Shenanigans and Good Music

[Nemo Webb]

It had been a weird day. Not a bad day essentially, just a bit … Off. Something in the air felt unfamiliar. Perhaps she wasn’t used to actually selling records to actual people just yet. And, to be honest, it wasn’t the major part of the job either. The major part being either eating, slacking off, or pretending to store orders in the stock room. … Well, no, actually, she still ran a few things around the place, but nothing that couldn’t be handled in little enough time to still be bored out of her mind the rest of the day. As of now, she was on one of her numerous breaks. Which meant nothing considering she had absolutely nothing to do. 

After playing with her office chair, changing the background music several times and chasing a bug under the stalls, Nemo had now found a new occupation in making a coin roll across her fingers. She was still an amateur magician, but little tricks like these were starting to look seamless, especially since it didn’t require anything else than practice. And it looked pretty cool too. Very focused on the insignificant task at hand, she tried to shift it between hands, which proved harder than she had remembered. Okay, what about two coins on one hand? She pinched another fifty cents coin from the register, and began her challenge of the day… 

… Which just set both coins rolling on the floor, and Nemo in their wake. Cursing a little, she got on all fours, recovered the silver pieces and took advantage of her position to take a look under the stalls – hey, the previous circumstances having just proven that money could get stuck there, might as well check. There was no money to be found, but two shadows on the crack of light informed her that there were two feet on the other side. She therefore got back on her feet, and saluted:

- Hey there, random citizen.

And, without really noticing, she resumed playing with one of the coins. It was reassuring having something to do with your hand that wasn’t aimlessly wiggling it at someone to say hello. 


(thread with Oliver)

[Oliver Queen]

Oliver Queen was on a mission. Although, it was not a mission that one who knew his alter ego may assume. For one, it was taking place during the day. And second, he was not dressed in his usual costume when carrying out these missions of his to criminals. Instead, he was clad in more casual attire, for his task to be fulfilled was not dangerous nor required discretion. Well, maybe a little bit of discretion, but mainly from one person. Walter's birthday was approaching, and he was throwing a rather large and extravagant dinner banquet. He had kindly invited the Queen family which was something Oliver greatly appreciated. Despite the divorce between Walter and Moira, Oliver remained close to him and respected him a great deal. Walter had after all, helped Oliver save partial control of Queen Consolidated by buying the remaining shares of the company. He was a good man, and Oliver was grateful for the opportunity to share in the celebration of his birthday.

With this particular occasion, came the difficulty of finding a gift. He had something in mind, something very specific, but he had yet to locate it. Walter collecting records, which wasn't all that surprising considering his refined taste. And thanks to some digging from Felicity, they had found out a particular record that had yet to fill Walter's collection. This was his mission: to find that record and gift it to him. The problem was that Oliver had been to several record stores and had not yet been able to find it. This was the fourth one he was going to, and it was on the other side of town. "Are you sure this one has it?" Oliver asked Felicity through the phone as he was walking toward it. "Well is there any way you can be sure?" He asked, his voice not snippy or demanding, but more just wanting her to be sure when sending him to these places. She too would be at the birthday banquet as she was friend's with Walter -- and Oliver was even going to bring Diggle as his 'bodyguard' unless he wanted the night off.

"You've sent me to three other stores, none of which carried the one we're looking for." Oliver was starting to feel like they were on a wild goose chase. He paused outside the door to the shop as Felicity was having one of her babbling moments. "Felicity," he said, if only to make her stop talking for a moment. "I'm here right now, I'll let you know if I have any luck." And with that, he hung up the phone, tucked it in his pocket and went inside the store. His eyes scanned around, looking for someone who worked here and didn't see anyone upon first glance. Though, it didn't take long for someone to suddenly pop up from the ground and greet him. Oliver turned his head in that direction, a small smile forming on his lips. "Hi," he politely greeted in return. She seemed preoccupied with something, so Oliver began to walk through the aisles, starting on one end, and going through the various records to see if he could find the one he was looking for. He paused for a moment, knowing there was an easier way to do this. He turned toward the store clerk, a smile reforming on his lips. "Actually, I was wondering if you could help me find a record," he asked, knowing that if this could save him a lot of time of searching through every record in this place.

[Nemo Webb]

He didn’t seem to want any help, she decided as he started to browse through the shelves. Maybe he just wanted to take a look around, and she wasn’t one to follow people’s every moves as soon as they set foot in the shop. Hence, she leaned against a pillar, looked another way, and recommenced failing at coin tricks. He … He seemed kinda familiar, didn’t he? He didn’t look the type of guy that would have lived in the Glades, though. He was too … Clean. And muscly. Or at least not the right type of muscly. He definitely wasn’t the hoodlum type of muscly. Anyway. Maybe he was some kind of actor or something like that, and if he was, it wasn’t the type of business that she minded.  

Then the model/actor/former acquaintance broke the silence, and she raised her head. Aha, there it was. Big manly biker-meets-rock star needed help, and she was the one that … Oh, come on, Nemo. Was that really something to gloat about? Such power this was, to reign over people’s ears, and be able to deprive them of good music! … Truly something to satisfy oneself with. Especially since they would just go to a rival store. She consequently wiped the upcoming grin from her face, and innocently shrugged. 

- Yeah, I would have guessed as much.  

The small clerk trotted to the stranger. Boy was he tall. She looked like an ant next to him, and her neck crunched when she looked up to him.  

- Anything in particular? You have to know, I don’t really believe in the cryptic records seller cliché, so if you told me you were looking for, I don’t know, “double beats post-punk revival”, I would have NO idea what you’re talking about. 

She marked a small pause, had a slight wince, and felt compelled to add:

- Well, I would… But you know what I mean.

Another pause.

- Right?

There was something a tad insolent in the way she held herself, but it was made somewhat dimmer by the huge checked shirt that ate up half her body. There was also the fact that she didn’t mean to come off like that. It was one of those things that just happened. Maybe she had a voice that was a bit too shrill, maybe she slouched too much. Maybe her eyes lingered on people for too long. As of right now, though she tried not to stare, the lingering impression that she knew who he was and the fact that he was twice her size made the task a bit difficult.  

[Oliver Queen]

Oliver turned to face her as she approached him after he'd asked for her assistance. She went on to talk about record seller cliches, using the very distinct example of 'double beats post-punk revival. She then seemed to pause afterwards, correcting herself, and then even adding more words as if trying to diffuse a potentially awkward situation with every short interval of silence that lingered following her words. Instead, Oliver felt his lips curve upward in a small amused smile. "I guess I'll have to pick a better cliche because you took the words right out of my mouth," he teased, making it very evident that he was just joking around with her, appreciating her sense of humor -- though not entirely certain if she had meant it as a joke. Either way, he hoped to bring her to some ease. While he was a very task oriented person, it was also nice to just hold a casual conversation with people that didn't involve business, or hunting criminals, or anything like that.

"Was it really that obvious that I listen to punk music?" He asked, further joking as he made a false expression that reflected his mock surprise. He obviously didn't actually listen to punk music, and the fact that he looked like someone who was drastically different from this stereotype was what he was innocently teasing her with. "Though now I'm curious, since you seem like an expert, what kind of music do you think I actually listen to?" He asked, still smiling so that she knew he was doing this all in good humor. In his pre island, he would most likely only engage in this kind of interaction with a woman, heavily approaching it with charm, if he was to somehow benefit from it -- walking out with her number, or well, something more -- but his priorities had clearly drastically altered. Now, he simply engaged in this playful exchange for the pure enjoyment of it, and if nothing else, to help create a friendly air to the conversation.

[Nemo Webb]

She smiled; one of her crooked, pleasantly surprised smirks. Cool. He was one of the good ones. Some people were put off by her over-familiar ways, or her lightly mocking phlegm. But this one seemed pretty at ease with her. Heck, the conversation might even prove interesting, for it was worth. It definitely wouldn’t center on punk music: though she knew clean-shaved, businessmen-like people could very well listen to surprising genres, she could see a tint of irony on his face when he said it. 

His next question surprised her nonetheless. People weren’t usually so direct. Or eager to expose themselves to any kind of judgment. Well … Pigeonholing clients wasn’t exactly encouraged if one was to keep their place, but he seemed confident enough not to throw a fit if she was wrong, and it wasn’t like she didn’t enjoy doing it either way. Let’s see… She absent-mindedly crossed her arms, and gauged him from head to toe. 

- Well…

He seemed pretty stereotypically masculine, with all the … muscles and classy clothing. But then again, it could very well be a false lead. He also seemed rich enough, seeing as his clothes perfectly fit on his shoulders. With his modelly ways, he could afford to be a Casanova, but now that just was plain assumption. He was too proper to be a party-animal, which left a few kinds out. Too healthy to be a stoner, too. She inhaled deeply.

- I think you like music that gets the job done. Techno, dubstep or trance are definitely out. You look pretty middle-class, you could be into classical, but you’re too manly for that… I absolutely can’t see you listening to Mozart sitting in a chair doing nothing. It would have to be something a bit more … Angry. You don’t particularly know your way around the aisles, so you’re probably not a music snob. So not indie and whatnot. … Huh… What else. Your eyes are way too clear to be a stoner, and you’re way too elegant to be a sect guru, so not new age, not reggae and probably not trip-hop either.

She took a pause to breathe. Maybe this harmless question was getting a bit too sherlockian for the guy, but she was having way too much fun listing musical clichés to be able to stop.

- I’d also wager that you save jazz and vintage music for banging chicks. You theoretically could be into metal, but … Just… Nah. And pop is too soppy. So I’d have to go with rock. Like … Rolling Stones, Arctic Monkeys, and maybe even a little bit of Metallica. 

She let the sound of her answer float around her head for a few seconds, then she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at herself and mumble:

- Oh my god, I am the cryptic records seller. A stereotype-enforcing one, no less. … Yay me.

An expression of disgust overdramatically made her mouth twist for a moment, before she returned her attention to the man she had momentarily forgotten looked familiar. Nemo profoundly sighed, and asked, with the expression of someone that was just about to get hanged: 

- Okay, just how completely wrong am I? Do you even listen to music? ... Are you even standing in a records shop?