Hello, you're on Van camera! (ATTN: Henrietta)

The lady with the amazing beehive was too fast for Van to catch and in the process of following her he had lost all of the original prospects. Thankfully, there were always people in Times Square–especially on a Saturday. Grey eyes scanned the street for any anomalies and then he saw her. A girl with dark brown hair bobbed her head and swayed to the music pouring from her headphones. She looked disappointed when the walking light turned on. A little weird, but nothing Van usually found super interesting or picture worthy. It’s probably a good idea to mention that this girl was really pretty. Really pretty.

At least from a distance.

For further inspection Van would have to get closer. He slipped through the crowd easily and caught a break as the girl seemed to be distracted by something back on the other side of the street. When she turned around he was in the perfect position to flash! capture her surprised reaction forever in a little picture. He was close enough to her to smell her shampoo or perfume or lotion or whatever it was that made her smell nice and it was a little disconcerting. He managed to plaster a nonchalant grin on his face as she recovered from his little camera attack.

“Thank you, you’re a lovely model.” The grin stayed on his face and Van shook the picture as he waited for it to develop. She really was lovely. Even lovelier up close than from a distance–making the boy even more grateful that he’d found her in the large crowd. “Aw, now isn’t that just the best picture you’ve ever seen?” He held out the little card so she could see her surprised and scared expression.

The brown haired girl’s face turned a deep red when Van called her a ‘lovely model’ and that made the boy smile appreciatively. Most of the girls that ran in the circles that Van hovered around wouldn’t have responded with something quite so adorable or sweet. In fact, most of the bleach-blondes Van knew would have replied with ‘Really? You think I could be a model!?’but he wouldn’t be able to understand their speech through the loud smacking of their gum. He didn’t understand how some of his ‘friends’ could hang out with girls like that until he realized what girls like that were good for–and then he wondered how teen pregnancy rates were going down.

Bleach-blondes and babies aside Van was in close proximity with the pretty brunette and she was responding splendidly to the random picture. Well, she smiled. Smiles were good signs. She told him that he’d just taken the weirdest picture of her that she’d ever seen and that she liked it. She liked it, she liked it. Like that cereal commercial. Before he could respond she tilted her still slightly pink face and asked him if snapping pics was a habit of his.

The smile on his face became less forced and more natural as he responded to her. “Weird is good...Most of the time. Sometimes weird is just...weird.” He laughed at his extensive vocabulary. “I’m glad you like it, ’cuz it’s how I’ll remember you.” The picture was held out so Van could get a better look at is and the boy tried to emulate the look from the picture, failed, and then laughed again. “I am a ninja master at taking sneaky pictures, it is a lifestyle choice, really.” He kept a straight face as he said this.

Feeling like he needed to say something else Van added: “So is dancing at stop lights something you do often, or has it been a recent path your life has taken?” He’d let her know he saw her while hoping she wouldn’t think him creepy. It wasn’t creepy or stalker-ish to Van, it was art and interest. A kind of weird art and fleeting interest did not a stalker-type make.

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s how I first met you.” He laughed and then smiled again when she said she really liked it. She laughed at his lame attempt at the look from the picture. He decided that he liked the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed and that it would be worthwhile to get a picture of the phenomenon. Maybe this girl would be a good candidate for a picture story or something? He’d done one of those once for an art class–the only classes he regularly attended school for. If he remembered correctly he’d spent weeks taking pictures of the places he went and gluing them onto the collage boards he’d prepared in class. It had been one of his favorite projects and his teacher had given him extra credit for the extra hours he spent on it outside of class. If he remembered right his mother had framed the boards and just never got around to hanging them anywhere...they were still propped up in her studio that had been quite as a tomb for almost a year.

There was that cute red color again–this time because of the dancing comment. He nodded at her words although he only really understood some of them. Apparently she’d just made a big move but whether that was from New Jersey or the moon Van couldn’t tell. Well, he knew at least that she wasn’t from Jersey, she didn’t have any accent whatsoever which would have been a mean feat. Soon her name was revealed and Van sensed it was his turn in the conversation.

“Well, it’s good New York’s made you good with yourself. I just hope you came here for the right reasons.” He wasn’t trying to sound condescending or anything, but since she hadn’t mentioned a family and she looked to be his age his mind whirled into dark directions that he’d heard about on the news about girls coming to the big city only to be eaten alive by the place they pined over. “Henri or Henrietta, eh? What about Etta? Doesn’t that part of you name count?” A grin spread across his face and it was obvious that he was kidding. “I’m Van but most people call me the Supreme Mugwump of Brooklyn.” This was said with a straight face as Van lazily snapped a picture of a passerby with an intense case of Bad Mutton Chops. He placed Henrietta’s picture safely in the pocket of his coat before removing the new one from his camera and shaking it.

Deciding it was best not to pry anymore Van just nodded when Etta spilled the beans about her mom not knowing how to deal with her. Sometimes it was better NOT to know something, he felt this was one of those sometimes. Her home state on the other hand he could comment on. “You’re not in Kansas anymore then, Toto.” Grey eyes scanned the dingy snow covered streets that somehow only added to the beauty of the lights of Times Square. Springfield Illinois this decidedly was not–they were standing on the streets of legend. The freaking Big Apple. The mixing pot of...Van got too poetic sometimes and had to reel his thoughts back in one at a time.

“Oh, I was planning on calling you Etta before you gave me permission.” He smirked but he was being honest seeing as it didn’t matter to him whether or not she liked being called ‘Etta’. Well, on some level it probably did, but Van was particularly good at ignoring those feelings. The look she was giving him was faraway, like she was debating something in her head. Note to Van: Ask about that later. What others were thinking was always something that had interested Van. Why had he gotten stretchy limbs instead of a useful power, like telepathy? Mutants can’t be choosers apparently.

No comment on the Harry Potter-inspired comment? A travesty, but then again maybe Etta didn’t read–yet another travesty. “Muggle.” He muttered at the girl, checking out the mutton chop picture before stowing it with its comrade in his pocket. “Well, I’m off to see the Wizard. Nice meeting you, Etta.” The girl was pretty and adorable in an innocent sort of way but he was on a mission, more time did not need to be spent chatting up the brunette from the Midwest. There were people to be followed, pictures to be taken, and damn did he need a cup of coffee. He saluted her and then turned on heel towards the nearest route to the cheapest, least tourist mongering café. As an after note he added: “Never go to a Starbucks in Manhattan, they’re crawling with those” he pointed at a camera toting man with a funny hat that read ‘I <3 NY’. “types. Tourist places are not cool. That’s the best advice I can give without more caffeine.”

He took a few steps away from her and then looked at the photograph in his pocket. “Do muggles drink coffee?” He asked in a half yell so he could be heard above the crowd. It was half an invitation at least, if she had nothing to do she could accept and if she didn’t feel like it the blow off would be simple and would easily get lost in the crowd. It was decidedly a no lose situation from the boy’s point of view.

Invitation accepted. Etta quickly made her way across the current of the crowd to catch up with him. “Well, isn’t that just a coincidence, my people have a thing for coffee as well.” ‘His people’ had a million synonyms, most of which he’d like to keep out of the thesaurus, thank you very much. He looked down at the brunette girl and smiled his most suave smile. No one could blame him for that, she was rather pretty after all. “I know a place off Broadway that’s got some of the best coffee in Manhattan.” Yuck. Van hated Manhattan, the fact that he knew what was good there was sad but that’s what he got for tourist hunting–a limited food supply that wasn’t tainted by non-locals.

It was slower going, walking for two but as they walked Van managed to keep the duo together through the crush of Times Square walkers. A few well placed glares at the hawkers trying to sell theater tickets and soon even their annoying cries had stopped. “So how long have you been in New York?” The question was normal and safe generally and perfect if you were, say, stopped at a ‘do not cross’ crosswalk like she and he were.

People’s stories were always interesting and Van was determined to get a few pieces of Etta’s before the coffee break was over. A kid from Illinois had to have something interesting to say, right? In any case Van would have plenty more opportunities to catch the cute smile on film which was nothing to complain about either. At the stoplight another ninja photo was taken, this one of a twenty-something picking his nose while listening to his i pod. That one was definitely a keeper.

Van laughed at the brunette’s word choice. “Oh, it tis grand, tisn’t it? I think I just made up a word.” More laughter, this time at the word ‘tisn’t’. The light changed and as they walked Van continued talking. “Just wait till you see this place in spring then, Central Park gets real pretty when it’s all done up in flowers.” Boarding school? Parents actually sent their kids away to boarding schools? Weird... No comment was made in regards to friends. Van had lived in New York all his life and sure, he’d had a tone of friends at one point, but he’d lost the majority of them along the way. Now all he had was ‘friends’ and those people majorly sucked. Saying something horribly jaded and just a little bit emo didn’t make him look any cooler in this girl’s big blue eyes. It’d be better to keep his mouth shut.

They were playing question tag, it seemed, because after they made it across the street and after Van had stopped making up words Etta asked him one of her own. “I’ve pretty much lived in Brooklyn my whole life, but up until I was...” The boy struggled to remember. “Eight, I think, we traveled a lot for my mom’s art shows. So basically my whole life.” A shrug. Sometimes the famed streets of his home city got old, boring, plain. “There’s plenty to do, if you know where to look.” Van’s mouth twisted itself into a suddenly mischievous grin. Coffee anyone? “Take for example...the let’s-see-how-many-people-we-can-fit-through-a-door game.” His hand found hers and he used that hold to pull the girl behind him towards the hole in the wall café that they had arrived at. As he did this another couple was making its way through the door. Van rammed himself into the small space that was left on one side of the couple and proceeded to shove himself through, guiding Etta through the doorframe as well. The other patrons were none too pleased with his rough housing, which was to Van's liking. Even though the other couple had made it to the door first they were not the first ones in. Epic win.

“We won.” Van whispered with a chuckle into his companion’s ear before leading her to the counter. He dropped her hand when the barista took and handed him his order. Van almost paid for Etta’s coffee, but decided that’d be weird. “I’ll be over there.” He muttered, pointing with his cup to the small table by the window that was covered in candles flickering in bottles. The café was dimly lit, even in the almost afternoon sunlight and some kind of folky-rock played from the speakers scattered about.