ArchivedLogs:Stabadood

Stabadood
Dramatis Personae Ellin, Hive, Shane, Tian-shin
In Absentia	2015-11-07 "{I gently persuade with claws.}" (Part of Flu Season TP.)
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Spacious and open, this coffeeshop has a somewhat industrial feel to it, grey resin floors below and exposed-beam ceilings that have been painted up in a dancing swirl of abstract whorls and starbursts, a riot of colour splashed against a white background. The walls alternate between brick and cheerfully lime-green painted wood that extends to the paneling beneath the brushed-steel countertops. There's an abundance of light, though rather than windows (which are scarce) it comes from plentiful hanging steel lamps. The walls here are home to plentiful artwork available for sale; though the roster of prints and paintings and drawings and photographs changes on a regular basis it has one thing in common -- all the artists displayed are mutants. The seating spaced around the room is spread out enough to keep the room from feeling cluttered. Black chairs, square black tables that mostly seat two or four though they're frequently pushed around and rearranged to make space for larger parties. In the back corner of the room is more comfortable seating, a few large black-corduroy sofas and armchairs with wide tables between them. There's a shelf of card and board games back here available for customers to sit and play. The chalkboard menus hanging behind the counter change frequently, always home to a wide variety of drinks (with an impressive roster of fair-trade coffees and teas largely featured) though their sandwiches and wraps and soups and snacks of the day change often. An often-changing variety of baked goods sit behind the display case at the counter halfway back in the room, and the opposite side of the counter holds a small selection of homemade ice creams. A pair of single-user bathrooms flanks the stairway in back of the cafe; at night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits up the stairs above the coffeehouse. Currently, large placards have been posted all around the cafe: NO SPEAKING ENGLISH ALLOWED. Whiteboards and dry-erase markers have been tied to the front counter and to each table to facilitate this, and the Evolve workers are not shy about throwing patrons out if any English speaking is heard. Please RP accordingly. Saturday night is usually a busy time at Evolve, and tonight is no different. The club is not open yet, but there's plenty of people lingering -- over late dinners, over large doses of caffeine /before/ the club opens. Shane, on the other hand, is not getting ready to party. He looks instead like he's getting ready to throw down -- there's something of a one-sided shouting match going on by the front counter, a very red-faced middle-aged man who towers over Shane as he takes, evidently, quite serious offence to the posted signs warning against speaking English. "-- Fucking -- fucking /America/, don't know who the goddamn -- goddamn hell you think you are telling us not to speak /motherfucking/ English in our own /motherfucking/ country." He is punctuating his words with angry slams of one fist into the other; each successive meaty thump comes with a radiating pulse of shockwaves shivering outward. There are spiderwebbing cracks in the display case -- corresponding ones around him in the floor. In front of him, the much tinier sharkpup has teeth gritted, weathering this tirade in silence. In contrast to his practice uniform, today he is dressed in crisp neat white dress shirt, dark slacks, layered vests -- a black one, open though held in place with a chain connecting its two buttons, over a grey houndstooth neatly buttoned closed. Neatly tied bow-tie. As the man continues, he just gestures to the sign once more. Silently. Then folds his hands neatly behind his back. At a table nearby, Hive is -- definitely not preparing to go clubbing. He has his laptop out, though he's not looking at any kind of normal /screen/. Instead, a three-dimensional model of a home is rendered on the table in front of him; at the moment he's blown up one room to a larger size, stylus writing new measurements straight into the air. There is a /very/ large mug of coffee near at hand, half-finished, right now. His scruffy dark hair falls in a shaggy unruly mop around his narrow face, eyes deeply shadowed and kind of half-lidded in a permanently sleepy-looking expression. He's casually dressed, scuffed old jeans, weatherbeaten workboots, a brown t-shirt with a picture of a few hedgehogs staring at another who has upended a can of blue paint over itself. Though his eyes are focused on the model in front of him, his /mind/ is keenly listening to the others in the room. And, somewhat /reflexively/, insinuating itself into that of the angry man in front of Shane. Oh! OH! That's very loud! And very confrontational! And very much not the sort of environment a girls like Ellin normally enjoys. Except, today, she's feeling... what? Froggy? The girls have their usual numbers on their tops, but this time they wear white blouses, poodleskirts, and their hair done up. Why? Because. Of course, since they're carrying tablets in their purses, they aren't exactly up to snuff on the authenticity factor. Still, with all the pounding and slamming of fists, she does send a body over with phone in hand, 911 dialed in without send hit yet. Her thumb hovers over the send button while her other hand taps the man on the shoulder. The phone is held where he can see it. She angles it slightly so Shane can see. Another arrives with a tablet, the phrase typed out on it: < Is there a problem? > Five identical quintuplets is pushing belief, but in a place like this, so friendly to mutants... well, one can complete the logic without much difficulty. < Have sum coffee on me d00d. We can text or sumthin. Texting is totes fun. > A third body smiles and winks at Shane. The remaining two huddle far from the social conflict. Slumped in a chair across the table from Hive, Tian-shin hasn't said a word to him or anyone else since arriving. Her own laptop looks somewhat less futuristic than her companion's, with only an old-fashioned LCD. A video of two people in '80s workout clothes conversing in ASL plays on the screen. She wears her hair down, silky and black and arrow-straight, reaching nearly to her waist. Dressed in a black satin blouse with elaborate flared cuffs, a matching miniskirt, pale pink high-high socks, and black knee-high boots, she looks destined for the club. A Chinese long sword hangs from the back of her chair beside a cropped red canvas jacket. The shouting draws her eyes up and away from the somewhat stilted skit. Her eyes narrow at the belligerent man, then settle on Shane. She has complete faith in his ability to handle the situation without assistance, but the yelling annoys her immensely. She hits the spacebar and pause the playback with somewhat more force than entirely necessary, and rises. Her tea needs refreshing anyway. "{You good?}" Casually in Spanish to Shane as she passes him. Then she does a double-take at Ellin(s), as if startled she had not noticed her student before that. She waves, smiling a little awkwardly. "-- The fuck out of my /face/, little girl." The man's yelling redirects just as easily to Ellin as to Shane, when she arrives with the tablet. He /snorts/ when he sees the phone, eyes rolling. "Yeah, /call/ the... the fucking -- fucking... /cops/. See what they have to say about this --" Shane's eyes widen just fractionally at the appearance of the phone. There's a smaller, tighter, clench of his jaw, a low /growl/ snarling up in his throat. << -- /great/ all I fucking need -- >> "{I'm good. He's done.}" Very abruptly, his hands come up, snatching at one of the man's fists mid-pound to twist it sharply behind his back -- it looks almost comical, with their size differences, Shane easily a foot shorter than the older man, but seems rather effortless. The man seems surprised as well, mouth opening into an (also almost comical) O of startlement as the sharkpup starts marching him towards the door. Returning only once he's steered the man out into the night. There are actual cheers in the cafe when the door closes behind the man. "{Oh my god.}" Shane's hands scrub against his face when he returns to inspect the broken counter. "{Fucking /customers/.}" Picking up the whiteboard from the counter, he sketches a crude stick-figure drawing for Tian-shin. Tian-shin (you can tell by the long straight black hair!) running another stick-man through with a sword. He holds it up to the others. See? Tian-shin could help. Thankfully, Ellin doesn't actually hit 'dial'. She doesn't know what she'd say since she's not about to talk. She was told not to. Still., when the man yells at her, her eyebrow twitches. What would she do? Hit him? That fight would last about three seconds. << Don't call my bluff, don't call my bluff, don't call my bluff... >> The phone is put away, and then she's got her tablet out and typing again when Shane makes the point moot. < Thanks. Dont know what I wouldve done. That was scary. U deal w/taht all teh tiem? > She looks around for a moment. < This is a nice place. > And just when she's wondering what she should order, she sees one of her Teachers and is immediately flitting over with one of her bodies. Five by the looks of it? < OMG. Taht is such an awesomez sword! U no how 2 swordfight? > Because people who don't commonly carry these things around. > ALL THE TIME. Well. There's anime conventions, but... Hive's knobbly fingers lift from his work, rubbing hard against his temple. A quick swipe of his other hand collapses the holographic room down in front of him, shrinking it smaller. In front of him where it used to be, he writes in thick glowing letters straight into the air with his stylus: 'That's what customer service is like. And get the white bean soup. It's fantastic.' Tian-shin shifted her stance very subtly when the customer transferred his shouting to Ellin, but relaxes again once Shane disposes of the troublemaker. Instead, she just orders the special tea blend of the day--for the third time. She stifles a chuckle at Shane's drawing and looks down, blushing faintly. "{That probably wouldn't be too great for your business,} she confides, "{I can be gently persuasive, too.}" << Though...I'm almost sad that didn't get more violent. >> To Ellin's question, she nods proudly. Taking the white board, she writes, 'Thank you, and yes, I do.' Then adds, hastily, 'Shane's drawing isn't representative.' Shane moves away from the counter (he leaves the stick-figure drawing right wear it /is/ on the cashier's whiteboard), dragging an extra chair up to Hive and Tian-shin's table and slumping down into it. Commandeering /their/ second whiteboard from the table he writes: 'Cops? Never fucking helpful.' Holds /this/ up to Ellin, as he slumps back in his chair. His brow hikes up at Tian-shin's comment. 'What, you use the sword for gentle persuasion?' He shrugs a shoulder, after this. 'Sometimes assholes. Not usually THIS many. Tempers out the fucking' There's a moment where he pauses writing, here, fingers tightening around his marker and his hand skidding downward to leave a black streak on the white board, his gills fluttering rapidly as an uncomfortable flare of anger derails his thoughts before he remembers to continue his written sentence: 'roof lately. And thanks. I own it.' < White bean soup. Ok. Ill have 5 orders of taht and like a pitcher of something cold. > The girls all cackle in unison suddenly. < U totes tossed that d00d out on his bootie! OMG. > She's got a flushed sort of look suddenly, and the thought of possible violence seems increasingly appealing. Still, it wilts when she is taken to task. < It wuz a bluff anyway. Looks like it was a bad 1. I didnt have a next move. I will learn better. No cops. Got it. Momy and daddie say cops exist 2 oppress minorities anyway. > The girls find seat to scatter themselves in or wander around examining decor. All in all, the Ellins are a bit fidgety. One is evne idly fanning herself. The Ellin currently parked next to Tian-shin? < But u totes cood stabadood if u wanted 2. Instead u just give tehm a look and tehy r like 'no mam thank u'. > Her mind is doing fliplops at this point. Like a cat on crack, it's running all over the place with ten simultaneous lines of thought and only ONE concentrating on communicating with people with any facility. Hive wipes his previous words out of the air with a swipe of his hand. He hasn't actually looked up from his table at any of Ellin's writing -- nor Shane's, for that matter. 'Minorities like, say mutants?' His stylus adds more glowing words to the air. He sits back after this, a harder tension tightening his thin shoulders. His other hand reaches for his coffee, picking it up for a gulp. "{Yeah. Tempers.}" His Spanish is low and gruff. Tian-shin slumps back down into her seat, hands curling around her tea. She frowns at the video on her screen, paused in the middle of an animated exchange about how many siblings each jogger has. Then opens a text editor over top of it. "{I gently persuade with words, usually, but the sword probably helps,}" she replies while typing, then turns the screen so that at least one Ellin can see it. 'It might surprise you how few dudes take me seriously at first, even with the sword.' << And the temper. >> There's another deep growl from Shane. 'Cops are good at that, bastards.' This time the surge of anger in his mind lingers, searing red and harsh across the surface of his thoughts. 'If we're lucky they'll all get eaten by zombies.' The sharp clack of his teeth punctuates this conjecture. He reaches a hand out, idly poking at the holographic model of Hive's now sitting in miniature on the table. << ... needs to learn to speak a real fucking language, >> his brain is grumbling as he struggles through Ellin's writing, << what a goddamn headache. >> 'Stabadood?' His brows pull together uncertainly. "{I gently persuade with claws.}" < Ooooh yah. > Time to eyeball the glowing words. < Thats sooper badass. > Unfortunately (or fortunately?) her most violent imaginings amount to a comedy movie she snuck out to see with a friend once where a guy got kicking the groin five times in a row repeatedly. The mental imagery gets a giggle from her. She's a rebel alright. < Inorite? Everyone's super-touchy. Like this dood bumped in2 me and I wanted 2 slap him. > A beat, and then she adds. < I helped him pick up his papers instead. > Because some people are better at rebellion than others. < Stabadood! U cood totes stabadood! But u dont. So like teech u are even more badass. Claws are even more impressive cause tehy cant take them away. > Her brain is still babbling along a million miles a minute at every bit of sensory stimulus. The bodies would probably be climbing the walls if they weren't seated. Both Hive's hands lift to his temples, now. His eyes scrunch shut, a small discomfited hiss pushed out through his teeth. Something heavy and uncomfortable squeezes in tight and heavy against Ellin's mind, strong mental fingers reaching out to clamp against it in a painfully vice-like grip. "{... city's getting way too fucking...}" Hive's mutter trails off without actually finishing. "{Headache. Yeah.}" Tian-shin stares at Ellin's tablet, head canted ever so slightly. Then she closes her eyes as if to rest them from parsing her student's dizzying textual expression. << Patience. Wow, I am not winning at patience. >> 'We want to avoid stabbing any dudes if we can avoid it.' Putting the laptop down again, she takes up her tea again. "{I don't usually like Earl Grey, but this is a good blend.}" So good, apparently, that it starts bubbling. She wide-eyed stares down into the mug, at the roiling brown liquid. "Ay!" << Stop stop stop, this is simple. Hydrogen and oxygen. Stop! >> And so it does, as abruptly as it began. 'Stabadood What the fuck are you even writing that's not goddamn words,' Shane's own writing is faster, his handwriting sloppier as he jots down words rapidly. His growl snarls up more harshly. 'And they fucking well CAN take them.' One of his hands clenches into a tight fist. Through the red haze in his mind flashes snippets of memory. Mostly pain. Bright lights, heavy doors, doctors with faces hidden behind surgical masks. His eyes snap to Tian-shin, his marker clattering down to the table when the coffee starts bubbling. Also harsh: "{Get a fucking /grip/}." "Aaah! AAAAH!" Surprised. Sharp. Suddenly, it's ten paths of thought focusing on a single thing. Multiple voices ululating the same cry of pain. Luckily, cries of pain don't have a language. Five pairs of hands massage temples, and fingers wildly scrabble over her tablet. It has to delete several times to get something even remotely readable, as if she were having trouble mustering even her limited control. < omg my head is killing me like fingers r squeezin my brain i need some asprin > And the thoughts aren't much more complicated. << Owowowowowowow! >> Normally, Shane's comment would get crying. Right now. She's concentrating on her pain. Number four pulls out a phone. Why? For the simple purpose of texting her mother to pick her up. "-- ahhh." Hive's much quieter cry is a soft echo of Ellin's. The squeezing bears down harder, digging in in a briefly blinding clench that, just as abruptly, lets up. His eyes snap to Shane at that flood of memory, the clench of mind redirecting to the sharkpup. "Fff --" His palm presses hard against his eyes. "{Too fucking /loud/.}" He digs down in his bag, though, extracting a tube of ibuprofen to offer it to Ellin. Tian-shin sets the mug down carefully, looks at Ellin, startled. One slender eyebrow arches. 'A lot of headache to go around,' she types rapidly, 'with the sickness.' Then, as she's rising, she adds, 'I think it means stab-a-dude.' "{And I think I'd better go get some rest,}" she mutters in Spanish. << Before I slip up on something more dangerous than electrolysing water. In a crowded cafe. >> "{I was more tired than I thought. Have a good evening.} Ah..." She types again, 'I hope your head feels better, Ellin. See you next week!' With that, she closes the laptop and slips it into its case. The case goes over one shoulder, the sword over the other, and the jacket over her arm. Waving, she hurries on her way. Shane snarls at the clench of Hive's mind against his. There's a reflexive tightening in his mind, bracing hard, withdrawing as best he can at this grip. Outwardly he scrapes his chair back, leaning in to /smack/ Hive hard against the back of his head. "{Mother/fucker/. Get the fuck out.}" He's leaving the table. Heading back to the counter, one hand pressed to his temple. BLINDING HEAD PAIN. Like she just watched an entire season of Entourage in five seconds. All five of her bodies stop at once, hands clutched to her head, wailing. Tian's leave-taking? Barely noticed as that grips her. When it's over, however brief, she's panting. Ibuprofen scatters a little as she fumbles for five doses of the stuff, panting. They don't even seem to need water, though... Experience at taking pills? Either way, the Ellins don't even explain as they stumble towards the door, eyes and head swimming. Why? She just wants to go home and crawl into bed. And Hive? He just grits his teeth. Hard. Picks up his stylus. And narrows his eyes back very fixedly on his work.