I apologize profusely for the length, and I know it's a little boring, but any reviews would be great!
This story primarily features three--a Mr. Dougall, a Miss Levantine, and a Miss Canabar--and encompasses two years' worth of what can be called their romantic pickle, as well as its aftereffects.
First comes the male of the triumvirate: John Dougall.
***
Usually when John termed Syracuse as a cold place, his intended meaning pertained to the often vicious nature of the city's corporate world. Many who had experienced this world and its blue-blooded dwellers would agree with him. But that night, the underworld was not an office or even Hell; it was the night itself. For the upteenth time that evening, he flexed his fingers, figuring it had to alleviate some of the tension in his frozen knuckles, though his hands were already gloved. This action also helped distract him from the fact that other parts of his body were worse off. Even his mind was in low shape, though in being honest with himself, it had been that way for a while, and certainly not because of low temperature. Still, the climate was no help, and was strengthening his bitterness.
"Hey, Dougall!" He blinked out of his reverie and focused on the person walking toward him. Julius Taylor waved, cheerful as one could get in his situation. His friend stopped, leaving a few feet between them so to assess the surroundings.
"Boy, is it nippy. You think Mother Nature's out to get a few tonight?"
"I'm sure it's on her mind. If our group's not careful, it could even be one of us."
"I doubt that. Most of us dress quite well, and the rest enough to muddle through," he grinned comically as he sat on the desk John brought for the pamphlets they would be distributing. With that look, John thought he resembled Donald O'Connor and said so.
Julius chuckled, "I only wish I could have as much success as him. I already know I won't be able to make you laugh tonight. But, I am comforted by the fact that nothing's going to do that."
"So nothing's funnier than you."
"Precisely." He turned to the sound behind him. Though he was unfamiliar still with so much frosty air, he had managed to gauge pretty quickly the number of steps on snow and gravel.
"Ah, here comes our troops. You set, general?"
John couldn't take it anymore. He lit a cigarette, expelling the smoke so that it was almost a slithering ribbon in the air before evaporating. He relished in the activity, ignoring the fact that his hands were shaking from the freeze.
"If I was a general, we'd lose in seconds." He decided.
"And so this is Waterloo. Bill's going to make you put that out, you know. He's not going to take your stress as an excuse."
"He won't notice right away, not when everybody can see their breath." Jules was right anyway. He straightened and greeted some of the others. Most of them had no qualms about letting out their grief either; the ones who were less bothered had lived in Syracuse since birth, and so were more eased. John soon followed, bearing a passable smile for his fellow rebels, or "Rebulls", as they sometimes liked to call themselves.
The reason for this name came a few minutes after the greets. William Bull didn't bother with the salutations, save for a mass "Evening," and got right to barking out instructions. John and Julius, who were the most familiar with Bill, crossed their arms and shared a grin.
"Not even this weather can cool Bill off," Julius muttered. John grunted in consent, but was only half-lifted by William Bull's resilience. The other half yearned to be anywhere warm, even if it meant joining those people who found his political leanings unreasonable. Better would be though the unenlightened, who merely accepted the status quo because they scarcely knew it. Some such subjects were in the movie theater they'd decided to cover that night, certainly not expecting to encounter the determined crowd on their ways out.
Bull eventually quit the talk to all and stood near the pair.
"Mind if I confess a secret?" he prompted in his booming voice.
"I'd hoped you would never have to ask me that, Bill. I thought we knew all your business," Julius chuckled. John only blinked, careful not to draw Bull's attention to his smoking.
"Jack Faradine's in there." Bull continued.
"You don't say."
"I intend to finally get my twenty-five dollars back from him."
"Well, well," Julius cocked his head to each side, though Bull didn't realize his mockery.
"Is that why you picked this place?"
"That's right."
John clicked his tongue, "How do you even know he's there?"
Bull waved a hand at the question, "He told me. I believe it's a date he's on."
John looked to the theatre, predicting that Bull's plan wouldn't flatter old Jack to his date at all, which was probably Bill's intention. Though if John or his other two friends were to observe the progress of the date in question, they would have realized that Jack was having enough trouble attracting his date on his own.
***
Jack had a tendecy to talk during movies, Elizabeth had heard, and so she thought herself right to feel wary about attending a movie with him. Seeing a comedy (the genre that she was always game for) was especially risky to her. She knew Jack was no idiot, but what if he ended up asking her about the jokes? That would truly set her off.
But Jack was sedate that night, apparently too preoccupied with making the right impression to act naturally. This "right impression" was the romantic one, and one thing was for sure: he wasn't making it.
This was unknown to Jack, of course. After all, Elizabeth wasn't all acid. Only the greenest (or should she say most merciless) girl would have enough gall to openly reject a man during the first date. Enduring the whole night with a man took no guts, just a smattering of decency. But Elizabeth was still icy enough to know that a second date was not going to happen.
When the movie finally ended, leaving its spectators wholly entertained, the pair waited for the bulk of the crowd to thin out before exiting, leaving Jack to gain some conversation from her.
"That was funny, didn't you think?"
Think? That picture was sublime."I thought so. I laughed a lot."
"Alright. It was a little different in some ways, too, wasn't it? Most comedies don't run for that long."
"Most comedies these days can't generate that many laughs for that long."
"Yeah." He grinned specifically at her, but Elizabeth couldn't reciprocate the gesture without feeling fake. Jack Faradine was thoroughly friend material, she thought as the evening went on.
His eyes looked past her, surveying the new head count.
"Say, you uh...want to get some coffee?" This second smile was more hopeful, as though he had realized his chances were dwindling. Her responding one was hesitant, but also apologizing.
"Well, it's a little late. And I have an early day tomorrow." She paused, assessing whether or not that was sufficiently settling.
"Perhaps a rain check?" She kept her smile neutral. He nodded.
"I've got an early day too." He got up, tossing their empty bucket and cups into the trash as they exited. As a habitual gesture, she took his arm, and remained otherwise preoccupied. Some inner chuckles were allowed as residue from the movie, but mostly she wondered what she should wear for tomorrow.
Instead of a charming (or at least witty) remark from Jack, like he hoped would happen, her mind was retrieved by a large cluster at the entrance. The faces looked aggravated, but only slightly.
"Protesters. I hate them." A man growled, shaking his head at the people handing out pamphlets outside. Elizabeth clicked her tongue. She wasn't fond of activists herself.
"You hate their methods, Merv," his wife corrected him.
"Right."
"Oh, no." Jack took Elizabeth aside while the people grudgingly rushed out. She felt a biting breeze that told her the night was not being kind.
"Why don't you take the back exit and I'll pick you up there? Those protesters are bound to heckle you if you just wait out."
Elizabeth looked once more to the several activists and was repulsed by the thought.
"Good idea." He nodded and walked her to the exit, but had to go through the entrance to get to the lot. She braced herself a little before pushing open the door.
"Oohh, awful." She sighed, scrunching herself up as she made it to the street. Though it was calmly lit, more gold than yellow, there was not a soul in sight. She wasn't worried. This part of the city was nobody's idea of a danger zone. She knew to look left to see if Jack had yet gotten the car, but only did it to drink in the scenery, as Jack couldn't have reached the car yet.
Even in the cold, she still adopted a straight-backed posture, finding the whole bent over and rubbing hands position to be too unladylike, but she was breathing hard as a result.
Then, suddenly, the stillness broke and left her a little unprepared. The sound of a dog barking nearby didn't startle her, but the subsequent crash from a close alley made her jump. She looked to it quick enough to see a black streak emerge at zippy speed that was probably a stray labrador. Her eyes followed it until a voice shouted out back from the alley.
"Lousy little--!"
A man, furious and dissheveled, charged out of the alley, with full and obvious intent of going after the dog. Elizabeth, stepping back in caution, fell backwards onto the sidewalk. She winced at the icy tumble, and would have gotten up had another distraction not come up: as though to match her surprise, the man slipped on the street and fell forward and flat in the middle. He groaned, looked forward for a second, then groaned once more as he hoisted himself up.
Instinct told Elizabeth to keep still and not bring the madman's attention to her. He'll go away, she told herself. She thought he was leaving; he took one step forward that looked like a start to walking. He seemed to think on the action ahead, paused, and gazed around himself. Within seconds, his eyes landed on her. Her own eyes widened in frustration.
Even with his distance (his being in the middle of the empty street actually made Elizabeth realize how big it was), she still saw the surprise, then curiosity. He turned fully to her.
"What are you doing there?" He asked her, a strange accent swirling around the words.
She felt her ears burning. "I fell."
"Okay." he took a few steps forward.
"You need help getting up?" He asked, making the question seem random. She couldn't tell if there was mockery in his voice or not; he only sounded wary.
He's the dog-chaser, and he's the one who's worried.
She waved a hand, trying to look nonchalant.
"No." She didn't want to say that her shoes might slip along the ice, but for some reason her tension was dissipating. At least, she didn't think he was going to hurt her. He put his hands on his hips, giving her an odd look, and strode forward, stopping at her feet. He looked almost as tall as the building behind him. She stared, not knowing what to say.
She almost jumped again when he held out his hand, but took it all the same. He pulled her so that she didn't have a chance to push from the ground. Up close, she could at least see that he wasn't homeless. She could also see that his eyes were unthreateningly calm.
Some nuts have money, she thought. But not such nice eyes. He coughed suddenly, and Elizabeth could smell tobacco on his breath. When he finished, he asked, "What's your name?"
Without hesitation, or knowledge of why she was answering, she said, "Elizabeth Canabar."
