From X-Men: rEvolution
Dramatis Personae

Dusk, Micah, Matt, Ion, Egg

16 May 2015



<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.

Dusk has a chair here already -- a stool, really, backless to accommodate his wings (painted a deep pitch black, today, a shimmer of silvery circuitry spread out over their surfaces and his talons gleaming chrome) -- as well as a huge steaming mug of coffee. His fingers are already curled around it, pulled it close to himself to draw in a deep breath of its steam. There's water still glistening on the fuzz of his wings, beaded up in small droplets -- not quite nearly as much water as there is sluicing down the large windows where a bright flash of lightning has just lit up the street outside.

"Kind of just /calls/ for comfort food, don't it." He's not actually talking to his mug, even if his head is kind of tipped down that way. His wings shiver, shaking a small ripple of water down to the floor. His black and blue wrap shirt and cargo shorts are remarkably dry given the weather -- possibly due to using his wings as raincoat on the way over.

Micah, likewise, is settled into a chair already. Though his actually /is/ a chair, with his messenger bag slung over the back of it and his Bladerunner-style umbrella tucked into a plastic case to keep it from dripping beneath it. His typical weekend wear (blue tee on which a band of Minions is merrily stealing the TARIS and faded jeans) is mostly dry, but more from the help of the umbrella than any he is able to provide himself. "Does, really. Even if we didn't already come over here most weekends," he answers with a lopsided grin. He has his own large mug smelling pleasantly of sweetened hazelnut coffee gripped in one hand, the other tracing fingertips down along a plasticky menu.

"/Demands/ it, really." Matt's hair is just damp enough to stay tousled when he runs his hand through it. The rest of him seems reasonably dry, perhaps courtesy of the black rain jacket that hangs dripping from the back of his chair. He wears a red t-shirt with Calvin and Hobbes riding the Millennium Falcon, dark blue jean shorts, and battered brown hiking boots. He lifts his mug and takes a careful sip, glancing down at his menu casually. "Also demands games, camaraderie, and a good book."

"Pfft now you're being greedy. Camaraderie. Where are we gonna find /that/." Dusk isn't looking at his menu. Just basking in the scent of coffee. "I /suppose/ I might be able to dig up some games for you. If you asked real nice."

"Oh/gosh/, can I take that as a prescription for the rest of the day? That sounds perfect," Micah answers Matt with a small, satisfied sigh. "Also strawberry stuffed French toast. Just to make things /completely/ perfect." The corner of his mouth twitches /almost/ into a smirk. "I think we might be able t'work up some nice enough askin' if we put our minds to it." He leaves off looking at the menu, decision made, to sip from his coffee and glance between the others at the table.

Ion is late. The giant brilliant rainbow-gemmed watch glittering on his wrist clearly is not assisting him with showing up on time for dinner. Outside there's finally a roar of motorcycle, though, and then a short while later a kind of damp bedraggled biker drags himself in through the door. He tugs off his helmet, kind of shivery, teeth a little clenched even as his lips twist into a broad grin.

He makes his way through the room to drag a chair out at their table, peel off his jacket and drape it over the back of the chair. A thick leather wrap is strapped around his chest, a kind of floppy-limp bundle of limbs and goggly eyes and horns peeking out. "/Ey/-o /Darkwing/ Cyborg howsit {who your pretty friend}?" His chin jerks upward to Matt, even as he slumps himself down (kind of wearily) (kind of shakily) into the chair.

"Dear gods please yes." Matt's green eyes brighten. "Pretty please with a warm mixed berry compote on top. It's been almost forty-eight hours since my last." He looks up at Ion, smiling and blinking quizzically, first at the gaudy watch and then at the baby wrap with its unusual cargo. Still, his greeting comes easily. "Hi there! I'm Matt."

"Addict." Dusk's lips twitch, then resolve into a full-on fangy smile when Ion enters. One wing unfurls -- damp, still, on the outside, but the inside is dry and warm where it curls around Ion's shoulders once he has settled. "{Sup, lightning bug?} My pretty friend is Matt. Matt, Ion. And the ugly monsterling is the Goblin." His thumbclaw twitches down to indicate Egg. "You doing alright in this storm, man?"

“How could you possibly say no t'that?” Micah asks just the /world/ in general, leaning in slightly to bop his shoulder against Matt's. “S'the best kind of addiction. Well, one of 'em.” An even broader, brighter smile spreads across his lips at Ion's entrance. “Ion, hey!” He sneaks in a little half-hug before Dusk's wing claims the electrokinetic. “Y'brought Eri. How're they doin'? How're /you/ doin' with...?” A little nod at Dusk seconds the question about the storm. “We've managed not t'get you an' Matt in the same place t'gether? Oh wow. He's a good friend. Also, Lucien's brother.” He slides his own mug of coffee over in front of Ion. “Y'look like y'need somethin' hot kinda immediately.”

Ion tenses up, half-moving to draw away from hug and wing both, though given that he's sitting in the chair there's not actually much room /to/ draw back and so ultimately he acquiesces. Somewhat. Kind of leaning away from the one and into the other with a small grimace (and a loooot of twitchy sharp jolt-jolt-jolting that answers the question well enough for him.)

He pushes the coffee back with a shake of his head, slumping down further, raccoon-shadowed eyes drooping half-shut. "Nah I ain't no. Hungry. -- Lucien?" Ion looks slightly blank at this introduction, no flicker of recognition in his expression. Just as blank: "What's Eri?" He's saying this (with no trace of jest) /while/ adjusting the leather baby wrap to let the biteling's head and wings a little more free; the baby gargoyle kind of just flops to the side, wings clinging to Ion's shirt and its jaw working slowly at the air. "Man fuck the storm. I glad for the company, though."

"Hello, The Goblin." Matt waves dutifully at the child. Looking back up at Ion, though, his blinking goes from confused to concerned. "Company we can provide! Though you'll still be soaked and cold. We might be gaming later..." There's a hopeful, hinting note in his voice. "...if you're into that."

"Are you actually going to provide berry compote, by the way? Cuz you got yourself a /deal/." The tip of Dusk's other wing is curling in to cover his lips, stifling a laugh at Ion's confusion. He doesn't choose to provide any answers to these questions, just sliding his wing away from the jolt-zap of electricity and lifting his mug for a sip of coffee. "What you look like you need is /sleep/, dude, have you remembered to do that -- ever?" His brows lift, eyes shifting across the room to catch the glance of a waiter. His expression rumples into a frown when it pulls back to the table. "Egg's looking a little scrambled, too."

Micah's teeth find his lower lip, pulling at it as he watches Ion with concern. "Okay... Prob'ly good you're inside for a bit, at least." A faint echo of his grin returns at the questions. "Managed not t'get you in the same place as Luci, either. Talked 'bout 'im b'fore, at least, doin' the lead in /Pippin/. An' Eridani...Egg." He shakes his head in mock dismay. "Just like with pets. Give 'em names so's y'can never call 'em by it again. They eatin' okay an' all?" He tries to bury the worry, shining up his smile at the ongoing games talk. "Pretty sure they sell it /here/. Sounds like a good plan either way, but 'specially if it's a deal-sealer."

"Who's a Pippin?" Ion is still just looking confused. His eyes scrunch shut tight, one hand lifting to dig its heel hard against them. "You all got too many damn friends yo, I can't keep track who's fucking who." His grin lights back up at the mention of gaming, though. "Aw shit man you want to play some football I'm down." His hand cups at the side of the Omelette's head, lifting it out of its floppy loll. "Fff, eating, all they doing lately is being pissy at me. Cranky fucking biteling, huh? Be glad he /ever/ decide on sleeping and eating again." He says this with a stifled yawn.

"I was actually just going to order some with my waffle, but I /can/ make it for you, too." Matt suddenly draws himself up and presses a hand to his cheek, half-covering his mouth. "That came out sounding even more desperate than I had planned." He cants his head at Ion for a moment, then suddenly comprehends. "Oh, no, /Pippin/ is a stage play," he explains earnestly. "A musical. My brother is an actor, and he is playing the character of the same name. And we were discussing more...board games than football, but if you mean the round kind that you actually play with your foot, I could go for that sometime." He glances outside at a particularly spectacular series of lightning flashes. "Maybe on a less stormy day."

"S'aright, junkies will go to pretty extreme lengths to get their fix. Including cooking berry compote. Which I'm so okay with." Dusk's brow creases deeper; his wing slides back out, curling around Ion's shoulders again and this time staying there, wrapped snug in a warm blanketing drape. "Don't imagine that's helping /you/ get much sleep, either. Maybe foot -- fff. Goddamn /soccer/ can happen /after/ you get some nap in. I can watch the tinymonster after we eat, yeah?"

"It's a's not important." Micah waves a hand slightly to dismiss it. "Ohman, y'want a good laugh, you go ahead an' picture me playin' football." He leaves off as to whether he means American football or soccer, either one being...not something he'd /choose/ to do. "Worse things've happened in the name of addiction." He nods agreement with Dusk. "There's definitely people as'll take the eggling off your hands sometimes so's y'can actually rest an' do other things..." Anything else he might have been planning to say is cut off in distraction at the server arriving to take food orders.

"Board game? I don't know none of those, I could learn me some board game maybe? I meant the --" Ion's hand mimes kicking a ball. "Ball kind. We play some /real/ games, huh? When it's --" His words trail off, less because of approaching server and more because he is starting to nod off as he nestles into Dusk's wing. His head jerks up when the waiter arrives, though, long enough to request, bright and /hopeful/: "Oh shit! Oh shit can I have a /milkshake/? Do you got that? With the, the, what's that? Malta. Please." He's bouncing in his seat with this request, jostling the Gremlin slightly; the infant's head slips to the other side, mouth opening to start trying to chew at Ion's hand. His bouncing settles back down after he finishes ordering his milkshake-dinner, though. "Yeah. Yeah. You take the monster. I take the --" Back to nestling into wing. Maybe back to sleeping.

"Sure, we can teach you how to play /so many/ board games." Matt's enthusiasm for recruiting new players to the fold is perhaps somewhat tempered by seeing Ion nod off mid-sentence not once but twice. "/After/ he's gotten some rest. And milkshake. Maybe berry compote, too." He turns to the waiter, smiling again. "Right! Food."