ArchivedLogs:Re-volve
| Re-volve | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia
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halloween 2016 "That's /Captain/ Werewolf Wizard." evolve's grand re-reopening party. |
| 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. In the streets outside, the bulk of the roving packs of ghosts and goblins, superheroes and astronauts, witches and wizards, vampires and werewolves, have dispersed back to their homes to sort through and swap their hoard. Within Evolve's walls, though, there are still monsters in plenty to be found, lurking among the -- currently somewhat transformed cafe; warm and smoky-darker than its usual, its counter redecorated into a long wooden bar, sturdy wood tables in place of its plain black ones, the beams coloured like weathered old wood as well and the windows frosted as though with snow. The sign over the counter has a logo of three broomsticks; the staff today are garbed variously in robes, pointed hats. A sign on the counter reads: "Welcome back -- we missed you, too! Magical costumes 30% off! Non-magical costumes 20% off! Muggles 10% off!" Shane's robes are a deep rich velvet, a dark purplish blue embroidered with gold and purple at their cuffs; the cap (similarly embroidered) that sits upon his spiky black hair tips at a slight angle. Just at the moment he is slipping out from the back, a bright sharptoothed grin appearing on his face as he stops to exchange words with a pale-skinned teenager dressed up as Seven of Nine -- before continuing onward to restock an empty napkin dispenser. There's a brief flutter behind Shane. Then in front. Quick squeeze around his heavy-robed shoulders. The flurry of movement resolves shortly into Flicker -- in green cloak with a winged insignia on the back, short brown jacket, pale shirt laced up at the throat, trousers tucked into tall brown boots, a body harness with a complicated array of tools tucked inside. "-- So. Success? /I/ certainly have acquired plenty of sugar." A wing -- inky-black, the faintest hint of iridescent shimmer layered on its fuzz -- snakes out to hook-hook-hook around Shane, wrapping the small pup up into his embrace even as Flicker is releasing him. Dusk is pale-pale-pale, accentuated perhaps by the darkness his clothing. Deep crimson brocade vest (elegantly tailored), black shirt with a (faintly batlike) ruff and somewhat ostentatiously embroidered cuffs. "The night is still young. There is so much sugar still for the finding." Beside Dusk, one might not know Steve at first glance, given that he's quite covered in brown fur, sporting claws and pointed ears and a swishy tail that sways when he walks. Perhaps diminishing the incognito effect, though, he's also wearing a primary-colored version of his famous star-spangled armor. This version does not look particularly armored, and is torn here and there to reveal yet more hair underneath. A somewhat minimalistic version of his helmet has been modified so that pointy canine ears can poke through where the white wings are traditionally painted. The shield slung across his back is largely unchanged except that the silver star at its center has been replaced by a full moon. Perhaps in somewhat un-werewolf-like fashion, he is nursing a supersized rootbeer float. "It looks quite a success to me -- to have such a turnout on a moonless Monday night!" /He/ doesn't wait for Dusk to surrender Shane before piling on his own furry, muscular embrace. "Congratulations." Shane's eyes startle open huge-huge-huge, inky black pools dominating most of his narrow blue face as he tips a half-step back against Flicker. Then Dusk. Then Steve. Smooooosh. "/Moonless/? How'd you end up in /your/ predicament, then? And aren't you two supposed to be mortal enemies?" He disentangles himself from his current Hug to return to Flicker, snatching a second one in one brief sneak of a one-arm sideswipe. "I'm just glad you made it. I was afraid med school had killed you and we'd have to use today to have some kind of. Seance. Shit." One of his claws pokes lightly at the harness on Flicker's costume. "... does this actually /work/?" "But only so much sugar I can actually /fit/ into me!" Not that that's actually stopping Flicker's snakelike tentacle from twining out and stealing the spoon out of Steve's float. Quick slurp of some of the foamy mix. "B made it, so. Yeah. And I'm not dead /yet/. Wouldn't have missed this." "The moon's still up there, clouds or no clouds. And it's a waxing crescent. Steve just can't do anything halfway he's /going/ for it when he damn well wants to, moon be damned." When Shane pulls away, Dusk pulls his wing back in, curling it capelike around himself. "And we /were/ mortal enemies until he got me a drink." "It's /magic,/" Steve confides, grinning -- he has reasonably impressive prosthetic fangs on. Tugs down on his uniform shirt -- the movement /looks/ gentle enough, but the fabric tears even more along an existing rip at his left clavicle. "I'm reasonably well-versed in Harry Potter by now," he says, appraising both the decor and Shane's costume. Then turns to Flicker. "I'm not sure about you, though. I heard you're 'Levi', and this is both appropriate and ironic somehow?" He raises a big, furry eyebrow. "Werewolf wizard. Double threat." Shane's grin, broad and toothsome, matches Steve's for brightness as he leans in to bump his forehead lightly against the (much) taller man's arm. "I don't know shit about his costume really except that he flies around kicking ass? That must be the appropriate. -- Shit what?" Somewhere in the back someone is calling his name; he claps a webbed hand against a long spar of Dusk's wing, turning with a rustle-swoosh of heavy purple robes to dart off. "I can think of other people it'd be really more appropriate for," Flicker muses with a faint thoughtful hum. He reaches forward to tuck Steve's spoon back into his glass. For a moment his shoulders shake in a silent laugh at the rip of the shirt -- "Did you /plan/ it that way?" before he nods to the counter. "/I'm/ getting more butterbeer." "Well, people think Levi is kind of stuck up and snooty but he's really kind hidden away deep /inside/ and we all know Flicker hides it so well." Dusk's own smile (complete with his /own/ glinting flash of wicked-sharp fang) is quirked crooked. "/And/ he swoops in to save everyone's ass a lot at the eleventh hour because there's constant crises and he's got all the mad skills. -- /Two/ butterbeers!" he amends Flicker's statement, poking the other man lightly in the back of the neck with one claw. His other wing is hooking around Steve's back, a drape that is heavily muscular despite its languid appearance as he steers the disheveled werewolf towards the back. "We can get sugar-high over a game of Mysterium if nobody's swiped it from the back yet." "That's /Captain/ Werewolf Wizard," Steve reminds Shane, giving the sharkpup's shoulder a none-too-light squeeze as he turns to go. Just extending his arm in that direction has exacerbated the same tear yet again, and he looks down at it dubiously. "Ah, no, it uh...got made a bit too tight, I think. The fur added more bulk than expected, so every time I /do/ anything it just rips a little more." His smile returns, softer now. "Oh -- oh, hm... Anyway. It's a great costume, appropriate or no." When he leans into Dusk's wing it's a heavier lean than it looks. "Yeah," his agreement sounds weary but genuine, "that's a great idea. Let's." | |
