tampered | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

When; Tuesday 5th February, after this
Rating; G - no warnings inherent
Characters; Andrew Ryan (

rianofski) and Ruby Flint (

spotlighted)
Summary; Friendly drinks
Log;

As the clock approaches 8pm, Ruby brushes out her curls and glances in the mirror for a final time. She feels overdressed, and a little self-conscious because of that, but the dress that she'd arrived in was the only thing she owned that fell into the category of evening wear rather than just practical clothes. The apartment still doesn't look like anyone lives there, something that Ruby hopes to remedy very quickly if she's to be stuck here indefinitely, as the place just feels very cold and lonely at the moment.

She rises eagerly at the knock on the door, almost tripping as she slips into a pair of heels on the way to answer it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Well, the City hasn't reckoned with Ruby Flint before. If they try and knock me down, I'll just come back fighting even harder."

She hesitates at the question, taking a long drag on her cigarette to weigh up whether she should tell him or not. She supposes it would be easier than avoiding the subject, especially if a friendship or more developed out of this.

She sighs. "You said you wanted to know all about me. Well, I should tell you straight up that my parents are socialists. I don't subscribe to their ideas one bit, and I've never had much contact with them, but that didn't stop Joe McCarthy from pulling me up in front of the House Committee. They didn't get anything, of course - there wasn't anything there for them to get - but it still meant that I got a fair bit of publicity that I neither wanted or needed."

He nods slowly, not looking particularly upset by the revelation. Her parents may be socialists, but he can tell that she's not, and her parents aren't here, in any case. "I see," he muses, taking another sip of his drink. His expression is inscrutable, as it always is, but he doesn't look bothered so much as thoughtful.

"Then I suppose I should tell you that I was born in Russia, and while my parents certainly weren't socialists, I've seen more than my fair share of socialism. You're hardly to blame for your parents misguided notions."

Nor for getting pulled up in front of the House Committee. He has his own opinions about the US government, but perhaps those are best saved for later.

Ruby looks both surprised and very grateful that he doesn't think any less of her, it's not a reaction she's used to seeing. She supposes that by 1959, maybe some of the paranoia has ebbed a little, and only those with dangerous ideals are actually being targeted. That and he seemed an excellent judge of character, anyway. His own revelation only increases her growing respect for him.

"I can't even imagine how awful that must have been. I'm glad you got out of there."

"Awful is putting it mildly. I left when the revolution broke out. I wasn't fond of the tsar, of course, but communist rule was even less palatable. New York seemed like a far better option."

That's glossing over things quite a bit. He doesn't care to go into the real impact the revolution or his childhood in Russia had had on him, nor how he currently feels about New York or America in general. He finishes his drink, looking almost surprised that the glass is empty, and gestures for the waiter to bring him another.

"I'm really sorry that you had to go through that. I can't imagine... It's my worst nightmare, really, living in a place with that little choice." She glances out of the window at the City beyond. The idea of these curses essentially stripping them of choice in how to even act left her with a similar distaste, and she downs the rest of her scotch. "It's a testament to you, though, that you overcame all of that."

Oh, Ruby, flattery will get you everywhere with this man. "Regardless of where one finds themselves, there is always restriction upon choice. It's simply up to us to find some way to overcome that restriction. Even here, there are small things one can do."

That's not to say that he likes the City, but he doesn't hate it as vehemently as he did several months before. "You have choices to make here, as well. Choices about your career that, perhaps, you wouldn't have been able to make at home."

She nods agreement. "I thought I might try again in a new city when things blew over a little more, though I had more Chicago or LA in mind than some magical nameless city that one's ever heard of. They asked me to leave, you see, they didn't like the negative publicity that I might bring to the club. Here I have a clean slate to work with."

"I think you would have fit right in in my city. It's a shame I didn't meet you in New York instead of here."

That's the first mention he's made of 'his' city all night, and it's casually slid in there, as though it's nothing notable. In fact, most people simply assume, when he says it, that he's referring to a city he lives in, perhaps one he's deeply attached to. The truth, of course, is far more complex.

"Yes, it really is a shame. Although I suppose we'd still both have ended up here, regardless." She stubs out her cigarette, leaning in towards him a little now. "So you found somewhere else after New York, then?"

He lights another cigarette before responding. "In a manner of speaking. I created somewhere else."

And he hadn't been lying when he'd said she would have been a good addition to it. Perhaps not now, with things as they were, but in the early days, the days when things had been going so well, and people had been hopeful. He had always had an appreciation for art, after all.

Had anyone else been speaking, she might have looked a little skeptical, but he seems just the sort of man who could do it. Her eyes widen in wonder. "You created your own city?"

"I did. I was fed up with the things I'd seen in the United States, the very things I'd left Russia to avoid. The expansion of socialist New Deal policies, all while decrying communism; the misuse of science throughout the war; the censorship and reactionary nonsense governing our art, media, and literature. I chose to break away from that entirely."

He doesn't mean to give mini-speeches, but it happens with some regularity. And, frankly, nobody in the City has thus far seemed particularly interested in his ideals. She's a nice change from that.

That look of wonder doesn't leave her face, and as he speaks, as she feels how impassioned he is about these ideals, and hears it in his voice, it slowly changes to a mixture of awe and respect. How wonderful it must be, to have the resolve, not to mention the know-how and the resources, to break away from the existing society and create one of your own.

"I was a child during the New Deal, so I didn't have many thoughts on it one way or the other, but I remember my grandfather decrying a lot of the policies with some regularity. Private companies should have been allowed to do all that, not government agencies, he'd say, and I have to agree. I suppose America hasn't gotten much better, really. The war sapped me of every bit of patriotism I had. I've been trying - I was out on the campaign trail for General Eisenhower to get the presidency, before I arrived here, and I do think he's by far the best option the States has, but ... I suppose it's as much to prove to my decriers that I'm not as un-American as they'd tell everyone." She beams a radiant smile at him. "I do wish that I could have lived in your city, Andrew."

There are people who would find his ideas laughable, and people who would be quick to note that his own city was crumbling before his eyes. Fortunately, nobody here knew that -- except for one person, and to Andrew's relief, he didn't seem keen on spreading the message far and wide.

"America continues to get worse, I assure you."

He's only speaking from the perspective of being seven years ahead of her, but those seven years have entrenched an even deeper dislike and distrust of the United States government. Perhaps it's reasonable: once you have your own city to worry about, the concern of anyone taking it from you is ever-present.

"Eisenhower was, perhaps, better than Roosevelt, but then, I'd be hard pressed to find someone who wouldn't be. It struck me as ridiculous to simply hand all of that economic power to a federal government, to entrust them with the wellbeing of the people."

He smiles almost apologetically. "You would have fit in well in my city, I think. You would have been the talk of the town."

She nods gravely, that familiar disillusion setting into her at learning that things didn't get better. It's what she'd been counting on, really, that a new decade and a Republican in the White House might improve the state of the country.

"It's an attitude that I find quite insulting, really, this idea that the government knows best, and are far more qualified to spend our money than we are. Entrusting so much power to them is dangerous."

Her fresh drink arrives and she sips at it, continuing to smile at him over the rim.

"I'd have made sure I was, but for all the right reasons this time."

"Nobody would have suspected you of communism there. The very idea that I'd allow a communist into my city would be laughable enough to deter any suspicions, even if your parents did subscribe to that ideology."

He sips his drink, smiling back at her. He's pleased with how this conversation has gone so far, with how receptive she is to his ideas, and, of course, with how very attractive she is.

"In any case, we're here instead, and I imagine that we can find a way to make the best of it."

"It almost sounds too good to be true." Her voice has taken on a slightly dreamy quality as she tries to envision it.

She places her glass back on the table, that pleased expression not leaving her face as she looks back up at him. "Yes, I can think of several ways that we could make passing the time here quite pleasant."

It was too good to be true, but there was no sense in dispelling the idea he'd obviously formed in her head. Stubborn to the end, he refused to admit that what had seemed a perfect plan in its inception had become a chaotic mess throughout the years. Let Ruby believe that things had been as idyllic as he'd wanted them to be -- she'd never know any different.

"As can I," he replies, smiling at her, one eyebrow slightly raised, wondering just how far he can go with the flirtation. "For example, I'd like to do something like this again."

She's imagining nothing short of paradise on earth, and while she does have questions - not least of which was trying to find any country that would let him build such a city - right now she's content just to lean a little further over the table, her smile widening. "I'd like that too, very much."

"I'm glad. I hope you don't mind my saying how beautiful you are."

He'd complimented her dress before, of course, but he thought she might be amenable to another compliment, a far more personal one. And he leans forward, too, though only ever so slightly. He's still not quite sure what approach to take with her, but has nearly settled on slow and flattering. While there are women in the City he can be pushier with, he's not sure she's one of them.

"Oh, I don't mind at all. It's wonderful to hear from someone with such good judgement and perception. Someone who, I have to say, is rather dashing himself."

The fact that he's significantly older than her isn't something that's occurred to her as a problem at all, nor is the fact that she's still only really just arrived here and maybe ought to settle in more before pursuing something like this.

If most of his smiles have been small and guarded throughout the night -- he's never been the type to grin, nor show any great happiness -- the smile he offers her now is bigger, and seems genuine. He appreciates the flattery, most because he has the feeling that it's sincere.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say dashing, perhaps, but I appreciate the sentiment."

That, however, is false modesty. He would absolutely say dashing, and probably other flattering words, besides.

She shrugs. "Suit yourself, but if there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I never say anything I don't mean." And personally, she's never been one to turn down a compliment, or for any kind of modesty, for that matter.

"I'll keep that in mind."

The way he manages to make everything sound vaguely flirtatious, vaguely suggestive, is a talent he's developed over the years. Even something so bland as the sentence he just said has a bit of an undertone to it.

"Good."

She takes another sip of her drink before settling her attention back on him.

"Unfortunately this place seems pretty devoid of a separate city for you to run, so how do you occupy yourself here?"