A tall, gangly-looking young man walked out of the tall office building where he worked, with a slight frown clouding his features. Hr didn't mind that he didn't have an important job... What he did mind was being dumped with all those idiotic little tasks that there should have been a machine or computer program to do. Not that he was complaining, mind you - if there was a machine to do his job, then he wouldn't have it anymore. It was just that he never seemed to have time to finish it all.

He had on a plain white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black jeans - which were only just permitted, with the office's new dress code. His blond hair was still semi-neat, but he'd run his hands through it in frustration so much that day that it was amazing he hadn't pulled it all out. It was lucky that he was keeping his gaze fixed on the ground - the frustration in those flat blue eyes of his (even though it was diluted by his glasses) would make anyone flinch. Slung over his shoulder was a worn-looking grey canvas bag that held a few stacks too many of important-looking documents and folders. His name, 'Norman E. Peters' was typed on the plastic tag on it, in case it got lost.

If he'd been paying attention, he might have noticed it wasn't the bag he needed to worry about losing, but its contents. Within a few meters of the building's entrance, he noticed that the top flap on the bag was open and he was training folders and important documents all across the sidewalk...

Taryn is a little bit too nice for her own good. Then again, she's had times when her things have flown everywhere, and she knows the frustration, especially when nobody helps. Thus, she's rescuing his papers and things, probably before he even noticed that they were actually flying around.

She's a pretty girl, in an understated sort of way, with reddish brown hair--the red's become stronger, lately, probably because the dye is wearing thin--and tannish skin. She's wearing that blue tank top, the one with a kitten on the side, and a pair of her favorite jeans. (These have developed more holes since last time, and now there are three heart shaped patches on the material. It looks like decoration; she has an eye for that sort of thing.)

"These yours?"

He was in the process of snatching a few papers with the header 'Advertising Divison' printed neatly across the top, when he actually registered Taryn's presence. He looked in confusion from the documents she held, to her face, then back at the documents.

"Yes. Thank you," he said, with a rather forced smile. He took the stack of papers from her.
Well, that saves me five minutes. Thank you so much. So much.

Maybe more than five minutes, all things considered. After all, the papers could have blown away, people could have stepped on them... Or it could have actually been five minutes. Who knows?

Taryn, being a little bit more sensitive to people forcing smiles than some, because she herself often does the same thing, smiled tentatively and shrugged. "'s nothing."

Anyone would have done it.

... my, that's familiar.

"No,... I..." his fake smile melted into a more genuine one as he shook his head, stuffing the papers unceremoniously back into the bag, and zipping it closed, "...It's not nothing. Thanks very much. I've just..."

He laughed, "I just had one hell of an awful day today, and you just completely broke my bad mood." Around the office, he was the one to pick up after everybody, and never a thank-you. He felt he owed her at least a smile. He stuck out a hand. "I'm Norman Peters. You?"

She must think I'm weird, he thought.

"Taryn." No last name? Or maybe she's just wary of giving it out... "Ellison." The pause in there might make one wonder if she's quite as friendly as she appears. Who knows.

"One of the invisible desk jobs that nobody remembers and nobody could do without?" she hazarded, since not being appreciated was one of the things that put her in an awful mood. Especially when she had done a lot of work, blah blah, and nobody noticed.

She imagines that he thinks she's weird, too, by the by. But that's okay; she likes being weird.

"Pleased to meet you, Taryn," he nodded. Norman was too bothered about whether she thought he was strange for it to occur to him that she might be. And even if he did think she was weird,... in his book, first impressions didn't count for much.

Grinning, he rolled his eyes.
"How'd you guess? Did someone stick a 'Kick me, I'm the office lackey' sign to my back again? That's gotta be the fourth time this week!" he kidded, throwing in some good-natured sarcasm to take away from the plaintive tone he felt that he'd been using. He didn't want to burden her with his complaints about his work day.... after all, no one likes a whiner.

"Not exactly. Lots of papers, you look harried, and you're dressed for an office." She almost giggled, since all of a sudden, she sounded to herself like Sherlock Holmes. Or perhaps only a wannabe.

"Also, I've had similar problems, in the past." Not right now, because she was annoyingly lacking in employment. She would have to remedy that, but it was so much work and so unrewarding to go around and ask for applications, blah, blah, blah... She preferred reading.

"Heh. 'Kay," he said, with a self-mocking smirk. "Now that you put it like that, it sounds obvious."

Stop it, Norm,... you have a lot of work to get to when you get home. You don't have the time to waste in talking to the nice girl who picked up your papers. However nice that would be - you just don't have the time. Damn, I'm barely gonna sleep tonight as it is...
A smile flickered briefly across his face. Well, maybe a minute or two more.

"What did you work at?" he inquired.

"Mmm, stuff. Mostly doing the stuff at home that my mom was too busy playing teacher to do." Note, by the by, that she's rather biased. She didn't and doesn't think that her mom appreciates the work that she and her sisters do, though it's probable that there's a bit of the blame game going for both parties.

More than probable, actually.

"And also doing grunt work in theatre. 's not the same, exactly, of course, but you wouldn't believe how many people don't even realize that there's more to what goes on than what they see."

Okay, maybe a little bitter, there.

"Actually, probably you would. Since I guessed right, and stuff."

"Heh. Yeah. I do know what you mean,... " Norman nodded and smirked, adjusting the strap of his bag because it was starting to cut into his shoulders. Too damn many papers... he thought briefly. "Gets tiresome after a while,... but hey, if it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger. Right?"

Mentally, he kicked himself for using such a stupidly optimistic saying.

"Heh."

It isn't the fact that it's a stupidly optimistic saying that made her suddenly look a bit pensive and a bit thoughtful and maybe a bit something else. It's the fact that it's a saying oft quoted by that ex-best friend of hers that she now refuses to speak with.

"I guess so."

After a pause, he asked hesitantly, "...Did I say something wrong?"
He'd noticed that people were often able to tell what he was feeling, even when he tried to hide it, and he wasn't sure why. He tried to read other people's feelings, but while he was good at detecting minor changes in facial expressions, he often had no idea what they meant.

A grin.

"No, not really."

Hayley was just a bitch, that's all.

"Why?"

Remember she mentioned theatre? She does acting as well as behind the scenes stuff.

"Oh, your-" he gestured to his own face with his index finger, trying to convey the idea, "-Your look changed. Thought I might have said something stupid. Never mind."

He gave a sigh as the strap again began biting at his skin.
"...I guess I should get going. I have a ton of work that I really shouldn't put off," he said, with a wry grin, "Don't mean to run off on you or anything, but, well,... y'know..."

And somehow, she's chased him off. Drat it all, why does this always happen?

Maybe it's because she finds it difficult to be easy and friendly with the average stranger. Maybe it's just because she's occasionally--and perhaps more than occasionally--foolish, or overly sensitive. Who knows.

"Yeah, I know." A rather silly grin. "Or, well, I guess I don't know. I'm famous for procrastinating on stuff that I really should do right away."

And somehow she always gets it done anyway.

Chased him off? Hardly. He'd stay if he thought he had a few minutes' less work than he did. Unfortunately, he was pretty sure he had even more work than he thought he did.

"I'd procrastinate if I had the time to," he smirked, plucking at the shoulder strap of the canvas bag, to pont it out as an example. "Guess I'll be on my way. Take care, -"
What was her name? Terese? Tonia? Talia?..."
"-Terry. Seeya around."
I think that was it.
He gave her a quick wave before continuing on his way down the sidewalk.

She doesn't have the time to procrastinate. She does it anyway.

"Taryn," she muttered, watching him go and turning to go herself.

Hmph.