ArchivedLogs:Veritable Smorgasbord

Veritable Smorgasbord
Dramatis Personae Jax, Lucien, Violet
In Absentia	2014-06-15 '
Location <NYC> Coney Island - Brooklyn
Coney Island is a getaway without having to get away very /far/. Miles of bright sandy beaches provide lots of seaside fun in summertime, but the amusement parks are the peninsula's most famous draw. With plentiful rides and games and rollercoasters, food and snacks, shows and even the occasional circus, Coney Island has been a destination for millions throughout the years. Coney Island and summertime are like peanut butter and jelly--a comfortable match, a comforting match, an /icon/. It begin when one walks under the brightly lit arch that marks the main entrance. It's probably illusory but no sooner does one pass under that arch than they're wrapped in a cloak of sound and song and smell that hits all of the right places in the brain. The smell of hot dogs and cotton candy and funnel cake, the flashing bulbs and glaring neon, the whoosh of rides just around the bend and barkers calling people in to try their hand at this game or that... It's hard to be in a place like this and not feel a little like years have shed away, leaving one bright and young and poised on the brink of wonderful things again. The summer's late sunsets means that there's a cheerful half-light in the park, a war between natural illumination and unnatural. The darker it gets, the easier it'll become to lurk. For now, Violet has settled for keeping the hood of her sweater pulled up over her ears, and tucking her tail down into the tail of her pants. But for the darkness of her face and hands, she could almost pass if it was gloomy enough and one doesn't look too close. Most aren't looking too closely right now, thankfully, and that means she's been able to scavenge a half-eaten corndog from a picnic table. She'd assumed it discarded, at least, left behind by a family of five--but when the father comes back and spies her plucking it from the cardboard plate, he bellows a, "Hey!" and the catgirl makes for the rows of outward-facing tents. Jax fits in with bright-and-summery and /maybe/ he even looks poised for Wonderful. He's brightly dressed -- a layered pixie-skirt in brilliant peacock-tones of greens and blues and purple, a strappy blue tank with a sheer see-through white sleeveless top over it. Metallic duochrome purple-green nailpolish, vibrant tattoos (including one all across his shaved scalp), huge mirrored sunglasses, rainbow-strapped jute sandals. There's a /bounce/ in his step as he walks along, a cinnamon-sugared pretzel in his hand that he hasn't quite taken a bite out of yet. "-- was pretty gorgeous. An' plus they got us a membership to this --" He's chattering brightly at his companion though this trails off sharply at the bellowing and Incoming Catgirl headed their way as they pass by the tents. "-- woah hey s'there a problem?" His accent is molasses-thick, coated heavily with a Georgia drawl. Jax's companion is taller, /blander/, a /whole/ lot less colourful; Lucien is casual today in pale jeans, a short-sleeved blue henley, loafers. His pretzel is salted and his /attention/ is split between Jax and a pair of small children somewhere up ahead playing some game involving squirting waterguns at targets (and occasionally each other.) "Membership to --?" he's trying to follow up here, though /he/ tenses as Violet approaches, reflexively lifting a (steadying? Defensive?) hand. "I hope not. I was looking to finish my day problem-free." /His/ accent is much softer, a gentle Quebecoise cadence to his words; there's a small lingering tension set in the line of his jaw and thin press of his lips as he looks Violet over. And does a small double take, and looks her over /closer/. "She stole my kid's fucking corndog!" So sayeth the irate father, with an accent colored liberally by Bronx. But the colourful-notcolourful line presented by Jax and Lucien keep him from advancing, leaving him to scowl at and/or through the pair to where Violet has ducked. It was Jax's own accent that did it. The sound of Georgia means that she cuts a sharp left and eels in between taller men and the tent they've just passed. The corndog, supposedly stolen, is nowhere in evidence, though the belly pocket of her hoody has gained an odd budge. Beneath Lucien's closer look, she seems to fold in on herself, eyes immense--and at the same time, that visible coat of fur decorating her face /rises/. Poof, she's big and scary. Really. Even if she is retreating a handful of steps. "I didn't," she claims. 'Ah dihn't', it sounds like. "Says she didn't," Jax answers easily, though his head is tipping slightly to look Violet over a longer moment. He shifts /just/ a half-step -- closer to Lucien, or, more relevantly, closing the gap between him and the other man to put a little bit more /solid/ of a line in between Violet and the AngryDad. "But look there's a stand /right/ there, sir, y'can get another one for 'em easy, yeah?" He's tipping a /pointed/ look up to Lucien with this suggestion, coupled with a nudge of elbow. Lucien's attention has lingered more on Violet than on the angry father, watching the rising of fur with a small narrowing of eyes, a small hackly /bristling/ along the back of his own neck that is far less noticeable. It's Jax's nudge that turns his attention back to the other man; his expression switches to a faint wash of /exasperation/ at the nudge. He looks down the path towards the water-shooting game, assuring himself he has not lost a pair of children, and only then switches his pretzel to his off-hand to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket. He frowns at its contents, slipping a ten out finally to offer it across between two fingers. "It is far too nice a day to ruin over a corndog." Lucien is not alone in his exasperation. Angry Father likewise appears annoyed that the pair have opted to take /her/ word on this. "She's got the fuckin' thing right there!" he barks...only to find his ire punctured by the offer off a bill. For a moment, his thoughts flick plain across his face: he could just take the money, walk off. He has the look of a hardworking middle aged family, someone for whom this trip probably cost overtime. His family stands clumped in the distance, watching closely, with concern. He looks over his shoulder at them...and then his face twists with disgusted pride. "Keep your God damned money. Fucking people these days." These words are spat at their feet before he wheels to tromp back to his brood. That leaves Violet, who has shifted from keeping an equally close eye on Lucien to peeping around Jax. Once assured that the fellow in question is well and truly gone, she...yes, yes, she takes the stolen and half-eaten corndog right out of that hoodie pounch and begins picking lint from it. Her fur remains poofed but the eyes trained on the remaining men are calm, if one is kind enough to overlook the huge dilated pupils. "Good Samaritans. Someone told me New York doesn't have those. Thank you." "/Everywhere/ has some we jus' hide ours away, here." Jax's own faint bristling is mostly only evident once the other man has walked off, a subtle relaxation creeping back into the easier set of his shoulders and his sunny smile returning. "D'you maybe want a new one'a those? Like possibly without the lint on?" His tone is warm, too, and he bounces up on the balls of his toes as his tongue darts out to swipe a lick of cinnamon-sugar off his fingers. "Where y'from, miss, you sound far from home." "Yes," Lucien answers Jax's first statement drily, green eyes flicking to the side to look over his flagrantly colourful attire, "you hide yourself well." He's starting to tuck the ten back into his pocket, though there's a small amused quirk at the corner of his mouth when Violet retrieves the corndog. "We have very /few/ of those, really. I just meant what I said. I /have/ been having a lovely day. Someone throwing a tantrum over a corndog would break the mood." "I'd take another," Violet admits. But that doesn't keep her from taking a bite from /this/ one, either. That mouthful is chewed while her other hand lifts the drag fingerpads down over the bridge of her nose, her cheeks, her brow. Fur is pressed down as a result, returning distinction to her human features. Notably, she doesn't step closer to the two but she continues that quiet study of them. And, in the end, decides to answer Jax's question with an answer and an introduction. "I'm Violet. Up from Savannah. Figured you for down that way soon as you said something." But not Lucien, who receives a separate and speculative glance. "Throw a tantrum, throw money at it?" She'll remember that. Jax tips his head off towards the corndog stand, fingertips touching to Lucien's elbow to nudge him off that direction -- though he notably gives the angry man and his flock a wiiide berth. "Don't let on to his kids about that strategy. I think Luci tends to be willin' to fork over a lot if it means a bit extra peace though." There's a small giggle in his voice with this. "Hey if I whine at you enough will y'buy me a lemonade?" He drops his hand to his side, other one lifting to take a small nibble of his pretzel. "I'm Jax. Way up north-er, outside Hiawassee. S'like, practically Carolina by then. Jus' trees an' mountains an' --" For a moment his tone skews wistful. "Savannah's pleasant, though, I almost done go to school out that way. What's brung y'up /here/?" "I don't," Lucien says crisply (with another worried-parent check-up glance off towards the pair of children) "/have/ kids. And Jackson, you would whine at me if I /did/ buy you lemonade." He breaks off a bite-sized piece of his own pretzel with a pinching twist of fingers, brows lifting in questioning invite to follow as he saunters along with Jax towards corndogs. "The charming local colour?" he suggests lightly, looking over towards angryman & co, "or the gourmet cuisine." He glances t the half-eaten corndog and then away, absently singing beneath his breath -- "A fair is a veritable smorgasbord." "Mountains." The hiss that ends the word makes it an amused echo--yeah, they don't have those out coastal way. "Got all the way up here and found out they didn't have none." Violet's shrug says 'go figure', and her smile that she isn't /too/ put out about it. After all, there are corndogs. Maybe even a lemonade--those orange eyes tilt from Lucien's face towards the wallet-bearing pocket as she nibbles on the treat she has safely in hand. But then her gaze moves on, roving towards the children he'd been looking at earlier. Beneath her hood, as she steps after them, her ears must be turning; the fabric shifts though her head is still. "Ha." Pause. "Ha." Pause. "...guess it is though. I was gonna climb the ferris wheel after lights out too. You folks sure about this? I can get." This offered out is tacked on almost as afterthought. The corndog stand is exceedingly well-lit, after all. "Probably would," Jax agrees with a blush, "I can get m'own lemonade." His hand drops to his side, toying with the gauzy top layer of his skirt. "/Mountains/." This echo comes brighter. "There /is/ mountains if y'go up north out the city? But s'a /hike/ t'reach 'em an' they ain't even as mountain/y/ as home. Best we got here is -- skyscrapers. S'almos' the same, right?" His nose wrinkles up with this. "It is way nicer here once the crowds are through. I ain't climbed up nothin' though I jus' like findin' the quiet empty beach-parts where won't nobody hassle you." He produces his own wallet out of a tiny pouch of a purse nestled at his side against the folds of skirt, tipping up onto his toes with a slight bounce to order a lemonade, and a corndog. "D'you do that a lot? Coney Island after dark. I feel like there's a movie t'be had there. Maybe a paintin' --" "I do not think a corndog will put him out much." Lucien hangs back a few steps, as Jax orders, nibbling at his pretzel and letting the other man pay for the snacks. "I think I've seen that one, actually. A photograph. Coney Island, three a.m. some night this past fall. There were zombies on the tilt-a-whirl. It /was/ quite a well-composed shot." Violet considers her answer before speaking it. She too hangs back, a step past Lucien, several behind Jax. "I climb a lot," she'll admit. That's safe enough to say, right? And, "Didn't know there were any sort've mountains up here, maybe I'll take a look one day." For now, corndog! With a fresh one soon coming, she pulls the last of the old one off of the stick to pop into her mouth. It's still large enough that flashes of pointed teeth show as she chews, quickly. "Nnf," through her nose, muffled and muted amusement for Lucien's zombie remark. "Been lucky so far. No zombies. Lots've Samaritans. Some fella gave me a pie. Someone else's gonna get me cobbler. And now ya'll." She finger flicks at them. "Might have to beach instead of ferris wheel." "I climb a lot but -- well, I go /rock/ climbin' /outside/ the city a lot an' in here s'mostly. Buildings an' --" Another flush darkens Jax's cheeks as he pays for the drink and the corndog, kind of awkwardly juggling things with his pretzel for a moment before he tucks the lemonade into the crook of an arm and his wallet and change back into his bag. /Then/ offers the corndog out to Violet, held a little precariously together with his pretzel. "The beach is rad but folks here fuss all the time. I gotta go to Queens t'find quieter stretches where people don't make trouble over lookin' different. Ohgoshcobbler. I want a cobbler so bad but I ain't cookin' none till later this week. The zombies is mostly cleaned up anyhow. Was you up here or back home through the worst'a it? There was only one or two what stumbled out onto my folks' farm but they're /way/ away from civilization, can only imagine the cities was a bit rougher." Lucien's eyes stray away again; for a moment he stands straighter, tenser and narrow-eyed, before he locates the children where they've moved on from one game to a /different/ one farther down. His posture eases after this, and he tears off another bite of pretzel. "They're upstate. The mountains." Though this might be a Manhattanite's version of 'upstate', meaning -- basically anything north of Harlem is fair game. "Do you enjoy the beach?" He sounds faintly surprised at this, gaze flicking over Violet's features curiously. "It's better after dark," Violet allows, "most beaches. Hey, thanks." She is there with hands to help Jackson in the offloading of the corndog, though two pinchy fingers help stabilize the remaining pretzel until she's certain he has a good grip on it again. Just a glancing touch, which she tries to minimize out of consideration for some people actually caring about what they put in their mouths. There's a light riffling of fur for further zombie questions but she's got an easy smile soon in place. "Wasn't what I'd call a fun party. I was on the road for a lot've it. Helped. Being on the move." For Lucien, she wags the corndog at him in good-natured chiding. "Y'know what? That's a stereotype, mister. I like swimming and no pool filters out there for me to clog up with fur." "Ohthanks." Jax gets a better grip on his pretzel, wandering slightly away from the stand -- and incidentally closer to where the children have drifted -- as he takes another bite. His head bobs in a small nod at Violet's answer, cheeks dusted faintly with pink when her fur ruffles. "No, it wasn't a --" He trails off, head dipping apologetically into a new bite of pretzel and a completely not-subtle topic switch. "My kids could prob'ly give you a heads-up on where's all the best hassle-free swimmin' spots, though, they're -- kinda blue. So can be hard to find places not t'get heckled. Swimmin's /pretty/ excellent, I'm normally in the water every day but I done the /dumb/ thing timing-wise an' got fresh ink jus' headin' into summer." He scoops the lemonade cup into his free hand, gesturing absently at -- well, his shirt, but there's enough bright ink visible on his arms and skull to catch his meaning easily. "Y'keepin' busy up here now? Things been kinda a shambles for a bit but I think New York's findin' its feet again good enough." "Most of the city is beter after dark," Lucien murmurs, drifting up a little further to find a bench still in sight of his kids and perch himself on its edge. He sucks a large grain of salt from the tip of a finger, a faint curl of smile flitting across his expression at the chiding. His head inclines in acceptance of it, hand moving across his heart and head bowing in exaggerated contrition. "That /was/ an unfair assumption on my part. I just -- ridding /my/ hair of sand and saltwater after a day at the beach is hassle enough." He takes another bite of pretzel, winnowing it down to one last curl of dough. "You should fit right in here, actually, New York /always/ lands on --" Though here he breaks off with another twitch of smile. "Ah. {Forgive me,}" he murmurs in lightly amused French, "Stereotyping again." Violet pauses between bites to spear Jax with a look rather more focused than previous. "Blue," she repeats, bemused. "Blue...and fond of cobbler too? Coffee?" The coincidence leaves her studying the pair /again/. Not troubled so much as thoughtful. But to prevent a conversational gap, she has a drawled, "Oh sure, cat don't /get/ bored. And s'true, we /always/ land on our feet. Even on a beach." So much for protesting stereotypes. The proof is in the pudding, though. Or the corndog, which she resumes nibbling while taking up a position flanking the bench. In the gathering dark, her eyes are gleaming. "So, ya'll...you gonna make me guess? Just friendlies or...?" She possesses fuzz enough to make lifted eyebrows a prominent shift of expression. Jax doesn't sit, bouncing on his toes in front of the bench with an overabundance of restless energy. "Huh? Oh gosh yeah -- well I don't know on the cobbler. Actually he /did/ ask me t'whip up some this week. Um but yeah m'son's real blue /an'/ owns a coffeeshop, he's a addict." Admittedly, Jax looks by /far/ not old enough to be in possession of a teenage son, though he continues on past this with bright cheer. "Guess I shouldn't be real surprised you done met him, places to hang out comfortable is few enough so I think everyone passes through Evolve sooner or later -- huh?" This echoed huh is joined with a puzzled lift of pierced eyebrows and blank non-comprehension. "Make y'guess what? /I'm/ friendly." "I have /seen/ bored cats. It usually ends poorly for the rooms around them." Lucien, at least, picks up on the question where Jax does not, a small amused huff pushed out through his nose for the younger man's blank reply. "He is /excessively/ friendly," he agrees with a quiet patience, "though perhaps disused at this point to coming /out/ to people. You should know, though. Jax is --" He tips his remaining pretzel out towards the photokinetic, "not just any mutant. He is a living breathing cat toy. A very colourful laser pointer." "They have good muffins. Cheap muffins /and/ good aren't so easy to find," Violet says of Evolve, nodding to talk of limited hangouts. But it's Lucien who pins down her meaning and he who receives a look that manages to be both narrow and thankful. The narrow...probably due to the /continued/ stereotypes. She might be onto him but it's hard not to find it a little funny. A little annoying but all right, funny too. "Y'know I have /five/ pointy ends, right? And I know how to use 'em." To prove it, claws extend with a flex of her fingers, dimpling the cornbread surrounding the 'dog. But... "Living laser pointer. That's, ah...sounds. Interesting." Potentially dangerous. In a bored kitty sort of way. Jax's cheeks flush faintly, perhaps at the mention of good muffins or perhaps at being so oblivious to Violet's question. "Oh! Oh gosh, /that/. Yeah m'so -- apologies I'm kinda dumb sometimes I just. Things go right over my --" His pretzel hand whooshes over his head. His teeth click down against a lipring, wiggling at it with Violet's flex of claws. "I ain't a -- I mean okay I /am/ a. I play with light. Is what I do." His head turns, taking stock of the crowd around them in the dimming evening, and he shifts closer to the bench -- the sudden spot of light that appears on it /does/ look like a laser pointer, bright and briefly dancing across the bench's surface and probably not all that noticeable for people not standing around it. /More/ noticeable a moment later, though perhaps not in the /most/ eye-catching of ways, when the spot of light grows and sprouts -- legs, wings -- turning itself into a tiny quite visible but very insubstantial lightning bug that flits up off the bench to hover in between Lucien and Violet. The bug's glowing rump switches from yellow-green to faintly purple as it drops to sit on the back of the bench, stretching out longer to become a small red lizard draped against the back of the bench. "S'all jus'. Light. Guess it's a neat party trick." Lucien polishes off the last of his pretzel, crumpling its paper wrapper into a fist. A small smile plays at his lips, soon to fade, with the brief demonstration -- both of claws /and/ of light. "I only have one," he laments mildly, forefinger tapping against the side of his mouth absently, "and I have been keeping it sheathed today. It really is a glorious --" He trails off, frowning off into the gathering dusk. "Tch. Apologies. I should corral the little ones before they get too far." He unfolds himself from the bench with a polite inclination of his head to Violet. "Enchante. Enjoy your evening." Sadly, pretty French goodbyes are a little lost on Violet. They're very nice! But. With the addition of a moving spot of light, her pupils have grown huge, swallowing orange with black, and she's locked onto dot turned lightning bug turned lizard. Lucien, forgotten. Corndog, forgotten. In an instant, she is a tense little ball of old clothes and clamped down fur. Give her a few seconds more and she might dig her feet down into the ground in preparation to... But no! It isn't in a feline to show embarrassment but she yanks herself away, looking off into the shadows. Ahem. "Nice party trick," she allows. "S'good. Yeah. Yeah...s'that time, isn't it. Ya'll be good, now. Thanks for the corndog." Sadly, her tail is tucked away and unable to flick as she turns about to stroll off, but she goes with shoulders back and chin high. Jax's cinnamon-sugary fingertips press to his lips, perhaps to stifle a small giggle. "'pologies I jus' -- s'easier to /show/ than t'explain." His fingers curl in a small flutter of wave. "Oh yeah s'right easy to get lost /here/ we should -- maybe I'll see you though! 'f you're down by Evolve! 'Night!" His goodbye is just drawled like the rest of his words. He gives Violet a quick smile before hastening along to follow after Lucien and track down the children.