Logs:Hot Dogs, With Relish
| Hot Dogs, With Relish | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-10-17 "I will get papers. I will get so many papers." |
| Location
<NYC> Times Square - Midtown Manhattan | |
This place is definitely big and definitely surrounded by Tall Things, and there are definitely large screens all around it, but these are flashing bona fide American Commercials, brightly and delightfully hawking American commodities like BROADWAY and SOFT DRINKS and and PRESCRIPTION MEDICINES. It's crowded with tourists which one expects are mostly human, as well as a hearty population of pigeons and a tired population of vendors, selling genuine "I ❤️ NY" merchandise and also quite a lot of MAGA stuff. In this hubbub Budi seems a little lost -- diminutive and slow on his feet, in donated clothes (not stylish so much as affordable, black joggers that bunch around his ankles and a long-sleeved black crewneck with a scene of Santa Barbara, California printed on it in aquamarine along with a small splotch of relish.) He doesn't seem to mind, though, wide-wide smile of sharp-sharp teeth under beady-beady eyes as he finishes off his second bona fide American hot dog (halal edition), "I never ate so good before," he is swearing, though he hedges immediately, "Well I never ate so much in one day. I miss the spice." Less immediate, "In Madripoor everything is more spicy." Ion is ambling along backwards through the chaotic crowd, though this does not seem to in any way diminish his might-as-well-be-a-born-New-Yorker prowess at deftly avoiding collision. He is in jeans, heavy boots, an 'I ❤️ I ❤️ NY' shirt under his well-worn and well-tended cut, a strip of crisp and lightly brocaded black-on-black fabric pinned to the front of his vest. He's long since finished his own hot dog and now has a still-hot paper package of honey roasted nuts that he's tossing intermittently into his mouth. He crunches down on a cashew, grins wide. "Oh, New York got spice," he assures Budi, "we just in tourist central so they cooking for the crackers come up from cornland. You stick around, come swing by one of my dogs' cookout," he is tapping at the Mongrels insignia here indicatively, "we feed you double this good even. -- What kind food you like when we ain't on can beans only?" "We have tourist central in Madripoor too but I never went there. Your dogs --" Budi's eyes cut sharply away as he somewhat transparently gears himself up to politely decline and then finally says, "...yes sir," with a rapid, bobbing nod. He licks a dollop of dripping mustard from one finger, his tongue unsettlingly long and prehensile before it curls back into his mouth. "Mmmmeat," he says after a moment. "Rice. Curry. Congee. So long as it's not rotted ha ha ha! What do you like to eat?" Ion's cheek clicks against his teeth, head shaking as he munches another nut. "Is just an invite, friend, you ain't gotta do nothing here." His eyes linger a moment too long on Budi's mouth when that tongue comes out and then he's spinning around on a heel to walk properly forward. "Me, shit, if I can throw it on a grill I probably like it. Lot of cow. Potato any way I can get it." He shakes lightly at the packet of nuts he's holding, peering inside to watch them rattle in their sweet coating. "You think you stick around here?" "Dogs is haram," Budi says immediately in a tone of deep, tortured remorse, as soon as Ion has given him permission to say 'no'. "Sorry. Cats is haram too but there was only cats and cat food in the bar, not my fault. -- but I can eat cows!" That is cheerful once more, with an edge of relieved gratitude at not being a complete bummer, and though his bright smile stays very much fixed on his face his eyes are cutting away again -- "I wish. I have no money for New York." "We wha -- ohhhh," Ion's expression is going from puzzled to understanding in a flash, and then his grin is brighter. "We ain't eating the dogs, we the dogs. Mongrels," he's tapping again at the skull logo, "that's my biker fam. You one them Muslims?" In another person, in another tone, this could be a red flag of a question, but Ion just sounds amiably curious, continuing on to: "Some your food things not so far from the Jews, yeah? We cut all the pig out our barbecues 'cuz of..." The sag of his shoulders here is abrupt but brief, his expression crumpling into a pensive frown that he soon shakes away. "... well, guess Shane ain't need no food now. Enough people don't eat no pig though, probably won't add it back." He is sucking the sticky sugar off the next cashew, tipping his head back to look up at a GIANT light-up billboard advertising an Avengers x Dolls Kill clothing line even while he dodges out of the way of someone attempting to foist upon him a pamphlet for their stand-up comedy revue. "spendy as hell here," he agrees, "but we sure as hell ain't gonna let you drown. You talk to that witch yet?" Here he's lifting his hook well above his own head to indicate someone noticeably taller, "-- fancy-ass Frenchy, blond, talk like a damn book? Bet he'd hook you up with some papers. I know plenty under the table work but you want something legit maybe then someone want to know your government name." Budi polishes off the hot dog. "Oh," he says, though he still sounds a little dubious, mouthing 'Mongrels' to himself with vague confusion. "I -- think yes? Yes no pig. Shane is your --" he's apparently not ready to call people dogs yet, so he repeats "Bikerfam?" as though it is one word. Though he reaches curiously for the comedy pamphlet Ion just dodged, it's pulled sharply away when he flashes a smile, and Budi drops both the smile and his hand self-consciously. Perhaps after the confusion about dogs it should be no surprise that he hesitates and then says cautiously, "I don't think I met no witches. I need papers here? I never needed papers before." In spite of this he is deciding eagerly, confidently, "I will get papers. I will get so many papers." "Yeah, Shane was real solid." Ion is spinning right back on his heel to grab one of the pamphlets, his hook clicking a little menacingly on the quick snatch; the young man doling them out jerks back suspiciously like he's been shocked. "I introduce you," he declares as he offers the paper out. "Maybe you find some job, stick around long enough at least see if this place your speed. More freaks here than anywhere, which great --" Though here he's barking out a small laugh, "-- and terrible, shit, next leg of this damn tour I show you all the best places we thrown down with the cops. Torched one them cop cars right over there --" He's gesturing not far away, a short distance from SHIELD Tower. "-- and there. And there, shit. Gotta do what we can to keep Time Square a little spicy." | |
