ArchivedLogs:Congratulations And Coffee

Congratulations And Coffee
Dramatis Personae Hive, Micah, Doug
In Absentia	30 May 2014 Pretty much what it says on the tin.
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Spacious and open, this coffeeshop has a somewhat industrial feel to it, grey resin floors below and exposed-beam ceilings that have been painted up in a dancing swirl of abstract whorls and starbursts, a riot of colour splashed against a white background. The walls alternate between brick and cheerfully lime-green painted wood that extends to the paneling beneath the brushed-steel countertops. There's an abundance of light, though rather than windows (which are scarce) it comes from plentiful hanging steel lamps. The walls here are home to plentiful artwork available for sale; though the roster of prints and paintings and drawings and photographs changes on a regular basis it has one thing in common -- all the artists displayed are mutants. The seating spaced around the room is spread out enough to keep the room from feeling cluttered. Black chairs, square black tables that mostly seat two or four though they're frequently pushed around and rearranged to make space for larger parties. In the back corner of the room is more comfortable seating, a few large black-corduroy sofas and armchairs with wide tables between them. There's a shelf of card and board games back here available for customers to sit and play. The chalkboard menus hanging behind the counter change frequently, always home to a wide variety of drinks (with an impressive roster of fair-trade coffees and teas largely featured) though their sandwiches and wraps and soups and snacks of the day change often. An often-changing variety of baked goods sit behind the display case at the counter halfway back in the room, and the opposite side of the counter holds a small selection of homemade ice creams. At night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits over the coffeehouse, accessible through a stairway in the back of the cafe. Hive has been stationed at Evolve for Quite Some Time, from the looks of things. There are papers strewn across the table he's taken for himself -- table/s/, really, he's got two pushed together with some half-sketched designs scattered over them on onion skin, a notebook, a number of variously colored pens, his phone, a mug that once held coffee sitting empty atop a blank corner of one sheet of his thin tracing paper, his red laptop. Hive is slumped in his chair, his 'ceci n'est pas une lune' Death Star t-shirt on together with sneakers and faded old jeans, eyes a little glazed, hands badly shaky where they rest over his keys. His table is one of the nearest to the entrance, front and to the right, and though he's staring at the engineering plans on the screen of his laptop his /mind/ is everywhere. The alley outside. The conversation the baristas are having behind the counter. The pair of teenagers who've just walked in. His focus at the moment is, perhaps, waning. Perhaps his empty coffee mug needs a refill. Hive's position makes him easy enough for Micah to find when the young redhead arrives, still dressed in his work attire of TARDIS blue polo shirt and khakis. His hair is end-of-workday tousled and glistening from the spitting-drizzle that has persisted outside much of the afternoon and evening. He slides out a chair and settles into it across from the telepath. “Hey, hon. How're y'doin' today? I'm gonna go grab a mocha an' a muffin or somethin' in a sec. Can I get y'somethin'?” Doug's trepidation probably reaches the interior of the coffee shop before he does. It's pretty strong. He even stands at the door for a long moment before pushing his way inside. Dressed apparently to be incognito, the blonde is wearing a dull grey sweatshirt and jeans, and a maroon baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes. His laptop bag is definitely recognizable, scorched and battered as it is. He hangs inside the doorway for just a moment, a fleeting thought that bringing a shop-warming gift is probably a Bad Idea, and mild curiosity for what it might feel like to be eaten by a shark passing through his mind before he makes his way to the counter, glancing around room as he goes. He pauses when he spies the familiarly slumped form and his cheerful companion, and that Bad Idea suddenly blossoms into Worst Idea Ever, and he gives the whole thing another going-over. Unfortunately, said going-over roots him to the spot, temporarily. So much for incognito. "You think Shane'll just give me like a straight-up fucking IV drip?" Hive doesn't look up from his screen as Micah settles in, just glowers at it and slouches down further. "Help me make this fucking. Deadline. You can toss all that shit --" He jerks his pointy chin towards the thin onion skin paper, "wherever the fuck it was just. Brain. Storming." His teeth grind, hands lifting to scrunch his fingers through his choppy scruff of hair. "-- you have any idea how good his sense of fucking smell is?" Though his voice lifts, somewhat, he /still/ doesn't look away, which makes this odd non sequitur /seem/ almost directed towards Micah though there's a very faint mental nudge at Doug with this. "Don't know exactly what a baseball cap's going to fool. He can smell fear, you know. May as well just order a coffee with /confidence/. He's not going to bite you. He's just going to serve you a coffee. Politely, I'd bet. Got some fucking tasty key lime muffins too." "Man, hot coffee's about the last thing y'want goin' straight into your veins. 'Sides, y'don't get t'taste it that way. I'll get you a giant cuppa black with a shot of espresso /and/ a key lime muffin. Though I'm gettin' somethin' chocolate t'go with m'mocha." Micah slides his chair right back out, moving to give Hive's shoulder a squeeze before heading to the counter. Though the strange commentary interrupts him. "Who's smellin' what now? Y'mean Shane? 'Course I know how amazin' his sense of smell is. S'enough t'start /trouble/ sometimes." He finally turns as Hive continues talking rather obviously to someone else, his cheeks reddening as he recognises Doug. His hand lifts in a tiny wave. Guilt blossoms with the sudden red in Doug's cheeks when Hive speaks up, and he's gripped for a moment in a flight response. He wrestles it back down, though, slapping an image of his bedroom over it before lifting a shoulder in outward response. "I just didn't want to start trouble," he mutters, ducking his head and pushing his cap back on his head a bit. When he looks back up, he catches Micah's recognition, and the sudden sinkhole of guilt that opens up makes him waver in place briefly. He manages to lift a hand in reply, though, and he clears his throat before he speaks. "Hey." "Doubt you will, if you're here for the coffee." Hive lifts a shoulder, nodding over to Micah. "S'good coffee," he adds to Doug. "Got good ice cream, too, but s'a shitty -- a shitty --" His brow furrows, sentence hanging as he looks down at his screen. "Shitty. Rain. Grey. Shiver." He shakes his head abruptly, curling one hand across his chest. "Tell Shane to make it like. Fucking. /Ridiculous/ strong. And I don't want hot coffee in my veins. /Just/ the caffeine." “Caffeine straight in your veins isn't great, either. Super-strong coffee, y'got it.” Micah nods firmly in assurance of this. “An', yeah, still's kinda cold for wantin' a lotta ice cream.” His hand gives one last squeeze to Hive's shoulder before he proceeds to the end of the line at the counter. “Hi.” "Well, the coffee and to drop off a present," Doug says, glancing at the counter. His thoughts flit to said present; a couple of CDs found at Spin that feature rare classical recordings. "To say congratulations." He rubs a finger along his nose, and frowns at Hive's speech hanging up. There's a surge of concern for his once-friend, but his ability is already fixing it in his head. "Yeah, the weather's pretty shitty for ice cream," he agrees. "But I'll remember that next month, when it starts to really warm up." It sounds awkward, and Micah's heading for the line gives him a good excuse to move and break up said awkwardness. He steps out of the older man's way, hooking a thumb in the strap of his bag as he steps up nervously in line behind him. << S'good for. Headaches. >> Hive's words kind of /are/ a headache, bludgeoning into the other men's minds. << Been a whole lot of congratulating floating around here lately. >> He closes his laptop, curling his arms on its lid and slumping forward to rest his face in his crossed arms. << Your sleuthing getting you anywhere. >> It's said bland and inflectionless. A little tired. His bony shoulders curl inward as his eyes close. << Next month I'm sleeping all month long. >> << Yeah, they do use caffeine t'treat some migraines, >> Micah replies with a nod, though the words are silent. << An' y'could do with more sleep. Don't think anyone's gonna complain 'bout y'gettin' it. >> "S'been a whole lotta /reason/ for congratulations lately, with the shows an' the graduations an' the shop openin' an' the Commons 'bout ready for folks t'move in," he finally says aloud. "Oh, music. That's nice of you." He steps up to the counter, ordering his mocha and Hive's extra-strong black coffee, Hive's key lime muffin and a chocolate chip walnut one for himself. After paying and dropping some money in the tip jar, he steps aside for Doug. "Congratulations are good," Doug says, a new stab of guilt for missing graduations on top of everything else. His eyebrows lift in surprise at the idea that the Commons are so far along, and the corners of his mouth tug downward in a small expression of admiration for the accomplishment. His balloon breaks when he realizes /why/ the timetable got sped up, and there's a new bloom of color in his cheeks. When Micah mentions the music, his hand leaves the strap of his bag to fall against it, curling around the outside pocket a bit self-consciously. Luckily, Hive's question distracts him, and there's a flash of imagery that matches his response. "Slowly. I've figured out that someone took out the outside cameras with arrows. Now I 'm trying to get a clear enough image to identify make and model, so I can dig a bit deeper." He steps up to order as Micah steps aside, ordering a triple vanilla latte and a key lime muffin. The gift is left with his payment, and the tip he pushes into the jar is probably a bit more generous than is strictly necessary. "I figure there can't be /too/ many people buying steel-tipped arrows, right? New York's not known for its bow-hunting, after all." << You'd be surprised. New York kinda /is/ known for it. Arrows are up there with the most effective zombie weapons. Silent, reusable ammo. /Legal/, unlike guns. Know a metric /crapton/ of people with 'em these days. Tessier's a badass archer. >> Hive muses this thoughtfully before adding on a more amused note: << -- Hunger Games didn't hurt, either. >> His hand rubs against the back of his head, then drops back to rest against his laptop lid. << Should see what Ash and Jim are doing with the grounds. Kind of gorgeous. >> "They are. S'been nice t'have things t'celebrate." Micah offers quiet thanks to the person working behind the counter as he collects his drink and baked goods. "I dunno. Bow huntin' did get more prevalent after the plague..." He trails off with Hive's more detailed additions. "Yeah, Brave sure helped things, too. All the little girls wanna be bow hunters. Ain't too likely /they're/ the ones we're lookin' for right now, though." His cheeks redden in time to a memory of a discussion with Matt about dressing Lucien as Green Arrow, which is accompanied with some slightly more interesting mental imagery. Doug visibly deflates as his task yawns before him, and there's a sudden wash of hopelessness that echoes itself in the coloring of his ears. "I hadn't really thought about that," he admits, his jaw clenching once in a brief spasm. "That's going to make things considerably more difficult." Hopefully, Madrox will turn up something that he can use. It seems to be the best chance, suddenly. That thought offers a /bit/ of light, and allows him to shovel his darker thoughts a bit deeper in order to think about what the Commons might look like. "I bet," he says, briefly wondering who Ash is, exactly. "Nice to be able to put up a nice garden so soon after building. It'll definitely make it feel more homey." Hive snorts at Micah's mental imagery. << ... I'd pay to see him in /that/. >> His eyes don't open, head turning further into the crook of his arm. << Who's Madrox? >> For a moment now that Micah has obtained caffeine he aaalmost pushes himself upright again but then just slumps back down. << S'good. Let the fucking hippies play in the dirt. Still have a ways to go on the -- on the -- spaces -- the -- >> There's a mental image here of the common house. Workshop. Playground. His sentence doesn't actually finish though, except with the /feeling/ of a grumble. << If y'paid his rates an' provided the costume, I'm sure it could be arranged. >> The red creeps into Micah's neck and ears even as he thinks it. "The gardens should be real nice. Can grow things out some an' all without havin' t'wait for the natural progression of things." He gestures toward the table with his head since his hands are full, seeing as the three of them are already talking anyhow. "Gotta get this caffeine over t'Hive 'fore he collapses." Also, holding two muffins and two cups of coffee for more than a few moments is a bit precarious. << Dunno. Why d'you ask? >> He places the appropriate coffee and muffin in front of Hive's seat and his own before sliding back into his chair. "It's always good to save time," Doug says, managing a bit of a smile with that statement. "Plants can take forever to grow, according to my mother the gardener." Hive's question does exactly what it's intended to do, summoning an image of the older man -- many of him, actually, each a carbon copy with his own version of the man's personality. "He's this detective I worked with a couple of times," is how he actually answers the question, getting his coffee and muffin and following after Micah slowly. "I hired him to do a bit of digging around. See if he can get wind of anything." He rolls his shoulders before lifting his cup to his lips and taking a sip. He doesn't actually /sit/, just yet. "He can cover way more ground than I can." "I don't just. Keep a fucking. Green Arrow costume on hand." Hive's words are kind of quiet, now that his mental bludgeoning is over and he's just speaking into the crook of his folded arms. He doesn't lift his head, his hands shaking against the closed lid of his laptop. "Fff. Good way to cover it. Shit." He sounds vaguely impressed, insofar as it can be told in his muffled tired voice. "Too late, dude. Already collapsed. S'over. Not moving. Just gonna rent this table from Shane from now on." "Oh, detective...that'll prob'ly help learn things if anythin' will." Micah picks up Hive's mug and holds the coffee within easy smelling distance of the telepath's nose. "C'mon, honey. Just gotta sit up an' then there's /more/ caffeine in it for you. Also, delicious muffin." He giggles into his own mug, cradled in his hands. "Didn't expect you t'have one /on hand/. Just need t'/get/ one. S'all." He continues chuckling until he brings the mug to his lips to sip carefully at the hot liquid. "You can get one of those online," Doug offers, regarding Green Arrow costumes. Not that he's spent any time online looking for them (he totally has). "Just have to know the size and have an Amazon account." He takes another sip of his coffee, nodding at the thoughts on Madrox. "Yeah, he's pretty much a one-man search party. I figure if anyone can turn something up on the street, it'll be him." At least, Doug hopes so. It feels like his shot at possibly making things right. He does set his coffee on the table, in order to pull off a pinch of muffin and poke it into his mouth with a shrug. "Here's hoping, anyway." "Mngh," Hive answers Micah in a low grumble. He lifts his head reluctantly, a few inches, and then thunks it heavily forward faceplant back down onto his folded arms. "I have a -- amazon. Thing. I have. -- right. We're hoping. Got that too. S'it ever occur to you we know a crazy number of PIs. We should have some kind of. Face off. Olympics. Oil wrestling. Something." He finally levers himself up -- enough so that he can tip to the /side/ instead, thunking straight back down to topple over sideways and rest his head in Micah's lap. "Here's hoping." Micah slides his chair in closer to cradle Hive's head in his lap more easily, free hand moving to pet through the fuzz-fluff of his lengthening hair. “Sweet. Put that Amazon account t'good use. Also? Y'just wanna get Jim all oiled up. S'what that is.” His fingers scritch gently against the telepath's scalp. “Yeah, here's hopin',” he echoes softly.