Logs:Ugly Flags

Ugly Flags
Dramatis Personae Alma, Ryan, Skye, Vícente
In Absentia	2019-10-16 "If the two of you can't part a sea of assholes, we're in trouble."
Location <NYC> Hot Noodz - Greenwich Village
There's not much to this noodle joint - just a narrow strip of space tucked between a dorm hall and a pizza parlor. With a thin stripe of rickety counterspace looking out onto the Greenwich street, a tiny handful of tables, clear panes of plexiglass allowing customers to watch the cooks at work stretching hand-pulled noodles. Cheap and solidly flavorful, the no-frills place is unsurprisingly popular with the NYU students who live nearby. Just across the street there's a lot of commotion. A large ava growing knot of people -- mostly but not all young, likely predominately students. Some just mill about but many are yelling things indistinguishable from this distance. Waving signs -- "Keep our campus safe!" "Humanity first!" "Keep NYU human!" "Pathetic!" "No terrorists on campus!" together with a slightly more puzzling "Illegals go home!" with a blown up picture of Ryan's face behind a crude drawing of -- a cage? A fence? The artist's skills leave something to be desired. A different sign with bright red crosshairs over Ryan's picture leaves a lot less to imagination. In here, though, it's quiet. Ryan is looking at least slightly less flamboyant than he typically does on stage. Slimcut black blazer with yellow contrast stitching that matches the bright fishnet shirt he has on underneath (it's layered, at least, over a solid black undershirt.) His slacks are dark and tailored slim as well, his dress boots polished and laced in alternating black and yellow. He's seated at the counter behind a large bowl of vegetable ramen, twirling noodles idly with a pair of chopsticks and eying the scene across the street. "You think it's worth telling them I'm from Louisiana?" "You know, I don't think they're gonna believe you." Skye is slouched at the counter beside Ryan, sitting at an awkward angle. She has long since polished off her noodles and moved on to a couple of bubble tea that she keeps swishing and studying with mild disapproval. In contrast to her companions, she looks very much like she belongs on a college campus, in a gray-and-maroon Henley, black jeans, and chunky boots. Her shoulder-length hair is mussed, her eyes are ringed with dark circles, and the traces of a fairly elaborate and dramatic makeup job can be seen at close study. Vícente was getting increasingly annoyed by the ruckus being caused at campus. The headache he was sporting didn't do him any favours so he decided to treat himself to some noodles. He didn't know how he had managed to make some conversation with his peers but enjoyed the company nonetheless. "Frankly, they can believe whatever they want. I just wish they'd do it quieter." He grumbled as he took another bite from his noodles. The mutant was wearing a worn out grey hoodie, sweats and sneakers; obviously not bothering to put in any kind of effort to his appearance. "I think a lot of them know, but that particular axis of bigotry for them is more about hating brown people than immigrants." Alma looks as dapper as ever, smartly tailored black jacket Warren open over a crisp white dress shirt and a black-on-black brocade vest, black trousers, and dress boots with a thick token heel. Her dreads are loose today, the kippah clipped securely to her crown is fashioned like a smiling yellow emoji, and the observant might glimpse the two sets of throwing knives worn on a harness beneath her jacket. She has made quicker work of her vegetable ramen and is now in the stage of fishing little pieces of noodle out of the broth. "I can get behind that, if 'quiet' means staying in their troll caves and never venturing out." Ryan looks up with wider eyes, startled, when Vícente interjects. He gives the stranger a quick look up and down; for a short moment his shoulders have tensed, his posture bracing, before he relaxes back into his previous default-casual. His smile is quick, just a little lopsided. "Yeah, sorry about that. I'm sure they'll be gone soon enough after I am." Despite the ruckus across the street -- despite the fact that some of that ruckus includes very unsubtle death threats -- his tone is breezy. "Maybe I should be glad there's a /diversity/ of hating going on. 'Muties go home' gets old after a while." Almost as if on cue there's a new contingent arriving to the protest. At least one of them has a black and white striped flag with interlocking 'male' and 'female' symbols in its center. One sign says HANDS OFF OUR HEROES -- the Os are drawn images of Captain America's shield. One says MAKE (Captain) AMERICA STRAIGHT AGAIN. Ryan slurps his noodles into his mouth, giving a largely unimpressed look to the new additions. "What I don't understand is how these people /survive/ in New York." Skye glances at Vícente, then studies him in earnest, then glances at Ryan, then returns to her bubble tea without much enthusiasm. "Not like it's your fault they can't deal with people being different from them. If it's even that, and not just...someone told them they should." Her eyebrows hike up, up, up when reinforcements arrive. "Bet the douchebag with the straight pride flag breaks that out for /any/ fucking reason." Here a crooked smile at Ryan. "How many of them do you think even /live/ here?" Vícente squinted his eyes as if the answer would magically manifest for him if he adjusted his vision. "I'd hope not many, I'm actually proud of living here and I don't want that mass to represent the city..." He mumbled solemnly, as if their very existence was offending him right now. "Definitely don't feel envious about talking over that crowd, but I think it's cool you're doing it anyway." Alma snorts quietly. "Well, they just call the cops if there are any /unsavory elements/ polluting their nice, respectable neighborhoods." She picks up her bowl and drinks from it, then gives Vícente a considering glance. "Hopefully he won't have to /talk/ over too many of them, but /wading/ through them." She shrugs, turning her gaze to Ryan. "We could take go around the block, find a different entrance?" "Don't worry," Ryan gives Alma a bright grin, "I'm /really/ good at being loud when I need to." He twirls up another mouthful of noodles, chewing them over slowly as he watches the boisterous crowd. "They'll be so disappointed if we never show." With his quick smile and light tone it's hard to tell /just/ how serious he mightbe with this. His following sigh is kind of exaggerated. "The straight pride flag doesn't even /look/ good. I don't know how anyone can carry that with a --" His expression briefly scrunches up. "... I can't finish that sentence." His chin tips up to Vícente in a belated sort of greeting. "Thanks. Feels more /necessary/ than cool, but I'll take it. You go here?" The wave of his chopsticks is kind of vague. AROUND. This area. Generally. "I was about to say, if the two of you can't part a sea of assholes, we're in trouble." Skye finally gives up on her drink, setting it aside. "Ok, I don't wanna give straight people any /credit/, but queer people have our share of ugly-ass pride flags, too." She braces her elbows on the counter and props her chin up in one palm. "Hopefully the people /in/ the auditorium will be more receptive." After hearing the enthusiastic responses from his compatriots, Vícente felt the lively atmosphere start brightening his own mood. 'God, I feel squishy inside.' He definitely liked the feeling. "That's what a hero would say." He teased, "And yeah, a med student." He turned to Sky once she started speaking and snorted from the imagery that popped in his head after her first line. "Be the most fabulous Moses you can be." Alma's shoulders hitch in a small shrug. "Oh, I'm sure that we /can/, but am I really earning my keep if I don't at least try to dissuade him the most dramatic and dangerous path available?" She does not, in fact, sound very confident of that, but here she breaks into a smile again. "I feel like he's more Nahshon than Moses, personally, but certainly the /most/ fabulous either way." "We /do/." Ryan sounds almost offended by this. "Honestly a good eighty percent of the reason I call myself bi and not pan is because /damn/ that is one /ugly/ flag. Even for me it's garish." Vícente's answer earns a wince. "Med school? Oof, I'm sorry. One of my friends is in med school here and I don't think he's slept for like, two years." Whatever sympathy is in these words hasn't dimmed his smile much. "Wait, does that make Jax Moses?" "Yeah, seriously, most of the tricolor ones that have equal-width stripes look like they're trying to be a new European country." Skye grins brightly at Vícente. "That's exactly what I was thinking. Not sure who Nahshon is -- all I know about Exodus I learned from 'Prince of Egypt' and a couple of seders where I got way too drunk to remember -- but Jax is definitely the most fabulous Moses." Her expression softens with sympathy. "Good luck with -- whatever circle of med school you're currently surviving, yeah?" "Thanks for the sympathy, my past sleep deprived selves are grateful." He chuckled, though memories of second year turned the latter half of the sentence turn somber. "Can swear my blood was 90% caffeine back then..." He mumbled, before returning his focus back on the initial conversation, "Anyway, I agree though I wouldn't judge anyone who necessarily identifies as pan. Personally, I really like the aromantic flag." Alma considers this, twitching a smile at Skye. "Well, he /does/ have a radiant face. I'll accept this theory." She nods at Vícente. "Glad you made it through the worst of it in one piece." Her eyes drift back to Ryan, linger appraisingly. "You about ready? That crowd ain't getting smaller or less ugly anytime soon." "If I /were/ ace I would wear /that/ flag's colours in a heartbeat but sadly --" Ryan shrugs a shoulder, his grin quick and bright. "Just not that blessed. Yyyyup." This last is reluctant. He's barely touched his ramen, really -- but he also doesn't seem to be going at it with much enthusiasm. He rises from his chair, stretches slowly, picks up his tray so that he can clear it off the counter. "Good luck with school," he offers to Vícente, together with a lazy tap of fingers to forehead in an idle farewell salute. "Guess I've got some shit to stir up."