Logs:In Which Some Noise is Planned Over Hot Beverages

In Which Some Noise is Planned Over Hot Beverages
Dramatis Personae Marinov, Ryan	2024-04-28 "I don't even know what would feel like enough."
Location <NYC> Le Sanctuaire, Le Bonne Entente - Astoria, Queens
This café occupies what had been the sanctuary of the old cathedral, and retains some echo of its solemnity without any sense of severity. Two additional levels have been installed in the trefoil footprint, but do not extend all the way to the walls, supported instead by a sturdy steel frame. This gives the impression, as one enters, that the space is fitted with scaffolding and perpetually under renovation--but in a deliberate, beautiful way. The harsh lines of the load-bearing frame are softened by wrought iron fleur-de-lis scrollwork accented in gold. The tables and seating are also of graceful black iron relieved with cushions in red velvet. The long counter is curved along the back wall, and to either side arched doorways lead out into a colonnaded patio in the garden. In one lobe of the trefoil, a square spiral stair ascends to the upper levels, while a platform lift does the same opposite, both balancing utilitarian design with aesthetic sensibility. The most striking addition is the immense stained glass window, masterfully marrying to the neoclassical splendor of the original structure and the Parisian café ambience of the added levels. Its colors are rich yet pellucid, its lines clean and decisive, and its subject decidedly not Christian. The towering figure of Apollo gazes down serene and benevolent, three golden arrows clutched in his right hand and and a golden lyre cradled in his left arm. He's bare to the waist save for a sumptuous red mantle and gold pauldrons, and wears a white skirt overlaid with gold pteruges. He is crowned with a wreath of living green laurel, the great silver bow across his back like the arc of a crescent moon rising across the bright sunburst that halos him. A great serpent encircles the pedestal upon which he stands and lifts its sleek head toward the god in obedience if not adoration, visually recalling the legendary staff he gifted his brother Hermes. It's very late, or very early. The cafe is quiet at this hour, which suits Ryan fine; there are two tables occupied on the ground floor but up on this level it's quiet. Ryan is casually dressed, black kilt interspersed with pink purple and blue paneling and a grey tee shirt that has the word PRIDE crossed out and underneath, WRATH written in rainbow caps. One chair at his table has been pushed aside to leave room for his minimalist wheelchair. The coffee in front of him is just-delivered, still steaming; there's probably something besides caffeine accounting for his jittery-bright energy. His fingers are taptaptapping at the side of his cup, then clamp down. "Probably silly asking how you doing, but --" "I'm surviving," says Marinov quickly, their clawtip taps against their own cup of tea with a clink, a slight edge to their words. They wear a loose top, white with black stripes, and a pink and white wide leg pants that could easily be mistaken for a skirt. A black and white belt cinches at their waist, forming a stark contrast to the otherwise soft and pastel palette. "Seems to count for something. Trying to help our boys in blue with late night coffee deliveries, though they seem not to appreciate the methodology." The attempted lightness in their voice is undermined by the heaviness carried in their posture. There is a tense flick at the end of their tail, but their tone grows softer, "How about you? I know it's been tough lately." "Think he'd really appreciate the role coffee's playing in this movement." Ryan lifts his cup but lowers it again like he's forgotten that he wanted to take a sip. "Surviving." He shakes his head, eyes darting to Marinov's flicking tail and then lifting to their face. "It doesn't feel like enough, you know? He was about so much more than that." "I'm not a big coffee person, but I always heard he made some of the best in the city," says Marinov, raising their finger and swirling it in a circle. "I don't even know what would feel like enough. He deserves-" Their voice hitches and they rub their cheek under their whiskers. "Deserved so much more than he got. I know he looked after people, that he was looking after people when-- But can't help wishing he was just a little more selfish. I just miss him, yeah?" They sigh and roll their head back to look up at Apollo. "Fuck." "Yeah." Ryan follows Marinov's look up to the window. "It's fucked. Don't think anything's going to be enough, but." He swallows, and when his fingers tap against the cup it doesn't have quite the same satisfying click. "If it was any of us he'd be making so much noise. Used to be one thing I was good at but somewhere 'tween Lassiter and Luci..." He draws in a sharp breath and chases this statement with a quick gulp of coffee. "Shit. How many more times we gonna have to do this?" "Too many," says Marinov grimly, "Feels like the reaper's always a few steps off. You know, in that other world I went to, the alternate me was already dead. And you've gone and died on me before, but at least you got better." They upright themselves again, and fix their slitted eyes back on Ryan and lap once at the tea they raise to their mouth. "But I guess we'll keep making noise 'til we can't, yeah? Just the kind of people we are." A few more tailtwitches precede: "And I know it's still something you're good at, Luci just helped getting you to the right places, that's what he was good at." "I'm glad you're in this world." There's an abrupt wash of feeling that comes with this statement, fierce and furious. It quiets down as Ryan looks down to his cup. "I think it's the kind of person you are. Kind of person I used to be. I'm not sure I know how to be that person again. Always had a lot of help faking it." Though here, at least, he's looking up again with a small twitch of smile. "-- Lotta it from you. You wanna be Ryan Black for a while?" he's offering with a light flutter of amusement. "You got the flare. Got more than enough anger." "Unfortunately, despite my qualifications, I think we wear our hair a little too differently," laments Marinov, "I won't be able to get it quite right. A leopard can't change its spots." Another small drink from the teacup, then they return it to the saucer, a glint of amusement as they place their fingertips on the ruff of their chest, "But if you want help faking it, I'm a believer in the power of a new outfit. Like a revival." "Guess I wouldn't want you to anyway, you wear 'em so damn well." Ryan is easing slightly back in his chair with his next swallow of coffee. "Shit. If there's anyone who can make me Ryan Black again it's you." His wince is almost (almost) apologetic. "Can you do it in, like, three days though, because from all we're hearing, May Day's gonna be popping off. Good time to be rallying a cry." "Three days is a pretty tight deadline, but I'm no stranger to an all-nighter," says Marinov, glancing down to their tea thoughtfully. "It's the all-dayers that really get to me." They rub a finger over one of the aforementioned spots on their arm. "Well, I'm not one to turn down a challenge, so long as you are ready to get back to Ryaning." "I'm not one to turn down a challenge," Ryan echoes, although a little hesitant. He's looking down at his coffee for a long stretch, but when he looks back up his smile comes easier. His confidence, too. "'sides which, I got the coolest cat around in my corner. I'm gonna look ready to take on the damn world."