ArchivedLogs:Angels and Agents

Angels and Agents
Dramatis Personae Anette, Sean, Trib	2014-02-07 '
Location <NYC> Home - Greenwich Village
Nestled into the heart of the Village, Home is an unobtrusive place, with an unobtrusive name to match. A nondescript storefront opens up into an equally nondescript cafe, plain tiled floors, an assortment of veneered tables with plain wooden chairs or booths with cracking vinyl benches. What it /does/ have to recommend it is the food, hearty solid breakfast and brunch served twenty-four hours a day, with a wide variety of menu to cater to specialized diets as well. Well-known to locals and little frequented by tourists, its friendly serving staff tend to remember their regulars, giving the place a warm feel that lives up to its name. With snow on the roads and on the sidewalks, but New Yorkers were a stubborn sort and were moving through the bits of slush and cold with about as much concern as they do for moving through the crowds. Home is moderately accomodated with those who have stopped in for coffee, hot foods, and just some warmth. Sean is one such who has made his way into the abode, to scope it out before he goes there with others on the schedule. Managing to get a booth, he takes off his warm comfee brown jacket to show a mock turtleneck in navy blue tucked into a pair of jeans. Taking the opportunity to breath in the atmosphere of the place, he empties out his messenger bag, dropping a sketchbook and metal tin of pencils out with it. He'd check the menu in a bit, but it wasn't nearly as important. Home is one of those places that Trib actually /likes/. It's close enough to his gym that it's not any hardship to slip in after a workout and chow down before the long subway ride home. When the boxer pushes through the door of the diner, dressed in jeans and thick green army jacket over a grey thermal top with his gym bag slung across his chest, he actually looks /pleasant/ as he nods at the hostess, holding up a single finger in answer to her question about his party. Then he's being led through the tables, past the booths and the sketch artist. Apparently, the hostess' destination is just /too/ far away, as the boxer comes to a halt just next to the artist's booth. "Here's fine," he grunts, ignoring the woman's protestations as he drops into the bench seat. "Can I get some coffee? Extra strong." The girl looks like she's about to protest further, then nods and moves away. Only then does Trib pick up his menu, scanning it with a hard sort of cheerfulness. (In that he's not actively scowling.) Anette is one of many stubborn New Yorkers today, quickly entering the restaurant and shutting the door behind her. She kicks the snow off of her leather boots, before doing something she's never quite done before: removing her jacket in public. Revealing the wings she's hidden underneath, she gives them a quick stretch before making her way to a booth and sitting down, making herself comfy. She picks up a menu and browses it quietly, ignoring everything and everyone around her. She suddenly picks up on a familiar voice and suddenly turns her head, eyes honing in on Trib. Pausing a moment, she quickly grabs her menu and makes her way over to Trib. "Long time no see. Care for some company?" she asks, plopping herself down without waiting for an answer. Flipping to a blank page and pulling out the pencils, Sean finally fiddles with the menu to actually look like a paying customer for a few moments. Noticing the boxer finding a nearby booth, he glances over the fellow a moment then shrugs to himself. With the waitress approaching him, he murmurs out "Coffee, and hashbrowns. Lots of them. Oh, and can you bring ketchup? Thanks." He gives her a pleasant smile as he passes her the menu and freezes as he sees the wings extending outwards. He unfreezes and simply smiles a somewhat gleeful smile as he sets to work drawing in quick lines on his page, not bothering to look up, though he pauses when she does sit next to the boxer nearby. Trib looks up as someone new approaches the booth, and his eyes narrow at Anette as she plunks herself down. "I guess," he grunts, slapping his menu down on the table. "Beats the fuck out of eatin' alone." He leans back in the booth as the waitress comes by to drop off his requested coffee, and waits until she's gone again before he continues. "How the fuck you been doin'?" he rumbles, grimacing at the girl. "I figured this for a hangout of yours or somethin'. Thought I'd see you sooner'n this." He searches the table for a sugar shaker, and comes up empty. Leaning over the back of the bench, he addresses the man sketching in a polite grunt. "You usin' your sugar?" Anette picks her menu back up and scans it over as she speaks to Trib. "Oh, nothing much. Saw a movie, did some spring cleaning, get arrested after defending myself in a fight and have a court date coming up. Nothing special." She looks up to Trib, eyebrow raised slightly. "I don't know if it's a hangout but I come by once in a while." She waves a waitress over. "Coffee, black. Caesar salad, no croutons, extra dressing." She holds her menu up to the waitress to take before looking back to Trib. "So how have you been?" "Hrm?" Sean blinks, somewhat surprised at being addressed. "Oh, yeah I will when my coffee comes. But you can have it for now. I'll just ask for more when she gets here," he says as he hands over the sugar. His sugarless conundrum lasts for all of a minute though as his coffee does come out. "Excuse me, can I have some sugar? Thanks." He offers the waitress a smile, as she says she will and he settles back in to his sketch. He does occassionally glance over at the two every now and then, as if he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. "Thanks," Trib says, dropping his gaze to the pad as he reaches for the sugar. "That's cool," he grunts, indicating the pad. "I can't draw for shit. Spell, neither." He salutes the man with the shaker, and turns back to begin adding sugar -- lots of it -- to his coffee as he speaks to Anette. "Fuckin' cops. They're all fuckin' bastards." He stirs his coffee, banging the spoon on the rim of the cup loudly. "Been doin' good," he says in answer to the question. "Things seem to actually be fuckin' workin' out, for once." He lifts his eyebrows, and reaches down to dig in his gym bag. "Got a fight next week. If you can come up with ten bucks, you can come an' watch." He comes back up with a flyer that he hands over. His own order is pretty huge. "Six eggs, over medium, toasted bagel with cream cheese, and some of them fried potatoes. Double order. An' ketchup." When the waitress leaves, he wrinkles his nose. "Some fuckin flatscan mooks givin' you shit?" Anette rolls her eyes. "You have no idea. Was just waiting in line, trying to get a sandwich. Some drunk fucker bumps into me, slams himself into my back. I'm a little /protective/..." she wiggles her wings slightly, "...and I screeched at him. Purely instinct, no harm meant by it. Biased nut jobs overreacted and practically the entire deli was ready to do me in so I had to protect myself. So naturally, -I'm- the one who gets fucked over." You notice as she tells this story, her voice grows more and more tense and her fists tighten, until her knuckles turn white. She relaxes a bit when Trib mentions his fight. "I'll pay you twenty if I can do some punching myself. Half the reason I'm sitting with you, I won't be tempted to murder something if there's a witness." With Trib looking at the sketchpad, its easy to see that it has a quickly forming image of Anette, from the moment of stretching her wings. "Thanks, I practice a lot." As the other sugar shaker comes, he seems to use more sugar in his cup than Trib used in his. With it being kinda hard /Not/ to hear the conversation between the two as it progresses, Sean finally decides he may as well say what had been on his mind. "Sorry to interrupt ma'am. sounds like you've had a pretty raw deal. And, well, I hope this doesn't come off as rude or weird, but I wanted to say that your wings are rather impressive." He looks sheepish at that, but he doesn't seem to have any kind of malice or sarcasm in his words. "You can tell," Trib assures the artist, offering a lift of one corner of his mouth. "It looks good." Which sounds a bit heavy in its delivery, but is cheerful enough. For Trib. He listens to Anette's story with a darkening expression, and by the time she's finished, he looks fairly murderous himself. "Fuckin'...what deli was this?" he says, suddenly, a hot demand accompanied by a jab of his finger at the air. "'Cause those motherfuckers should take some fuckin' responsibility." He frowns. "Unless it was Zabar's," he amends. "They wouldn't do shit, 'cause they fuckin' /hate/ mutants." Anette's request gets a tight crinkle of the boxer's eyes, and the laugh that comes from his chest is soft and explosive. "Fuck, no. I'm talkin' a /real/ fight. With gloves an' refs an' shit." He waves a hand at the girl. "Now, if you want to go somewhere an' beat the feathers off each other, I'm totally down for that. Got a place for it an' everything." When Sean chimes in, Trib turns a slightly-toothy grin on him. "They're good, right? Like a owl's. Fuckin' /awesome/." Anette laughs as Trib mentions Zabar's. "Ding-ding-ding, we have a winner folks," she replies sarcastically, taking her coffee when the waitress swings by with it. She grins slightly as he talks about the fight. "Well, I'll certainly try to stop by and cheer you on. Though I...know about someplace I've been meaning to fight at. Stopped by once to watch, looked fun." She looks over to Sean as he mentions her wings. She remains motionless a moment, scanning him over briefly before smiling and stretching them out again. "Thanks. I'm rather fond of them myself." Smiling as both Trib and Anette smile about the wings, Sean seems glad that it at least has slightly diffused the anger that was going on. "When I finish up the picture, you're welcome to it if you'd like. The artists of old probably never had it as good. Their angels will never match mine." He grins at the statement, either a brag about his skill, or a compliment to the subject of his art. "Oh right, I'm Sean. Sorry to have interrupted as I said. I just figured, well. It might be less awkward than just having a random guy draw you." He did seem somewhat embarassed then, but he did tilt the sketchpad so that Anette could see what Trib had. It is getting close to being done, and for it being in pencil, it looks like it could have been taken with a black and white camera. "Well, if you ever want to duke it out, I got a pocket full of change an' a place to do it," Trib replies, showing a bit more tooth in his grin to Anette. "We can go out there an' just beat hell out of each other." Which sounds more like he's inviting Anette to an amusement park instead of a beat-down. "An' you should definitely come," he says. "More folks I got cheerin' for me, the more the suits like it." He rubs the fingers of his half-hand against hsi thumb meaningfully. When Sean offers the picture, he nods firmly. "Hell, if she don't want it, I'll take it," he rumbles, looking at the picture with renewed admiration. "You're talented as /fuck/." He snorts at the apology, and shakes his head. "You ain't interruptin' nothin'," he grunts in assurance. "It ain't like we're discussin'...whatayacallit. State secrets or shit." Anette laughs and leans back against her seat. "Well, I'll see what I can do then. Money's tight at the moment, bail isn't cheap, but I'll try," she says. She looks over to the picture as it's offered and her jaw drops slightly. "Like hell I'm not taking it. I can't even draw a decent stick figure. Damn that's good." "State secrets or not, you sound like you're scheduling an impressive date either way." Sean has a mischeivous smile on his face, the kind that little brothers tend to get when teasing elder siblings. "Yeah, I've had stuff in galleries and shit. The angel of the lord doth descend upon my hand and have it cast a vision of truth and beauty upon my medium. Or I'm just awesome. Whichever you choose." He chuckles, and settles in to scribble on the page with one hand, shoveling hashbrowns into his face with the other. He almost seems to be paying more attention to the food than the art at some point. Swallowing a mass of potato and ketchup down he lets out a sigh. "Ah this place is good. I'll have to send my regards to the one who suggested it." He blinks, glancing back to the two a moment, and nods to Anette. "Sorry I don't have any plastic sleeves or anything. The graphite might smudge abit." Trib makes a face at Anette when she claims the prize, but there's a bit of his own mischeviousness in it -- for a half-second. "Fuckin' right, it'll be impressive," he rumbles at the man, and lift an arm to curl it and push up his bicep. "'Cause it's me fightin'. You should come an' watch, too." He begins to bend over, and then pauses, frowning. "Only I ain't got another flyer," he mutters, and purses his lips thoughtfully. No answer offers itself, particularly when Sean begins to wax poetic, which is clearly distracting and beyond the boxer's literacy level. "Yeah, it's pretty awesome," he agrees, latching onto the part he understands. He watches as Sean work/eats, glancing up as the waitress brings their own food and sets it down. "I bet this place'd loan you some plastic wrap," he drawls, reaching for the salt and pepper. "That'd probably keep it dry. I don't fuckin' know what graphite is." Anette leans back and shakes her head. "Don't worry about it, I'll figure it out somehow." She listens to Sean's explanation of his skills with an amused smirk. "I'd go with the second option. Much more realistic." She turns back to Trib with a grin. "I'll come and support you only on the condition that if you get your ass kicked, I get to point and laugh." "Here, just hold up the flyer." Sean rummages through his coat pocket and pulls out his iphone. "Picture is easier than having a flyer. Then I can have my assistant clear it. Well, she's not really my assistant, it's kinda one of those weird things where they basically manage your lives for you so you don't end up doing stupid things like forgetting that you're supposed to be wearing a suit instead of pajamas to a gallery opening." Putting tongue between his teeth, he snaps a couple shots and nods when he finds one he liked. "There. Good enough." Looking back to his sketchpad, he picks up the pencil and holds it to show the point. "Graphite. Like lead, but wont make you go crazy. And yeah, plastic wrap sounds good. I'll make sure to ask." He chuckles at Anette's comment. "I can draw the moment of his ass kickedness as well if you want. But I would probably have to auction that one to the highest bidder." Trib obligingly holds up the flyer, and narrows his eyes as Sean explains the purpose of his 'assistant.' "That sounds more like your fuckin' ma," he rumbles, amusement coating the rough tones. "Hope you pay 'em well for that kind of shit." When Sean has the image he wants, the boxer nods, and sets down the flyer with a TWHAP against the formica. "Lead don't make /me/ go crazy," he rumbles, spearing an egg with his fork and shoveling it whole into his mouth. When people start talking about him getting his ass kicked, he waves his fork threateningly. "You'll both be laughin' out the other side of your fuckin' faces when I win it," he predicts in a mild rumble. He squints at Anette, and the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. "An' /then/ I'm gonna rub it in your face but good." Anette watches quietly as the flyer is being passed around and photographed. "That sounds like...well, that sounds like an assistant. A very patient one at that." She chuckles at the explanation of graphite and Trib's response. "I really don't want to see you on lead. Then again...maybe I do." She smirks playfully as Trib defends himself. "Oh, I'm sure you'd win. Unless, oh...someone who shall remain nameless were to sneak cotton balls into your food. I'd love to see you turn into cotton." She holds back laughter, apparently enjoying the thought of Trib turning into cotton. "Nah, my mom was a slacker in comparison. And she handles the money, so I assume she's paying herself well." Sean thinks a moment, then fires off a text as if it never occured to him. "Ah well. I trust her, she hasn't drained my bank account yet. " He raises an eyebrow at the talk of lead not making him crazy, then blinks as Anette mentions him turning into cotton. He tilts his head looking at Trib again curiously, then just shakes his head as he works to finish the drawing quicker. "So did you guys enjoy that chocolate rain? I didn't want to risk the street chocolate.... for obvious analogous termed items. But what I got from the roof top was pretty good." "I'm slow as fuck on lead," Trib assures Anette, spearing as many potatoes as he can fit on his fork. "An' lead is soft. I'd have fuckin' dents all over my fuckin' body." He pushes potato into his mouth, and uses the fork to indicate his elbow, which is notably dented. "It all fuckin' sticks, if it's hard enough to leave a mark on me." The mention of someone slipping cotton into his food gets a drop of his fork, and a concerned expression flickers across his face. "Fuck. Now I got to stop eatin' before fights, 'cause you fuckin' put /that/ in my head." He stabs at his eggs again unhappily. "I'd be like a big fuckin' teddy bear." Which is clearly worse than getting his ass kicked. Sean's question gets a snort that might be amused. It could be annoyed. "Fuckin' town's gone batshit," he rumbles. "First, fuckin' art everywhere, an' then chocolate rain.... My boy went out with a couple of fuckin' empty soda bottles an' got some, but I fuckin' stayed inside, out of it all." He lifts a shoulder. "Tasted good, though." Anette takes a bite of her salad, smirking through her chewing. "Hmm, I think that'd be adorable. A big cuddly teddy bear. I'd cuddle you so much. Though, I supposed you'd have to be careful of birds building nests." She looks over to Sean again. "I stayed inside, didn't taste it. Didn't trust it. Everything has me on edge lately, all the weird stuff happening in the city." She stabs a few pieces of lettuce and pops the fork in her mouth, contemplating while she chews. Nodding as the two talked, Sean finishes up the last of his cofee and potatoes. "Well, I'll leave you two to your date planning. I think I've got it how I want it at least. Something bigger would be nice, but I don't really plan on lugging canvas around to diners." He smiles to the two, and takes out an x-acto knife, slicing the edge of the page to extract it from the sketchbook safely. "Hrm, oh. I totally missed your names I'm such a ditz." He looks between the two, the question obvious. "I don't /cuddle/," Trib growls at Anette, lowering his brow further in response to her teasing. "An' birds is the least of it. You know how fuckin' flammable cotton is?" He shakes his head, shoveling more potatoes into his mouth and washing them down with a hearty swig of coffee. When Sean begins to take his leave, Trib grabs a napkin and swipes at his face before he offers his half-hand for shaking. "You take commissions?" he asks, the unfamiliar word catching /him/ off-guard. "'Cause I would totally buy a fuckin' drawin' from you. Or a paintin'." Reminded of his bad manners, the big man rolls his shoulder, and pokes in Anette's direction with his fork. "That's Thena," he grunts. "I'm Trib." Anette shrugs as Trib denies cuddling. "Your loss. Though I suppose flammability would be a bit of an issue." As Sean begins packing up, she nods slightly. "I might be convinced to buy a few drawings off of you. Then again, if you're being shown in galleries, you're probably doing well enough for yourself." As she's being introduced, she turns back to Trib, shooting an odd look. "Not even close. I'm Anette." It clicks in her mind suddenly as to what he's referring to and 'ahs'. "Right, Athena. I said I was thinking about it, didn't say I was going to use it. Besides, don't you need to be important to have a codename?" "Yes and no. It's complicated." Sean accepts the man's hand and shakes it. "I will if its something that I want to create. Or, well. If there's a good reason behind doing it. Or if I get told I need to do the piece because I'd be an idiot to turn down the money. Usually that one comes from she who controls my life." He offers a bemused smile at his admission. "I'm actually supposed to be meeting with someone here this weekend to discuss some pieces they want done. I wanted to make sure it was awesome. Apparently it is." He glances between the two at that and nods to himself putting his stuff back into his messenger bag. Opening one of the pockets, he pulls out one of the small pieces of artist trading cards to hand to Anette along with the sketchbook page. "My email is on the back. If its really businessy I'll probably funnel it through and it can be handled that way." His signature is scrawled along the back of the card, Sean Bahron, and beneath it an email address Look@myart.com. "And if you guys are talking about code names, I think that is starting to sound like super secret stuff there." "I like Thena better," Trib says with a small shrug for Anette's odd look. "Suits you better'n some Mouseketeer name." He nods at Sean, and watches as the man produces the card and hands it to Anette. "I might buy somethin' off you," he says, continuing to eat as he talks. "Valentine's comin' up. Figure I better get somethin' figured out for a present." Which isn't /to/ anyone, apparently, addressing his food as he seems to be. The talk of codenames gets an actual guffaw from the boxer, bits of potato spraying from his lips. "Yeah," he rumbles, coughing a bit and reaching for his coffee to settle his throat. "I'm a fuckin' super-secret agent, an' this is my fuckin'...whatayacallit. Gal Friday." Anette rolls her eyes again. "I wasn't named after a Mouseketeer. Then again...better than Britney or Christina I suppose." She dips her salad in a pool of dressing and munches happily, resisting the urge to laugh at Trib's response to the code-names. "Uh huh. He's the brawns and I'm the brains of the operation. And beauty." Wincing at the talk of Valentines day, Sean shakes his head. "No can do. Quality takes time, and Valentines is seven days away. Can't manage a gift on top of the commissions I'm getting this weekend." Sean pulls out a twenty and leaves it on his table, way over tipping for what he ate. "I'd totally be willing to go full marble though." He tilts his head looking at Anette pondering. "Yeah a marble statue would be awesome. Though, couldn't do the full outstretch of wings. Structural integrity trumps my artistic vision I am afraid." He shakes his head at that thens shrugs. "Anyway, enjoy your dinner and your match. I'll try to see if I can get it scheduled in." "Yeah, you're not a fuckin' Britney," Trib agrees, grabbing his bagel and ripping it in half before lifting his fingers to lick cream cheese from them. When Sean confirms his inability to accomodate Valentine's, the boxer shrugs. "Guess it's back to the fuckin' drawin' board," he rumbles, sniffing a bit. When Anette chimes in, he smirks, and twirls a cheese-smeared finger in the air. "If you're the brains of the operation, this shit is fucked from the get-go," he rumbles, and then tips his head to regard Sean carefully. "You want to carve a statue of her?" he verifies, narrowing one eye. "'Cause that'd be cool. I'd take one." He frowns. "Well, a little one," he amends. He rubs his fingers against his leg and raises a hand as Sean makes his farewells. "It was good meetin' you," he says, and drops his hand back to the table. "Hope to see you there. It's goin' to be a good match."