Saibel drove her cheap, dark grey peugeot(sp) car into the gas station. The meter was running on empty, and she was going this way anyways... She pulled the brake and opened the old rusty door with a kick. This car was at least 15 years old. They didn't make them like this any more...

Saibel sighed, and dusted herself off. It was a classic winters day in Canada, snow falling on the ground and what not. She wore a ski-hat in bright green, and had various layers of clothing to keep her warm. The majority of them made of wool. She wondered now more than ever if it was time to start smoking. She really didn't like the cold...

After filling up her tank, Saibel sighed into the frosty air, and went into the 7-11 to take shelter from the cold. Once inside, she decided to pick up a large bag of Fritos to further litter the insides of her car, and fumbled within her pockets for change. She had about 5 canadian dollars. She shrugged, figuring that to be enough. She went up to the guy at the counter, throwing the chips onto the check out the moment she arrived.

"That's 2.50 please ma'am"

Freezing cold Bayfield morning, snowing gently.

Also in the gas station, a tall man in ripped jeans. He looks tired, slouching into a dirty hoodie of no particular colour. His hair is hidden under a black tuque, but he's got the beginnings of a beard that's a pale red gold. In one hand he holds a cup of the gas station's doubtless excellent coffee.

When Saibel's done, he sets the coffee on the counter and asks for a pack of Marlboros. While the girl behind the counter is getting these down off the shelf, he counts out the price in change. He's got mixed currency and he has to separate out American coins. His gloves are fingerless and you can see the remnants of orange varnish on his nails.

"Sorry about the change," he tells the girl, when she hands him the cigarettes and he upturns a fistful of quarters, nickels and dimes in to her hand. He is, by the accent, American.

As Saibel turned to leave, she saw the man walk up to the counter and ask for the 'smokes. His orange nail-varnish caught the light, making them seem even brighter to Saibel. She was curious. She always was.

Next that she noticed was the accent. She had never been down to America, but she did watch TV. She smiled lightly at the fact that he had given the clerk a fistful of change. The fingerless gloves of his gave an air of homelessness, but Saibel looked fairly shabby herself. The college dorm wasn't exactly five star.

She wondered to herself the best way to approach this man. It was just curiosity. She was studying to become a detective, probably because of her natural need to know who Everybody was, their life story, why they killed that randomer, etc. She was easily fascinated with anything that moved.

Sadly, however, she wasn't very sociable. Here-in lies the delima. So, instead of going up and talking to the guy, she just looked like a fish, staring at him out of her bowl. It was... kinda sad really.

Coffee and cigarettes in one hand, he opens the door. A gust of freezing air comes in, bringing a scattering of snowflakes with it. The man holds the door for Saibel. Just because he's an American doesn't mean he doesn't have manners.

Once he's back outside, he balances the mug of coffee on the edge of a concrete planter. The plants who called it home are dead, skeletal remains of their former selves, veiled in snow. He pulls his hood up over his hat and a cheap blue lighter appears in his hand. He shuffles a cigarette out of the carton and lights up. Seeing as Saibel is still there, he shakes another cigarette loose from the box and offers it in her direction. "Fag?"

"It's bitching cold out," he remarks. Not that he thinks she's an idiot or anything, but that's what you do. Pass the time of day by pointing out what everyone already knows. At least it's safe territory.

Saibel shrugged, walking slowly out the door he held open. "Thanks..." She mumbled, taking the cig and looking at it for a few moments. She put it to her lips, trying to take a drag. Failing, she caughed and clutched her stomach before trying again.

She was too ashamed to admit she didn't actually smoke. She did like the idea of it though. It was kinda sophisticated she thought, although many people have tried to explain to her that it wasn't really.

Saibel was the type who was easily influenced by ads on TV, or the cool pictures in magazines. She wasn't overly superficial however, as she did like people more when they had a personality. However, she did like looking good.

She started to get the hang of smoking after a while. Her face became pale as time grew on, being in the cold and what-not. The black dot on her icy green irises was very small now, unnoticable. She breathed out the smoke in a sigh.

She glanced over at the man, "want some chips?" She said, taking the bag of fritos from the bag hanging at her arm and ripping it open. She took a fistful for herself and tilted the bag towards him. The smell of salt wafted about the air, mingling with smoke and ice. (You know, Icy smell?)

"Thanks," he says, taking on of the chips that was being proffered. "I'm Tatter, by the way." He doesn't bother offering her hand to shake. One is occupied with the chip, the other with the cigarette, and shaking hands is more formal than he's ever bothered to be. Might as well kiss and get over with it.

"So where're you headed on this invigorating mornin'?"

His cigarette has burned down, but he smokes it to the filter and then puts it out on the sleeve of his sweater. There is already a series of circular burns along it, so this is clearly something of a habit.

Another cigarette appears in his hand, and he spins it between his fingers while he eats the single chip.

Saibel eyed the burns on his sleeve, growing even more curious. She paused after he asked her the question. Where was she going on this 'invigorating' morning?

"No where in particular... I guess I was going to go shopping for christmas presents, but... well I forgot to bring money with me..." She said with a blatantcy. She didn't know what kind of presents she could get with the 2.50 she had left in her pockets. Her wallet was empty. She wondered to herself when her parents would send her the college money. She didn't get paid for her part time job until friday... Saibel, however, didn't bother to wonder whether or not she had sufficent funds for shopping until just now. The gas was charged on her card, but that was running on empty as well...

Her fridge was like that as well. Maybe she could get a loaf of bread for 2.50, but she didn't know. Maybe she could get two.

Daydreaming, she forgot that Tatter was standing there. She snapped out of it and remembered common courtesy, "Oh, I'm Saibel by the way..." She said quickly, her eyes wide as she found herself once more in reality. She took another smoke, not even finished with her first one. The cig was a sweet flavour on her lips, but it had a disasterous(aah spelling!) aftertaste.

"Typical problem, one I'm sure we all suffer from," Tatters tells her, amiably. It's clear he doesn't think she had any money to forget, but it's not like she's about to scam any off of him. He certainly doesn't have any. Christmas is a bad season for cash. Either you have family, and you're stuck buying them stuff, or you don't and then you're out drowning your sorrows in booze and pissing away your money.

He taps away some of the ash on the edge of the concrete planter. She has an unusual name, and he would comment on it if he could talk, but he can't. "Well, it's a bloody awful morning to be standing out in the cold," he points out. He is unsure as to why he is, because he might as well be smoking in his car on the way to work. Possibly he likes being so cold he feels like he could die of frostbite any minute now, and likes not being able to feel his fingers or his face.

Fuck Canadian winters.

Saibel just nodded, not socially gifted enough to muster up a response. She sighed and tucked a bit of her blond hair behind her ear, but it was too short and just fell out again. She was finishing the bag of fritos, and took the last bit and walked over to throw it away at the bin on the inside of the door.

She threw away the cigarette with it, and only afterwards realized she could have very easily burned a hole in the black plastic lining of the bin. She looked the other way and pretended not to notice that she did that. No, she swore, that isn't the smell of burning plastic.....

"What do you do anyway? Where are you headed?" She said as she eyed her dark grey Peugeot- just to make sure no one was thinking about stealing it. Not that she would particularly mind, considering it was a rusty peice of shit. She tugged at the end of her scarf, pulling it tighter around her neck, just to keep a bit warmer. She didn't feel it helping, more like it was choking her than anything else.

"I work in a coffee shop," Tatters says, in a way that suggests he knows that this isn't really impressive, but doesn't care. "I was just on my way there now. It's that sleazy organic place on Beaumont St... Klio's? I should probably get going, I'm already late." Hopefully one of his colleagues actually showed up for work, to open the shop, otherwise he'll be in trouble. It wasn't particularly his fault. Bad weather and all that. But he didn't need to have stopped for smokes and conversation with random, pretty strangers.

He puts the cigarette, half smoked, out on his sleeve and pockets it.

Saibel sighed, "Yeah. So much for wasting time." She said, not knowing what to do now. The inside of her mouth tasted terrible after the cigarette, and she really wished she hadn't run out of fritos. Randomly, she remembered there was nail-varnish in the car she could put on. That would take a number of minutes.

She started planning the day ahead, coming up with random things to do to pass the time. The ideas all came in a flurry, and her eyes sort of flickered as she thought about it. "Well I hope you don't get in too much shit for being late" She said. Maybe she would randomly go to a club tonight. Or maybe to the gym or something, only she didn't like exercise, so she crossed that off her mental list immediately.

She glanced at Tatters. After having talked to him for about ten minutes, she only noticed now how good-looking he was, although a bit older than her. She looked away quickly. He probably had a girl already. Nah, maybe she'd just stay home and read a book or something tonight. After all, Saibel was the type to stay inside and play it safe... wait what?

"Yeah, I probably won't." Tatters grins lopsidedly. "I'm too pretty to get in that much shit, right?"

He says it with enough humour that it ends up sounding more self-depreciating than big-headed.

"Well, if you really don't have anything to do, you should stop by," he adds. "At least it's warm inside, even if there's still not really anything to do. You can probably listen to some weird music you've never heard before, and bum drugs off the regulars." He shrugs. "It was nice to meet you, anyway."

With that, he's off, his long legs making short work of the parking lot. The car he heads for is an old, scarily decrepit VW van, that's luridly orange. The back is covered with assorted bumper stickers, advocating peace, love, saving the earth, and kissing members of the same gender.

Saibel smiled, "Yeah, I might just do that." She said in a somewhat merry tone. And with that, she waved a goodbye to the random guy, and headed towards her car.

She was still going to put on that nail-varnish first though, then watch TV in her living room and back comb the little hair she had before straightening it out again. After that, sure, she would go and have some tea in... Klio's was it? Beaumont street? Yeah, sure. sounds good.