ArchivedLogs:In Which the Future Of Evolve Is Discussed and Some Monsters Contemplate Relaxing In Proper Monster Digs

In Which the Future Of Evolve Is Discussed and Some Monsters Contemplate Relaxing In Proper Monster Digs
Dramatis Personae Marinov, Nick, Taylor
In Absentia	2017-08-26 "I got my biting down to an /art/, right?"
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 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. First thing on a Saturday morning, and the cafe at Evolve is quiet and clean -- mostly because it hasn't been opened, until now. The sign is only now turning from CLOSED to OPEN, the door unlocked by a still somewhat sleepy-eyed tentaclemonster; Taylor is stifling a yawn as he welcomes in the tiny sprinkling of early risers (or yet-to-sleepers) waiting outside the door for their breakfasts and wake-up coffees. His plain black tee says "Try Me" in bold white letters on it; underneath, smaller, "-Malcolm X, 1963"; paired with a pair of faded jean shorts and sneakers, his outfit does little to hide the bandaging on one arm and wrapped wide around a leg, the torn-off (but neatly bandaged) stumps where two of his larger tentacle-arms used to be and evidently no longer are. For all that he seems in a perfectly fine (if sluggish) mood, greeting the new customers warmly but leaving them in the capable hands of Tak behind the counter for their orders as /he/ busies himself setting up the self-serve stand with its roster of milks (dairy and non), sweeteners, filling its napkins and utensils, etc. Nick is slouched against the end of the counter, his fur sleek and smooth except for a couple of still-healing wounds on his arms. He's wearing his Green Lantern shirt (one of several--this one old and faded and soft) and threadbare black cargo pants. His droopy ears perk up and hooded eyes brighten when Tak slides him a wide, bowl-like mug and a plate with three cupcakes. "Gracias, dude, you just saved my life." He lifts the mug carefully and leaves the cupcakes for the moment. "If I walked out there like this someone would probably think I was a zombie." Trotting over to the self-serve stand, he /tries/ to fix his coffee up without getting in Taylor's way. But doesn't try very /hard/, one big taloned hand grabbing clumsily in the direction of sugars and almond milk. "If someone tries shit with you, just bite 'em," Taylor suggests, "that'll definitely quell their zombie worries." His eye roll at Nick's grabbing paws is amused more than annoyed. Several arms shuffle containers around, sliding a carafe of almond milk and wooden crate of sugar packets over to Nick (while moving his other work out of the way of questing claws.) "You gonna hang out here long? I should send you back with a --" Frown. "Something. Make sure Anole eats some breakfast that isn't Twinkies and Mountain Dew." Nick snaps lazily at Taylor, mouth full of sharp canid teeth clicking together audibly though he comes nowhere near actually nipping anything. "I got my biting down to an /art/, right? Everyone gonna be like 'whoa that's definitely a /werewolf/ chomping on me, not a zombie.' Gracias." He dumps two packets of sugar and a splash of milk into his mug, stirs it, and laps at it daintily. "Mmm, caffeine." He crinkles his muzzle, whiskers standing out for a moment. "I'm not in any kinda hurry, probably head out when it starts getting busy. But yeah I'll bring stuff down when I go." "Shit, my bad, I gotta learn to keep my fucking monsters apart. Gonna get myself in trouble one day, someone chomping on me and I start talking about how they got much better form than the last merman attack I been through. Next thing you know I'm having to apologize because I'm the third person today who's called this poor selkie a mermaid and nothing ruins dinner like a side of racism." Through this offhand hypothetical Taylor is lifting one sinuous arm, lazily coiling it against Nick's head to wrestle his snappy muzzle back. With a more thoughtful frown, "How often you actually come by here, man?" Nick actually /does/ bite now, if not very hard, jawing on Taylor's limb in a causal fashion. One of his ear flicks aside toward the sound of approaching footsteps outside, and he relinquishes his living chew toy regardless of whether the passerby comes in. "Uh...like once a week maybe?" His forehead scrunches up thoughtfully. "Well no, I /stop by/ plenty but, I dunno." Cocks his head to one side. "Why?" "Mmm." Taylor caps the last of his carafes, turning to lean back against the table. He half-stifles a yawn, eyes skimming the quiet cafe. "Shane's planning on expanding. Got an offer on the space next door. But thinking about what to /do/ with it's been a whole other question. I mean, this place could be way the fuck better, right?" Two of his arms (one recently recovered from Nick's JAWS) are coiling in a kind of writhing puddle beneath him, against the edge of the counter, propping him up. "S'definitely people not coming here who might if it were /actually/ a more comfortable space to be." Nick laps at his coffee, amber eyes darting in the direction of the storefront in question. His eyebrow ridges rise up as he licks his chops clean. "Well," he hedges at last, deadpan, "there's always some folks who want this to be a safer space for /humans/..." Taylor's brows level out. /Flat/. Though he doesn't move at all, behind them one arm is snaking up. To thwack Nick firmly upside the back of the head. Nick does not seem particularly fussed about this minor violence, grinning wolfishly all the while. "I deserved that," he admits, without the least suggestion of remorse. << Seriously, though, I'd probably hang here more if I could get away from the staring. >> Aloud he sighs, "But like are you seriously considering like a monster lounge or something?" Cautiously hopeful. Moments after stepping through the front door, Marinov stops for a moment to peer at the paintings on the wall. Their fur is still patterned in silver with their standard spots changed to rainbow colours. They are wearing a silk baby blue kosovorotka with silver detailing and a kartuz hat, along with a pair of black slacks. "Privyet," they call, raising a hand in greeting towards Taylor and Nick as they approach, "What's going on?" << Oh shit, I'm probably interrupting. >> "Yeah, or something. I mean, we're just batting around ideas right now, you know? But I think there's a /lot/ of people who'd probably hang here more if --" Taylor glances up even before Marinov has actually entered, eyes tracking to the door a moment before their friend arrives. "-- if there were less shit to deal with," he finishes up to Nick as Marinov is perusing art. His smile lights, bright and immediate when Marinov actually comes over. "Nah, not interrupting. What would /you/ think of having a --" His brow wrinkles, here. "... something," he finishes with a small uncertain shift. "I don't even know what we'd call it. Shane's thinking of expanding. Of what the best things we could /do/ with more space is. We're sort of gauging how people would feel if we had a lounge where people could chill who --" Shrug. "-- Don't pass. Not ever have to deal with human tourists who wander in or -- hopefully not have to deal as much with mutants who can't /handle/ more in-your-face freaking." "Yo!" Nick waves at Marinov, and finally drifts back over to the counter to reclaim his cupcakes, if only to bring them back over to the table nearest Taylor. "I mean, I think it would be cool in theory, but probably a lotta people would get real butthurt over it. Flatscans like 'but that's reverse bigotry' and human-passing freaks like 'but we're mutants too!' Besides, you ask five different freaks what it means to pass for human you gotta get seven different answers." He is peeling the wrapper from a red velvet cupcake, ears perking at Marinov. "You come here lots, right? What do you think?" Marinov's ears perk up slightly at this discussion. "Yeah, I come here lots. I think..." << I should probably order some tea before thinking too hard about it. >> Marinov's eyes drift momentarily towards the front counter. "I'm all for spaces for mutants who don't pass. But yea, I know I got a bunch of emails and calls about reverse discrimination with Something Different." Their ears flick into a folded back position for a moment before springing back forwards and they nod to Nick, "And, now that you mention it, it /does/ seem hard to define, yeah?" "Shit, what kinda caffeine you need? Tak'll get it ready for you." Not that Taylor's even moving from his slumpy lean. The barista over behind the counter looks up at him anyway, with only the slightest of frown. One slender arm skims upward, rubbing at the back of his head as one eye squinches up tighter. "You're definitely not wrong. People who gonna be crying about reverse discrimination, I don't know how much we want them here /anyway/." Though with a heavier sigh: "... I guess Shane does need to pay the fucking mortgage." Small details. More pensive: "We been kicking it around, but I don't think we have any kind of idea how you'd define /passing/ for human anyway. /That's/ a harder question than do we care if humans will cry over it. Like /shit/ I pass for human more easily than goddamn Ryan, on days both of us are /trying/ to be in public unbothered." Nick's first bite of his cupcake demolishes more than half of it and leaves a dab of white frosting on his nose that he has to lick several times to get off. "Yeah it's not like I'm real worried about their feelings, but you can't keep a business afloat off of us brokeass monster-types." He shrugs, laps up more coffee. "But I mean...go to the right kinda convention and even /I/ can pass for human. Like, just cuz it's /possible/ don't mean it's any way to live. And I'm not saying Ryan don't get his share of hate. /More/ than his share, but it's.../different/, you know?" "I think Ceylon tea'd do the trick," says Marinov thoughtfully. They lean their cheek lightly against their own palm. "I was actually real glad nobody ended up asking me what I meant by 'obvious mutant' with the art show, 'cause I didn't really have a definition. I was just banking on people sorta just knowing for themselves." Their tailtip flicks back and forth quickly a few times, "Yeah, I agree that it's different. Ryan might get stares, but not really the same... /kind/ of reaction, I guess." "What," Taylor's eyes widen in Total Shock here, "you ain't wanna spend all your time bopping around one furry convention to the next? That don't sound like a party to you?" Behind the counter, Tak is getting started on Marinov's tea. Taylor pushes away from the table he's been leaning on, spinning one chair out from Nick's table to drop down into it. "Yeah, no, it's hella different. But it's still a -- thing. Don't know what the fuck thing it is." His head shakes, uncertain. "And people who don't look like monsters, but they still can't hide? The fuck do they even fit? Got one sweet little white girl come in here some times, /look/ human as fuck but she can only communicate telepathically. Is that human passing? Pass on the street but the second you try to talk to anyone, fuck it." His cheeks puff out; he drops one elbow against the table, chin resting in a cupped palm. "There's a lot of ways to freak. I don't know what'd be most comfortable for most people." "I'm kinda surprised no one asked, actually. I mean...as big as the event was, you'd think someone would have been worried about that. Maybe since you actually /did/ allow human-passing mutants to participate, it wasn't as big of an issue?" Nick pops the rest of the cupcake into his mouth. "You know, it's not actually the /worst/ idea I've ever heard?" He falls silent for a moment, considering his coffee with a critical flutter of his nostrils. "Yeah this all /kinds/ of complicated, huh? I mean, even a mutant-only space would be better than nothing, but..." << Christ, now /I/ don't even know what would make me most comfortable. Not like there's a whole lot of other spaces like that, 'cept maybe the tunnels and that's its /own/ thing. >> His ears press back. "I mean maybe what Marinov did for Something Different--like let people decide for themselves?" Marinov circles the table and pulls out a chair to sit down, "Yeah, lots of ways to freak for sure. I like the idea of a place where I wouldn't attract negative sorta attention. If people decide for themselves, like, even if some people are gonna just bullshit to get in, you'd hopefully mostly just have folks who..." They pause, struggling to find words that express what they mean. "Are being genuine?" The teen rubs the fur on their forehead up lightly. Taylor nods, slowly, forefinger tapping against his cheekbone. "Seems like it could be the best way to go." Though he's still just kind of musing, his eyes drifting slowly around the room. One side of his mouth hitches up crookedly. "Though I swear to fucking Christ, the first time some human tries to come chill because they're poly and into spanking and /lots/ of people think /they're/ a freak I am going to get seriously violent up in here. My Customer-Service-Face can only take /so/ much." "Oh, man, can I get a job just throwing out human posers trying to infiltrate...whatever the heck you're gonna call this space?" Nick is shucking another cupcake now. "I'm gonna be real disappointed if it ends up being like a huge long acronym." He eats this one in one huge bite, and expertly pours some coffee into his mouth to wash it down. "If we could establish a sort of...I dunno, culture of respecting other people's experiences? And not just constant Oppression Olympics? That would be /awesome./" << But I ain't holding my breath. >> When Taylor mentions the hypothetical human who is into spanking, Marinov's eyes quickly dart up to Taylor's tentacle-arms, and an associated image forms in their mind. They quickly try to steer their thoughts elsewhere. They get up to their feet, "I think my tea's up, I'm gonna grab that, back in a sec," and they scurry off to go get their caffeine juice. "You can /definitely/ be a human-bouncer if you promise to bite them all." Taylor's wince deepens at the last comment. "That'd be the goal. How we get there is -- fuck if I know." His eyes widen -- head ducking, eyes shifting away from Marinov with a /quickness/. The pull of his smile is very crooked, kind of sheepish. He stands, reaching to pluck a chunk off of Nick's just-peeled cupcake and pop it into his mouth. "Iiii probably got dishes to do anyway. Don't go home till I hit you up with snacks," a quick reminder to Nick before he is whisking himself off to the kitchen.