ArchivedLogs:Where We Stand

Where We Stand
Dramatis Personae Kole, Kyinha, Regan
In Absentia	Halloween "So I gotta ask. What's with the face?"
Location <NYC> Busboys and Poets - East Harlem
A quiet, artsy spot nestled away on a side street in East Harlem, Busboys and Poets combines cafe and bookstore in a way a Starbucks tacked on to a Barnes & Noble could never achieve. The food is a solid, multi-national cuisine menu that caters to all kinds of dietary choices, and its fair-trade tea menu is extensive. Its weekend brunch tends to draw a large crowd, but there is ample enough seating both at tables and on its many comfortable armchairs and couches that at other times of the week there is never a wait. The walls are adorned with the work of local artists, and tucked in among and alongside the couches are rows upon rows of books, with a definite slant towards the political and the bohemian. The cafe is bedecked in festive Halloween decoration, its servers costumed, its menu -- well, largely the same although now given thematic /names/ for the season. Tucked into one comfortable armchair near the door, Regan -- might be in costume? Given that the young woman is dressed in scrubs, though the Mount Sinai Hospital badge pinned to her uniform suggests that no, this is just /actually/ her work clothes. Her blonde hair is tied back in a French braid, her nails neatly French manicured, and though there is a laptop on the coffeetable in front of her, at the moment she is ignoring it in favour of picking up her freshly-obtained coffee and taking a long and deeply pleased sip. Ahhhh. Her blissful expression suggests that this is Exactly What She needs. A cook book tucked under his arm Kole has just grabbed his own order of coffee and proceeded to grab the nearest chair to him, which happens to be across from a really nice looking blonde in a nurses Halloween costume. Flipping the book open to the seasonal section he takes off his leather jacket showing that he is wearing a stylish red muscle shirt, black jeans, and hightop sneakers that haven't been tied. He takes a sip from his coffee before nodding to the nurses cup, "Moca?" The door bursts open and in sweeps...a person in a voluminous red coat, a white mask and a tattered white fabric headdress that does not quite hide the uncannily black skin (and hair?!) beneath. They look sort of like a nightmare interpretation of Carmen Sandiego. An audibly deep inhale, a nod of approval, and they are off like a shot toward the counter. "Happy Halloween!" he tells the barista, his English oddly accented, probably impossible for most North Americans to identify. "I would like a Maple Spice Latte, if you please? Two shots." He hands him a bill and sweeps an exaggerated bow. "I will be browsing over there, then." And he's diving in amongst the shelves in a flap of colorful cloth, shortly to emerge with 'A People's Histry of the American Empire'. Drops himself into an armchair. "Are you here for the poetry slam?" He is asking...maybe Regan and maybe Kole. Maybe anyone in that general direction. "That is to start in about an hour, yes?" Through the eyeholes of his mask there is only a fiery glow. Regan keeps the cup held close to her face, eyes sliding half-closed as she inhales the steam deeply. Her blue eyes crack back open when she is addressed, slipping briefly over Kole in one quick tick of appraisal. "They say it's a ghostly Irish coffee." She picks up a toothpick from the saucer that accompanied the mug, lifting it in demonstration; it had a small red-eyed ghost skewered onto it, made out of marshmallows. "Boo." Her tone is very solemn. Her eyes open slightly wider, curious, when Kyinha sits by them. "... Impressive. I don't recognize the costume." She hefts her mug in indication. "I'm here for the caffeine. The poetry is just a side bonus." Kole grins at the ridiculously dressed Halloween reveller in the red coat and mask as he shakes his head, "Nah man, just here to pick up some new recipes and get my decaf on." He taps the open page of the cookbook in front of him which is open on a page with a Corguette and saffron quiche prominently displayed in golden yellow splendor. Anyone who looks close enough to his face may notice a hint of blush and some leftover eyeliner in the corner of his eye. "Kole Laurentis," he says as he extends his hand, "People still do poetry?" Chuckling at the doctors Marshmallow, Kole shakes his head, "I really hate this holliday. Is the coffee atleast good?" "Why, thank you." The costumer bows his head deeply at Regan, strips of fabric draping down and one (also jet black!) hand flourishing in the air. "/I/ am Ergo Proxy, from the show of the same name. Awful writing, ludicrous plot, but such lovely art and music." He cants his head, peering at the open page Kole indicates. "That looks delicious! Perhaps I shall order some food, also? But yes! Poetry is the soul of language. Or perhaps tonight more the /spirit/ of language? I think..." He leans in conspiratorially. "...that the poets will be in costume tonight." Regan glances up, head tipping slightly at Kole's introduction, though soon after she chuckles. "I adore this holiday. I do hope the costumes are /extravagant/." She takes another sip of her coffee, leaning forward to set it back down on the table. She pulls her laptop back into her lap -- only in order to google 'Ergo Proxy'; she doesn't much look at it past this. "The food here is solid. And the coffee. Pretty much an ideal after-work decompression. Oh. That art," She is glancing down at the computer, now, "/is/ lovely." Kole grins slightly before taking a sip of his coffee, "Now I'm lost, what is an Ergo Proxy?" as Regan grabs her laptop he notices her badge and blushes a little. He shakes his head for a second before addressing her, "I thought you were in costume. So poetry and a professional, you've got me outclassed by a mile. What's your field of medicine if you don't mind me asking?" He closes the opened cook book and leans back in a more relaxed position, coffee still in hand. "One of my favorite holidays, this." Kyinha agrees. "Ergo Proxy is an...artificial...god of death...?" Hesitantly. "From the eponymous show. But, as I mentioned, the plot makes no sense and I cannot really recommend it except as eye candy and costuming inspiration." The fiery eyes blink behind the mask. "Oh, but I am no poet at all! I can appreciate it, to be sure, especially with extravagant costumes." A server brings over Kyinha's drink, cris-crossed with drizzles of maple syrup on top. "Thank you most kindly, yes." He receives it eagerly and pushes the mask up onto his head, revealing a face nearly featureless in its uncanny blackness, interrupted only by the fire-lit shapes of his eyes and mouth. Whatever answer Regan was going to give is derailed when Kyinha pushes his mask up; for a moment she just pauses, brows lifted and gaze rather caught on his face. There's a stretch of quiet, her blue eyes focused on his fiery black ones, before she pulls her gaze away to pick up her mug again. "Ah --" She lowers her eyes to her coffee. "Not in costume. Just off work. Neurology. Neuroprosthetics, more specifically. I do not," she adds, lightly, "write poetry. Only --" Her mug tips towards Kyinha, "appreciate it." Eyebrow cocked in something between interest and confusion Kole shrugs to Kyinha, "Will have to stare at the show when I get the chance then. The costume is pretty cool by the way. . ." he sort of tapers off at a look of the mans face. Giving a small shudder, he shifts his body slightly more toward Regan, "Neuro huh? Nice, my dad was in the field. I on the other hand got to be the black sheep of the family," at her comment about appreciating poetry he gives a half grin, "Appreciation is half the battle, pretty sure you could throw some words together if you tried it. I don't really have that kind of talent outside of a kitchen though." Taking a larger drink from his cup he motions back toward Kyinha with his off hand, "Ok, so I gotta ask. What's with the face? Good makeup?" If the reactions of the others bothers Kyinha in the least, he doesn't act it. Maybe he's just too distracted by delicious latte!."Ah, yes, the the synergistic rush of caffeine, a blood sugar spike, and the placebo effect!" His grin, though broad and friendly, looks faintly disturbing with incisors backlit by yellow-orange light. "Neuroprosthetics?" He perks up. "Are you a clinician, or a researcher? Though at the cutting edge, I would suppose it is not so uncommon to be both." The fiery slits his eyes grow wider and the edges of his lips pull upward at Kole's question. "What's with /this/ face?" Gesturing at...his face. "Why, yes! My genetic makeup, that is!" "Ah. Laurentis. I thought that name was familiar, yes." Regan's head inclines in small acknowledgment. "What did you elect to go into, instead?" She exhales a soft laugh at Kole's comment. "Pretty sure I could write poetry? I'm not sure what gives you that idea." She takes another sip of her coffee before answering Kyinha. "At the moment, a little bit of both." Her next laugh comes with more of a small /choke/ on her drink, only barely stifled behind a loosely-curled fist. "Very good makeup, then." Avoiding contact while kind of murmuring under his breath Kole seems to find something interesting to look at in the open air somewhere near the upper corner of the roof, "Uh. . .well I considered medicine, but uh. . .they sort of. . .I'm a model." Shifting his eyes around to still avoid looking at her he says with a slight sigh, "Yeah most people in Neuro have heard of my dad. He did a lot of work on the subject." Turning his head to address Kyinha he gestures with his hand, "Very cool, homie. Sometimes I wish I was that unique," he says as his hand comes in contact with his closed book on the table with a slight bump. The air around his hand seems to ripple and the book is propelled across the table and onto the floor. "Uh..." "Do you had any special focus in terms of what meat parts to replace and augument?" Kyinha's eyebrows may not be visible, but the slight of one still shows in the eye beneath it. Then, to Kole, he waves his hand in the air dismissively. "/Everyone/ is unique. Or no one is, depending on how many significant digits you look at." His grin goes kind of crooked. "/I/ like my makeup well enough, but..." the humor drains from his voice somewhat. "I tend to doubt if you want to look quite /this/ brand of unique, friend." He lifts his latte to salute Kole. "Would make your work perhaps a little difficult, no?" He stops mid-drink when the book . Without visible irises or pupils, it's hard to tell exactly what he is looking at, but his eyes grow even wider. "Still. Unique in your own way." "I see." Regan's voice sounds somewhat noncommital, at Kole's disclosure of his line of work. "It /would/ make your choice of work rather difficult. Mainstream standards of beauty are," her eyes slip over Kole again, briefly thoughtful, "rather limited in scope." Her brows lift -- rather high as the book is knocked onto the floor. "... why would you wish to be other than you are?" She sits back a little farther in her chair, legs crossing one knee over the other. "I have done a good deal of patient work with sensory-motor prosthetics, but my primary research interest is cognitive." Kole closes his eyes for a second before he opens them, bends to pick the book up and place it back on the table, "It's difficult to look like me as well if you can believe it. Lines blur, and everytime you turn around you hear someone you work with making fun of. . .uh people like me when they don't even realise it. It's not a good feeling. Sometimes I do wish the lines where more set, and having a more physical uniqueness like our masked friend does help do that. Besides, could save massive amounts on costumes every year, just go out in street clothes." Looking back to Regan he shrugs, "Can't change what I am. Just wish sometimes that it wasn't so obscure when someone sees me," tapping his fingers against the side of his cup there are visible ripples in the air around his finger tips. "Cognitive proestheics?" Kyinha sips his latte, nodding. "I would be very interested to hear more about your thoughts and experiences on that." He grins. "But it is certainly not your responsibility to give seminars for curious cafe guests." His grin hardens into something like a grimace, bright and fierce, as he turns back to Kole. "I do not know where these lines are, but despite the tremendous hardships posed by your appearance, I am sure that if you could make them less blurry if you put some thought into it." A faint fiery glow surrounds him where his coat does not obscure it, and he rises, setting the book to one side and his coffee to the other. "What my uniqueness helps to do, though? Is bring out the assholes." And on this last word he is suddenly moving, a half-turn somewhat obscured by his coat, one inky black hand curling into a fist and swinging right for Kole's face. "Forgive me," Regan's tone is carefully polite, "I don't quite see what difficulty there is in being --" She breaks off, though, eyes open a little wider when Kyinha hauls off to punch Kole. That's as surprised as she manages to look, though. She scoots her armchair a liiittle bit back. Closes her laptop and tucks it in her bag. Sips rather calmly at her coffee as she rises from her seat. Kole closes his eyes for a second as the fist flies at his face. An inch away it makes contact with something solid that has the consistency of hard yet malleable plastic. The air around his face ripples with the force of the blow. After a tenth of a second the air stops rippling, and he opens his eyes. A faint grin on his face as he finishes his coffee and sets it on the table. There's fire in his eyes as he looks at the man and states, "Lines like that. I look too much like them, so I couldn't possibly be one of you. My genetics are skewed so I can't possibly be one of them. Atleast you know where you stand." He stands, grabbing his book from the table and pulls a business card from his pocket. Placing it on the table he nods to Regan, "Maam, I hope you have a very pleasant evening. If you'd like to talk more Neuro I think I still have some of my fathers old notes. But for now I'm pretty sure it's time I leave." Looking back at Kyinha he grins, "First one is free. Enjoy your poetry." And with that he is heading for the door, as he grabs the handle it snaps away in his hand breaking the mechanism comepletely. The narrowing of Kyinha's glowing eyes might be from pain or from surprise, and he lets out a soft hiss of breath. "I know where I stand," he says, straightening up, flexing his hand, "because I have chosen to stand there." His smile still has an edge, but other than that he does not appear particularly upset. To Kole's back, as he leaves, "Maybe you should consider where /you/ step, no?" Picks up his coffee. Drains it with obvious pleasure. "I should perhaps also go, before they call the police." Nods to Regan, pulls his mask back down over his face. "I hope there are excellent costumes at the poetry slam." Regan just opens her mouth. Then closes it again. Her fingertips rub faintly at her temple as she settles back down into her seat, not watching /either/ of the men as she pulls her laptop back out and settles in to finish the rest of her coffee. In /peace/.