ArchivedLogs:Vignette - First and Final

Vignette - First and Final
Warning - contains violence.
Dramatis Personae Hanna, Jayna
In Absentia	2013-06-29 Who the hell doesn't like baked goods?
Location <NYC> Happy Cakes Bakery - TriBeCa
The early summer evening still sports the clinging humidity of the day, the last failing rays of sunlight twinkling in the glass and steel buildings of the city. Tensions have been high, even in the relatively posh stretch of shops in TriBeCa where Happy Cakes Bakery resides - in the past weeks, several shops have had their storefronts defaced with Anti-Mutant slurs and verbage, although violence has been kept to a minimum following the police involved shooting. There are very few people on the streets tonight, and those that are keep their heads down and scurry quickly to their destinations, skirting around the ruddy brown stain that mars the concrete just up the way from Happy Cakes. At least one shop, a quirky little thrift shop owned by a pair of mutant entrepreneurs, has closed its doors amidst the hateful rhetoric and threats of violence. The former thrift store now sits empty, the windows which once held brightly colored clothing of every description now gape onto the street like vacant eye sockets. A single piece of printer paper is taped to the front door - an explanation and apology from the men who had owned it. Now that the mutant shop owners are gone, the graffiti and slurs have subsided from the windows, scrubbed clean by the landlord in hopes of attracting a new business to the location. Hanna, however, is made of more stubborn stuff, and despite having to scour poorly spelled hate speech from her front windows several times over, refuses to give in to the pressure of the vocal, ill educated, minority. Business has slowed down a bit as the normal clientele are forced to prioritize - and quite often, personal safety is rated a good deal higher than baked goods for most individuals. Happy Cakes still sports the little hand stitched sign by the door, declaring "All are welcome!" in cheery colorful letters. Hanna and Jayna have done their best to enforce that decree, intent on creating a safe zone in the chaos, however small or short lived it may be. Those who disturb the peaceful atmosphere find themselves being given a free donut and a to go cup of the finest coffee, and politely asked to leave the shop, always with a kind smile and all due politeness. The last of the customers have headed out for the day, ushered out of the shop with a smile and the promise of a fresh round of baked goods the next morning. Hanna stands in the doorway for a moment, looking around outside for a long moment before stepping in, flicking the hanging placard over to indicate that the show was now closed. Her long jet hair has been pulled back into a very intricately woven braid which falls to her hips, dotted occasionally with delicate rainbow flowers which match the brightly paint splattered pattern on her knee length swing dress. “Alrighty, Jayna. Whose turn is it to mop tonight? I can never quite seem to remember,” the curvy woman asks her partner with a brilliant smile, her voice laughing at some long running joke between the two. She steps behind the counter, swapping out her crisp white working apron for a larger, more protective smock. Even as she asks, Jayna is already heading to the small supply cabinet to pull the mop and wheeled bucket from within, laughter in her response, “Uh huh. You ask every night, and every night, same answer, Hanna. You mop. I do the dishes. We don’t alternate, sweetie. Not part of the agreement.” The barista pulls her brilliant green headscarf down to settle on her shoulders, letting the bundled mass of leafy fronds, several of them wrapped like dreadlocks in brilliantly colored cotton gauze. She continues giggling, sliding the mop and bucket over towards Hanna, only managing to slosh the water slightly in the process. “Oooh, right, that,” Hanna snags the mop mid way, swishing around it in a few little dance steps as she does, “Well then, I’ll get started out here. Turn up the music abit on your way? I mop faster when there’s music.” Pulling the mop out of the bucket, Hanna begins to swirl around the floor, paying more attention to dancing in time to the music than to moping in neat lines, instead waltzing with the mop as a soggy partner. Hey - it's her bakery - who says cleaning up should be boring? Pausing for a moment at the chrome doors that separate the sales area from the kitchens, Jayna rolls her eyes, smiling at Hanna for a moment. "Sure. Faster, and in decidedly nonsensical ways." The dryad vanishes into the back, and moments later the cheery swing music bumps up a few notches, and the sound of water running in the sink adds a hazy undercurrent to the music. The cluster of cheery silver bells over the door begins to chime, signalling the door opening, though the jingling is lost in the overhead music. Hanna finds herself so wrapped up in her mopping that the three men who enter at the chime of the bells are overlooked entirely, despite their looming and gruff presence. In fact, Hanna has just started to hum to the music as she mops, the waves of happiness simply rolling off of her as she relaxes from the stress of the day, imbuing the area around her with a subtle sense of well being. "Oy," comes the initial gutteral outburst from the first man, "You the freak loving bitch who owns this shit hole?" His voice a harsh growl, as he glares menacingly at the still oblivious Hanna. He is a relatively short man bearing the start of what could be a proper beer gut, with sun worn skin and salt and peppered hair that place him closer to middle age than not. The two behind him look young enough to be his sons - if the prominint chin and solid jawline they all share is any indication, they likely are - each holding a baseball bat far more like a club than a sporting implement. At the initial address, Hanna stops in her mopping and turns to face the men, blinking in silent shock, the waves of emotion suddenly ceasing as she snaps the flood gates on her ability shut in surprisse. Leaning easily against the mop handle, Hanna manages her brilliant smile at the men, nodding in response, "Yes, sir. I am in fact the proprietor of this bakery. However, our business hours are over for the day, and I'm afraid you'll just have to come back tomorrow morning." Her voice is sickenningly sweet, like a 1950s house wife who has just baked a bottle of little yellow pills into brownies, and then eaten the whole batch in one go, the carefully practiced smile something from a Rockwell painting. "Your ain't no longer welcome around here, mutie-lover. Consider this your first and final warning. Tha freaks on the corner took the hint. You an' your house plant best be gone. We don't want your kind round here, droppin' property values and bringin' violence," the older man snarls, stepping toward Hanna and pointing his finger accusingly at the baker. The silent young men simply nod in agreement, glaring down at her, smacking the bats into their hands as though to show they meant business. "I see. And you seem to speak for the local zoning office? Because, gee whiz misters, they seemed perfectly happy with to support my business when I filed all the permits. They even enjoyed those danishes I sent by last week for their quarterly meeting," Hanna says with a sweet smile, her voice still saccarine, tilting her head slightly to the side in mock confusion, "Oh, or maybe you are with the health inspector's office? I mean, wow, that is spectacularly thorough, as the agent was just here last week, and we passed with flying colors." Hanna leans against the mop, drawing herself to her full height as she does so and looking down at the older man as though he were a petulant child, her already dark eyes becoming black as night as she does. "No? In that case, leave. Now. Or I will call the police on you for tresspassing. Get out of my bakery, sirs. Consider this your final warning," she snarls, pointing a well manicured finger towards the doorway. At Hanna's obviously derisive response, the older man sneers, although he steps back as Hanna's eyes change, narrowing his beady little eyes at her. There is a laugh, and with a gesture at his sons, he points at Hanna and the cases, "Alright boys. Lets make us a point here. To clear up the freak's understanding. Just to be thorough." A thuggish grin grows on the lips of the taller young man, who takes two long steps towards the glass and chrome bakery case, still partially filled with the colorful assortment of cupcakes and sweets from the day. He raises the bat like a club, an overexadurated motion that takes it behind his head, and about to swing it down onto the freshly polished glass, as Hanna drops her mop and lunges towards the violent young man, shoulder dropped like a line backer on the move. "No!" she cries out, bodily tackling the man and using the opportunity to dose him with a healthy amount of confusion. Hanna is no small woman, but her charge only send the larger man stutter stepping sideways, lowering the bat and blinking with uncertanty at his surroundings. He glares down at Hanna, snarling and with one swift motion striking her with a wicked backhand that sends her reeling, but does not knock her out. The resounding /crack/ sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes through the relatively quiet bakery like a gunshot. Stumbling only slightly, Hanna puts a hand to her injured cheek, narrowing her black eyes at the man who had hit her. "Get. Out. Now. Leave my bakery this instant. All of you," she says with a harsh whisper, her eyes flicking between the three in turn, "Leave, and never show your faces around here again." "Oh, you think we're just gonna leave? After you touched my boy? I don't think so, you freak bitch," laughs the small man, advancing quickly on Hanna as he does, shoving her shoulders so that she is forced back against the glass case she had just defended. She doesn't stay there for long, bouncing herself back off the glass and taking a well aimed swing at the older man, a mean left hook connecting squarely with his squared jaw, "Your boy hits like an infant, sir." Hanna snarls, moving to position herself between the intruders and the glass case, her voice raising in volume as she speaks, "Again, get out of my shop." Whether it was the scuffling, or the shouting, or the numerous punches that have been thrown, something has gotten Jayna's attention from the back. With spectacularly poor timing, the dryad emerges from the back room, hands still clad in neon green dish gloves, residual suds and water making them shine in the flourescent lighting. "Hanna? Is everything..." Jayna asks, though her alto voice trails off at the sight in the main bakery, and she freezes in place, her leaf green eyes going wide in shock and terror. The sudden arrival of the barista draws the attention of all three men immediately - and a sneering smirk appears slowly on the older man's lips as he eyes Jayna. "Get the house plant. Our mouthy baker is obviously not concerned with her own safety. Maybe trimming her tree will be more to the point," the short man barks, gesturing at the second son violently. The other young man begins lumbering forward, a determined scowl on his face as he easily hurdles the countertop placing him right beside Jayna's still frozen form. "Jayna! No - run!" Hanna cries out, darting towards her partner in horror and forgetting for a moment the two other men trying to destroy her bakery. Panic and fear clearly telegraph over Hanna's features as she scrambles to reach Jayna, only to be abruptly stopped mid check by the harsh impact of a baseball bat against her shoulder. The unexpected attack catches her off balance, and sends her into the pastry case, the force shattering the glass window and slamming Hanna against the chromed steel shelves of the interior. A pained yelp escapes her lips as she lands, her dress and arm streaked with a colorful mix of blood and cupcake icings as she struggles to extricate herself from the case. The looming presence of the goonish young man seems to snap Jayna out of her paniced trance, and the green haired woman starts to scream, backing away from her attacker until she finds herself blocked by her coffee counter. It is a short lived scream, however, as the man easily wraps a hand around Jayna's slender neck and lifting her slim form off the ground. Her desperate shriek becomes a series of choking cries as she struggles for several long moments, her eyes wide with panic. The brute even dares to laugh slightly as Jayna's struggling becomes sluggish and then stops, her green eyes rolling back in her head and her body going limp. Hanna yanks herself free of the case with an enraged cry, further lascerating herself as she does this, though if she cares or notices, it does not show through the anger. She lunges over the counter, clawing violently at the man attacking Jayna desperately. Eventually grabbing hold of his hand, she pours her own fear and anguish into the man, unleashing the torrent of emotion as though flood gates had opened onto him. Immediately, he tosses Jayna away from him like a discarded ragdoll, looking at the unconscious mutant as though she had sprouted three heads and vicious fangs. A slight squeak of horror, possibly a surpressed scream, escapes him as he looks at her before turning away in terror. Shoving Hanna out of the way, he scrambles back over the counter, putting as much distance between himself and the two women as he can, his eyes wide with fear. Hanna takes this opportunity to slide over the counter, collapsing onto the floor ungracefully and crawling towards Jayna, all concern for the three men vanished in that moment. Hands instinctively check for a pulse, groping awkwardly at her neck to confirm that faint tattoo of life still beat. She gingerly scoops her good arm under Jayna's shoulders, pulling the smaller woman to her chest and cradling her as best she can with her injured arm. Tears stream down her face as she curls protectively around Jayna's unmoving form, as though expecting another onslaught. "I think we have made our point, boys. Come on," declares the older man, crossing his arms satisfactorally over his chest as he turns to exit the bakery. The other two follow suit, falling into place behind their father. As the short man reaches the door, he snags the neatly hand stitched sign declaring "All are welcome!" from its suction cup hook, and looks down at it with a sneer, before dropping it at his feet. Each men take turns stepping deliberately on the little wooden framed sign, grinding it into the tile floor as they exit the bakery. As the last brute leaves, the door swings shut, and the delicate chime of silver bells accompanying the final /crunch/ as the little wooden framed sign is destroyed.