ArchivedLogs:Extra Helping

Extra Helping
...of anxiety and cheer
Dramatis Personae Hanna, Hive, Jackson, Jayna, Tag
In Absentia	2013-07-08 The grand re-opening of Happy Cakes features cupcakes, caffeine, and colors!
Location <NYC> - Happy Cakes Bakery - TriBeCa
Happy Cakes Bakery is a cheery little spot of vintage charm amidst the hustle and bustle of the Manhattan neighborhood, a refurbished pair of row homes that hardly resemble their previous selves - the front walls are almost entirely gleaming glass, with the logo of the bakery painted onto the top, and rainbows of cupcakes dancing along the edges. Eclectically styled, it seems homey and welcoming - if the cross stitched sign by the door wasn't obvious enough - "All are Welcome!" it reads, with the "All" underlined in a sparkling bubble gum pink and yellow dotted line, with the logo of the bakery, a cheery smiling pink and white cupcake, beneath the lettering. Once inside, the walls of the combination bakery and coffee shop are covered in crisp clean white ceramic tile, with the occasional randomly placed tile with an color engraving of a tropical flower, or tile made of reclaimed China. Ambient music reminiscent of the Big Band era plays through the shop, loud enough to be heard, but not loud enough to make conversation difficult. Tables and chairs in a variety of sizes, colors, and styles fill one side of the room, none of them quite matching each other, but all of them seeming to work together. The other side of the shop is a long series of gleaming glass and chrome bakery displays, filled with colorful sweets and treats of every description. To one end of the counter is a gleaming chrome espresso machine with far more tubes and bobbles than is really necessary, but producing excellent espresso beverages. At the other end is the old style cash register, a chrome and cherry wood relic from a bygone age that dings cheerily with each sale. The wall behind the counter is covered in photos of a tropical island, as well as a pair of shops that look like a smaller version of this one, several including a pair of dark haired women. It is miserably hot today, but the air conditioning at Happy Cakes is creating a lovely oasis of comfort to accompany the cupcakes inside the bakery. On the first day open since the attack that had barely made a ripple in the papers, the shop is busy in spurts, with a little bit of a post lunch lull leaving the place mostly empty. Everything in the shop is gleaming, with the chrome, glass, and tiles polished to a shine nearly unseen since the day the bakery had opened in May - there isn’t even a hint at the blood and violence that had conspired just over a week ago to close this place down. The cases are filed to the brim with colorful confections - tarts and cupcakes, custard cups, and cookies of nearly every description - it appears as though Hanna has decided to make up for lost time. Hanna herself is back to her normal, bubbly self, although admittedly a little bit slower and less bouncy that before, her right arm still immobilized in a sling. A neon patchwork of cupcake printed fabric has been applied to mask the standard hospital sling she had sported the week before, matching well enough to the brilliantly pink swing dress the baker sports for her first day back. Her long hair is pulled back in a braid which is then doubled up and held in place with wooden sticks, each ending in a differently colored cupcake. Her left arm is covered in fresh pink scars that stand out against her tan skin, including a mostly healed large gash that extends along her inner wrist, dangerously close to the artery. She is taking advantage of the temporary break to lean against the back counter, a little China cup in her free hand, the unmatched saucer balanced in her right hand while she sips. Jayna is currently nowhere to be seen, but the constant glances towards the back imply that the leafy barista is in the kitchen area currently, and Hanna is nervously trying to keep an eye on her. Nowhere to be seen, perhaps, though Hive’s awareness stretches more /mental/ than visual; he /looks/ kind of half /asleep/ as he shoulders the door open, holds it lazily open behind him with a loose curl of fingers around its edge. His eyes are half-lidded, his posture drooping like he’s been /melting/ in the heat outside. He’s dressed blandly, jeans and heavy workboots and a brown t-shirt with a picture of two hedgehogs eying a third (who has tipped a tin of blue paint over himself.) For all his lazy-melty posture, /he/ doesn’t look entirely /pleased/ to be here but then, that might be just his default state. Lips compressed, jaw a little tight and growing tighter as he steps inside. His mental awareness stretches a good deal more alertly than his sleepy expression would suggest, a slightly /paranoid/ attentiveness to the goings-on both in the shop and outside of it. The young man traipsing in behind Hive, at least, has all the bright cheer and colour that Hive does not. Vivid-bright tattoos, vivid-bright purple eyepatch, vivid-bright rainbow-swirled sarong (folded and wrapped to knee-length) and yellow sleeveless blouse. Vivid-bright smile. “Hi! You’re open!” Jackson chirrups as he slips inside. There’s a definite tension echoed in his mind, (vivid-bright!) thoughts slightly /clouded/ at the moment with a swirling /shadow/ that registers more as a Who than a What. But none of it leaks through to his expression or bouncy demeanor. “Hi. I heard um -- hi! Has it been OK, today? I think we want,” he takes a moment to decide before finishing, “-- /all/ the coffees!” Tag bumps the door open and shuffles into the shop. His hair is a slightly tousled rainbow, and he wears a sky blue t-shirt--dotted with occasional clouds and one seagull--hunter green cargo shorts, and sandals covered in ladybug patterns of red and black. He is carrying a glossy white planter bursting with small blossoms in every conceivable color. The horticulturally inclined will identify the plant as chamomile, but may be at a loss to explain its aberrant coloration--many of the flowers do not even display the same shade on all petals. "Hanna! Hive! Jax!" he chirps, the pitch of his voice elevating slightly with each name, and rises up onto tiptoes like a meerkat. There is a feverish gleam in his violet eyes that matches the whitewater stream of his consciousness. For a moment, he appears to teeter on the edge of pounce-hugging mode. Then he looks down at the planter as if he had only just noticed its existence and, mastering himself, strides resolutely up to the counter. "Hey Hanna, I got this because cut flowers make me sad but then I thought it was too plain so I er...improved it, I hope?" There is a nervous edge to this rambling explanation, and his eyes continually flick to the colorful cast. Tag blushes faintly and continues, even more rapidly. "New flowers will come in normal colored, though--until I get at them. If I get at them. Or I can change them back now? Are you and Jayna okay?" As the door opens, Hanna looks up, a sharp spike of nervousness echoes through her mind, flashes of three men entering the bakery are quickly squashed beneath a well practiced blanket of calming thoughts. A relaxed, cheery smile, however is constantly on her rounded features as she regards the incomming customers, a look of recognition in her coffee colored eyes as she sees Jackson. "Hello, welcome to Happy Cakes," Hanna greets with a broader smile, standing up from the leaning position to move with slightly stiff steps towards the glass case, "We've got a really great selection of vegan goodies today, if you're interested, but we also have quite a bit of non-vegan treats too. I, ah, went a little bit overboard baking for today." A sheepish glance to the ground as she admits the overbaking, and she shrugs slightly, "All the coffees, you say? Well, pretty sure Jayna's up for it - and, well, we are both doing fine. Shaken up, but should be mostly better. She's in the back at the moment, give me just one moment to get her, 'kay?" As she speaks, there is a swirl of surface thoughts, bringing around cheery colors and a wash of relaxation and happiness at the thought of baking and talking to people. The offering of the chamomile plant is enough to bring Jayna out of the back, her hair not bound in the hijab that had been covering the leafy tendrils for the past several weeks; instead, each frond has been wrapped in a different color of cotton mesh and wrapped into dreadlocks, mostly obscuring the leaves, though occasionally one does peek out as though a piece of intentional decoration. The barista smiles cheerily at the young man, her bright green eyes crinkling with cheer, her mind awash in warmth and happiness at the sight of actual customers - although there is a splash of nervousness and hurt in her mind. "Thank you, Tag. The colors are lovely as they are," Jayna says quietly, accepting the plant, and glancing sideways at Hanna with a little bit of a quiet chuckle. "So? All the coffees? Any specifics, or would you really like me to just go all sorts of mad science on your coffee order?" She is still quite contentedly hugging the chamomile plant, which seems to be perking up a little bit from proximity to her. Hive does not have illusionistpowers to paint a veneer of cheer over his tension; when others speak a faint tightness only cords itself more taut through his shoulders, his droopy-eyed expression sinking further to fix his eyes on the floor. He slouches his way nearer the counter, perhaps to examine the selection though mostly he just lifts a hand to clap it on Tag’s shoulder, squeeze briefly. Then return his hands to his pockets. His teeth grind, slow and brief, as he listens to the thoughts of the others around him. “Don’t think he even wants a fucking coffee,” he volunteers at length, rocking back onto his heels. “Just wants to chuck money at you because that was all -- shitty as fuck and you all didn’t need that bullshit. How about we just take --” He glances over the counter again with a deeper frown, like the sight of the pastries /annoys/ him. “-- some of everything. That’s vegan.” Jackson flushes -- faintly, when Tag enters, his smile brightening, (<< ! >>) but then deeper at Hive’s words. (<< … >>) He bounces his way over to snake an arm around Tag once his hands are freed of plant, squeeeezing briefly. “Hi! -- um, OK, he might be right, I’ve had like /twenty/ coffees already but it’s good to support --” He gestures with one glittery-nailed hand around the shop. “I would’ve -- come up! To bring -- I mean, Luci said y’all live just -- um, but, I didn’t hear till yesterday that --” He blushes deeper. “But if you ever need anything! At all, I live just down from you. In 303.” "Um, /I'll/ have some mad science coffee if no one else will," Tag blurts. The chaos of his mind briefly and spectacularly executes a dizzying series of calculations on his probable safe dosage of caffeine. "At least two shots, but no more than four." He pauses, looking briefly lost, then abruptly adds, "Of /espresso/ I mean! And maybe a food..." His eyes flick between the most colorful of the cupcakes in the case with far more enthusiasm for their sheer beauty than the idea of eating them. The comment about just wanting to support the bakery gets a slight blush from Hanna, and she shakes her head, offering a kind smile to both Jax and Hive, “I appreciate the sentiment, really. If you want, I can make up a box of all the vegan cupcakes we have - I’ve got the usual chocolate and vanilla standbyes, a blueberry and strawberry with a lemon not-buttercream, coconut lime, and I wanted to test out a chai cupcake recipe - it’s got a caramel glaze on top, instead of a traditionally fluffy icing.” She happily points out each of the cupcakes in turn, thoughts in her mind a swirl of remembered happiness at the baking process, flashes of the flavors and concepts accompanying each - her mind is apparently almost as sugary as her business. At mention of living in the same building, Hanna blinks for a moment at Jax, resting her good hand on her hip, “Oh, it’s ok, sweetie. I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s ok. I’m not one to let a broken arm slow me down too much. But, if you ever need anything, let me know - I’m on the top floor - just on the way to the rooftop. Room 715. Jayna and I kinda have to keep odd hours because of the bakery, but,” she finishes with a shrug. “Anyway. What sort of things can I get you for today?” Jayna raises an eyebrow at the refusal of coffee, “Uh huh. I can do low caff things, or just flavored non-milk beverages. I also make a mean chai. Totally not coffee, so it doesn’t count.” The barista offers a smirk at Tag, setting the colorful plant atop her beloved espresso machine, “Challenge accepted, young man. No allergies to anything? And milk, soy, or other?” The barista looks between Hive and Jax, “Can I get anything for you guys? I mean, we do have juices and stuff if you really can’t have more caffeine.” She seems quite earnest in her desire to help out - both she and Hanna seem to be trying desperately to keep busy, and helpful. << Fucking A, man, you need to slow the hell /down/, >> Hive’s whipcrack-sharp mindvoice /snaps/ its way into the chaos of Tag’s mind as he drops down to slump sideways into a chair, one arm hooked over its back. His cheek rests against his arm, eyes closing the rest of the way, though he still listens carefully to the wash of thoughts around him. Teeth /gritted/. Possibly against Tag’s chaotic mindswirl. “... two shots,” he says, slow and dry, “tends to do it for most people.” He /snorts/, kind of disgusted, at the exchange between Jax and Hanna. “Jesus fucking Christ, you people. Nobody ever needs goddamn help.” << It’s the stupidest fucking dance, you know, >> this time his voice is cracking itself into Jax’s skull. << People actually feel better when they’re helping others. Someone offers, this constant oh-no-/I/-don’t-need-that is just being an /asshole/ disguised as manners. ‘least when it comes to all you saccharine motherfuckers who like to pretend cheering up other people is what you’re /aiming/ for. >> “-- Something iced. And really caffeinated. Not sweet, though,” Hive answers Jayna. Eyes still closed. And to Jax: “Get some of the coconut lime, we can see if they’re as good as yours.” His eye cracks open just a touch to regard the display case with a faint press of lips. “He,” he tells Hanna on /behalf/ of Jax, “doesn’t want the vanilla.” The mention of shots puts a sudden hard /tightening/ in Jackson’s thoughts, a sharp irritable, << (augh) >> even as his posture contrastingly eases further. Bouncebouncebounce. His platform sneakers are good for bouncing on. He drops his arm back to his side, taking a step back away from Tag with a reflexive inward twinge of embarrassment; his hands fold behind his back as he moves to Hive’s chair instead. “Oh! Caramel, hm -- I haven’t tried that! I usually dust mine with a little cinnamon and powdered sugar. Or cocoa. Or --” He blushes, closing his mouth rather than continuing to ramble. There’s a moment, almost, when he is on the verge of demuring, no help, no coffee, s’alright, we’ll just have the cupcakes! But then Hive’s voice slams into his head; he drops a hand to rest it on the telepath’s shoulder, weight leeeaning just a little bit into it as his fingers curl down against Hive’s bony arm. << … hah, >> is dry, kind of self-conscious. << S’all a dance, ain’t it? But you never join in. >> The smile he gives Jayna is bright. “Oh, gosh. Honestly when it gets down to it I don’t /never/ have too much caffeine -- uh, just, sometimes more’n I maaaybe should. Surprise me? I /do/ like sweet, though. Lots’a sweet. An’ almond milk. -- 715, I’ll remember that. Crazy as things been lately s’always good to know there’s folks around who’ll help out.” His tongue pokes up at one of his lip rings. “S’in the chai?” he wonders, with a nod towards the cupcakes, “-- I’ll take, mmm. Three’a alla them ‘cept not the chocolate an’ vanilla.” Though internally he’s already planning who to give the cupcakes /away/ to, “-- I got a friend who’s kinda mad allergic to sesame, will they kill him?” "No dairy, but anything else fine." Tag flashes a giddy smile at Jayna. Then, to Hanna, "I think I'll pass on the cupcakes today. They are great, but I just...uh, have no appetite." This last comes with an apologetic dip of his head. Purple, red, and orange hair falls across his eyes. He visibly relaxes. << Can't stop now. >> The thought is clear, firm, and accompanied by colorful charts relating friction, gravity, and momentum--some of which make sense. << Slow down, and I crash. >> The images dissolve into a gray blur, somehow horrifying in its emptiness. Tag's head snaps back up, as if he had very briefly nodded off and suddenly awakened. He cocks his head at Hive and Jax, raises magenta eyebrows. For all that, there are no /questions/ in his mind as such. Just color and movement now. "I am really the last person you want helping you," he tells Hanna and Jayna in a not-so-conspiratorial whisper, "but I'm...around. And I love this shop. So. That's that." He shrugs, digs out his sparkly rainbow wallet, and produces a crisp ten-dollar bill. “Chai cupcake has a mix of spices in it, cadamom, cinnamon, ginger, good quality black tea. Because Jayna won’t let me use anything less,” Hanna lists off the ingredients, closing her eyes momentarily to pull the recipe up in her mind, “Rice milk, flour, oil,” she opens her eyes again, the color of her irises having shifted slightly to a more gold tone, “I can grab the ingredients card if you’d like. But, if your friend is that allergic, I don’t think I can recommend it. I try to keep allergens down, but I did bake sesame bagels this morning, and I can’t 100% guarantee that some of the powder wasn’t airborne when I baked the cupcakes.” Hanna looks a bit sad that she can’t actually provide cupcakes for said friend, chewing on the inside of her lip and thinking over just how to be able to expand the cooking area to include an allergen isolation room. She shakes her head, and clears the thought, starting to box up the cupcakes requested, “You want them all in one box, or would you like them separated out into smaller groupings?” She asks, holding up the box options, all of them crisp and white with the cheery little cupcake logo on the side. Hanna nods to Jackson, “Good to know other people in the building, for sure. Granted - I keep running into people who apparently live in the building out in the world, and then finding out after the fact they live at the Lofts.” She offers a genuine smile, “If nothing else, I stockpile baking supplies at home, in case of an emergency. I really can be counted on to borrow that proverbial cup of sugar that neighbors always seem to need.” Hanna glances at Tag with a look of rather motherly concern, her eyes darkening for a moment as she searches his face. “You ok there, sweetie? And thanks,” she says, concern still coloring her voice as she finally turns her attention back to packing up the cupcakes for Jackson. Jayna in the meanwhile, has somehow acquired a pair of goggles, which are situated rather pointlessly atop her head, an oddly appropriate accessory for her leafy dreadlocks. She has a line of little glass shot cups lined up, filling each of them with a carefully measured pull of espresso, letting them cool down a bit before they get added into the iced beverages. A pot of french press coffee is already being strained into one of the ready to go travel cups. Occasionally, an almost uncharacteristically gleeful giggle escapes the barista as she works at her art. Ultimately, three beverages are prepared - carefully handed to each of the customers in a biodegradable plastic to-go cup with a colorful straw. “There. Chocolate ‘spresso bomb for you,” she hands Hive a dark beverage, though she offers a somewhat exhausted look at him over the shots comment, a mental image of the group of people who had been in here that day coming to mind, though she shakes her head and the image fades, “Chocolate coffee, french pressed, two pulls of espresso. You can add creamers if you want, I left enough room for it.” She hands Jax the next cup, the colors of the coffee and almond cream swirling together, topped with a sprinkling of cinnamon and rainbow sprinkles, “Cupcake. It’s vegan, I promise, but we managed to mix something one day that tasted exactly like an almond cupcake. And you look like you like sprinkles.” The last cup goes to Tag, and Jayna actually is handling it very carefully, “It smells amazing, but I have no freaking clue what it will taste like. Good luck.” Somehow, Jayna has mixed coffee and syrups and non-dairy creams together into a rather disturbing looking swirl of colors that are staying striated for the time being. It will likely taste like a sugary-sweet-orange-blueberry mix, with only the faintest under current of coffee flavoring. In theory, anyway. << Never found any music that suits me, >> Hive answers Jackson. His head tips down to rest against the arm that Jax reaches for his shoulder. << Tag, man, you’re going to fucking crash /anyway/. Better to do it with friends around. >> He keeps his eyes closed, head rested against Jax, until their drinks are there. The mental image from Jayna puts a hard tension in the line of his jaw (coincidentally or not, he’s actually in the same exact boots-jeans-hedgehog shirt he /wore/ to the bakery that day) and he takes the drink with a thin compression of lips. His, “thanks,” is gruff; he sets the coffee on the table without touching it, shifting so that he can take his wallet from his pocket as he stands. “It’s not a coincidence,” he tells Hanna. “You cater to freaks. The Lofts is full of them. Not many places in the city that’ll serve, so they come here. Not many places in the city they can /rent/, so they live there. Stay open long enough, you’ll probably have every gorram freak in the city with a sweet tooth passing through here.” He doesn’t move to the cash registers; he takes a few bills from his wallet and hands them to /Jax/ instead. “If,” he adds, with a slow tired shift of glance towards the windows, “you stay open long enough.” “Sugar’s one thing I’m /never/ short on,” Jackson says with a quiet laugh, his hand staying on Hive’s shoulder until the telepath rises. << Who says you need music to dance? >> he offers in return, a cheerful-bright levity layered taut over a backdrop of exhausted discomfort at being here at all. << He alright? >> He’s asking /Hive/ this rather than Tag, and it’s clear from the undertones of thought that this is less because of not wanting to call attention to problems and more just because he trusts Hive /more/ to give him a straight answer on the matter. “Uh -- one box is fine!” he says with a quick warm smile to Hanna, “thanks! -- Oh my /gosh/ you made a coffee taste like a cupcake?” His eye grows wide at this. He accepts the cup with another chirruped thanks, and his smile brightens. “/Hee/, sprinkles, yeah I -- would pretty much add more colour to everything if I -- wait what am I saying I /do/ add more colour to pretty much everything.” His tongue dips, swiping catlike at the top of his drink, lapping up a careful few sprinkles. “-- Yeah, s’sad but he’s right. Ain’t so many places for us, so -- you hang out at the couple there /are/, you’re bound to meet a whole ton’a.” His eye lifts to the ceiling, mouth twitching, “freaks. Tag, honey-honey, when /did/ you eat last?” “Oh, um...” Tag runs a hand through his hair, blurring the boundaries between colors just a little. His eyes stray left, then right, as though searching for a quick exit, but they return to Hanna finally. “No, I’m not really alright. It’s nothing serious just--I ran into an ex recently. We didn’t part on the best of terms, and I suck at dealing with.../drama/.” That ‘drama’ plays out in his head as a choppy montage of bodies striking other bodies, until suddenly cut off by a parade of gentoo penguins. He is still wearing a look of concentration when Jayna hands him the Experiment, which, by all appearances, sweeps away whatever was troubling him at once. Hardly even waiting for Jayna to finish her warning, Tag immediately starts in on his drink. His eyes go wide, and his irises go brilliant fuchsia. “Thank you! This is--the best!” He lifts the cup to eye level and studies it intently. The swirls of color have begun to warp and mix a little, taking on the appearance of unearthly geological strata. His smile is one of genuine joy and wonder, his thoughts a vast tumble of oil slicks and haloes. “Liquid colors are /so/ amazing. I have a hard time changing fluid surfaces.” Tag lowers the cup to drink from it again, rocking forward onto his toes and bouncing--just a little. << I’ve /done/ that, remember? Haven’t been doing much around my friends /except/ crashing. You get tired of that eventually, whether you want to or not. >> He rotates on his toes, ballerina-like, to face Jax. Tilting his head, he reluctantly releases the straw delivering hyper-sweetened caffeine into his body. “Um...I had /coffee/ earlier, with some kinda fake milk. Before that, probably...last night?” He does not say this sheepishly at all, even throws a reassuring smile in front of the strange sinking sensation. “Mel keeps me fed.” It only takes a few moments for Hanna to box up the cupcakes, carefully lining the requested cupcakes up so that they won’t contaminate each other with stray icings or decorations. The box is then neatly tied with a pink and yellow striped piece of twine, doubling as both decoration and a carrying handle. The box is set on the counter for Jax to take with a pleased smile, although the cheery expression falters slightly as she looks at Hive. “I’m aware that a vocal group of people in this city would rather see me close my doors and give up. I’m acutely aware of it,” Hanna says quietly, although the set of her jaw is resolute, though her eyes have faded to a cool ice blue as she speaks, “But, dammit, I’m either stubborn, or stupid. I won’t. I love this shop, and I love getting to meet the people I do while I’m working.” Mental images flash past - good times in the bakery, many of them visible mutants. There is a decidedly worried glance at Tag, as Hanna leans forward to look at the young man, “Uh huh. So you’ve skipped breakfast and lunch now? Have you at least had water today, or have you only had caffeine?” She’s already pulled a blueberry bagel out of the case and is handing it over to Tag, “Here. Even if you’re not hungry now, it’s portable. Take it with you. It’ll at least go with the drink. In theory.” She glances over at Jayna with an eyebrow raised, “What kinda drink was that?” Jayna vanishes into the back room for a moment, offering a shrug in response to Hanna’s question, and hands over a little lunch box portion bottle of water, nodding to Tag, “Don’t dehydrate. Generally a bad idea, especially in this heat.” << No, >> Hive answers Jax, with an odd dissonant chaos-swirl of oilslick colors that clash with rather than compliment the vibrant-bright potpourri of color that makes up /Jax’s/ thoughts, << when’s he ever alright? >> To Tag he has different answer, brutal-sharp as ever with the quick hard whip of mental voice: << Then stop crashing. >> Like it’s just that simple. This time, even after his words have ceased his mental /presence/ doesn’t; it’s a heavy sinking /clench/ that presses hard strong fingers down against Tag’s mind. Curling around. Starting to squeeze their way /in/ like probing for an entrance. He doesn’t take his seat again; he lifts a hand to clap Jax on the shoulder with a jostling squeeze, lean in to give him a firm kiss on the temple. << Bring him home if you can, >> he suggests, << I think he needs friends who /aren’t/ assholes. >> It’s wry and self-aware; he’s definitely /not/ classing himself in that category. “Thanks,” he tells Hanna and Jayna, lifting his cup of coffee, and this time he even manages a smile; quick and warm, it cuts through some of his baseline /gruff/, making it at least briefly clear enough that none of it is really directed at /them/. “I gotta get back to work. This counts as lunch, right?” The smile fades, his fingers still squeezing against Jax’s shoulder. “S’good, though. I mean, yeah, it’s probably stubborn and dumb as fuck. But.” His nostrils flare on a quick sharp snort. “Need some people being stubborn and stupid or shit’s just gonna stay how it’s been.” << -- eyes’re changing colour, >> Jackson is noticing /this/ with sudden surprised interest and a sort of /ferretbrained/ attunement to new pretties. Or just shifts of pigment; being around Tag is probably even /more/ of a trippy experience for him than for most people. “Ex-drama,” he says out loud, with a crinkle of his nose. “Ain’t that always a joy t’deal with.” << Think you’re a better friend than I am. >> Jackson leans up into the squeeze of his shoulder, smile warmer and brighter even /with/ the slight tense-flinch that accompanies the continued mental /bludgeoning/ of conversation with Hive. “Yeah,” he’s agreeing with Hive out loud, his smile tilting a little crooked, “s’good, anyway. T’keep doing what you love. I mean, y’let people drive y’out of doing anything what makes you happy and you may as /well/ --” << just let them kill you. >> His shoulder hitches up in a quick shrug; he pulls out his wallet, drawing out some bills of his own to go with Hive’s as he meanders cash-register-wards. The colours in Tag’s drink are swirling, still; they shift to curl themselves back into a more distinct striation, although now they’re brighter than they /began/, technicolour shades of blue and orange far too vivid to be quite natural. “-- Y’got plans t’day?” he’s asking Tag, absent-casual as he watches the drink. Tag accepts both bagel and water, bowing deeply--hair over eyes yet again--and looking just a little chastised. “Thanks, I.../usually/ remember to drink water, but I had some tea at some point and I figure that counted.” He reluctantly sets down his mad science coffee drink for a moment and shoves water into one cargo pocket and bagel into the other. Then he braces his hands on the edge of the counter and leans on it heavily. << That’s what I’m try-- >> The words barely hold together in his mind, but he does not /fight/ Hive. << --what I’m /doing/! >> Straightening up with an effort, he manages a wavering smile. “Um, I probably should eat sooner rather than later, huh?” “Anyway, /I/ don’t think it’s dumb. People who don’t like your shop don’t have to come in.” Coffee in hand again, Tag glances back at Hive and waves, but does not say goodbye. “And if they can’t figure that out, then /they’re/ the ones who are dumb.” When he notices the colors in his drink brightening--and he notices pretty much immediately, starbursts of surprised happiness in his mind--his /own/ colors grow bright to match, from rainbow hair to ladybug sandals. Amazed, he looks at Jayna, then Hanna, then with dawning comprehension at Jax. “I don’t really.../plan/ a lot,” he replies, still bright and un-self-conscious, “but I’m /supposed/ to be looking for a job. Still.” Hanna keeps her eyes on Tag for just a moment longer, her lips drawing into a concerned line as she moves towards the cash register - the thoughts swirling around beneath the forced blanket of calm in her mind those of genuine concern for the young man. She glances up at Hive as he indicates his departure, and offers a cheery smile and a wave, eyebrow quirked at the thought of just having coffee for lunch, but she shrugs, “Have a nice day, sir.” The baker doesn’t seem as concerned about Hive’s ability to keep himself fed, although the thoughts accompanying the farewell are sincerely wishing him a good day. And maybe a sandwich, because coffee is good, but food is good, too. In a moment, she turns her attention to Jax, ringing up the purchase and handing him back his change - the cupcakes and coffee are actually pretty reasonably priced - just barely above cost most likely. There’s a little bit of a nod to the thought of keeping up what she’s doing, “When I started this place, I had half joked that the only way I’d shut down would be if they made it illegal for mutants to own a business. Otherwise they’ll have to pry the rolling pin from my cold dead hands.” A decidedly pained grimace crosses her features at this point, and she shudders, adding quietly, “Bit less of a joke now. More of a what will come first situation.” Jayna takes a quick step toward Hanna, snagging her bandaged hand, giving it a quick squeeze with a concerned look, frowning slightly. Both however, are quickly distracted by the swirling colors that overtake Tags drink, and Jayna actually lets out an uncharacteristic squeal of glee, “Oh that is so freaking cool. I wish I could get it to do that with just the syrups, but, heh, no such luck.” Her leaf green eyes seem to follow the swirls of color in the drink, bemused grin on her face as she watches. Hanna chuckles and looks at Tag again, concern in her now dull chocolate colored eyes, “Be careful. The heat can creep up on you, especially if you have other things occupying your mind. Feel free to stop by if you need water - we keep a supply to give to people who need it.” At the job search, she nods, “The cupcakes you did for me before went over stunningly well. If you give me a call tomorrow, I can have a batch of blank canvases ready for you to work on for Wednesday. If you’re willing to do that about once a week, I can pay you a steady commission.” She still looks concerned, though, as she speaks. The hard squeezing of Tag’s mind gets sharper, heavier, an inexorable slow /crush/ of pressure that tightens its grip when he does not fight it. Probing mental fingers turn into digging mental /claws/, hooking deep into his mind. There’s a growing mental pain to accompany this, a stabbing-sharp headache to go with the cloudy weight, but then all at once it clears. Hive’s presence remains, now unobtrusively settled as a lurking backseat-passenger in the other man’s mind. “Yeah. You too,” he returns Hanna’s well-wishing in a much gruffer tone than her cheer. “You can look for a job /and/ get delicious food at Jax’s place.” He’s never really bothered much with /subtle/. He lifts his coffee in salute to the rest of them, and saunters out as slouchy-sleepy-eyed as he came in. In physical presence, at least. Lingering in Tag’s mind, his mental one is still /there/, just as keenly attentive to the minds in the shop as he was before. << It’s what you’re doing /today/. >> This time his voice in Tag’s head is not stabbing-painful, just a quiet surfacing of thoughts that rise almost as naturally as though they were Tag’s own. Almost. Except Hive’s stark-gruff cuts like a clear streak of black and white through the chaotic swirl of color that is distinctly /Tag/. << And it’s setting yourself up to just crash three times as hard /tomorrow/. >> Jackson’s smile brightens when Tag’s colours do, lingering as he pays for his things. “Eating’s sometimes good, yeah, I was just gonna --” His cheeks flush just slightly at Hive’s parting words, gaze dropping in time with a rather /ardent/ inwardly-directed self-censure: /feed/ Tag, help Tag look for job; do not bring Tag home to /hit/ on him. “-- gonna head home t’cook somethin’ for dinner later,” is cheerful-light still. He looks back up to Jayna at her glee, and the swirling colours in Tag’s cup morph further, trickles of purple and green twining themselves through the orange-blue swirl. “Mine’s all fake -- I mean, t’ain’t near so neat as what Tag do -- have you /been/ to our roof lately, oh my gosh, you should /see/ the gorgeous mural he put up -- mmm. But. Mine ain’t real it just vanishes once I stop --” He shrugs a shoulder. The smile fades into a quietly thoughtful look darted between Hanna and Jayna. “-- Kinda worried they just /might/,” he admits, “once this registration thing’s pushed through. At least the rumours keep circling ‘bout exactly what -- exactly what they’re gonna /do/ with the information. I don’t /think/ they’d ban mutant-owned business entire but I wouldn’t be surprised if they put kinda heavy restrictions on --” His cheeks flush deeper. “-- on folks they think are more dangerous. I don’t know what either of you -- even -- I mean I wouldn’t presume t’/guess/ what y’all --” His brows furrow. “Would you register?” he asks, more quietly. Internally his thoughts are wry: He has already determined /not/ to -- for all the good it will do given that at least part of his powers have been spread all over the evening /news/ already. Tag bounces up onto tiptoes again at Hanna’s mention of his cupcake art. “Wow! I’m glad that worked out okay I mean some of it was probably a bit /gaudy/ by most people’s standards but I figured--ayyy...” He actually slaps a hand to the side of his head this time, rubbing the heel of his hand against the temple. In the brief black flash of pain, his thoughts stray to Jason--gray eyes, red mohawk lying flat, face inches from his--whose name he /almost/ blurts aloud, but does not. Then it passes, and he lets out the breath he had been holding behind clenched teeth. “Sorry. Headache. Better now. I um, will definitely give you a call. It was /fun/! Way more fun than delivering stuff. Also, less likely to...um, cause dehydration.” Sucking down more coffee while he collects himself, Tag flashes a joyous smile at Jax. His thoughts do not coalesce into words now, there is no need. Hive knows he will obey. “I could /help/ you cook. Maybe mix things or fetch things or chop things.” He pauses, looks down at his hands dubiously. They do not tremble, but neither do they look all that steady at the moment. “Maybe /not/ chop things until the--caffeine wears off. Anyway, what you do /is/ real. I mean...it’s light, right? And light is real. Sunlight isn’t fake just because it goes away at night.” His fuschia eyes flick to Jayna, to the leaves that peek out from her locks, and a faint smile spreads across his face. “I mean, it’s real enough to plants. And...um, people who need light to see. And all that.” He leans on Jax just a little, drinks more coffee, frowns. “Yeah, I’m not registering.” Something about the way he says this suggests that he does not just mean registering as a /mutant/, but any kind of registration, period. Hanna nods to Hive as he exits, looking curiously at Tag and Jax for a moment, “Tag, you did that on the rooftop? Holy crap - that is astounding. I mean, wow.” She grins, and wiggles the fingers of her injured arm, “I had a week to get well acquainted with the building. I was on the roof. A lot. I can’t stay inside, I get stir crazy. And that’s really not a good thing.” She grins at Tag’s defense of light, “I could get into all sorts of metaphysic type babble about what is real and illusion and crap, but that’s neither here nor there. That’s just cool.” She indicates the swirling colors of Tag’s beverage, grinning like a fool. “And Tag, the cupcakes went over really well - people loved the colors, and honestly, people seem to really want obnoxiously colored baked goods. So you’re good,” Hanna says with a grin and a thumbs up to the young man. Registration talk brings forth a wince, and she moves to lean against the counter, eyes flickering to a sedate hazel color as she glances downward, mentally organizing her thoughts, various things shuffling to mind, images of a tropical town, an unconscious man in a hospital. All of these are very thoroughly squashed by the cool blanket of cheery calm in her mind, the images fading abruptly. Her eyes close for a moment and she glances at Jayna with a worried look, then shakes her head no. “I don’t think I will. I’ve already got contact lenses that will cover this,” an off handed gesture at her eyes, her voice decidedly quiet and hushed, if a bit strained, “And that’s the only thing that really gives me away outwardly.” She frowns and sighs, “I’m opposed to it, vehemently. If I’m forced to register, I can’t guarantee I’ll be forthcoming with my abilities, per se. Not that they’re that impressive, either way.” There’s a wrinkle of her nose and an accompanying image of military installations, smoke bombs, and an unbridled swirl of emotions, before they are smothered as all the others have been. “What they will do with the information is what scares me the most. I’m rather certain they aren’t asking for the sake of light conversation and curiosity.” Jayna frowns, “I’d rather not. But I likely will. I help plants grow better. I am a plant. I can’t have caffeine. Wooo. Go me, I’m so dangerous.” The sarcasm all but dripping in her voice as she speaks, leaning against the counter beside her espresso machine, frowning. A sideways glance from Hanna gets a sigh, and a shake of her head, “I’m going to avoid it as much as I can. But unless it is winter, I’m rather obvious at what I am.” She looks a bit defeated, and mentally there’s a tinge of exhaustion that colors her thoughts, as she idly fidgets with the only unwrapped frond, the forelock that constantly falls into her face, trying to get it to stay put with the rest of her deadlocked style. << That asshole, >> is Hive’s musing reaction to the brief thought of Jason. And then, with a sort of resignation that is the mental equivalent of a sigh: << Tag, man, I’ll get out of here whenever you want me to get out of here. Just seems like some company might do you /good/ lately. >> The conversation about registration -- the mention of Hanna possibly not being forthcoming -- piques his interest further, and to thoughts of registration and abilities he is now /keenly/ listening, a sharp curiosity stirred in his mind that leaks echoes of further interest into Tag’s. Jax loops an arm loosely around Tag’s waist when he leans, picking his coffee back up to sip at it with a cheerful appreciation for his liquid candy. Cupcake. Goodness. “Y’could help cook! I am sure there will be plenty’a non-choppy stirring could task y’with. -- Oh, /man/, this really is like a cupcake. In coffee form. I think I’m in heaven.” /His/ drink is turning colours now, too, the sprinkles on the top echoed in oddly /glittering/ rainbow confetti littered through the beverage. His nose wrinkles a little, cheerful-bright thoughts clouding slightly as he returns to considering registration. “-- I ain’t gonna,” he says aloud, “for all the good it’ll do me, two seconds on google tells you what /I/ do.” At least part of what he does; the more destructive part is, at least, yet to be public knowledge. “S’frustrating cuz I /could/ see benefits to the system -- ‘cept the world aint exactly given us /no/ reason to think they’ll use it for anything good and not just.” There’s a brief tension in his jaw, a brief tightening of his arm around Tag. A brief flicker-image of memories, bright surgical lights and heavy metal doors and the sharp glint of a scalpel. “Not just a bunch’a terrible,” he finishes with a small exhalation. “I can think of a lotta things they might do with it and nothing of it’s good.” His eye follows Hanna’s gesture towards her eyes, his reflexive curiosity prompting a, “-- What /is/ it you do?” before this is followed by a blush, a shake of his head: “Sorry, that’s rude. I just -- I know some’a my friends are /pretty/ scared -- kinda justifiably so. I don’t got no clue really how they’re gonna decide who’s dangerous an’ who ain’t but I’m pretty sure it’s gonna lead nowhere good for them. Us.” Tag blushes and puffs up just a little at Hanna’s compliment. “Yeah, I’ve been practicing a lot. Maybe I’ll change the murals with the seasons or something--uh, if it’s okay with you folks who /actually/ live there.” He hunches his shoulders and allows an embarrassed smile, leaning into Jax harder. “I’m always hanging around the Lofts mooching, so if I’m going to draw on the walls I want it to be something people will actually enjoy.” The storm of colors in Tag’s mind abates a little. Random thoughts that intrude--like random thoughts do--surface now and then, tinted in unlikely shades. << Stay, please. I’m not good at...I’m not good. >> Remembered words, someone else’s, ‘You need to be controlled.’ “Registration isn’t gonna be about helping or protecting /anyone/--not us, not the...um...humans. It’s about control.” The words come out of him slowly, as if he is only coming up with this idea as he speaks. “The whole idea is broken, because only the quote-harmless-unquote mutants will want to register. So I think we should boycott it. Wait...is that a /boycott/? Or a...um...resistance?” He raises pinkish eyebrows high and drinks more rainbow coffee. Jayna looks quite proud when Jackson compliments her drink prep prowess, standing just a little taller beside her beloved espresso machine, “Glad you like it. Took a bit of experimenting, but the reaction people have to the final result is so worth it.” Hanna wrinkles her nose at Jayna, sticking her tongue out, her voice filled with laughter as she looks to the other woman, “Uh huh. Your early versions were /vile/ and I was the one who had to taste test them. I /still/ can’t stand the taste of amaretto because of that.” Momentarily, the talk of registration and ill intent is lost on the pair as they share a laugh at each others expense, the giggles fading out as Hanna looks slightly nervous over Jackson’s question about her powers. The baker woman is quiet for a long moment, mentally mulling over her options, although the thoughts are all shrouded in oddly swirling colors and the occasional odd emotion, a heavy undercurrent of fear accompanying several harsh mental images of what look like a military base on a tropical island. She looks at Jax, her eyes shifting back to a slightly more sickly green brown with nervousness, though she offers a kind smile, “It’s ok. I mean no offense, but I don’t know you all that well yet, sweetie, so I’ll give you the abbreviated version. I’m an empath. Gets better with touch, but it’s kinda always on. The eyes are just a funky side effect, to my knowledge - they reflect my emotions without much filter.” She snorts at the last part, “/That/ made dating in high school ever so much fun.” Her eyes stay the guarded sickly green color, although her mind is a forcefully blank slate of contented calm, although she seems a bit shaky as she moves to lean against the counter. Tag gets a slight smirk, and Hanna shrugs slightly, “I think at that point, it’s a resistance. Boycott implies that you’ve got a monetary stake or choice in it. Short of the fact that finding work is already hellish, there isn’t so much of monetary component.” She sighs, and leans heavier against the counter, starting to look slightly worn from standing, exhaustion nipping at the edge of her mind, “I say you change it subtly over time. See if people notice the differences in it before the image changes completely to something else.” << You’re fine, >> Hive answers this statement with a sharper prickle to his words, a hedgehog-bristle of irritation directed less at Tag and more at that rising of someone-else’s-words. << And I’ll stay as long as you want, but I’m not here to /control/ you, man, that is /so/ not my -- >> There’s a pause, a small flex of power that brushes up in a quick heavy /press/ against Jax’s mind; Tag gets brief-bright echoes of Jax’s thoughts for just a moment before Hive subsides back into a wry: << -- not my kink. >> << -- doesn’t know you, >> Hive is echoing this, this time, /to/ Jax in sharp-edged agreement, but it’s slow and thoughtful as /his/ thoughts focus more on Hanna with the revelation of her psionic powers. A keen-sharp attentiveness, honed further by the other minds he is channeling /through/; he’s fixing on that nervousness, that fear, those memories, with a thoughtful mulling. << Empath. You think she can feel me? >> he asks Jackson curiously as his awareness sharpens on those thoughts, << she’s working /awful/ hard to stay guarded with no psionics -- that she knows of -- to guard /against/. >> “I don’t think anyone’d mind you keepin’ the place gorgeous, honey-honey,” Jackson assures Tag lightly. His fingers curl loosely against Tag’s hip when he leans harder, straightening just a little to make that much better a leaning-post. “Oh --” he assures Hanna, with a deeper blush, “Yeah no that was -- rude, like I said, you don’t gotta -- sorry.” There’s an abrupt startled /tension/ in his mind when he feels that familiar brush of pressure (<< ! >>); it carries through to twine briefly through his posture before he relaxes again. And then his mind colours with curiosity to match Hive’s: << /I/ don’t know, man, /you’re/ the telepath. Shouldn’t you know what she’s thinking? >> “Y’aright?” he asks Hanna carefully, watching her shaky lean against the counter, “Look, m’sorry, I shouldn’t’a brought up -- s’just /prudent/ t’keep what you do a secret.” There’s a faintly wry note to his voice, a tired added, << For those of you who /can/ hide. >> -- that soft faintly edged sentiment is reflected, too, when he says (outwardly lightly): “S’always a choice, ain’t it? Just sometimes one with bigger consequences. Everyone’s gotta decide for themselves what they’re willing to risk.” He takes another sip of his coffee, his hand sliding up from waist-height to curl in brief squeeze against Tag’s shoulders instead. “-- should get back if I want to get food on ‘fore my kids’re due back,” he says, “You comin’, hon?” Tag nods emphatically. “Great idea! I can change it a little bit every time I visit. Might do that with some other...art projects, too.” His mischievous grin is there and then quickly gone, as though he does not want anyone else to see it. << I guess, really.../he/ didn’t control me, either. >> The overall chaos of his mind continues declining, but the colors have a harsher edge to them--caffeine taking up the slack of whatever else he had been on before. << But for some reason, I just don’t fuck up as much when I answer to someone. >> Looking up at Jax, “Yeah, I’m coming.” Then, to Hanna and Jayna, “Thanks again. I’ll see you later this week, okay? Take care!” Hanna glances at Jax as he asks if she is ok, only realizing then that she’d been shaking, “Oh,” she says sheepishly, cheeks coloring, “Sorry - first day being back, I’m still a bit wobbly after being made to sit for a whole week. Thanks, though.” She shoots an accusatory glance at Jayna, as though the willowy barista had been the one keeping her from reopening the bakery the next day, stitches and all... which she likely was. Jayna smirks and turns her attention to the technicolor chamomile, pointedly ignoring Hanna’s blaming look. “Choice,” Hanna echoes quietly with a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment as she leans against the counter, “Or a matter of what will push you to the point where the choice is irrelevant, and outing yourself is the only valid option.” There is the swift flash of memories, almost too quick to notice, before they are smothered again: of a bar, a burly drunk man harassing Jayna, dressed for a night at the club; a whirlwind of emotions muted by passed time, obscuring something deeper; a motionless body on the ground, and the two women running for it - a harsh tinge of fierce, almost tangible anger washes over Hanna’s mind before the veneer of calm cheer appears once again. The only outward evidence of this thought is a momentary tensing of her jaw, a sad glance toward Jayna. She shakes her head, offering a kind smile to Tag and Jax, “Right - I should be getting ready for the next wave. It’s been relatively busy today, and the post lunch lull only lasts so long.” She pushes herself away from the counter, wincing slightly, but still smiling, “See you around. Enjoy the cupcakes - if you’ve got suggestions or comments, just let me know. Y’know where to find me.” Hanna smiles cheerily, her mind back to a veneer of calm and happiness, “Tag - give me a call when you’re up for some more cake decorating, ‘kay?” << -- I suppose I should, >> Hive answers Jax, quiet and musing, but whatever else /he/ is thinking about what he sees in Hanna’s mind goes unremarked upon. << -- Maybe, then, the trick is making sure you answer to someone who actually gives a fuck about you. >> He subsides then into quiet, a muted background presence in Tag’s mind; there’s a sort of stable grounding /weight/ to the feel of him but past this not much else. “Yeah. I guess that point comes differently for everyone,” Jackson says with a very small brief curl of smile that comes accompanied with memory; a crowd, a bang of gunfire. He drops his arm from around Tag so that he can pick up his box of cupcakes (already planning, really, to split them between Ryan and Hive’s apartments when he returns) and then flashes the women a bright smile. “Good luck!” he says, warmly. “I hope /this/ week goes good for you.” Happily sipping at his cupcake drink, he nods to them and then heads for the door, holding it open for Tag as he leaves.