ArchivedLogs:Dropping Eaves

From X-Men: rEvolution
Dropping Eaves
Dramatis Personae

B, Dante, Kisha

2016-04-29


"Is fighting Captain America really a great plan?"

Location

<WES> Sinkers and Suds - Salem Center


Taking over the spots where a popular coffeeshop and burger joint once stood pre-zombiepocalypse, this diner, though very new, has modeled itself in the throwback style of Salem Center's main drag. Black and white checkerboard floor underfoot, steel stools cheerfully upholstered in bright red vinyl, brushed chrome tables both standalone or in the booths that line the walls. The servers are impossibly perky, the jukebox only plays oldies, and the seats at the long counter also often include conversation with the very chatty soda jerk manning the fountain there. The smells of fried food and fresh coffee generally fill the air.

"It's ok, it's ok. It's just a job. You're only here for a little longer...Hang in there, Dante..."

The brown haired man immediately stopped talking to himself, and just as quickly slapped a smile on his long, boyish face as he entered the diner. He was clad in the same uniform as the other employees; red and white stripeed shirt, with a red tie and newly cleaned, pressed black trousers. On his right pectoral, a small, slightly uneven nametag that read "DANTE (3)."

It was only his second week on the job, and already he was not enjoying it. Though, one could not say he was a bad worker; on the contrary, he was one of the hardest working servers there! He would often finish his sidework quickly, and end up doing management's job, or learning how to help out in the kitchen. Tables had not yet complained about his service skills...in fact, there hadn't been ANY complaints about him! He seemed to be fitting in wonderfully.

He got along quite well with the owner; a former Xavier student, so he had been told, and a HUGE Star Wars fan was certainly a big help to that! But...he'd worked before in fine dining, then in high traffic bars and nightclubs on the west coast. As nice as this place was, it just seemed like...a downgrade to what he COULD be doing...Then again...

A job is a job...

Sighing slightly as he readied himself for his shift, Dante pushed open the large, windowed door from the kitchen, and moved to the computer to clock in. Looking down, he sighed once more, before lifting his head, plastering his (admittedly charming) smile to whomever would enter the diner next...

Wrapped up in a thick military greatcoat and wearing aviator goggles Kisha looks like some kind of petite steampunk hipster hybrid. She's out and about without Bob the robot, he's a little big to bring out on shopping trips after all, and bustles into the diner. Anyone paying close attention will soon realise each of the buttons on her coat seem to be made from clear plastic with tiny cameras inside.

The teenage mutant slides herself into a booth and begins skim reading the menu. Close attention is paid to the coffee section in particular. It's the most important 'meal' of the day after all!

Outside there's a quiet purr of a motor, a strangely modified blue-and-silver chopper pulling up in front of the diner. The rider of the bike is diminutive, a tiny figure clad in glittering silver skinny jeans, enormous very stompy knee-high boots, a leather kutte (it reads MUTANT MONGRELS MC on the back, around a logo of horned- and sharktoothed- skull with crossed fencing foils where crossbones should be) pulled on over bright purple jacket. The helmet on the tinybiker's head is emblazoned with grinning sharkface, as well.

/Beneath/ the helmet, B is not so grinny -- just small blue face, enormous black eyes scanning the room as ze trots inside. The look B turns up to Dante as ze enters looks a little owlishly startled, blinking once, twice, then returning his smile small and shy and closed-lipped. "Oh uh. I'm looking for a -- friend of mine she may already be --" Ze's squinting at the nametag, though, head tipping curiously. "Do you get a lot of Dantes here?"

"It's...my third nametag...I've lost the other two." the young man explains, having to do so with almost every customer that actually notices the number upon his tag. "Call it my scarlett number, I suppose!" he quips, before reaching out with a finger, pointing to the girl that had entered earlier.

"That her?" he asks the shark, before grabbing another menu from a basket drilled into the side of the counter next to the computer. "Y'hungry?" he asks, waving the menu next to his face before making his way to the occupied booth. He seemed to move before ze even had a chance to respond. Either Dante was incredibly perceptive and KNEW they were the two that were meeting together, or he just was making another stretch assumption, and would be shortly inserting foot into mouth.

Speaking of which...

"You're...Shane, right? I'm sorry, it's been so long...but good to see you!" he replies happily, his smile still plastered to his face. This smile however seemed much more genuine and heartfelt, less so an 'I'm only smiling because it's in the job description' response.

Kisha continues to study the menu. A normal person might assume she hadn't seen B enter, but it's just as likely she's seen but is making an important decision regarding pancakes. The answer is naturally yes, yes she should have pancakes.

"Next time they /should/ print it in red." B's smile twitches just a little wider -- she bounces up onto the toes of her boots as Dante starts towards Kisha, scurrying off after the man only at a delay. "Me? Oh. Oh {sorry, sorry} -- no I'm the boring twin. Shane's -- not. Me. Oh!" Hir eyes widen again as if only suddenly realizing: "You taught. At the school. Why are you here now what happened did they fire you?" Hir cheeks flush a little darker after this: "{Sorry} that's rude I shouldn't, uh, hi. Good to... see you." She sets the helmet down first, sliding into the bench opposite Kisha after. "I'm always starving."

"That'd be an idea, wouldn't it?" Dante responds, chuckling slightly as he waits for the sharktwin to settle, before placing the menu in front of hir. Shrugging slightly, he responds to the inquiry. "No worries. I wasn't fired, just...went away for a while. Moved cross country, stayed there for a bit. Always seem to find my way back here, though. Only just situated a few weeks ago."

Upon the two finally settling across from each other, Dante stands straighter, his smile still wide, his voice lowering into more of a 'server' voice. A bit more professionally mechanical than normal speech, but still with a flair of his own personality shining through. "Glad to hear, we've plenty of food! So...what're we thinking? Coffee to start, I assume?" he asks, glancing over at Kisha with a knowing grin as his hands curl behind his back. He has nothing in his hands upon which to write the order, so it seems he feels confident remembering their entire order on his own...

Kisha finally glances up from the menu. "An extra large pot of strong black coffee and a small stack of pancakes with syrup. Anything for you B?" She frowns at Dante and then shrugs. "You look familiar. But I'm afraid I don't recall why. I hope you do not take offense at this, I am bad with names." And faces, places and conversations. Basically anything involving people. "Glad you could take the time to meet up with me B, I wasn't sure if you would be in the city or not."

"This place is like the fracking Hotel California." B's nose wrinkles up, small sharp claws tapping lightly against the menu. "Are you going to be teaching again?" This is directed up to Dante, ridged brows lifting. Ze shakes hir head, slumping a little lower in hir seat. "I'm still around. Been attending most of my classes remotely lately. Until Pa's out of jail I didn't really want to leave Shane with taking care of Spence alone." Hir tone is light, though hir gills flutter briefly with this. "Can I get a coffee too? Soy milk? And uh --" Frowning down at the menu, ze shakes hir head. "I'm still deciding on food."

With a small shrug, Dante responds to both simultaneously. "Drama teacher, Xavier's school, I don't blame ya for not remembering. Was a while ago. I might, if it's offered. Truth be told, I'd prefer Logan's old position, I'd love to teach martial arts instead of theatre. But I dunno how well that'd go over with the Professor. I'm sure he's got other ideas in mind."

He listens intently as they order, quickly repeating it to them. "Large pot black, and uh...lemme see if we've got soy milk. I think we do, but don't quote me on it! I'll drop the pancakes, and gimme a minute or two with the coffee. Gonna get brewed fresh for ya." Despite his otherwise clear diction, the word 'coffee' escapes his lips with a VERY emphasized New York twang to it.

"It's an unfortunate situation," Kisha agrees, frowning as she looks up the Hotel California. "This diner is the dark underbelly of the American dream?" She glances around at the other patrons. "I do not think I understand that particular reference. But anyway, I know you are probably very busy of late B... I was hoping you could pass my CV on to Tony Stark some time. I've prepared a typical job application supplimented by some designs I've been working on." She pulls out a USB stick and hands it over. "There is some code I've worked on for thought controlled computing and some military applications of those repulsors which he might be interested in."

"Theatre's better," B advises Dante cheerfully: "That martial arts position is cursed. Can't keep a teacher in it for love nor money. Well." Hir brows pull in again. "I'm not /actually/ sure the Professor's tried love." Hir nose wrinkles up at this thought, eyes fixing steadily on the menu. She only looks back up when Kisha offers the USB stick, taking it with a thoughtful hum. "You want to go work for Stark?" There's only a /tiny/ bit of skepticism in hir tone. "I mean, I can pass this along, for sure. I'm sure you're /qualified/."

"Well, we'll see. Martial arts has always been my first love, theatre's second, really. I'd be willing to try if it were offered." he responds, before nodding and making his way back to the computer. He inputs the order, then swings around to the other side of the counter, readying a new brew, tapping his fingertips against the countertop as he waits. After a few minutes, he makes his way to the open kitchen window, grabbing the plate of pancakes when they're ready. He grabs a large caraffe of syrups in his free hand, making his way back to the booth and placing the plate in front of Kisha, with the syrups in the middle of the table. "Coffee's almost up, be right back with it!"

After another few moments, he arrives with a tall metallic pot, steam rising out of the lip. The coffee is fresh, hot, and strongly brewed. In his other hand, two empty cups, held in his pinky by the handles, and a little metal frothing pitcher filled with white liquid. "Looks like I got soy milk after all, my friend!" he replies happily. "Y'figure out what else you like? The burger is nice and big, pretty filling!"

"Thanks," Kisha responds, pouring and sipping the coffee while it's still scaldingly hot. "It's of an adequate strength. Better than I'd expect from a diner. Is it just me or is drama and martial arts a strange combination? I always thought the general rule was that the more artistic someone was the less prone to violence they are supposed to be."

The teenage mutant then proceeds to smother the pancakes in enough syrup to make dollar signs pop up in a dentists eyes. "Most of my ideas of late require access to parts and materials that are relatively hard to obtain.... There are only so many rare earth magnets you can find for a reasonable price in scrap yards. Plus I'm getting bored by the limitations Xaviers places on my work. It's tiresome being treated like a child and putting up with all the bickering."

"You have some very odd stereotypes about artists," B tells Kisha with a lift of one brow. "-- And fighters, too, for that matter. I've seen Captain America's artwork it's pretty fantastic. Anyway if you /have/ to fight all the time maybe it helps having an -- outlet." She sets her menu down, claws clicking against it, and turns a quick smile up to Dante. "Thanks! Um, can I get three side orders of sausage and two of ham and three eggs, over-easy?" She's pouring out a mug of coffee, tipping in a little of the soymilk before adding four sugar packets. "Aren't you graduating this year anyway? You could go anywhere after that. Do anything. I mean, if you actually go to /work/ for Stark they're probably not going to just turn over keys to all their most expensive -- everything. You'll just have more people telling you what to do. Except they pay you for it, so that's a pretty big plus, I guess."

Leaning back on the chair behind him, Dante raises an eyebrow slightly. "So you're telling me you know Tony Stark AND Captain America?? I've missed out these past few years, it seems!" he quips excitedly to B, before turning back to Kisha, and nods slightly. "I can see where you're coming from...though in my experience, both theatre and martial are both considered "arts," for all intents and purposes. And if you consider choreography and stage combat and that kinda thing, they work well together!"

"But you're right too," he adds, turning his head to B. "It's nice to have the outlet...it's just...when your body, mind, AND mutation are all pretty combat-oriented, and your life centers around it...you learn to love it more than anything else! ...God, now that I think about it, I haven't had a good bout in years..." the last statement is more muttered under his breath, not aimed to either patron in perticular.

"Three sausage, two ham, three over easy, gotchya! It'll be a few minutes!" he finishes, before making his way to the back once more.

"To be honest most of my knowledge regarding the arts comes from skim reading google search results," Kisha says with a complete lack of shame. "Even if I have to work under people I'll make far more money than I would do fixing game consoles and cellphones. That will let me carry out my own personal projects using better equipment. It's not like I have to worry about exhausting myself by undertaking too much work and the time out of the dorms would do me some good."

"Getting the heck away from campus was one of the better parts of a high school job," B admits freely. Hir nose crinkles up again, the smile she turns up to Dante a little shy. "I work for Tony Stark," she explains, "and Captain Rogers lives with -- well. Lives at my. Home. In person he's kind of a marshmallow." She's considering Dante pensively as he heads off to deliver her order, claw clicking against the table once more in absent thought. "I'll send your info his way." This comes with a quick shake of hir head, a look back to Kisha. "I have totally not kept up with what positions they're actually hiring for right now but --" Shrug.

About this time, the diner begins to pick up in business. Three tables are seated within the next five minutes, and Dante is rushing between them all. Despite his speed, his movements don't seem at all frantic. In fact, it's almost like watching a dancer move about a stage. He bends and twirls around corners, power-walking down the walkways at a speed that seems almost inhuman. Patrons are talking with their tablemates, and those that had food before the two mutants sat are clinking their silverware against their plates, adding to the mix of noises.

"Here we go! Hope it tastes as good as it smells, yeah?" Dante replied as he stops at their booth once more. There are two plates total, one containing the eggs and one side of sausage, the other containing hir remaining meat sides. "Ketchup? Hot sauce? And how're those pancakes, dear?" he asks Kisha.

Once B mentions hir relation to the two Superheroes, Dante's eyes light up once more. "Wow...god, I've always wondered about Cap! You should convince him to come in here one of these days! I'd love to pick his brain about a few things." He is about to speak again, when another table waves him over. "Scuse me, folks."

And with that, he was gone. God, he's fast...

Kisha manages to briefly glance at the pancakes and reply "Syrupy." before Dante dashes off again. "Just how I like them in fact. But anyway... with luck he'll be impressed enough to create an opening in mind machine interfaces or anyting robotics related. But I'd settle for something mundane like military weapons research. Providing they don't need DNA testing as part of my security clearance." She shrugs. "I had always thought Captain America was just a PR stunt. I wonder if he ever used the Mark Twain quote 'The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated'. If not that is something of a waste."

"Gracias --" B is blinking rapidly, though, Dante dashing off again even as she gives her thanks. She shrugs, dousing her eggs in hot sauce before slicing them up to mix together with the sausages. "I think he was probably a PR stunt originally. War propaganda. But now -- these days --" Another shrug. "Now he's something else." Hir eyes are drifting away, tracking Dante's rapid dance between the tables. "/My/ team in robotics could do with fresh blood, we lost two people to zombies."

"A PR stunt? Nah, nah. I mean, this dude's a SUPER soldier, yeah? God, my bad, I'm just marking out here...Like I said, haven't had a good contest in a while...and I've always wondered how I'd stack up against him!" Dante had to mention this to the table quickly, as he was still in the middle of his rush. The speech was broken up by sentence, spoken each time he passed their booth; the first time was with four plates in hand, the next, with a stack of dirty dishes up to his chin, the next with a squirt bottle of degreaser and a white rag, which he used to wipe the table behind the two mutants.

Finally, after a few more minutes the rush began to die down...at least, Dante's tables seemed to be settling well enough. Enough that he could continue to wipe off tabletops around the two, still within ear and eye shot. "So, not to inturrupt, but so, you work for Stark, and shack up with Cap...How about you, dear? Going to the school for...tech research? My apologies, I don't mean to be dropping so many eaves!"

"Dear? I can't honestly recall anyone calling me that before. If I didn't know he was alive and walking around today I would have assumed the super soldier exploits were made up as propoganda. It seems implausable to me an advance like that could be lost." Kisha explains, looking blankly at Dante. "Well if Tony Stark doesn't have anything suitable I'd be happy to accept a counter offer. Check out the designs, I worked out a really efficient man portable grenade launcher using a repulsor delivery system."

"You?" B considers Dante thoughtfully, head tipping to one side. "I mean, I don't know, he's /pretty/ tough. I mean pretty crazy tough. But if you're spoiling for a fight I'm sure you can just head into the city, throw a stone these days there's a dozen people willing to throw down." She twirls her fork through her mess of eggs and meat and hot sauce, finally spearing some to eat. "And I'm in college. But the job is good for the -- paying. Of tuition. -- Grenade launcher?" She sounds more curious about this than shocked, really.

Dante nods slightly, smile creeping back to his lips. "Yeah, why not, right? I mean, he's gotta be one of the toughest, to survive as long as he did, how he did, right?? Hey, can...can I, have you give him this?" he asks, before reaching into his back pocket and producing a business card; it was nice and glossy, red and grey with the man's picture on the front. It read 'Dante Raymond Pearse. Actor, Theatre and Film.' it also looked like it listed his number, and a...twitter page? Really?

"I'm sure I could find any regular joe who wants to throw down...but I'm talking a real challenge. Someone I don't have to hold back against. Just...do me a favor, yeah? Let him know, if he's looking for a real work-out...gimme a call..." His tone is one of grand excitement, perhaps overtly so...but it was by no means demanding or overbearing...just...very similar to a kid asking for a celebrity's autograph.

"If you play around with the repulsors you can get them to throw out a kick of force. They'd be much more fuel efficient than using compressed gas and lighter. But anyway it's all on the USB stick. Is fighting Captain America really a great plan? If he's genuinely that strong it seems like a sure fire way to get injured." Kisha muses, sketching out a very simple grenade launcher diagram for B's benefit on a napkin. "I've sort of tested it. As much as I can on school grounds.... And without real grenades obviously."

B takes the business card, her wide-eyed look seeming a touch bemused. "I'll -- pass it along," she assures. "And Cap likes a tussle and knows how to spar, it's not that dangerous -- I mean, I wouldn't just go punching him in the /street/. But anyway there's way better ways to fight than throwing down with some flatscan on steroids. Lots of /actual/ mutants give you a way better challenge." Ze leans forward, eying Kisha's sketch with brighter curiosity. More excited: "-- You want to try testing it off school grounds?" Speaking of 'sure fire ways to get injured'...

Dante chuckles slightly, nodding in agreement. "I'm strange like that. I love sparring with people who could possibly destroy me! I learn better that way. And like you said," he adds, turning to B to acknowledge. "There's no challenge with humans...not even most mutants, unless their gifts are combat-oriented...and even then...My apologies, I've taken up too much of your time! Y'guys enjoy! I'll be back to check up on ya later! Thanks for indulging me!" he responds, before darting away again to take care of his remaining tables as another slew of patrons enter.

"Hi, how are you? 8 of ya? Grab a seat there in the corner, yeah? I'll be right with ya!"