ArchivedLogs:Job Search

Job Search
Dramatis Personae Jerome, Shane, Spencer
In Absentia	2014-10-01 '
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Spacious and open, this coffeeshop has a somewhat industrial feel to it, grey resin floors below and exposed-beam ceilings that have been painted up in a dancing swirl of abstract whorls and starbursts, a riot of colour splashed against a white background. The walls alternate between brick and cheerfully lime-green painted wood that extends to the paneling beneath the brushed-steel countertops. There's an abundance of light, though rather than windows (which are scarce) it comes from plentiful hanging steel lamps. The walls here are home to plentiful artwork available for sale; though the roster of prints and paintings and drawings and photographs changes on a regular basis it has one thing in common -- all the artists displayed are mutants. The seating spaced around the room is spread out enough to keep the room from feeling cluttered. Black chairs, square black tables that mostly seat two or four though they're frequently pushed around and rearranged to make space for larger parties. In the back corner of the room is more comfortable seating, a few large black-corduroy sofas and armchairs with wide tables between them. There's a shelf of card and board games back here available for customers to sit and play. The chalkboard menus hanging behind the counter change frequently, always home to a wide variety of drinks (with an impressive roster of fair-trade coffees and teas largely featured) though their sandwiches and wraps and soups and snacks of the day change often. An often-changing variety of baked goods sit behind the display case at the counter halfway back in the room, and the opposite side of the counter holds a small selection of homemade ice creams. A pair of single-user bathrooms flanks the stairway in back of the cafe; at night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits up the stairs above the coffeehouse. It's a dreary sort of evening, the sort of faint misty-drizzle outside that makes it a toss-up whether or not to even bother putting up an umbrella. Often bustling in nicer weather, the cafe is, this weekday evening, rather quiet. There's a pair of young women sitting at a table together (each on their laptop) near the front, a tall woman with enormous black-feathered wings perched on a chair that she's spun around backwards, a young man seated with her with an FDNY Paramedic uniform still on, a skinny freckle-faced mousy-haired child of perhaps eight standing near the pasty display hemming and hawing over what to get. Behind the counter a tall thin Japanese youth is leaning against the counter next to the cash register, watching the SmallChild rather expectantly. From the door that leads back into the kitchen, a small blue teenager -- sharply dressed in grey houndstooth vest, dress shirt, bowtie, slacks, polished Oxfords -- slips out, shaking his head with a crooked smirk. "Just get one of everything, Spence," he advises the boy. "...I don't think I have money for that. Anyway Pa can't eat most of this." Spence is still frowning into the display case uncertainly. "Ba and Flicker will eat everything," Shane says with confidence. Jerome enters quietly and looks around the cafe, before settling his gaze on Shane. He heads that way and offers a hand, "B, right? Micah didn't mention you'd be floating around here. They get that bullet out without any incident?" he drawls out, he's dressed about as casually as ever. A pair of white DC villains on his feet, slim fitting jeans, and a Rancid hoodie. "Didn't get a chance to introduce myself after all the shooting, name's Jerome." Shane's head tips to the side, the hairless ridge of his brow hiking upward. Scooting around from behind the counter, he meets Jerome's offered hand with his own (webbed, clawed, rather cool-damp to the touch), his grip firm with one quick pump. "Uh -- B's not here. You know my dad?" The boy at the counter turns to squint up at Jerome, mouth curving into a wide amused grin. "He doesn't even look anything /like/ B," he protests Jerome's misidentification. This assertion earns a /snort/ from the barista, though his dry, "... I think you're kind of wrong on that one, man," only earns a puzzled look from Spencer. "B doesn't wear bow ties," he objects, like this should be Totally Obvious. This time it's Shane who snorts. He shakes his head, hand reaching out to ruffle at Spencer's hair. "B's my twin. S'doing fine, by the way. Stayed out of class the next day, but. Back now." Jerome flashes a grin at the mistake, "My bad. I've ran into Micah twice, once with B and Hive, and the other day when he brought food to Jax. Good to hear B is doing well, felt bad I couldn't get there before the police started shooting." he shakes his heads a bit, "Pretty awful that they can open fire and then arrest people who didn't have anything to do with the initial attack. If you could even call it an attack." His attention starts to drift at this point, looking around the area and then to the stairs. "This place is nice. Wonder if they're hiring.. Could always do with a job that lets me cook." "Yeeeah, my Ba gets around." There's a crooked grin (very full of very sharp teeth) on Shane's face when he says this. He slips a wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a pair of bills to tuck them into Spencer's jacket pocket. "There. One of every pastry. Trust me, people at home will thank you." His large black eyes turn back up to Jerome, teeth scraping lightly against his upper lips. "Eh. On the scale of Terrible Shit The NYPD Has Done, panicking and opening fire on a crowd is -- sadly not even near the top of atrocities. And this place is fucking awesome. You're a cook?" "Don't have a diploma, unfortunately. Learned everything from culinary in high school, and then what I taught myself how to do. My mutation expressed in a rather.. Public way. I dropped out and got out of there." Jerome explains lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, I didn't get to go up to le cordon bleu like I wanted. And, they've done some awful stuff. But some of us have too.. But it doesn't justify either of those things." "You want any coffee or anything? Food?" Shane gestures to the menu boards, giving the barista behind the counter a quick nod, though he is moving aside to lean against the back of a chair at a nearby table. There's a quiet whickering noise as his gills flutter at the sides of his neck, scraping against the stiff fabric of his collar. "Oh, embleer Frith, don't even start with that apologist 'well, there's fault on both sides' crap. Yeah, some mutants are shitstains. Who gives a fuck? The shit /they/ pull on us is /institutional/. There's no goddamn comparison. When the goddamn /government/ starts locking people up and torturing them /just/ for being human, then talk to me about how both sides have done Bad Things." "I like to leave the government out of that comparison, because the stuff they do really pisses me off. Because I registered, it's ridiculously hard for me to get a job." Jerome shakes his head a bit and pats his back pocket, "Can't really afford to buy too much stuff." He reaches up to unzip his jacket a bit, exposing the black tank he's wearing. "Don't get me wrong, the stuff they do makes the worst stuff mutants have done, in most cases, look like child's play." "On me," Shane offers with a shrug, webbed fingers flicking towards the counter. His other hand drums claws lightly against the back of the chair, his flat slits of nostrils flaring briefly with another small snort. "You can't leave the government out of the comparison. That's a giant crock of shit. It'd be like looking at some slave in the 1800s beating the shit out of a plantation owner and saying, well, let's leave the policies of the time out of consideration. Nothing happens in a vacuum. And there's definitely one side here who has a /fuck/ ton more reason for being pissed the hell off." He lifts his hand to press it against the side of his neck, pressing down at the gills that are starting to flutter again. His eyes flick up and down over Jerome before he adds, "-- What experience do you have?" Jerome moves over to lean near the chair. "Odd jobs here and there, cooking for myself, working in a bakery, the occasional cook-off.. Not a ton of stuff I got paid for though." He drums his fingertips against the top of the table. "I've heard a few rumors of mutant hunting robots too.. I have the feeling things aren't going to get much better, regardless of how much good stuff we do." "Mutant hunting robots?" Shane's brows lift again, but he dismisses this with a small shake of his head. "Mmn. No resume, then, I take it?" Clickclickclick, his claws drum against the chair again. "You're a fountain of cheer, aren't you. Think we just need to do that much more good to make up." Jerome shakes his head. "No resume, and no. I honestly don't think us doing good will improve the situation. I could go out and save a bus full of drowning school kids, and I'd probably get accused of pushing the bus into the water." Bone spikes protrude from the tips of his fingers just enough to match the clicking sound Shane is producing. "Honestly? Just want them to leave me alone. Let me work and mind my own business without them having a list that says I can go head-to-head with a competitive power lifter, or outrun Olympic sprinters. Just causes people to judge you before they meet you." "People judge you before they know you?" The blue-skinned shark-boy sounds /exceedingly/ dry in this drawling response. "That must be rough, I feel for you. I can't imagine what that's like." Shane straightens, fingers scuffing through his hair. There's a faint tightness to his jaw at the clicking from Jerome's fingers, though it passes soon. "We are hiring, by the way. Let me grab you an application, aright?" "Not as much as you or B, but it's there. Always been that way. I couldn't imagine what it's like for you guys." Jerome stops the clicking, bones retreating under skin with a wince from him. He clucks his tongue and turns his gaze to his feet. "Thanks." A very small smile tugs at Shane's mouth. He skirts back around behind the counter and into the back, returning shortly aftwerward with a form held in his hand. He stops en route to pause by the table nearby that Spencer (with a milkshake and a large box of pastries) has claimed for himself, murmuring something to the boy before returning to Jerome. He offers the form out, his other hand dropping back to the back of the chair. "You'd really be okay working in a place like this?" Now he just sounds curious. "I mean, you know under the last owners it got firebombed, right? Bunch of people died. It's not exactly what you'd call job security. In, uh, the literal sense of security." Jerome just shrugs a bit. "Anybody that attacked this place with me here, working or not, wouldn't have a very good day." he takes the form with a small smile. "I can bounce between back of the house staff, front of the house staff, and even security. Wouldn't be much of a thing. Have a bit of experience bouncing too, I'm not a stranger to busting my ass so I can eat." His gaze moves down to read over the form. "Bumped into some other people you might know too last night, Halie, Peter, and Sage. Not positive if they're classmates, or what." His gaze moves back up to Shane. "Seem like good people. Halie is a bit rough around the edges, but even I can tell she has potential to be great. Only time will tell if she acts on it or not." "That's arrogant as fuck." Shane sounds far more /amused/ by this than actually disparaging. "There were a fuckton of people here when it did get bombed and I'd lay good money at least some of them were hella more badass than you are, dude. Only so much one man can do when people roll up with weapons and start chaos." His eyes narrow at the mention of the others, breath hissing out quietly. "Sage is awesome. Peter is awesome. Hailey's a goddamn toerag, she can fucking bite me. How are you at making coffee?" "I can do it, might need a refresher course." Jerome replies with a shrug. "Didn't say I could stop it. Said they'd have a bad day. Should I include a summary of my abilities? Or you not going to make me do that?" His attention drops back to the paper before tugging his phone out to check it. "Any mutant friendly gyms around? Hard to find a place where I can actually work out." "Pfft. Unless your ability is making a kickass Caffe Medici I don't give two shits." Shane shakes his head at the mention of gyms. "Dunno. My Pa's gym kicked him the fuck out when they found out he was a freak. We built a gym at home so that does me fine. Usually the most you can hope for is places that don't check -- most places aren't going to ask for your registration to get a freaking /gym/ membership. But if they find you out, you're still boned." Jerome looks up now. "Hard to find a place with free weights that won't notice. Unless I'm just going to keep up appearances. Can't even go for a real run without getting fined.. Actually, any trails further out? I'd make a trip at least once a week for that." He reaches up to rub the back of his neck now. "Considering having Jax take me in to get an application so I can work guard duty at the clinic too." "Fined?" Shane looks /puzzled/ at that. "They fine you for going for a run? -- There's plenty of shit outside the city. Parks. Forests. Christ." Shane shakes his head in bemusement when Jerome mentions working guard duty as well. "You got a death wish, dude?" "Whatever I can do to help. Going to have to find some forests, less shit to catch doing that." Jerome decides. "Not real familiar with the place, in case you haven't noticed. Only been here for about two weeks, haven't decided if I'm going to stay or keep on moving." He tucks his phone away. "Most of the people aren't awful here. At least the ones I run into regular aren't." There's a thin press of Shane's lips at /something/ in Jerome's words, here, but all he says aloud is: "Why'd you come? To New York? Haven't exactly had people clamouring to get in since the zombies overran us." "Sometimes you can't go home." Jerome says with a light shrug. "Like I said before, whatever I can do to help while I'm here. Never been one to keep on walking while people are getting walked on, don't plan on starting today." "Uh... huh." Shane sounds a little bit skeptical at this answer, head shaking faintly. "Right. You against New York. You're -- gonna have fun here." His tone is dry, and he brushes his hands down over his vest as he straightens up. "I'm Shane," he finally offers, since he never actually gave his name /before/, "I own this place. And probably should be getting to work. You can, uh, come see me when you're ready to turn that in, alright?" He tips his head towards the application. "Not alone in it. Noticed a few of the people branded terrorists are just doing their part to help." Jerome says lightly, clearly not worried with the skepticism. "Nice to meet you. I should be heading out as well. Have a good one, I'll get this back to you as soon as I can." "Be seeing you." Shane tips his head up in a nod to Jerome, meandering back by Spencer's table before he disappears off into the kitchen. Spencer disappears soon after, too -- rather more literally than Shane, the small boy just picks up his box of pastries and promptly vanishes from sight. Poof.