ArchivedLogs:Breastfeeding

Breastfeeding
Dramatis Personae Melinda, Shane, Tola	2014-06-23 '
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 plentiful 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. It's a sleepy Monday morning; the pre-work rush has finished and the cafe is only sparsely populated. Quiet. It's a glorious pleasant day outside, not hot enough to drive people in towards air conditioning and not late enough to push people in seeking lunch. It's low-energy in here; off at one of the tables Taylor is drooped together with another maybe-teenage maybe slightly-older young woman, built muscular-athletic and tall, curly brown hair, short-shorts and a green tank; his tentacles kind of /wilt/ down over one of her arms and he's lazily stealing from his coffee and hers alike though neither seems to be adding to /either/ of their energy levels much. Aside from them the population of the cafe is not high. A plump young man with a shock of very blonde hair focused very intently on his laptop off on the couches at the back, a skinny freckled teen tucked at a table by herself near the front with /Parable of the Sower/. And Shane, evidently alone right now behind the counter, not that the cafe's current population /necessitates/ a lot of extra hands. He looks just as sleepy as the stores, elbow propped on the counter and his eyes half lidded; he's neatly dressed, dark trousers and a deep silver-grey button down, and at the moment -- store tidy-clean, no line waiting, display case all in order -- he has a tablet in front of him; the text in it is displayed in Russian. Though he doesn't look like he's reading it. He looks like he's kiiind of half-asleep. Monday mornings are somewhat luxurious to Melinda. While the rest of the world marches into the work week at break neck speeds, she rises as late as her infant will allow, wandering through the city at a slow pace, allowing herself to get some things done while stores are open, when her work day generally doesn't allow - bank visits, city issues, that sort of thing. Today, however, she doesn't really have man errands to run, so she finds herself at Evolve, small child wrapped up against her chest, diaper bag in hand, scanning the minimal crowd for a familiar face - her gaze lingering on the armchair that Hive likes before heading to the register. She is dressed simply for the warm weather, a loose wrap skirt in mint green with a denim border and flowers that adorn the corners; a skirt that was tighter before she started losing some of the baby weight, but still not quite too big to fit. On top, peeking out, is a navy blue tee shirt, the emerald wrap obscuring most of the view. She is a little hesitant when she finds Shane at the counter, but puts on a braver smile and approaches. "Morning, Shane." Shane's nose twitches as Melinda enters, other senses waking up before his eyes actually shift. They lift slowly, tracking across the room as Melinda approaches, lingering on /her/ as her eyes scan across the room. "S'not here," he grunts, even as Melinda visually arrives at that same conclusion. "Doesn't usually get here till afternoon. Spends the mornings at his office or -- on site, if he has a fucking. Site, or. I dunno, I think he might be going by your place more often in the mornings these days. Comes here two thirty and stays till Ba gets off work. Days Flicker's on second shift he doesn't come till four." This schedule related, he straightens, palms bracing against the counter. His eyes flick to the sling at Mel's chest, then back up to her face with a small closed-lipped smile. "Mornin'." His ridged brows lift. "'kai help you?" "Oh. Hey." Mel is somewhat quiet as Shane starts relaying the details for Hive's schedule to her, her eyes slipping out of focus as she tries to remember the information as it leaves Shane's lips. She inhales deeply when he finishes and smiles a little. "Oh, good to know. Thanks. I guess we just missed each other this morning then." She stays where she is, her gaze drifting over to the display case. "And yes. I would love some coffee. Do you have any Sumatra, medium roast?" Her brows stay high, lightly wetting her lips. "Well. /His/ mornings aren't really the morning -- /est/." Shane shrugs a shoulder, scraping his teeth over his lower lip, then biting down a little harder; his eyes scrunch up tighter like he's trying to stifle a yawn as he nods to Mel, fingers hovering over the register. "What size? Here or t'go?" He glances over the counter, back to Tola in her sling. "How is she?" Melinda nods her acknowledgement of Hive's 'morning' hours. "Sometimes, I think he is on Thai time still. How about you? How are you handling opening hours in the coffee industry? It's a bit of an adjustment, I'd guess." She lets her attention drift toward the cups and notes, "Medium, for here. I'll also take an egg salad sandwich with salt and vinegar chips." She is then fishing around inside the diaper bag for her wallet when Shane starts asking about Tola. "She's about 9 weeks. Starting to figure out the world around her now." She glances up, pulling out a couple bills to pay with. "Did you... want to hold her?" Shane exhales sharply as he rings Mel up, register dinging as the drawer slides open and he takes the bills to hand her her change. His teeth flash, bright and very sharp, the razor slice of grin and the following statement rather unfortunately timed with Mel's offer to hold Tola. "I hunt." Mel's change clinks together with the bills he passes back to her. "In the mornings. Before class. Before dawn. It's closing that's killing me, honestly. School ends way earlier. I need to hire more people but we can't, um --" He presses his lips together, flushing a little darker before he quiets, turning aside to start getting Mel's order together. "Yeah. Uh. After I get your shit. Stuff. What does she think about the world, then?" Melinda takes the change and puts it in the appropriate places in her wallet. She studies his face when he is done, taking in that sharp grin and quasi-nocturnal activities. Her nose wrinkles up at the thought of late nights after that. "Ahhh. Yeah, that's rough. You can't afford them yet, or can't find people who would be comfortable with the clientel?" She begins to loosen the knots that hold Tola to her chest, stepping back a little to have more room to work with. "To be honest..." her lips twitch, as if trying to hide a smile. "They're kind of like little stoners, but with a far more limited vocabulary." She finds herself a place to sit, leaving the diaper bag on the floor near the chair before finishing the unwrapping job. "Everything's new and amazing and while she thinks about them, it's kind of... wordless revelry, I suppose." "Guess Hive would know." Shane is turned away as he speaks, expression unseen though his gills flutter against the side of his neck as he starts Mel's coffee brewing and starts working on mixing up fresh egg salad while it percolates. "Can't afford more new hires just right now. With all the labrats my Pa's team pulls in I'm pretty sure I could snap my fingers and have /so/ many freaks in need of jobs. But we're --" He lifts a shoulder, glancing back towards Mel. "-- {Sorry,}" is in absent Japanese, "rye, white, wheat. Do you like bacon, /I/ always like bacon, but, uh. Shark. She's /not/ a stoner, is she? I don't know if that's bad for babies." After a cautious pause, he adds slowly: "... what does the world think about /her/?" "Rye, and bacon would be great." Mel agrees, looping the yards of fabric into the open top of the diaper bag, resting her daughter in her arms for the time being. "What are you apologizing for? Starting a business? Pfft. If you think I would want to hold you back from having a place of your own -- well, I wouldn't. We all need to chase dreams and this one seems perfect for you. And if I harbored any hard feelings, the hell of getting one of these off the ground is going to be punishment enough." She smiles with wry amusement, an expression that fades quickly into sincere compassion as she continues speaking. "You've seen how much time I spend at Montagues and that cafe has fifteen years under its belt. I do not envy you the start up and will do whatever I can to help." When Shane asks her about Tola's drug proclivities, Mel laughs bright and quick. "She absolutely is. She gets pretty damn stoned after a good meal of milk. You should see her, eyes glazed over, mouth hanging open, silly dopey expression, tendency just to fall asleep - it's pretty much like magic. But, no, I don't give her any actual drugs. They would be very bad for her." She is less ready to joke when his second question settles on her. "Well. I have been keeping her away from the world for the most part. We don't really leave the Lower East Side all that much. She has a good number of people in the Commons that adore her. For now, I think that's all she needs." Shane tucks Mel's sandwich onto a plate, slicing it neatly in half diagonally and setting two spears of pickle at the side of the plate before pouring her coffee. He slips out from behind the counter, carrying these both around to Mel's table to set them down in front of her, tucking a pair of napkins beneath the mug. His tongue swipes across his lips, shoulder shrugging again. "I don't know. For complaining. Been tired a lot, I --" He shakes his head, glancing towards the door, though the sleepy midmorning store is still quiet, door not opening. With no new customers coming in, he hesitates only a moment before tentatively reaching his arms out for Tola. "Commons is a good place to escape the world. I think we all -- need that." His eyes are fixed down on her tiny green face, his gills fluttering kind of rapidly -- it makes his words a little hitched, a little quieter than usual as he adds, "... think we could've. Used. That." "If you can't talk to another manager about the joys and pains of having a coffee shop in Manhattan, who can you talk to?" Mel smiles as she stands up, giving herself a better angle to place the child in Shane's arms, whisper gentle instructions, "gotta support her head, neck muscles are still developing." Once he has a good hold on the greenie, Mel steps away, her hands on her hips. Tola is wearing a Fluttershy onesie, complete with a horse-maned hood and a tail near the diaper flap. The material is light weight jersey, giving her space to breath and stay cool despite the temperatures. The rest of hir is quite open to the air. She isn't precisely fussy as she is turned over to the blue teen, but making every attempt to get comfortable again now that she's away from her mother. Vivid green eyes eventually shift from the tall woman to Shane and she blinks once again, eyes widening to take his face in. One little limb sort of waggles in his direction, loose coordination and weak muscles making it hard to find her new carrier's face. "I want to protect her so much that she never finds out that the world is messed up -- but I don't, at the same time. I rather she get a little bit at a time, when she's old enough to handle it, so it's not so much of a surprise." Mel reaches out and rubs the side of a finger against the sole of her daughter's foot. "I'm glad that you guys finally have a safeplace. You're right. It's very important." It possibly doesn't help that her new carrier's face is so distinctly unfacelike, features sharply dissonant from more typical humanshapes. Shane curls Tola into his arms, carefully hooking one hand up behind her head as his enormous pupilless eyes rake down over her, gills still fluttering rapidly. At least his strong coffee smell right now is similar. "World is pretty fucked up," he says with a small frown. "It'll come creeping in. Sooner or later. Or we'll just -- bring it, I mean. /We're/ pretty fucked up. /I'm/ -- oh, shit, I forgot your chips." He glances back towards the counter, and the rack of chips besides the fridged juices and hippie sodas. "I'll get it. You just sit down and relax for a moment. Babies can usually sense if you're uncomfortable." Mel moves away from the teen, briefly touching his shoulder as she passes, giving him a little squeeze. She heads over to the counter and leans over to grab the chips she selected and then turns to move back to her seat. "We can only do our best, Shane. Please don't fret so much that you miss the simple joys of existing right here, right now. You're a business owner. She's an extremely happy baby." During this encouragement, Tola is getting herself accustomed to a new face - having some experience with different features, as her nanny is a humanturtle. She manages to find his nose with one hand, accidentally hooking a thumb against one of the slitted nostrils. After finally judging the distance between the two of them, she starts smacking his face inexpertly to make out more of the shape. It shouldn't hurt. She's only a baby. Only a baby, and Shane's skin is a /good/ deal more leathery-tough (and unfortunately kind of scratchy-sharp) than most people's; he lifts a hand to gently ease her smacking into more careful patting not because it hurts /him/ but because his rough-edged denticles have a tendency to /cut/ skin when he is swiped too quickly. "There you go. Easy. -- My best has a tendency to kinda, uh. Fuck up. Every time I'm /comfortable/ I do it all wrong. Like I try to fuck my dad or something." His nostrils flare, gills flaring out as well as he rests a foot on a rung of the stool. "Maybe she'll learn how to be a person better than I ever did." Tola's smile blossoms into a grin when Shane starts to help her pat his face, her toothless gums making the expression endearing, but a little odd. She coos at him and lets her head roll a little, closer to his chest. Melinda resumes her seat, popping open the bag of chips before setting them down at an angle to her plate that makes it easy for her fingers to sneak inside. She then picks up her coffee and begins to sip at it, black and wholesome. "Mmmm." She's lucky she's just enjoying the after-flavor when Shane mentions his tendencies. "Well. I'm not going to say that wanting to sleep with one of your fathers is a completely abhorrent thought. They are both rather attractive and not necessarily related to you. I can also see the problems with it. However, that doesn't make you a fuck up, Shane. Now, I'm going to stuff some food in my mouth to stop myself from relating everything to breastfeeding or mother's love, okay?" Shane's tongue swipes across his sharp teeth before they chomp together, just once. He returns Tola's grin considerably more toothily. "I don't think our mom was keen on breastfeeding, some reason." The back of one claw traces gently against Tola's cheek. "... rather attractive, they're hot as fuck. Jesus, have you /seen/ Pa when he glows, it's --" His gills flutter, and his eyes squeeze for a moment. "Wait, that's the kind of shit I'm /not/ supposed to think. Right. But. Like. I didn't even /meet/ them till --" He exhales, sharp. "I just, I know the rules, they tell me and tell me and I remember. For a while, and then. I get /comfortable/ and I fuck it all up again. Wait. But. What's wrong with breastfeeding, everyone's gotta eat." "Nothing's wrong with breastfeeding, but to hear some people tell it, all problems, from global warming, to poverty and gang violence could be solved by just making sure all infants suck their first year of meals from a person's milky tit." Melinda shakes her head, answering when her mouth is clear. "Maybe in your case, you would have had the building blocks of intimacy and sustenance in a nonsexual environment before you tripped into puberty and sexual awakening." She plucks out a chip from her bag and examines it for a moment. "But then again, your dads are really hot. It's probably just your burden to bear, a vow of chastity when it comes to them." She takes a deep breath and looks over at Shane. "If Tola came out with teeth like yours - I would have found a way to nurse her, even if that meant pumping and finding an adequate bottle and nipple for her. Then again, she still might. Who knows how her teeth are going to grow in." "Hope for your sake her teeth don't come out like mine. I'm kind of a monster, I guess I don't really blame my folks for --" But Shane trails off, here, lapsing into quiet with a rapid fluttering of gills, just looking down at the infant in his arms with a widening of dark eyes and a hard swallow. Eventually he manages to push out a smile, crooked and small. "Maybe she'll be like a waterwheel plant." His fingers open and shut in a chomping motion. "Carnivore plant. Teeth like mine. But they don't grow in for a bit, right? You'll still be able to nurse her for a while even if she is a monster plant?" "Ever since Freud - possibly before, people have been blaming their parents for everything from the color of their hair to their inability to please a partner sexually. It's probaby okay to blame your parents for being shitty parents. You are an exceptional young person worthy of love. Don't you forget that." Mel is emphatic as lectures him, her brow crumpled with concern. "I get that they were scared and alone, without support, but I... just have a hard time with people who abandon their children. Blame the hormones." She settles back and grabs her cup to drink moodily. She stays quiet for a minute after that, as she is pulling out her phone to look up images of the waterwheel plant. Her expression softens after that. "Awww, that would be amazing. Though, I have mostly been having unfortunate dreams about her having thorns for teeth." "Can I blame my dads if I can't please my partners sexually? They're not helping me get more experience." Shane's smile here is thin, though it brightens as he adds, "... s'not a problem I've had in a few years, though. Used to be pretty shitty, but I've learned." The smile fades, his gills fluttering again. "I don't know. We were pretty young when they -- when they sold us to -- sometimes I just want to go back and see what." He forces a deeper breath, looking down at Tola and then closing his eyes. He opens them again with a huge grin. "Unfortunate, fuck. What are you talking about, that'd be fucking awesome. I hope she grows some bigass thorns." He turns one hand carefully outward, making sure his claws are well away from her when they sprout out looong. "Trust me, this world, sometimes you goddamn need them." "The dreams are unfortunate, hun; the thorns themselves are amazing. I hope she grows thick vines and thorns - or hell, even poison if it keeps her safe. Can you imagine that?" Mel chuckles lightly at his objection. "And no. I don't think you can blame a nonexistent lack of sexual prowess on men who have only been in your life a couple of years. It would be like blaming your English teacher for not being able to do long math. They're teaching you other things." "Mel, I'm seventeen. When was I /supposed/ to have learned to fuck? See, this is the whole /problem/ with my Pa, I basically /met/ him when I was just starting puberty it's all kinds of fucking confusing but --" Shane's nose wrinkles up, expression skewed between a grimace and a grin. "I can /so/ blame my -- okay wait no I'm done with that road. Tola. Thorns. Fucking badass. Poison thorns, even better. I'm voting for those. You want to be like a fucking badass -- I'm calling you Briar Rose now. But you're going to be like the /creepy/ killer fairytales that my Pa likes. He puts the scary ones on our walls. Fairies with swords. Have you seen the pixie-boy in the tree on his chest? He looks all pretty until you look close, that motherfucker'll kill you. Oh shit." He's glancing up as the door opens, finally, starting to shift his hold on Tola and slide his foot down off the chair. "Look a customer. Maybe I won't go bankrupt. I think I gotta give this'n back to you and maybe, uh. Do work." "Briar Rose? I like it. Probably better than Swampthing, but I'll take whatever name she ends up liking herself." Melinda gets to her feet and moves over to take Tola from Shane so he can go take care of his customer. "Don't worry too much, hun. You're doing really well for a new business. You're going to build a client base soon enough and be able to breathe a little more easily." She smiles as she settles back into her chair to finish her brunch. "We've got a doctor's appointment in a few, so we'll be taking off as well, but we'll be back. It certainly is closer for me, on my days off." She gives him a little wave in lieu of a hug, her gaze skipping back to the customer a moment later. Then, she starts to eat again, one handed, Tola watching the process with absolute fascination. "I dunno, she'd probably be a rad swampthing, too. Muck around trailing -- tendrils. /Womping/ on things. Growing moss." Shane turns Tola back over to Mel, brushing absently at a petal. His gills flare again, smile crooked. "I never breathe easy. Curse of my fucked-up biology." An unintentional shudder ripples through him. "Shit. Doctor. Good luck with /that/. Pee on them," he advises Tola solemnly, before turning back to slip over to the counter and tend to his customer.