ArchivedLogs:Cake Day

Cake Day
Dramatis Personae Ion, Isra, Natalie	2016-01-13 "{How would you like to celebrate?}"
Location <DC> Malcolm X Park
"Shit /shit/, shit, you /tried/ this fucking chutney, {fuck /me/ I think my goddamn face just nut.}" Ion is, at the moment, perched on top of a stone wall overlooking a long cascading waterfall -- off in the distance the tall spire of the Washington Monument is visible, illuminated in the mild dark nighttime. There's a cardboard container in his lap, a large dosa inside it; at his feet at the base of the railing, a big duffel bag. He's dressed in heavy boots, plain jeans, a black and white plaid flannel, plain leather jacket over top. "{Up in Queens, this place I knew, /so/ fucking good dosa. Closed the hell down. All zombies. You think maybe we convince this place, move up?}" Natalie is standing. Leaning against the railing, a plastic lidded cup in hand, sipping at a basil lassi. Hair tied back, she's dressed down as well; fitted jeans, canvas jacket, boots. Kind of staring at a tiny beetle-like robot nestled in her un-lassi-laden hand. She glances up at Ion when he speaks, looking from him back down to the plastic cup. "{Didn't exactly take you long to get /down/.}" Sitting beside Ion, swathed in a black cloak--she can only dress down /so/ much--Isra has her own dosa--mostly eaten, by now. "{Quite good,}" she agrees. The scattering of fine silver specks on her purple skin look particularly striking in the shadow of her hood. The wing she extends to drape across the young man's shoulders is dark blue with fluid lines of white wavecrests. "{You can probably find other good dosas, in New York. Or,}" she adds with a nod toward Natalie, "{travel down when you feel the urge.}" "{I'm feeling a urge.}" Ion crams more dosa into his mouth, licking sambar and chutney off his fingers. He squints down at the bot in Natalie's hand, grinning bright. "{Ain't that the shit?}" One toe nudges at the duffel bag. "{Smart little fuckers. Don't look like much but damn. Still. Dosa /first/. Oh /man/ and there's this place, not so far, best goddamn fudge cake -- we doing that first, too, yeah? Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah.}" "{Don't look like much,}" Natalie agrees, tipping her hand up to look at the bug closer, curious. "{She really makes these all herself?}" She looks up at the others again, shoulders shaking in a brief shiver of quiet laughter. "{Cake? I guess we're not on a tight /schedule/...}" "{She is as brilliant an artist as she is an engineer.}" A low, content purr issues Isra's second, lower vocal folds as she speaks, her high alto voice warm with pride. "{We are on birthday boy's schedule, which is never all /that/ tight.}" Her wing squeezes down on Ion. "{Wait huh?}" Ion sits up a little straighter, head bumping in against Isra's wing. "{Who boy? Did we got a schedule? Shit. I didn't set my watch.}" A little chagrined, that doesn't stop him from extending his arm with a /flourish/ to examine the ridiculously gaudy watch on his wrist. "{Yeah yeah yeah B fucking made of /magic/ you got no idea.}" "{Wait, it's your birthday?}" Natalie straightens, straw still tucked in her teeth as she sucks lassi up through a smile. "{Why didn't we do the cake /first/? You didn't say. I think that calls for a little more than cake.}" She pulls a phone out of her pocket, checking the time on it and then holding it out toward Ion, screen turned on so he can set the watch. "{I'm kind of getting that impression.}" Isra's smile comes sharp and fast. "{Yes. Your birthday. Not that you need an excuse for cake, but as I see it we can do as you like, when you like.}" She cocks her head to one side, the tip of her tail protruding from under the cloak and twitching. "{Though really, you've never needed an excuse to do as you like, either. How would you like to celebrate--aside from fudge cake?}" "{Wait, it's /my/ birthday?}" Ion's eyes /light/ up, his smile flashing huge and bright. He stuffs the rest of the dosa in his mouth, hopping down off the wall with a sudden jittery bounce in his step. "{Oh /shit/ nobody tell me that. My birthday and all we do is wait and watch I don't /think/. I don't think I don't /think/. Oh hell no, sisters, we going to --}" He stoops, scooping up the duffel bag to sling it over a shoulder. "We gonna blast the fuck off."