ArchivedLogs:Impulse Buys

From X-Men: rEvolution
Impulse Buys
Dramatis Personae

Ion, Isra, Dragonlord


"Can use for science /or/ coffee. Mad coffee."


<NYC> Chez Natalie - Midtown East

The spread merchandise at this high-end home boutique is unapologetically eclectic. The aisles are densely packed with tasteful kitchenware and housewares. One corner is completely taken up by rare spices, the aisle beside it just dizzy with infused oils in tiny bottles. There's even a sitting area in the back with leather couches and a coffee machine. That it has not yet been stripped bare is in part a function of good physical security but largely a matter of obscurity, being tucked away ten stories up on a skyscraper between a hot yoga studio and a chashitsu.

Isra walks down the coffee aisle with her wings folded in under a hunter green cloak. Her skin still shines with the multichromic glory of a jewel beetle, her horns and talons glittering as though encrusted with rainbow crystals. She wears a long seafoam green dress, cinched at the waist with a royal purple sash, and carries a heavy leather baby harness laden with brightly colored knit blankets. The canvas tote over her shoulder already has several items rattling around in the bottom.

Ion is in heavy jeans, tall boots, a leather jacket. His fingers dance lightly along one of the shelves in passing, eyes skipping from one bottle to the next to the next. He plucks at one and then another, dropping them into a large mesh bag slung over his shoulder. "{I was thinking, I was thinking after this we head, maybe, maybe, like pick up some new sound system? For the lodge? And maybe after /that/ some good fucking /booze/. Or head up, fucking, you know in Connecticut they still got /entire stores/ full of steaks? Tonight I'm gonna party. Hear that, monster? All the party.}" He plucks a small cow-shaped porcelain creamer jug off one shelf to offer it towards the wad of blankets in Isra's harness. SEE, TOY.

Isra's ears twitch at the mention of steaks, but her expression does not change. 'Sound system, maybe get last? Hard to transport, your way.' Then, in Spanish rather obviously learned from Ion, "{There's good fucking booze near here.}" Back in sign again, 'Your party, though. Get what you want, I'll fly anything back you can't teleport.' Probably just responding to Ion's voice rather than one of their admittedly rather numerous nicknames, Egg wiggles out from under the top layer of blankets. Their huge green eyes blink blearily and they click softly at the proffered cow. Their skinny, long-fingered hands sign 'bunny' repeatedly between grabbing at the jug.

"{Huh, sure, yeah, okay, steak first, and booze -- and fucking /asparagus/, grill that the hell up, some garlic, it's gonna be a /good/ night, we go in a /real/ grocery store -- oh /damn/ maybe one with fucking --}" Ion's hands cup into a bowl shape, spreading outward like flower petals. "{Fucking artichoke, if it's gonna be a celebration we eat like some /real/ foods -- /you/ want to come fly with us, get some /real/ shit, don't you?}" His brows lift to Egg with this question. "{One more goddamn day of this hellshit down, time to fucking -- party.}" He nods in /agreement/ with Egg's signing, nestling the jug into the infant's hands. "{Yeah, bunny. Cow bunny. This kind's full of milk. Hey-o we don't got one like /this/ why don't we got one like /this/.}" He's reaching for a tall cold-brew coffee maker, turning it over in his hands. "{/Shit/ this like making fucking /mad science/ not coffee. We taking it.}"

Isra has produced a small--paper!--notepad to scribble down Ion's impromptu grocery list, though she must certainly realize by this point in her acquaintance with him how little attachment he has to any such planning. "{I'm sure they do,}" she says, scratching behind one of Egg's long, floppy ears, "{little though they may understand the reason for this party.}" She returns the notepad to her pocket and studies the cold-drip setup. 'That, can use for science /or/ coffee,' she signs, 'mad coffee.'

Egg looks up at Isra, clicking louder momentarily, then returns their attention to the porceline cow. It only takes them a few seconds to decide they should apply their /teeth/ to the exploration of the cow bunny. Clack-clack-clack. They draw back, looking a bit nonplussed by the texture of this particular bunny. 'Fly fly fly food bunny party,' they sign, the cow half forgotten now and wedged somewhat precariously between their torso and the side of the harness.

"{Hell fucking yeah, little dragon. Fly food /party/. We gonna get you some /fresh/ ass shit. Celebrate flying with you again without goddamn roasting you out the /sky/, that's something, eh?}" Ion rubs a hand between Egg's ears as they chew on the delicate creamer. "{Oh /shit/ oh shit. /This/, we been missing this too. Fancy goddamn party /or/ brain a fucking zombie eyes --}" He's dashing abruptly away from the coffee towards cookwares, practically /hugging/ a gleaming coppery fondue set, long sharp fondue forks with elegantly etched handles.

Isra doesn't bother to hide her amused half-smile at Ion's newest kitchenware infatuation. 'Your party. Better pick up some cheese and fruit for that, too,' she suggests. 'Will go well with the fancy alcohol.' Her signing comes out a lot more formal than her Spanish. Egg nuzzles up into Ion's hand, their clicking soft and rumbling like a purr that rattles oddly against the porcelain.

"{Fancy booze -- Oh /damn/, sister,}" Ion's eyes /widen/! ABRUPT. Huge. "{We're gonna need some fancy-ass /glasses/ to drink that out of!}" And, thrusting the fondue set towards Isra, he is dashing off again, vanishing, a brief flare of light signalling his reappearance a few aisles away.

A thud and a crash-tinkle of shattering glass soon follows. But surely there are /some/ fancy glasses left.