Food.

Americans were obsessed with the stuff.

It wasn't even Americans, just America as a whole, constantly packing as much food as they could into themselves. Even though she'd been here for most of her adult life, Charlie had absolutely no idea why. And she definitely didn't have a bottomless pit for a stomach like some of the Americans she'd seen.

And Americans clearly didn't like the people who break their traditions. For example, the girl in her late teens who's asking for a kids meal at McDonalds. One would think that maybe, just maybe, the fact that her thick accent would explain one or two things to the guy at the register. But noooooooo. Clearly, such obvious facts didn't get through this guys thick skull and abundant facial piercings. And he finally wound up taking her order and giving her change, bewildered expression plastered all over his face.

And that left Charlie standing off to one side of the counter, tapping her foot to Florence and the Machine playing very loud out of one earbud. She was just starting to get into it, bobbing hear head from side to side as she lip-synced along, when her food arrived.

A nice, colorful paper bag filled with a reheated hamburger, fries dripping with trans-fats, all accompanied with a somewhat-healthy, sugar-laden lemonade. Charlie could almost feel the premature heart attack hitting her.

And that stupid, obnoxious bag. The young papyrokinetic seriously wanted to do something about all those bright colors. Sadly, the ink was beyond her ability. So she made do with averting her eyes as she loaded herself down with the sad excuse for food.

She started making her way out when the clerk called out to her. "Have a nice day, miss!" Well, that's a nice touch. They should have made it more accurate, like "Thanks for paying us to raise your cholesterol!" but Charlie guessed that would get them sued pretty quick.

She turned around, still walking out, anxious to get out of this blinking death-trap as fast as she could. She started to respond with a nice "You too," but she was rudely interrupted by running headlong into someone. In her total surprise, mixed with maybe a dose or two of fear, she unconciously squeezed her cup of lemonade. The top popped right off, spraying the lemony, sugary liquid mostly onto the floor, but some of it found its way onto the other person and even onto Charlie herself.

She skittered back a few steps, standing there in total shock, before she started nervously laughing and the words came blundering out over her tongue. "Oh my God I'm sorry. I just didn't look where I was going and....I'm so sorry...." She made a quick, silent prayer that this person was forgiving.

She was not a pretty woman. She was not tripping over herself to greet him. She had spilled lemonade on him. Those three things added up to a very grumpy glare. This teen was in need of a good cop. She'd bumped into Oscar, the Grouch. Ashton looked down at his nice black suit. His eyes dropped to his feet, where his coffee had spilled. They rose back up, and settled icily on her. Another thing ticked off on the list, opposite of 'her favor'.

"You spilled my coffee," He dryly stated the obvious.

There had been quite a few responses she'd expected to come out of this guy. Most of them were loaded with language that Charlie was pretty sure was innappropriate for the small children that filled the fast-food joint. Some of them were kind of funny. And there was even one scenario in her head where the guy just attacked her. Who knows, maybe he had anger-management issues.

But that one had just come waaaay out of left field.

She looked the guy up and down. He was in a really nice suit. 'Well, of course he's in a suit. did I really expect any different with my luck?' she thought to herself.

She decided that after a few second of holding back word-vomit, it might be a good idea to say something. She decided to crack a joke about it. Maybe not the best move, given how pseudo-creepy this guy was. But she went ahead with it anyways. "Yeah, it...it would appear that I did. Guess that's what I get for trying to be nice."

The moment those words left her mouth, she regretted them. Her guilty concience was on her in less than a second, howling "THAT'S your reply? You spill coffee and lemonade on his suit and THAT'S what you have to say for yourself?" After a couple seconds, she realized that maybe, just maybe, she might not get smacked if she actually did something nice for the guy.

So she pulled one out of the hat.

"Look, I'd be happy to get you another coffee and some napkins. I need to get myself something else to drink, so...you know..." Her voice trailed off as she backed slowly in the general direction of the napkins. Which, coincidentally, was in the general opposite direction as the questionably angry guy in front of her. Win-win.

>>"Yeah, it...it would appear that I did. Guess that's what I get for trying to be nice."

Ashton stared at her. "You call spilling things on someone... and spilling their drink... nice." He hated thinking of what she did when she was trying to be mean to someone.

Okay. Maybe, he was being less than understanding. Maybe it had been an accident. A day-wrecking, mood-crushing, coffee-spilling accident. It wasn't like she'd murdered anything. Except his cup of coffee. And his suit.

He listened to her offer.

He was a cop. He wasn't a monster. She sounded upset. He knew he was. He started mentally counting to ten. "Okay." Ashton agreed, tersely. "Okay." He repeated, a little less annoyed-sounding this time. "O-kay. I get that you're sorry. Spilled coffee is a sore spot with cops." A second of silence. He decided to ease his tension, and the mood, with a joke. "At least I didn't have a doughnut... I would kill." He looked her dead in the eye. "For a doughnut."

Hey, he was joking about murder. He was trying to ease the mood. This was better! Except he still wasn't dry.

Ashton stepped towards the retreating girl. He stepped past her. He grabbed a napkin. He could dry himself.

Cop?

COP!?!?!

Of course. It had to be a cop. Just like this had to be the one day where everything someone would consider bad luck lines up and smacked her, one by one. She had serious doubts this day could be any worse.

At least he had a sense of humor. If mild. She imagined if this were a TV show, the audience would probably be howling in laughter at that doughnut gag. But she sure wasn't, and probably wouldn't be for a while. It was just this freaking tension. It may have been spring, but Charlie's social weathervane was guessing it was around mid-Janruary.

It was after a little bit that she noticed he'd stepped forward and grabbed a napkin. The napkins! She'd totally forgotten about the napkins! He'd already grabbed one, but Charlie decided she'd help him out, and hand him a few more as she grabbed one for herself.

After she'd wiped the lemonade off herself as best she could, she turned to the other guy and decided that she'd try and fix this. If not, then just put a band-aid on the situation.

"I think we got off on the wrong foot here." She silently cursed her accent for slurring her words some as she held out her hand for him to shake. "I'm Charlie. Charlie Fletcher."

>>"I think we got off on the wrong foot here."

Australian accent? He placed it as she spoke.

>>"I'm Charlie. Charlie Fletcher."

Charlie extended a hand. Ashton looked at it. He looked to his own full hand, and all the napkins she'd stuffed into his grip. A small smirk crossed his lips, gone as soon as it had appeared. "Detective Ashton Drake," he said. He didn't shake her hand. Instead, he turned to put the napkins back where she'd gotten them from. He glanced over his shoulder at her as he replaced them in the holder. "I'd offer to replace your lemonade, but with you already offering to get me another cup... what say we call it even." The faintest hint of an Irish accent flavored his words. He had one, too.

Ashton Drake....
Charlie rolled the name over and over in her mind. It was apretty cool name, being honest. It flowed. One of those names that tends to roll easily off the tongue. It was also one of the wierder names she'd heard.

Sure, she'd gone through a few oddities. She'd met a hot-dog vendor not long ago named Hamud. But that name had fit the ethnic description that he had all but oozed. This Ashton guy...she couldn't tell what his accent was. Or his name.

Or even why he wasn't returning her handshake. She figured he must still be mad at her. That is, until she snapped back into reality and saw him shoving the napkins back into the dispenser. She mentally facepalmed, and physically drove her thumb back into her pocket.

ADHD: 4,651,901; Charlie: 0.

"I'd offer to replace your lemonade, but with you already offering to get me another cup... what say we call it even."

She had no idea what he meant at all. She tried not to show the fact, but it must have come through a little bit. The had no clue at all what he meant. Did that mean they'd each buy their own drinks? Just kind of go their seperate ways? She had to assume that's what he was saying. So she based her next statement on said assumption.

"Look," she started after a few seconds of thought, "I'm not the one wearing a suit, and I'm not the one who'll have to deal with not one but two types of drink stains, so we're sure as bloody hell not even." As she said this, the first hints of laughter and a smile made their way onto the corner of Charlie's mouth.

Ashton arched an eyebrow, then smirked at her.

"Okay. I was saying that you wouldn't have to, but if you're offering, sure. I take my coffee black. What about you?" He considered her tastes. It took all of a second. He had no idea what girls these days went for in coffee. This was just a replacement for her last drink. Hopefully, she wouldn't want premium blend.

"Or, I could just get you a replacement lemonade, on me. Since your last one was. Is." He added, with a good-humored grin.

Charlie breathed a silent sigh of relief. It was just black coffee. Not only would it cost less, but it probaby wouldn't stain as badly. So she wasn't too likely to stick in his memory bank.

She hoped. Slightly. Just maybe.

Then he asked her what coffee she liked. Shedidn't answer. The answer was pretty simple anyways. She hated coffee. In all its forms, she despised the word, with the possible exceptions of coffee ice cream and White Chocolate mochas.

He must have caught onto it some, because he quickly changed his offer.

"Or, I could just get you a replacement lemonade, on me. Since your last one was. Is."

"Yeah, I think that'd be preferable. I mean, I keep hearing about all the crap that goes into some of this stuff, and I can't get myself to drink anything else." It was more or less the truth. Besides, coffee wouldn't go well with her burger and fries. Speaking of which... she reached into the crazily colored bag and nibbled one one of her lukewarm fries as she got into the somewhat lengthy line.

"Hmph," Ashton had to smirk. "I'd worry more what goes into lemonade. Fake sugars, preservatives. Barely any real ingredients. Coffee is, at least, real. Doesn't go good with fries, though." He added, noticing the french fry nibbling going on.

Ashton slipped into the line behind her. Hopefully, he'd dry off by the time he had to go. Times like these, he wished he kept spare clothing in his car.

The realization hit him like a semi truck. He'd have to sit down. In his car. Like this. Maybe he'd catch a cab... or a bus... definitely not a bus. Or he could go shopping.

Ashton looked to the Charlie girl. "Hey." He commented, innocuously. "You wouldn't happen to know of any clothing stores around here, would ya'?"

"I'd worry more what goes into lemonade. Fake sugars, preservatives. Barely any real ingredients. Coffee is, at least, real."

Charlie tipped her head slightly as she started attacking another French Fry. He might have been right. On the other hand, it was so much better than what they put in something like Coke. She could have gotten a water, too, but with news articles going around about bottled water having an estrogen content? Because God forbid that Charlie should go a day without absorbing one toxic chemical or another.

"Doesn't go good with fries, though."

Charlie had to laugh at that one, before responding, "Yeah, really. Guess that's why they serve coffee with doughnuts."

Ok, a corny joke at best. But it was the only thing she could pull out of the Bucket of Responses.

It wasn't long before Ashton joined her in the line. Being honest, he startled her a little. Sure, she had really good hearing, but half an hour of the Offspring turned way up can deafen anyone. It was purely for that reason that she jumped slightly when she heard him talking.

"You wouldn't happen to know of any clothing stores around here, would ya'?"

Charlie furrowed her brow, scooching forward as someone left the line in search of another fast-food joint. Were there? There had to be something nearby, but she'd never really gone looking. She wasn't much of the type for running about clothing-shopping.

So she said the truth.

"I'm not rightly sure. I mean, there's bound to be something. This is New York, after all. I just can't think of one off the top of my head." She kept thinking, losing herself in thoght as she mulled over the question.

>>"Yeah, really. Guess that's why they serve coffee with doughnuts."

Was that a comment because he was a cop? Probably. Regardless, Ashton smirked. "Probably." He said dryly. Then, slipped into the line.

Realization hit. The girl didn't have a clue about clothing store locations. Ashton frowned. "I do so hate searching out bargains..." He trailed.

Another person left. The line inched ahead.

Charlie was getting pissed. This line was going at a snails pace. Not like she was in a rush or anything, she just had a habit of being kind of rush-y. If that was even a word.

Evidently, Ashton was starting to get irked as well. Though it was probably not the line. Well...that might've been part of it, but it definitely wasn't the whole reason.

Charlie glanced down at his shirt. It wasn't staining too bad, but it still looked unpleasant. Naturally, if it had nothing to do with comfort, she'd have told him to just suck it up. Looks didn't really matter as much as people thought they did. But comfort was a pretty big issue.

She turned sideways to him and asked, "Does it have to be a suit? Because I do know a clothing store not far away, but you're not exactly liable to find a suit shirt there."

No suit shirts? Well, damn. Maybe he'd just go get himself a new shirt at home... and really?! Eyes snapped to the line. Could it move any slower?

"Hey." He said, changing the subject. "Is there another place to get coffee and lemonade around here with shorter lines? I'm pretty sure there is. I'm tempted to seek it out."

Tempted was an understatement. Now, Ashton was very susceptible to temptations, and this one... was flat out screaming 'get out'. He had to listen to it. "I might not even want coffee any more. Shirts are kind of more important." He announced. Weren't they? He was fairly certain.

"Hey, is there another place to get coffee and lemonade around here with shorter lines? I'm pretty sure there is. I'm tempted to seek it out. I might not even want coffee any more. Shirts are kind of more important."

Charlie really hated to admit, but he was right. She started rubbing her temple, the way she always did when she was thinking really hard. Then she jumped slightly, and quickly blurted out, "Yeah, let's do that." And thus, without waiting for a response, walked right out of the line and out the front door.

Shirts, shirts, shirts.... She carefully scanned the buildings as she kept thinking that, mouthing the words to herself.

She only stopped for a minute to consider why she felt that the needs of this total stranger took priority. She quickly pushed that thought down, taking note of how the people looked slightly richer nor far down the street. "Come on!" she called out behind her, starting to walk that direction without waiting for a response. Again.