Raindrops on Roses (Open, Casual)

[CHRISTINE DAAÉ]

Rain.

Christine loved the rain. It was peaceful, soothing, and inspiring. To her, it was somewhat nostalgic, memories hidden in each drop. The musky scent sent her brain spiraling into pleasant flash backs. Sometimes, this was a bad thing. Today, it was warmly welcome. Christine had spent most of her day off indoors, keeping herself busy by cleaning. Somewhere along the lines she found herself simply standing by the window, watching the rain in bliss. Turning, she glanced at the clock. It was late in the afternoon, yet she had hardly done anything productive that day. Feeling slightly disgusted, she walked into her room. After a moment of digging around in her desk, she found her father’s folder of old music. Sitting down on the floor, she leaned against her bed, carefully pulling out one of his pages of music.

She loved looking at his work on days like this; it was as good as reading a book to her. However, she never paid much attention to the condition of the paper, which was starting to turn yellow near the corners. How old was this music, exactly? Christine assumed he wrote it in his last moments of despair but now she wasn’t so sure. Seeing his finest work is such a state of disrepair didn’t sit well in her mind. Was she really that caught up with everything that she didn’t notice? It was disgraceful to his memories to leave it like this. Puzzling over what to do, Christine decided she would do something productive with her day after all. Standing up, she made her way out of the room, down the hall, and promptly out the door, making sure to grab an umbrella and raincoat on the way. Her task was simple; find the nearest store and make copies of her father’s lineage.

After wandering around for a few hours, Christine managed to find what she was looking for. Emerging successful, she decided to cut through the park. She didn’t mind the cold or rain, seeing it as an opportunity to sit back and enjoy nature. Making her way into the park, she turned her attention to the folder she had brought with her. Shifting her umbrella around, Christine decided to pull out and reorganize her new copies of music since she couldn’t find the time to do so at the shop. The copy machine was acting up that day, spitting out a lot of half-done pages. Keeping them for the sake of making things easier, she regretted her decision, thumbing through all the needless papers. A sigh escaped her lips, shaking her head at the waste.

Her musing was interrupted, however, when she felt her balance shift. Slipping on the wet surface, Christine found herself falling to the ground, landing on her back. During the fall, she lost her grip on the papers, sending them flying, drifting down to wilt in the rain. She was rendered immobile and wide eyed as her good intentions landed and began to sink into the damp ground. The sound of her umbrella hitting the ground snapped her out of shock, scrambling to gather as many papers as possible before it was too late. Snatching up her folder frist, she hugged it to her body as she reached for the other papers, cheeks burning brightly. The scrapes and sores would catch up with her, but first she had to focus on the panic of salvaging her work.

Clumsy Christine strikes again.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

It's raining, it's pouring
The old man is snoring
He went to bed and bumped his head
And couldn't get up in the morning.

It was kind of weird, how much Osric liked the rain. He liked any weather, really, but most people were more inclined to the negative when thinking about getting wet. But Osric loved to dance in the rain. The cliche sort of phrase was definitely amplified by reality twenty times over when one saw how Osric did, in fact, actually love dancing in the rain. Not that he could dance well, at all, but if one could count running around and jumping and twirling like a child as dancing, then yes, that's what he loved to do.

Rain. rain, go away
Come again another day.

He never understood that rhyme. One time in preschool, he remembered his teacher asking, "Okay kids, why wouldn't you want it to rain?" And Osric was terribly confused by all the kids reasons. The laundry could dry in the drying machine, if the sun wasn't out. Rain was cold, but it was better than hot. Water was good for the plants, they'll only get over-watered if you water than too much anyways. Thunder and lightning wasn't scary, unless it was, sometimes, but that's what Mom and Dad's room was for.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,
Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens,
Brown paper packages tied up with strings,
These are a few of my favorite things.

It was just so damn fun, to run around and get wet. He loved swimming too, but rain was real, it was natural, and somehow that just made it seem, well, a bit magical, if he could choose from his Disney-based vocabulary to describe it (Osric freaking thrived on those films as a kid). Yeah, he looked all sorts of stupid, a grown man (well, kind of) running around in the rain like he hadn't seen water in days, but sometimes one just had to give in to fun. In Osric's case, several times a week.

It as one of those several times a week.

New York rarely had a shortage of occasional drizzle, and this week was no exception. It was more than drizzling but less than a storm when Osric stopped stopped playing the piano long enough to hear or notice the sound of rain hitting the windows of the store. Hist shift had ended over an hour ago, but he'd wanted to stay and play the grand piano for a while; it'd been a while, and he missed the piano. He might love the guitar most, but piano was his first. His one and only. It was after a particularly dramatic rendition of I Write Sins Not Tragedies that he got up and peeked his head outside, only to get his long hair wet and excited enough to decide against playing more and going outside to, well, basically, play in the rain.

He made his way to the nearby park after gathering his messenger bag and bidding his boss goodbye, and walked briskly on the pathway between the trees, admiring the sounds and smells that only came out during rain. He wondered if that's where they fell from, those unique parts of life that came with raindrops; if they feel from the heavens. It was a bit of a cheesy metaphor but an enjoyable one nonetheless. After a few minutes a girl ahead on the path came into view, and Osric suddenly saw her fall, her umbrella and the papers that he been in her arms flying every which way.

Osric jogged up to her, and knelled on the ground to help her pick up her papers before they became too wet. Between her frantic expression and the fact that some of the papers were yellowing from age, Osric could tell they were probably important, at least to her. "Here, let me help," he said smiling, though he had already started gathering quite a few of the papers in his arms.

It wasn't too hard to pick up all the pages in a short amount of time, as with two of them and a thankful lack of very strong winds combined the pick up was made fast. When all of the papers were off the damp ground, Osric shuffled the papers so they were all facing vertically in a neater sort of pile before he held out his arms to give the messy stack to the girl. However, before she could reach out of take them, Osric noticed the papers he were holding contained music. The sheet on the top had only the second half of whatever page of music it was - probably the result of those crap copy machines - and the notes formed easily in his head, a personal mental radio, and he listened for the seconds he had before the girl inevitably took the stack he held out.

[CHRISTINE DAAÉ]

Christine was in her own little world. During her frantic frenzy to collect all the papers, she didn’t notice the man approach. It was only after she snatched up the last article around her that she took a moment to think. Raising her head, she scanned the surroundings, eyes lighting up when she saw Osric close by. Christine caught his brief glance over her papers as she shuffled over to him. Without a single word, she carefully took the pages from him with trembling hands. Flipping through, she took a moment to observe each page. There was minor water damage, but for the most part, no real harm was done. She’d have to pick up blank sheet music and write it by hand, it seemed. There was no way she was going back to that god awful store any time soon.

Taking a moment to settle her nerves, Christine looked up. Shaming herself for her bad manners, she shot an apologetic smile, “Thank you for your help. These papers...they’re very important-“ She had to interrupt herself midsentence, because she caught her Swedish accent slipping through. Her accent was always something of an embarrassment to her; she was proud of her heritage, but not of the looks she received when her voice changed. If it came across too heavy, she became hard to understand, which opened the door of humiliation. She had encountered individuals in her past who were dead set convinced that she couldn’t speak a word of english, leading to raised voices in tiny hallways, and even more odd looks from passerby’s.

So, in general, she tried to avoid her accent as a whole. That didn’t stop it from sneaking through when she was upset, angry, or in this case, embarrassed.

It took Christine a moment to realize that she had stopped mid-sentence, and was sitting there very awkwardly in silence. She lowered her gaze, avoiding eye contact as she forced herself to pick the conversation back up without the loaded accent, “Excuse me. These papers belonged to my father, you see. He wrote music..it was..his profession? If you could call it that.” She paused, searching for the right words. It was his life work, the legacy that he left behind. Christine felt a painful thud respond in her chest, and knew it was time to change the topic. She recalled the stranger staring at the papers earlier, which gave her a way to change topics without seeming loony.

“Do you like music?” She asked, almost with an innocent curiosity.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

He felt the girl's hands tremble as she took the stack of papers, which, not that he was one to talk, thought was a bit dramatic, as in, something that didn't happen often. They must have beeb really important papers. He watched with interest as she flipped through the papers, looking to see how much damage had been done to them. Osric hadn't thought they had looked so bad; it was just water, which would dry.

Finally, being satisfied with her evolution, the girl looked up and smiled apologetically. “Thank you for your help," she said, "These papers...they’re very important-" She suddenly stopped, and Osric wondered why. He thought, she had a nice accent. Accents were nice. Accents were cool. But when she spoke again, it was gone, and though Osric was confused, he knew it was probably rude to ask. “Excuse me. These papers belonged to my father, you see," she continued, and Osric nodded. Right, if his father had written music, he would've treasured it too. "He wrote music..it was..his profession? If you could call it that... Do you like music?”

"Yeah, I do, a lot," Osric said earnestly, grinning. "This music looks great, too. Your father was really talented." He paused, wondering if she knew of him. She looked the same age as Osric, but he was always being too presumptuous, so of course she probably wouldn't. That would be silly of him to assume. Besides, people might recognize a song, but it was much less common to recognize the face behind it. "Do you like music?"

OOC: I just realized Osric and Christine are the exact same age!

[CHRISTINE DAAÉ]

Christine was grinning ear to ear with pride. It had been ages since someone even gave a nod at her father’s direction, let alone compliment his work. While it was a simple statement, it meant more to Christine than one would think. Her anxiety and embarrassment were quickly knocked out the door as she listened intently. When he asked if she liked music, she replied perhaps too quickly, with far too much enthusiasm. “Oh, I love music! It’s like the air I breathe.” She had to stop herself there. Christine could spend hours upon hours talking about music. It was engraved in her life and history, the topic was more than just music, it was her past, present, and future. If this man loved music as well, then maybe it held some importance to him beyond the common pastime.

At once Christine knew she wanted to know more about him. It wasn’t often that she found people who had a passion for music, after all. Glancing up at the sky, her brows furrowed. This was not the place to have such a discussion, though. Turning her attention back to Osric, she innocently made the pitch. “Would you like to get some coffee? I know a pretty good place nearby. It’ll be my treat, as thanks for helping me out.” Christine didn’t stop to think she if was being forward or not, because she wasn’t usually in this position. She didn’t have much social experience, so the thought had never occurred to her. She had no skewed intentions, only curiosity and hopes of making a new friend.

A thought did dawn on her, though. Christine didn’t even know his name! Where were her manners today? She must have lost them after her little fall earlier. Shaking her head, she let out a slight laugh. “I just realized, I don’t even know your name! I’m terribly sorry. My name’s Christine.” Should she try and shake his hand? No, that was too formal. She didn’t want to make the situation too uncomfortable. Then again, she was putting way to much thought into these things. If only there was an off button in her mind. She would call it the anti-fret machine, perfect for any occasion.

But that would be just silly. Very helpful, but silly.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

Though the girl had looked almost frantic with worry when the papers had been scattered amongst themselves on the damp ground, she was now smiling so widely that Osric couldn't do one thing about the bright one he naturally returned. She looked much better smiling, he thought. Then again, a worried face rarely suited anyone.

“Oh, I love music! It’s like the air I breathe!" She exclaimed excitedly, and Osric was thrilled at hearing it. It wasn't that hard to find people who said they loved music, or proclaimed that 'Music was their life' or 'I live for music,' trying to compensate for their general boring-ness, and maybe they did love music, but not love loved. But he was sure this girl meant it, because she looked so excited at his proclamation that he loved music himself; and of course, the fact that she was holding a stack of obviously classical and well written music, something one of those posers wouldn't touch with a yard stick.

Osric watched as the girl glanced up at the sky for a moment - it wasn't raining quite as hard as it had been earlier this morning, but it was still considerably drizzly - and said, “Would you like to get some coffee? I know a pretty good place nearby. It’ll be my treat, as thanks for helping me out.” Osric would have said Yes, Of course immediately, but the girl looked stricken for a second as she interrupted his agreeing by saying, “I just realized, I don’t even know your name! I’m terribly sorry." Well, Osric didn't mind being interrupted for something like that; she was being rude specifically to be polite, after all.

"My name’s Christine," she said, and Osric could tell for a second she looked nervous. She needn't be nervous around him; he wasn't very intimidating at all. Then again he was rather tall, so perhaps that was it. He gave her a reassuringly warm smile in order to make sure she couldn't possibly be afraid of him.

"Nice to meet you," he said brightly, "Um, I'd love to go get some coffee with you. That'd be fun." He didn't look like a pedo, right? Well, Hank did tell him he was as dangerous looking as an (extremely tall and skinny) ten year old girl that time after they'd fought, so he was pretty sure she wouldn't think him strange. He didn't really have to worry about seeming that creepy, since she was the one who had invited him in the first place - Wait, did she look creepy? Nah. - and not the other way around, but he couldn't help thinking these ridiculous things because he always had ridiculous thoughts.

[CHRISTINE DAAÉ]

Christine grinned when he accepted her offer. It didn’t quite occur to her that he would say no, but there was always a dark corner in her heart whispering negative things. It poked holes in her confidence, and in cases like this it planted doubt within her mind. Though, today was a good day despite the unusual circumstance. It wasn’t too late to turn things around and end it on a good note. Taking a moment to think, she tried to figure out the fastest way to the café. She didn’t know the name, but she knew the location...if that made any sense. Biting her lip, she observed her mental map. After a few seconds she decided (or more likely, remembered) the best course, and began to head in that direction.

While it was hardly a drizzle, she offered her umbrella to Osric, making sure she didn’t leave him behind. “Here. It’s not good to walk in the cold rain. There’s more than enough room for the two of us.” This was true. The umbrella was fairly large; Christine didn’t exactly pay attention to the shape when she bought it and often felt silly walking around with it. This resulted in her using a rain jacket, but she opted for the foolish thing today for no real reason other than whimsy. After all, what good is an umbrella if you never use it? If objects had feelings, it would feel neglected. Christine would never want an object to feel that way. Thus, she took it out for a walk, regardless of how unusual she looked. In this case, it turned out to be the right decision.

Christine headed out of the park and down the road. Over the crosswalk to the other side of the road. Several turns later and around a five minute walk, she found the shop she was looking for. Daily Express was the name Christine forgot, and she could see why. Despite the lack luster name, the restaurant itself wasn’t too bad. Booths were shoved to the sides, high tables filled the floor, and low-beam lights made the place somewhat typical, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem seemed to be that everyone had the same idea as Christine; the entire space was nearly packed with people. Hot coffee on a rainy day did seem ideal, didn’t it?

There was a line, too. A long line. However, she could read the board from the back. Looking around the room, Christine turned her attention back to Osric. “If you’d like, you can give me your order and pick out a table. Looks like this will take a while.” She had to raise her voice a bit to be heard over the buzz of people. She felt a little guilty, but she had no idea it would be so crowded. She had never seen the place so packed!

(Sorry if this seemed like a bit of god-modding! I wanted to get them to the shop so you’d have something to reply to other than awkward walking moments. If it’s not ok let me know and I’ll change my post :3)

[OSRIC YOUNG]

Christine offered him to share her rather large umbrella, which Osric, while still rain-loving, accepted gratefully. Now that he wasn't moving, he was feeling quite chilled and was suppressing the start of shivers, which the rain was not helping. Osric followed Christine's lead, a short walk and comfortably quiet walk until they reached a place which Osric had been once with Hank called Daily Express. The place was alright, but the place was packed due to the rain.

Osric sighed with annoyance, and Christine looked at him, looking just as bothered. “If you’d like, you can give me your order and pick out a table. Looks like this will take a while."

"Oh, no," Osric said immediately, not wanting to put her out like that. "It's nice to just be in the warm, anyway." Well, the air was warm; the breath of all the people around probably helped too. Still, being soaked to the bone really didn't do much but make him cold despite the warmer air. Christine was considerably dryer than he was, having been under an umbrella except for the short time it took for them to pick up the papers she'd dropped before.

"Are you okay, though?" He asked,"If you're cold just standing here we can go back to my place or something. I don't live that far."

[CHRISTINE DAAÉ]

Was Christine ok? Well..yeah, sure. She couldn’t complain. Did she really look that agitated? Christine didn’t bother to puzzle over the statement and its meaning, listening intently – or trying to, over the annoying roar of the place. Shaking her head, she gave a small smile. “Oh, no. I’m fine.” Though, looking at him, she could tell he wasn’t. How did she not realize he was soaked to the bone? Was she really that ditzy?

Pushing back the urge to grimace at her obliviousness, she spoke back up, “Though, if you hang around in those clothes, you might end up with a cold. I don’t mind going back to your place.”

She paused to look around. Yes, that would be a good idea. “I’m sorry for dragging you out here. I had no idea it would be packed like this. It rarely is.” It seemed like the city was always changing. Anything she knew seemed to be that way. Christine mentally shrugged off the dark thoughts. No, she wouldn’t get down on herself. Not today.

She allowed herself to wonder how long he had been outside in the first place, and what he was doing. Oddly, she had respect for him. Most people didn’t want to get wet, treating the rain like some acidic plague that came to interfere with the day. To know that, for whatever reason, Osric was wondering around in the rain with little care earned him some credit in her book. Osric seemed like a pretty cool guy.

[OSRIC YOUNG]

OOC: You can write them going to Osric's if you want to; we can say it's only like 4 blocks away or something.

Christine shook her head and said, “Oh, no. I’m fine... Though, if you hang around in those clothes, you might end up with a cold. I don’t mind going back to your place. I’m sorry for dragging you out here. I had no idea it would be packed like this. It rarely is.”

She looked apologetic, and Osric shook his head quickly. "No, no, it's fine! Of course you wouldn't know. But, uh," he paused, grimacing. He was actually really freaking cold right now. "Going to my house would be nice. If you don't mind."

He smiled and took Christine's hand. He looked up at her, trying to make sure if it was okay; he never really thought about how other people would react to physical contact until it was too late, did he? It was a bad habit. But he didn't put the same emotional value into touching as the general public; he would kiss people he'd never met on the cheeks to say hello if it wasn't considered weird.

He pulled gently on Christine's hand to try to lead her out of the crown back out the door, where they could run back to his flat. Thinking of his flat -- "By the way. My apartment's kind of a mess. Sorry, I hope you don't mind that either."