ArchivedLogs:Hungry, Hungry Hipsters

Hungry, Hungry Hipsters
Dramatis Personae Josiah, Trib	2014-03-17 '
Location <NYC> Montagues - SoHo
Montagues harkens back to the day when SoHo was filled to the brim with artists, with its mismatched furniture, all plush and decorated heavily with carved wood, but remains trendy enough to keep its newer patrons by making sure that furniture is clean, in good repair and inviting. The antique tables all have been reinforced to seem less creaky. The real draw of the cafe is the smell: fresh roasted coffee mingles with perfectly steeped teas. Spices from crisp pastries mingle with the tang of clotted cream but don't overwhelm too much the scent of chalk on the menu boards. Monday nights are not generally nights known for partying and nightlife -- no more than any other weeknight in New York. But on Saint Patrick's Day, pretty much all bets are off. The streets are filled with revelers in green and orange, even here in Soho (albeit /far/ more fashionably than other parts of the city.) Even Montague's is feeling the holiday, with the coffee shop seeing a large amount of overflow traffic. Many of the customers seem to be revelers looking to sober up, but many are filtering in from the building next door, where a poetry jam advertised on social media is just wrapping up. Trib looks like neither reveler nor connisseur of poetry as he stands in line. He is wearing green, in that he sports a faded army flak jacket over his dark blue henley and jeans. Someone has swapped the laces in his boots for green ones, as well; a fact that seems to be bothering the big man as he regards his traitorous footwear. He's at the end of the line, currently, behind two hipster-types critiquing the performances next door in lofty tones. Every so often, Trib looks up to level a glare at the hot-air generators, who remain blissfully ignorant of that fact. A part of the hipster gush from the reading next door is Josiah, who walks into Montagues either checking or responding to a text message. He heads for the line, clad in a pair brown boots, moss green twill jeans, and a white long-sleeved henley. Finishing up what he's doing on the phone, he looks up and spots the two standing in front of Trib. "Hey!" He says, sidling up to them. "Did either of you think Shelley looked a little, I don't know, bored up there?" Their conversation goes on, and seems friendly enough, though to others it might just seem like Josiah is trying to cut in line. The hipsters look up when Josiah slides in next to them, and one -- a young man with the requiste beard and chunky glasses, skinny jeans and a green scarf wound over his blue-and green rugby shirt -- lifts a shoulder at his question. "That's just Shelley, dude. She does her own thing. That's why she's great. Because she doesn't give a shit, yeah?" Beside him, his companion -- an equally skinny girl with burgundy-colored hair that clashes with her green puffy-sleeved dress and black stockings -- nods. "Yeah. It's too bad there were all those people there. She was much more awesome when no one knew who she was." Trib's brow lowers at the addition to the line and, God help him, the /conversation/, and he grinds his teeth audibly. Then he reaches forward to tap Josiah pointedly on the shoulder. "No fuckin' cuts." Like it's the high school cafeteria. Even Josiah has to roll his eyes at some of the comments his friends are making. "I don't know about all that, she's still pretty awesome. It just doesn't look like she's having fun anymore, which sucks." He shrugs and looks about to say something else when he feels a finger on his shoulder. He looks down at it, then up to Trib. "Cuts? Oh, shit, yeah. I just came over to say hi to these guys. You're still undeniably in front of me." He winks and offers Trib a friendly smile, full of teeth. "Of course, if it'll make you more comfortable, I could stand behind you." The guy also rolls his eyes. "Whatever, dude. She never looked like she was having fun. Remember her series on water?" His girl nods, about to answer when Trib cuts in. Then she's offering a glare of her own. "Excuse me. Rude, much?" That seems about all the fight either of them is willing to offer, as they start studying the menu in earnest and shifting their conversation in that direction. Trib, for his part, smirks a bit at Josiah's reply, and narrows his eyes thoughtfully. "Your choice," he says, finally, tucking the fingers of his left hand in his pocket and letting his hand hang there. "View's better, back there." Josiah lets his friends peruse the menu and make their orders on their own, comfident that they can do so with little trouble. He instead lets his gaze run up and down Trib for a moment. "I'm sure it is, but I'm not sure for who," he says, smile receding into a smirk. "Thanks for not totally biting my head off. Most New Yorkers probably would have." He looks down at the phone still clutched in his hand, maybe checking the time, maybe for more messages, or maybe just doing so out of habit. "Definitely for you," Trib grunts, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "I'd be some fuckin' contortionist if I could look at my own ass." He shifts his weight, watching as Josiah's friends place their order and move cautiously off to the side to wait for it. Josiah's gratitude earns an actual bark of laughter that's a brief explosion of sound. "Yeah, well. I'm in a fuckin' good mood," he rumbles. "So you got lucky." He steps forward as the line clears, coming shoulder to shoulder with Josiah at the counter. "You ain't from New York, then?" When the counter person returns, he eyes Josiah for a moment before he orders. "Coffee. Biggest an' strongest you got." Josiah laughs, much softer than Trib, but still with some "umf!" As the other man comes to his side to order, Josiah arches his back and makes an obvious effort to look at exactly what Trib would have to contort himself see. He sticks out his bottom lip, "Hmmm"s, and then reworks his posture to better order. "Small coffee for me. To go." He pulls out his wallet and pays for his drink while answering, "Actually, I was born and raised here, which is why I know how people can be." He shrugs and moves off to the side to wait for his drink. Trib may or may not be aware that he's being checked out. The way he cocks his leg is probably just the way he stands. Maybe. There's a small twitch at one corner of his mouth at the humming, and he offers a small sideways glance at the other man. "Told you." He fishes out hsi wallet to pay for his order, and snorts at the answer to his question. "You didn't offer much of a fuckin' fight, for a native," he observes, leaning back to take his own view of things. "I ain't used to polite on fuckin Saint Patty's Day." "Maybe you're not the only one in a good mood today," Josiah tells Trib, leaning casually against the section of counter next to him. "You're right about the holiday, though. It can turn people into animals, and I guess sometimes that means fighting. Not for everyone, though." Lucky for both of them, drip coffee is quick to serve, and a warm cup is soon in Josiah's hands. "You celebrate at all?" "People are animals all the fuckin' time," Trib growls without heat, accepting the giant-sized coffee that the barista brings him. "Saint Pat's just gives 'em a fuckin' reason to fuckin'...whatayacallit. Acknowledge. It." He shifts down the counter, towards the area where cream and sugar await. He picks up the sugar container, upending it over the coffee and holding it there for a long while as he talks. "Nah, I don't celebrate," he says, shaking his head. "I /know/ I'm a fuckin' animal. I don't need a reason to fuckin' celebrate it." He gestures with his half-hand at Josiah's legs. "Looks like you do, though." Josiah doesn't bother with the sugar, though he does lift his brows at Trib's generous use of it. He also doesn't dig in just yet, preferring to let his coffee cool. "Yeah," responds with a brief glance to his jeans, "I guess I do. Haven't been big on the drinking today, though. That animal urge, at least, is surpressed tonight." He glances over at his friends, who are busy with their own conversation, before turning back. "So what's your name?" Eventually, the sugar stops flowing, and Trib reaches for a wooden stir stick to swish around in the steaming coffee. "Drinking is overrated," he opines, grinding out the words as he swirls the stick around. "Never did nothin' for me. There's lots of better ways to have fun without spending a shit ton of money on booze that just makes you fuckin' sick anyways." Stirring finished, he throws the stick in the nearby trashcan and lifts his cup to sip at the hot liquid experimentally. It must pass muster, because he makes an appreciative noise before answering the other man. "'m Trib," he says, smacking his lips and giving Josiah another once-over. "An' you?" Josiah gives his own coffee a taste. It scalds his tongue a bit, so he doesn't go after more, and even winces slightly. "I'm Josiah," he says, noting the smack of the lips and the overabundance of swears with a momentarily stoic look, which he forces away with a smile. "Nice to meet you, Trib. Can't say I hear you on the alcohol front, as I do like imbibe every now and then, but I can appreciate it." "Thank fuckin' /God/," Trib says at the revelation of Josiah's name, and he actually lifts a corner of his mouth to reveal teeth in a half-grin. "Someone else with a fuckin' name like a cowboy." This seems to please him greatly, and he lifts his cup in salute to the other man. "I wasn't never a fan of alcohol," he says, taking another sip of his coffee. "I can't taste it, unless it's strong as shit, an' it don't get me off like it does other people." He smirks, and narrows one eye in an almost wink. "Like I said. Better ways to do that." Josiah blinks and chuckles. "Nobody's every said that about my name before. I usually just get a typical, 'So you're Jewish,' response." He shrugs and considers what Trib says about alcohol, noting the - wink maybe? - and responding with, "And what ways would those be?" Not exactly original, but it does the trick. "Bah. I don't care about that kind of shit." Trib smirks a bit, and his eyes narrow at the question, crinkling at the edges. "You look like a smart guy," he grunts in an almost-laugh. "You tell me." Josiah smirks and shuffles his feet a moment, rubbing his chin in mock deep reflection. "I bet it has something to do with..." he pauses a moment, looking across to Trib's face, "food. You like to eat?" He drops his hand from his chin and brings his coffee up to his lips, sipping some of it, despite the heat. Trib's grin widens, revealing more of his teeth, whith and strong-looking. "I fuckin' /love/ to eat," he says, and takes a large swallow of coffee. "The spicier, the better. I like shit /hot/." He leans against the counter, resting his thigh against the wooden top and casting a lazy, speculative look over Josiah. "Why? You feelin' hungry?" Josiah nods his head, slowly and thoughtfully. Best not to appear overeager. "Yeah, I could eat. And spicy is good. You like Korean?" He lifts his chin as he smiles at Trib through slightly narrowed eyes. "Some of it can be nice and hot." Trib considers that for a long moment, his lazy gaze narrowing as he considers. Finally, he drains his coffee, setting the cup down on the counter and nodding. "I usually go for Japanese, but I like Korean," he says, standing up and dusting his hands against his legs. "It's good an' spicy." He begins heading for the door, then, looping his arm around Josiah's shoulders and hauling him along. "'Course, Jewish food ain't bad, neither,."