ArchivedLogs:Guardian Complex

Guardian Complex
Dramatis Personae Lyric, Michael	2017-05-27 '
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 isn't the fried food that Michael comes to this establishment for, though its smell pricks at his nose so strongly. The coffee seems to be what lures him out of the school. He's seated at one of the standalone tables with two empty cups in front of him, and a third still half full of what looks like black coffee. He occasionally takes it up for a sip as his other hand holds a small book, shifting its sheafs of paper with his thumb. Michael seems a little stoic for the overly perky servers, however, and they seem to seldom visit save to renew his caffeine supply. Lyric's table, on the other hand, is bubbly and full of life. Or at least it has been since some time earlier this night when her large party rolled in, a cluster of youths maybe mid-teens to early-twenties who commandeer two whole large tables to themselves. Like Lyric several (though not all) of the other girls in her party are wearing headscarves in various styles of wrapping; they've been enjoying a large meal for the past hour or so though by now it's mostly over. Some conversation and finishing up dessert is still happening, though some of her friends have trickled out, off home or just outside the diner to continue their cheerful conversation. Though there are still several of her friends left at the adjacent table, Lyric is sitting alone with one other young girl, heads bowed together over some video on her phone when a pair of other men saunter into the cafe. At first they stroll up to the counter, looking about to take a seat, but evidently change their mind on observing the teens dining nearby -- striding up to the table they lean over the back of Lyric's seat, swiping the phone right out of her hand. "The fuck you goddamn hajis doing out here anyway?" The man's voice is loud, with a hint of laughter in it. "You know pretty soon we're going to clear you all the fuck out this country. Clean this town right /up/. Used to be a decent place, here." Lyric is just -- grimacing. Shoulders tense, grabbing her phone back quickly. Hooking her arm through her friend's as she swipes their check off the table, picking it up and scooting them away -- /she/ beelines straight past Michael for the counter, standing on her tiptoes with the check balled tight into a fist as she tries to catch the attention of a cashier to pay. Michael continues to read in peace, leaving the other teenagers to have their fun through the evening. It's around his fifth cup of coffee when the bulk of them clear out, only to be replaced by a decidedly less charming pair of visitors. At first, the young man just glances over the cover of his book. He obviously finds what they say to be distasteful, if the slight frown hidden behind the pages is indicative, but he decides to let the Lyric and her companion at her table handle the situation as they prefer. Perhaps he anticipates a situation, because he drains his last cup of coffee quite a bit faster than those prior to it. When the foul taunts erupt and an unwelcome hand swipes the phone from Lyric's hand, that's when Michael's hand claps his book shut and places it upon the table. "Hey," the young man says to the thugs, "why don't you lay off? Maybe they let that garbage fly wherever you spend your time, but it's not welcome here." He tucks the small book into his back pocket as he stands up and casually takes a few steps, seemingly maneuvering himself around to serve as a shield as Lyric seeks the attention of a cashier. The other men just snort; one rolls his eyes at Michael's reply. "I think the country's making it pretty damn clear what's /welcome/. And it's not /that/ trash." His head is nodding toward Lyric, though he's already moving away with his friend to get a table for themselves. Lyric tenses even further when Michael gets up, scooting just a little bit farther from him when he moves between her and the other men. Her jaw is tensed, lips pressed tight together when she finally turns around to see what's become of the others. There's no noticeable relaxation in her posture when she sees that they have gone; she just tips her head up a little further, looking Michael over uncertainly. "And I think you just parrot whatever crap you hear spewed on TV," Michael replies, giving the man a weary look. "Give us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. That's what America welcomes." He keeps his tone low as he speaks, not sounding riled up, merely firm. The young man has the courage of his convictions about him, if nothing else. There are certain types of people one doesn't expect to just change, and this demographic happens to be among them, so that's all he says of it for now. Michael finally thinks to turn at the waist so that he can look back at Lyric, checking on her. "You alright? It's fine, just go ahead and pay." He half turns his head so that he can pay attention both to Lyric and to the men who were harassing her. One might expect the youth to be jumpy from the coffee, but he's still calm, which is perhaps why he can't help but notice how he contrasts with the young woman's tension. He lowers his voice a touch more and says, "Don't worry about it. My name's Michael. I'm a student over at Xavier's." Lyric's brows furrow further as Michael speaks, her fingers tightening more around her now-very-crumpled check and her reclaimed phone both. She glances past Michael for a moment to her abandoned table and the one beside it -- her friends are watching, some carefully, some with concern. Eventually she waves this away, though, glancing down at her phone and tapping at the screen. It has a message written on it in large text when she turns the screen back around: 'I know you are.' And beneath that: 'Now that you've said so I'll def. stop worrying.' Michael lifts one corner of his lips into a subdued smile as he reads the message on the phone. An unexpected means of reply, obviously, but he doesn't seem to judge. "Good. I figured I should let you handle yourself, but I don't like bigots. Him getting grabby was the line," he explains. "Would've been worth getting a smack to the head back at school, if he'd decided to take it any further on you." When he shifts his attention to follow where Lyric's had ventured, he then realizes that a table of her apparent friends is still present. "Oh, sorry. Now that the pricks are doing their own thing, I'll let you get back to it. Sorry about all that." The young man runs a hand over his head to tuck a few long, stray lengths behind his ears as he steps forward. The same table, but this time, a seat closer to the counter. He might well be leaving Lyric alone, but then again, it seems only to an extent. Someone has a guardian complex. Lyric's mouth opens and closes as Michael departs. Her teeth scrape against her lower lip, cheeks briefly puffing out as her eyes follow after him. Then turn away, back to the counter so that she can pay her bill and -- quickly, quietly -- head out.