That I can do. What's the other thing?" As foolishly headstrong as she might be, when money is involved, she seems reluctant to rush into any agreements without knowing the finer details. Which isn't to say she won't take the money and haggle the details afterwards.

"Do not tell anyone about me." He gestures, indicating the space. "This, here, nothing." David allows that request to linger, sink, permeate. Although the man makes no mention or gesture towards the small armory so close, there is always the unspoken alternative. A bullet might silence this urchin, if she decides to get too chatty out there in the Big Apple proper. He raises a finger, indicating a sudden thought. "And no names. Not yours, not mine. Ja, fraulein?" With any luck, there will be no arguments - David's already wasted more words than usually acceptable.

"So forty bucks a week, and all I gotta do is tell you what I hear out there, and not tell them anything about you here? Done," Grey agrees readily, clearly thinking this is easy money. Maybe a little too easy, but there's that saying about beggars not being choosers. And of course, she's not exactly looking to get shot, so forty dollars is definitely a better alternative. "Fine, no names, whatever. You sure do like your secrets, huh?" But she doesn't really expect a response to that, starting to edge towards the door. Get out while the getting is good, before he changes his mind. "I better go start, y'know, putting my ear to the ground and all that."

And no response is offered - not to that nudge, nor any others. That was, indeed, too much verbosity for the blond stranger. However creepifying the man might be, David makes no attempt to stop Grey's retreat. He punctuates the girl's prattling with a quiet nod, inclining his chin at a slight angle. The man then turns away from Grey, grasping the G24 around its middle. Seems the sniper rifle might be better suited closer to the windows, as that is the direction David turns. The weapon is propped against the closest window's edge, nudged into place with the toe of a boot. He then turns back to the dresser, fingering the clips. The pistol belongs in the far corner, the one that will serve as David's sleeping nook - secure, away from the door and windows. Not once does David turn back to Grey, give her so much as a glance or a good-bye. He trusts she can find her way out, and find her way back to whence she came. Seems resourceful. Which is good, always good.

Grey pauses in the doorway for a moment, watching David with a sort of wary, skeptical and disbelieving expression. Dude is crazy, clearly. But crazy pays, so all this earns is a lowly murmured, "Ooo-kay," before the scrawny teen turns to go, slapping a hand against the door frame before disappearing through it. Then comes the rhythmic thumping of her graceless decent down the stairs, the clang as she picks up the metal bar to take with her, and then finally... silence. Blissful silence.