Logs:On The Picket Line

From From Dusk till Jawn
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Content Warning

cops

Cast
Setting

Philadelphia Theater Company exterior and lobby

Log

Broad street is its usual bustle of activity. Only four blocks south of city hall, PTC's Broad Street HQ is less grand in appearance than the Kimmel Center a block to the north, but far more modern in both its construction and amenities, the Philadelphia Theater Company sets the bar for stage entertainment within the Gritty City.

The windows at street level show advertisements for upcoming shows, however the slowly milling picketers out front of the building lend the impression some of those dates might be wishful thinking.

Traffic continues to pass by the building in both directions, including foot traffic. It's a busy time in Philadelphia at this hour, and people still have places to go. The distraction of the picketing has slowed traffic, too. Fun times in Philadelphia.

Jack's been here since the morning, milling and handing out flyers and chatting with folk who seem actually interested in what they're doing and why they're doing it. At this point his posture has drooped a little - standing for hours on end is fucking exhausting even when you're not out in the weather and actively stressed about the current picket as well as a fuckton of other things. His expression is pleasant enough, though, a friendly face for those with less time-sensitive activities to seek more information about the strike to go to.

Jane's shown up mostly to support Jack. They're dressed in a lavender-colored hooded sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off to display their guns, jeans and stompy-ass boots (Fashion on sheet, for looking like a tough customer), their hair tied back in a smol ponytail, a small black backpack on their back. As they arrive on scene, they look around for Jack briefly, and zero in on him. "Ey, stop for a water break. You're starting to wilt like dad's tomatoes used to in July. I can figure out the canned speech for a minnit or two."

"Hey. Thanks for showing up!" Jack brightens, smiling, and shakes his head with a huff of amusement. "I've been keeping hydrated, don't worry. Water bottle in my bag." He gestures to his work bag leaning up against one of the lobby windows along with the rest of the picketers' things. "D'you want some flyers?"

With traffic moving at a crawl, people on motorcycles keep on zipping between the crawling lanes of traffic. Not that any of cops can do anything about it, since they're boxed in, too. Pedestrians are far outpacing the street traffic, and most of the city's locals are just riding the Broad Street subway line to get where they need to go. Meaning much of the traffic is consternated and frustrated commuters. A great combination to have mixed in with Broad Street's notorious jay walkers.

Even the city buses are having trouble inching up the shoulder.

It comes to pass that a large white pick up creeps up near to the theater. Gunrack? Check. Stars and stripes license plate frame? Check. MAGA hat? Check. Trump2020 bumper sticker? Check. He just needs a dashboard mount for his cell phone and he could be making a facebook live rant.

"Sure, I'll takes some flyers." Jane nods. "Want me over here by you, or to move a little further down for coverage?"

She spots the truck quickly, and definitely bristles. "Hooboy, here comes the goon squad. Think they're here for us, or just passing through?"

"Mmm, down a little there's probably....ahfuck." Jack scowls at the truck in the middle of gesturing to where Jane might be most useful. "No clue, hopefully just stuck in traffic. I really really really hope."

"I'm sticking near you, for the moment. Sorry." Some things are always, always the same. Like how Jane cuts a peanut butter sandwich into quarters triangle-wise. And how they will stand up to protect Jack from possible harm, given the chance.

"'Course you are." Jack takes a breath and forces himself to relax, and manages a smile for them. The truck gets another glance from him, but the dude's not gonna cause trouble then Jack's not gonna stir shit. "How've you been?"

The driver of said truck rolls his window down. Or presses a button that rolls it down for him anyway. He leans out of the window a bit and calls over, "You got a problem, lady?" Which is always the very best way to start a conversation from your truck.

Jack puts a hand on Jane's arm. A sorta 'Please Do Not Rise To This Bait' kinda thing.

Well. Given that Jane's not really being a lady these days, they ignore that question completely, focusing on handing out flyers instead, and talking to Jack. "Work's work. Will got his hands on some manuscript, and has been holed up doing translations for the past week, so I've gotten some extra shifts out of it."

"Oh nice, yeah. Work's definitely nice. Shop been busy, or are you bored out of your mind there?" Jack's a little tense, now, gaze flicking toward the truck driver every few seconds. He doesn't turn his head in his direction though, and keeps most of his attention split between Jane and the pedestrians.

"If he comes toward us, pull out your phone. I want records that I didn't throw the first punch, okay?" They're not looking in the direction of the truck, letting Jack be the one to keep watch. "But it's been pretty quiet. The regulars are always in and out, and I've got a kid who hangs out in the comics section sometimes these days, which is cool."

"Will do. You have comics there? Huh. Just like, really woowoo stuff, or...?" No time like the present to pull out his phone, honestly, though he just checks the time, and leaves it out in his hand as he continues to talk to Jane. "Glad it's not overwhelming, sure you get enough stress in other places. You'n Mei still...?"

When he's ignored, the guy makes a scoffing sound and throws a hand dismissively. "You assholes got traffic backed up for two fucking miles with this bullshit." This is technically true to a point. The spectacle is causing a gawker delay, but Broad Street is always slow this time of day. When traffic begins moving a bit, he keeps rolling forward, too. He'll be out of their hair shortly at this rate.

"I mean, given Grant Morrison and Alan Moore, two well-known comic writers, once had a fucking wizard war between themselves, the like between 'woowoo shit' and 'regular shit' in comics is kinda a blurry thing." Jane's content to let the asshole in the truck go, because, like...this is Jack's thing, and there's no possible way them starting that fight (as tempting as it may be) would benefit him.

Jack allows an eye roll at what the asshole's said, but doesn't even give him the satisfaction of doing it in his direction. And then chuckles at Jane. "I mean when you put it like that...I guess that makes sense. How's...other shit going? Outside work?"

"Me and Mei are doing pretty good. Lots of Jackie Chan movies and hanging out in our pajamas." A glance at the truck, just making sure it does pass safely away. Erm, move forward, not that she wouldn't be happy if the driver passed away, but. "And you? How's Lux?"

The truck keeps on a-rumbling north, and eventually is far enough distant that it's no longer a likely threat to events. Just some wingnut venting his spleen.

Meanwhile, a small cluster of pedestrians come from the Broad & Pine station exit, and had been considering heading north, but instead veer south, heading for the picket line directly. The one at the head of the trio offers a wave as they approach.

A blush creeps onto his face and he ducks his head slightly. "We're good. More'n good, I've been...saying over at their place for the past...week, I guess, fuck. And...they may have another boyfriend. Who...I may have gone on a date with last night? Kinda, sorta?" He keeps his voice fairly low - overtly queer shit is not the type of shit to be talking about loudly right now. Or maybe it is, who knows. But Jack's not gonna risk it, with this MAGA asshole within shouting distance.

And then the truck is gone, and Jack upnods at the approaching pedestrians with a smile.

Jane offers the trio a flyer. "Jack, you've got the talking, I'll do the handing out."

The cluster reach the picket line, and the head of the group, the fellow that waved, stops just a short distance away. "Hey. We work over at the Kimmel Center. You all with Local 8?" The other two behind the first likewise pull up short and lift their hands in the universal socially awkward greeting one makes when diverting from planned activities to go meet total strangers.

"Hey -" Jack returns the waves, and nods. "We are, yeah. how goes things at the Kimmel Center?" He gestures to the flyers in Jane's hands.

"We're good, we're good. Just wanted to see if any of y'all needed anything. We're still working hours and making money, so. Y'all need anything, you hit us up." The self-appointed speaker of the group, reaches out for one of the flyers and looks it over. "Oh, shit. You're that dude that went wildcat at the Museum thing. This is the guy I was telling you about." He turns back to his companions and points at Jack. "That was wild as hell, man. All those cops!"

"Went wildcat?" Someone's clearly not up on all the union terminology here, but is giving Jack a look of mingled confusion and respect, because that turn of phrase sounds hella badass.

Jack turns pink. "Yeah, that...was me - wildcat's an unplanned strike," he explains to Jane. "It was pretty tense, for a while, could've gone bad really easily. It honestly felt like we were fucking scabbing, just getting in there around the protestors and the cops."

"Damn. Respect, bro." They nudge him with an elbow lightly.

"Nah, man, you weren't no brother fucker. You hooked us up, man. Got us in the door. Got us work. You didn't know what was up, that's all. Then we sorted that shit." He snaps his fingers and punches at the air in emphasis. "We got youse backs. Just wanted to show our support, that's all." The murmur of general agreement from his companions implies he's speaking for them, too. "We got to get back, we just had a dinner break. Stay warm."

"Means a lot, man." Jack reaches out to give him a friendly clap on the shoulder, if he seems like the type to appreciate that. "Thanks. Have a good show."

Jane doesn't really speak until the trio heads off. "...huh. This union shit's pretty tight-knit, I guess. Almost makes me wonder if there's a bookseller's union around somewhere." They're clearly adjusting their mental image of Jack slightly based on that interaction.

The trio head back north at a rapid clip to make up for the lost time they spent conversing with the striking workers. They disappear in the side door to the Kimmel Center in short order. Which of course means there's a big old crowd queueing up outside of the Kimmel Center, waiting for the box office to open and for them to begins eating tonight's show. Which is apparently a Jazz Residency work in progress concert, of all things.

"Yeah, it is. Got it's problems like any other group, but...'s a good group to belong to." Jack smiles after the departing trio, his face still a little pink. "IWW's got branches for practically everything, I'm pretty sure. Might be worth looking into - make sure you've got the protection and support you need at work before shit happens." Jack eyes the crowd at the Kimmel Center. "Wonder how many of them threw money at the fashion show..." he mutters.

"Who knows. But hey, they're here, we can give them flyers if they pass this way. Maybe it'll help?"

"Can't hurt." Jack takes a few steps back to grab more flyers - and his water bottle - before returning to Jane's side. "If I've gotta drink, you've gotta." He passes it to them after taking a long swig.

They huff a sigh, but accept the bottle and drink. "Fair's fair."

The growing crowd is the NPR set. People with memberships get discount tickets to events such as this one-- because, let's be honest, who is going to go on a Friday night to watch an ersatz Jazz ensemble practice their residency numbers except for NPR members. There's a definite age and class line evident in the attendees versus those that will be providing for the night's entertainment. Jack's probably right about the donations bit.

Well. It could be worse, at least they're not rowdy and they're the sort of people who listen to educational content. So it's possible they might listen to an explanation of what's going on to the union, a little. Jane's been reading the flyer and tries to give the elevator pitch to anyone who comes close enough and seems to give a fuck.

Hey, the NPR crowd's better than the MAGA crowd, and Jack raises his voice just a little in his five second "this is why you should take a flyer" pitch, to hopefully reach more ears. He's keeping his posture relaxed and open, smiling at anyone who looks his way.

After a bit of good old fashioned roadside hawking, the siblings manage to corral the interest of a plurality of the people gathering out front of the Kimmel Center. The crowd is for the most part sympathetic to the whole idea of the union and striking and so on. In a very abstract sense, at least. It's easy to support progressive causes with your mouth to the face of the person asking for it, another thing to actually leave some shoe rubber on the sidewalk. Their pile of flyers is considerably lighter when they are through.

Jane grins. "So far, everything seems to be doing okay. You holding up? If you wanna sit for a couple, I've got this--you've been here all day."

Jack sags a little, though he's still smiling for the public. "...If you don't mind?" He looks at where his bag is, almost longingly.

"Go, go. I've got the wordy thing down as I'm going to get it. I'll holler if I need you." They punch his arm gently and slowly. "You go down."

"Oh no...." he draws the word out, grinning, and takes a few steps away in slo-mo. And then he laughs, and grabs the water bottle, taking another drink before flopping down to sit on the pavement and lean against the windows of PTC's lobby.

And so Jane carries on the work solo, doing their best to try and not make a fool of Jack with word or deed. They're gruff, let's be honest. They're not good with the speaking-y thing. But they do have some sort of presence.

Many of the picketers are ready to pack it in. It's been a long day, and things are winding down. The general consensus is that once the Kimmel starts seating it'll be time to punch the proverbial clock and get on back home. Traffic is finally starting to thin out, too. The commuters have been replaced with the cruisers. Both pleasure drivers and cops, that it to say. That, and Ubers and Lyft drivers by the dozens. City buses rumble by and cough out their usual cloud of diesel smoke. Another night breaks in Philly, it seems. Amid all of this, a pair of cops turn the corner off Market and start their way south, patrolling the Avenue. (Even though it's a street. Philadelphia is weird.)

As Jane notices the cops, they clear their throat. "Jacky-boy, I might need you on this."

Jack scrambles to his feet when he notices the cops too, and is by Jane's side immediately. His previously warm smile is a touch strained now. "We're well within our rights to be here," he mutters to Jane. "We're not blocking the sidewalk, or the entrance to the building."

The cops pass through the crowd out front of the Kimmel Center without event. They appear to be chatting with one another as they walk along, paying more attention to their dishing than to their beat. If you've got to be assigned to foot patrol, this is a pretty cushy one to have to walk. Bougie artsy sorts at night, finance types during the day. As they cross with the light onto the PTC block, their pace slows. They cotton to the picket and begin conversing amongst themselves on the near corner of Pine and Broad, about a half block away.

They duck their head slightly. "Right, like I get we're doing nothing wrong, but. Mmmh."

"You can duck out, Janey, I won't judge." He keeps an eye on the police, but he's frowning in concern at Jane, too.

"Oh, fuck no, I'm not leaving you out here without me." That actually makes them laugh.

After their little confab, the pair turn to resume their walk. Judging from the bulk under their uniform leather jackets, they're wearing vests in addition to all their various coply accoutrements. Pistols, sticks, radios, cuffs, magazines, someone else's abridged civil rights. The usual. Once they're near enough to be heard without raising their voices, one of them gestures at the picket and suggests, "Getting a little late for all of this, isn't it?"

"No sir - the box office is open for another hour, at least." Jack gives the two of them a smile, that's probably mostly a polite one, but also has absolutely zero emotion behind it.

Jane steps in a hair behind Jack, arms crossing over their chest, remaining quiet but being very present.

"They've got scabs in there keeping the lights on?" The patrolman asks the question with the dubious sort of leading tone that has probably found numerous young people in cuffs when responded to glibly. His partner sizes up Jane. They're not the only one that's present, to be sure.

Jane's head tilts slightly to one side, and they put a smile on their face that's about as fake as it gets. But it is well-practiced.

After all, Jane works retail.

"Not all the staff members are union, sir." Jack's phone is still in his hand, and he slowly pulls it up to...do something. Send a text, maybe. Find the record setting, maybe.

"So yes." The cop looks to his partner and shakes his head briefly, then walks past Jane and Jack both, heading for the door to the theater. His partner seems a bit confused, but stays where he's at near the sidewalk, turning his head to mutter into the radio receiver at his shoulder.

Jack turns to watch the cop, frowning again. "They're - not in any position to walk out -"

Jane looks at the cop left with them. "Is there something wrong? We're not blocking traffic or anything, are we?" Trying to get that on the recording for Jack.

"You're fine," the cop who remains outside answers distractedly before returning his ear to his radio to catch whatever response may be coming from his radio call. The other cop pulls the door open and steps inside, looking around the lobby and heading towards the box office counter. He removes his cover and begins to chat with the person manning the counter.

They go back to polite customer-service smile, with a smol sidelong look at Jack.

Jack's looking torn. He clearly desperately wants to know what's going on inside. Where he can't hear, and where there is, presumably, no recording device aside from closed circuit cameras.

Jack is able to infer that the woman behind the counter is in full customer service damage control mode and is probably getting an ear full from the cop in question. She's being as deferential as seems prudent when being browbeaten by a cop, even lightly. Before long, a tall slender man in a sport jacket and jeans steps up to speak to the cop in similar tones.

Jane has zero clue what's going on, glancing from Jack to the cop still near them uncertainly, playing the 'I only have one braincell' look (it's not entirely a lie) for all they've got.

...Fuck it. "You...good out here, Janey?" Jack looks toward the door again. "I'm...they didn't have a choice to walk out or not, 's not their fault..."

"I'm good, Jacky-boy." They smile. "Let me know if you need me, though, yeah?"

And then their attention turns back to the pig in front of them. "So...Uh. Hi." Aaaaawkward.

And so Jack takes a few steps backwards, unwilling to let the cop on the sidewalk completely out of his sight until he can slip inside the building.

The cop on the outside just shrugs in response to the looks sent his way. That is until Jack decides he's going to head inside, too. Then the recalcitrant hanger on lowers his hand from his receiver and stars moving for the door, himself, intending to follow after Jack.

Inside, the conversation is picked up in media res, as it were. "--still have a responsibility to the public, and to the performers and all the other staff. And respectfully, sir, we've answered your questions. If you could please leave so we can get back to closing up, we'd be grateful." The girl behind the counter is looking precisely as uncertain of what to do as one would expect.

With the other cop moving Jane lets out a sigh and makes to follow, because they're not about to let Jack be outnumbered by police officers. Just...no.

Jack telegraphs his movements toward the box office, because even a Darkling knows that sometimes you want people to be aware of your approach. Especially cops, when you're trying to diffuse the situation. "Everything good?" He asks the woman in the box office with a concerned half-smile.

The second cop, we'll call him Lazy Bastard, he cottons to the fact that Jane is intending to follow him inside, and promptly does an about face and stops cold in his tracks to place himself between Jane and the counter. And points outside. "If you're picketing, you do it on the street."

Cop the first, we'll call him Mom Didn't Hug Me, he doesn't appear too pleased with this answer. "Great. I'll bear that in mind since I'm on this beat for the foreseeable future." Probably as punishment, let's be honest.

The girl behind the counter plasters on her customer service smile as a defensive reaction the way octopi spray ink. "Welcome to the Philadelphia Theater Company, can I help you?" That's probably a 'no'.

They let out a bit of a laugh as Lazy Bastard points. "Why don't you stay with me, make sure I'm safe while I picket? After all, my brother just left me all alone..."

"Heyy...." Jack smiles and addresses her by name. "D'you want help...closing up?" It's the best he can go, given the whole 'is actually on strike from this actual organization right now' thing.

That was probably the wrong answer. "Get out." The cop once more points the way towards the exit, conveniently positioned adjacent to the entrance.

Cop the first, whose mom never hugged him, glances back over his shoulder at Jack. "Crossing your own line is a new strategy I'm not aware of."

The manager behind the counter reiterates, "If there's nothing more, officer? Please?" His turn to gesture to the exit which is very popular this evening among men with forefingers.

Jane gets their ass out, as you do. It seems the wiser strategy right now.

"Just wanted to make sure everything was okay, sir." He leans a little into the sir. Harder than he probably should.

"Let's go, man," Lazy Bastard suggests. This is so far beneath his desire to involve himself at this point. He holds the door open that Jane just walked through, standing in it himself. The implication being that if his partner doesn't stop being a grandstanding jerk in the lobby, he's going to be down one partner for the duration of said grandstanding.

Mr. No Hugs gives Jack a withering glance and starts for the exit, himself. Once he's at the door, his partner exits in full and starts to walk away, directly. More for his own sake than anyone else's. He asides to Jane as he passes them by, "Hey. Stay outside if you're with the protest. Have a good night." He keeps walking, not giving his partner the chance to re-engage.

"Have a quiet night, gents!" They curse them with the Q-word, knowing it often brings just the opposite, customer-service grin back on their face.

Jack gives the box office employees a sympathetic glance and then gets the fuck out of the lobby. And pauses the recording, which he how has, of himself verbally crossing his own fucking picket line. Good job, Jack.

He's can't seem to stand still, once he's out next to Jane. "Fuck," he mutters, drawing the word out.

"Hey, heeeey. Look at me, Jacky." They snap their fingers, trying to catch his attention.

"Wh -?" His eyebrows snap together in confusion and he looks at them. "What?"

"Deep fucking breath, alright? In...." They mime a few slow, deep breaths for him, trying to keep his eyes and mind on themself until he's less worked up.

He frowns, and starts to protest for half a second until his self-awareness catches up. "...Fine." He takes the breaths with them, a little pouty that they keep trying to take care of him. Even if he knows he needs it.