Roof Second Floor Lobby Back Door

Crash Gibson 'ey kid, watcha name? *looks up at you for a minute before speaking, but when he does it's amicably, if quietly* *and doesn't ever quite meet your eyes* Call me Crash. *his voice is low and quiet, nothing special, with the typical street accent tinged just barely with northern Irish* 'ave you been blessed wit a newsie nickname yet? *shrugs* Everybody calls me Crash. Always have. Where'd dat come from, anyway? *grins* I ain't da most coordinated guy on earth. *which is a bit of an understatement* *he's sitting, which is good, 'cause were he standing he probably would have knocked something over by now* When's yer birthday? Know how old ya are? Always celebrated Novembah 13th, just 'cause nobody else was havin' a birthday den and it seemed like a pretty dismal month, ya know? *brushes a lock of hair out of his eyes* *it promptly falls back into them* Whatcha look like? *raises his eyebrows and blinks in surprise* I'se...pretty average, I guess...*sitting, as he is, he looks average--skinny as a rail, tanned from sun exposure, slightly shaggy brown hair falling into strangely soulful hazel eyes which most people don't notice because he doesn't usually look most people in the eye--but as he stands, and consequently towers over you at 6'2", you adjust your assesment* *he has a tendency to slouch, making him appear shorter, but Cats is breaking him of the habit slowly but surely* *his eyes really light up his face and are by far his best feature--or would be, if he'd ever look people in the eye* *he's not particularly attractive, but not particularly unattractive, either--is just sort of average* *sits again and looks up at you expectantly* And wadda ya like, huh? Got mucha a personality? *shrugs again* Kinda' quiet...*this is an understatement--he's way beyond quiet* *is, however, generous and friendly, and has a good sense of humor and a keen eye for observing people once you get to know him--if you get to know him* *it's something of a feat to get behind his shell, and only two people to date have managed this: one's dead and the other's his girlfriend, Gidgit McClarity* So... where'd ya come from an' watcha doin heah? *simply* Lived in Queens all m'life, *smiles a little* an' I'se a lousy pickpocket. Don't s'ppose ya got any friends, do ya? Shoah. *doesn't offer anymore information, not surprisingly* *was surprisingly good friends with his former bunkmate, Art, and is also fairly good friends with Cats, whom he still comes by to see occasionally* *isn't a social person--at all--and generally avoids groups, but can be pulled into conversation occasionally* What about a, uh, signifigant othah, hmm? *wink wink nudge nudge* *brightens up so much it's as if he's a whole new person* Oh yah, Gidgit--met 'er? *breaks into a smile that lights up his face* She's...*looks over your shoulder as if looking at someone* she's somethin else. *with a distinct note of pride* We got married, ya know. Waddya do 'round heah? *subsdes a little, bit is still glowing around the edges* Sell papes like everybody. If ya emptied ya pockets right now, what'd be in 'em? *digs through his pockets* Some change, *37 cents, to be exact* lint, piece a'string...dat's it. Anythin' else we oughta know? Nah, not really. *bobs his head at you* Back to the bunkroom