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It'd been about an hour, she was just walking east, putting her thumb up whenever a car came, which wasn't all that often. Not too many people had jobs or anything, so not that many people could afford that kind of thing. Let alone food...

Then a man drove up in a Model T, slowed down next to her. Finally. Hopefully he was going somewhere a good ways out, not 2 blocks down. Well, it'd probably work better when she got onto the highway anyway.

"Uhm, New York?" she said, trying to look pretty for him. She was pretty right? That should help. Nice car, he seemed like a respectable man, well, he would be if he had a car right? Probably had a job and everything...

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George wasn't exactly willing to drive all the way to New York without an explaniation. "You're hitchhiking to New York? I could go there, but I do have to ask why. From what I've heard, all the jobs were in the west towards California."

George looked at the lady, thinking "She's kinda cute, but I do wonder what she's doing all the way out in Michigan."

"Well California is that way, if that's what you're looking for..." Cela said, giving him a shrug. "My house is back in New York. My parents uhm, passed away while I was in college. For some reason no one thought to send me a train ticket back. All I have to do is get back home, I don't have enough money for the train. But uh, if you're not heading to New York, no reason driving all that way for me. Just take me as far as your going."

There was no reason in explaining that she didn't really know if she had anything to head back to. That wouldn't help anything. She'd figure that out when she got there.

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George decided to ask another question, seeing as from what he could tell, this girl had no real reason to go to New York if she didn't have a job there. "Where are you gonna work in New York? I do need to find work and it would take less gas to there instead of where I would go instead."

George actually had other motivation for asking as well, he was thinking "I hope she has some sort of lead. Traveling to California by myself's gonna get really lonely, and I'm not sure I can travel the distance by myself."

"Work?" Cela asked looking over. "Well, I might look for a job as a journalist or something. I just finished a degree in writing, but, my parents had plenty of money. From what I can tell there really aren't jobs anywhere, and once I get home, I shouldn't need one."

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George laughed at Cela's ignorance, then got very serious very quickly. "A journalist. There's no demand for writers, 'cause there's nobody to buy the publications that give writers their pay. Let me tell you something very important. Any money your parents had will be stolen by the time you'd get to New York. People worse off than we are with families are desperate to feed themselves. College degrees aren't worth anything in a country where there's no jobs. And I would know, I graduated from college when I was seventeen. Worked at the Ford Assembly Plant as a manager for almost eight years. I've looked around Michigan, there's no manager jobs."

George turned on the car and quickly turned it around, slamming his foot on the acceleration pedal. "The jobs are in California, and I don't intend on wasting any more time when there are millions of other people going to get those same jobs. If you wanna continue your futile search for nothing in New York, jump out. I'm not stopping you, just close the door on your way out," he said even as the Model T was going as fast as it possibly could.

(OCC: It'd kinda defeat the purpose of the rp if Cela actually decides to jump out, just saying.)

Blanche was mourning - it had been a whole year since her husband passed and she was still mourning. Sitting in a raggedy cafe, she stirred her bent spoon in a chipped coffee mug.

"Miss, we can no longer run this shop." A waitress said in mild distress.

"I pay everyday. I deserve a place to retreat from madness."

"Sorry but your scraps for coffee and water is not going to fund me and the other staff members of this cafe." The only reason the cafe was still running was because of Ms. Blanche's money which was dissipating quickly.

"My husband wouldn't appreciate that." She said in a sing song voice.

"Well, who cares. He's dead now." The waitress huffed, storming away and slamming the door behind her.

'Oh, that sad realization. The only one I've ever loved since I was ten years old had to leave me behind in this sinking world. I can't stand this anymore. Mercy and Sympathy has been given to me for months by all of the restaurants, cafes and hotels we use to get away to for fun but now they were going out of business and only sneer at the fact I still use my husband's name to try and keep a dying memory alive.'

"True." She laughed hysterically as the waitress walked away.

Blanche knew what to do. She gathered her bag, finished her coffee and despite the anger displayed to her, she left a generous tip. A generous tip that was almost all that she had. She walked out of the cafe and straight into the middle of the street as a car was speeding across.

"It's time for me to meet my husband." She shouted out in a daze.

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[I am active in several role-plays at the moment and have room under my belt for plenty more. I enjoy any type and can create a character for many of them. Need something to keep my imagination in check, Heh.]

Name: Bridget
Age: 18
Appearance: Long wavy black hair, very high cheekbones green eyes and pale. She is slender but with gentle curves. She usually wears a chic hard twist French Voile Dress, usually in varied colors. Occasionaly she'll wear a Hand Painted "Sparkle Satin" Dress with black patone's or blonde kid's.
Skills: Journalist, A writer, fluent in French
Background History: She grew up in France until she was around thirteen when they moved to the United States, she has lived there ever since. Her goal is to move back to France, but she is still working on money for her Visa.

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Se blâment, vous dupent, pour toi a cassé mon coeur ainsi beaucoup de fois que je ne peux pas trouver les morceaux.

George was very shocked as he braked the car in time to save the woman's life. Running out of the car, he asked "What the heck are you doing!? You could've gotten killed! Now please move out of the way, I really, really need to get going and I can't live with murder on my conscience."

(OCC/EDIT: Sorry, didn't see the post there Coeurcasse. You're approved, just stay active.)

Bridget walked down the street, a notebook in her hands, her thoughts buried on her next article. She saw Blanche step in front of the car and her breathed a sigh of relief as the driver barely missed her. She walked up, concern covering her face.

"Are you alright?" Her French accent was still thick, but understandable, even after all these years she still had it.

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Se blâment, vous dupent, pour toi a cassé mon coeur ainsi beaucoup de fois que je ne peux pas trouver les morceaux.