ArchivedLogs:Late Night Snack

Late Night Snack
Dramatis Personae Micah, Dusk, Anette	24 January 2014 2 a.m. is a fun time to over-share with strangers in a diner. >_> (Warning: Some suggestive banter.)
Location <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. It is still /cold/ in New York and piles of dirty snow cling to the gutters and sidewalks. Appropriately, Micah is dressed in about a thousand layers of assorted types of cloth. Visible are only the outermost: bright orange Jayne hat worn /over/ a pair of forest green fleece earmuffs, oversized candy corn striped scarf wrapped from just under his eyes down to his shoulders, torso covered in an olive green puffy coat, hands buried under a pair of black liner gloves with a set of green gradient striped gloves on top and a set of knit fingerless gloves done up in a Wish Bear pattern over /those/. All that can be seen of his actual clothing is a pair of heavy, rainbow-patched jeans between the hem of his coat and the tops of his hiking boots. Either arm is through the cuff of a pair of neon orange forearm crutches with wicked looking snow/ice attachments on their tips. As he moves indoors, he shifts to /holding/ these crutches instead, to avoid destroying the floors. Dusk looks somewhat hunchbacked as he follows Micah in, considerably less colourful in, for the moment, a long dark heavy trenchcoat that humps up oddly around his shoulders; he hunches over uncomfortably as he enters, tapping off snow from his boots. His gloves and hat are black as well, and initially he leaves /these/ on though he takes /haste/ to shed himself of the coat, baring the enormous dark wings beneath. Indoors there's not much space to stretch them but he seems immensely relieved nevertheless to have them out from under the coat, flexing them as much as the space will allow without bumping chairs or tables or other patrons. He rolls his shoulders, too, stiffly with a faint wince for the motion. Underneath the trenchcoat he has a baggy Columbia University sweatshirt, modified to allow the wings, and dark cargo pants. One of his wings, chill but not as icy as if it were unprotected outside, almost absently reaches out to curl against Micah's shoulders. "Mmm -- two, please?" Even in the not-so-crowded room this late at night the wings draw eyes -- or perhaps after his very public /arrest/ and subsequent maybe-he's-a-terrorist maybe-he-isn't it's not just the wings, anymore. His shoulders flex again. There's a bruise faintly dappled across his cheek, too, but he seems /pleased/ overall despite these signs of injury. Anette has found her own way of keeping warm: a giant mug of hot chocolate. Though she does appear to have dressed warm herself with a thick woolen trench coat over a leather jacket more ideal for spring weather. No hat or gloves though, though her heeled leather boots at least protected her jeans from moisture and salt residue. She sits alone, taking up an entire booth to herself, the morning's paper laid out in front of her, which she boredly skims through, marking this and that with a red pen. She doesn't particularly seem interested in anyone, barely making contact with her poor waitress even. She does look up briefly when she hears the door open and the two don't get much more interest from her than anyone else...until one spreads out his wings. She nearly chokes on the chocolate she had been drinking, staring not so subtly at this blatant display of the mutant gene. The reason for her stare may not be so easily determined however. It takes Micah significantly longer to unwind himself than Dusk, hat and earmuffs and inner layers of gloves shoved into one pocket. He puts the fingerless gloves back onto his bare hands in a futile attempt at keeping them warm. The scarf is stuffed into his other pocket, overflowing it significantly. He unzips the coat to hang over an arm, putting his crutches into a black nylon holster that straps crosswise over his torso for ease of carrying. He's /still/ in layers under the coat: a black Batsignal hoodie worn over a powder blue Totoro face T-shirt and similarly coloured henley shirt beneath that. He leans into the touch of Dusk's wing to his shoulders, not troubled overmuch by its chill due to the many layers of fabric between them. "I've missed illicit omelette time," he observes to the other man with a warm smile. His eyes /briefly/ scan over all the people watching Dusk, just a quick assessment of whether any of them might be likely to cause trouble. "We're early. Do it again Sunday when your husband's out. Have a lotta catching up to do. But I've missed," Dusk says, curling his wing tighter around Micah to pull him slowly closer, "-- hell. A /lot/ of fucking things. -- Thanks," he says this not to Micah but with a warm smile to the waitress, when she shows up with a pair of menus, to lead them to seating. To a table, not to a booth; here Dusk is enough of a regular that she even swaps out one of the chairs for a backless /stool/ from the bar so that his enormous wings have room to settle freely behind him. Their table is adjacent to Anette's booth; Dusk glances over at her staring as his fingers drum against the menu (he's /also/ enough of a regular that he's not really even looking at it.) "-- Hey. I know you. I mean we met." Briefly, his lips curl up into a smile, fangs glinting sharp at some remembrance. "-- I need an entire boat of coffee. And a corned beef hash. Although I actually just want them to give me a cow. Just -- raw and bloody and -- shit." His tongue flicks across his teeth. "Bloody. And raw." Anette watches as the couple sit down, barely blinking and not bothering to look away quite yet. Though a flash of recognition also appears in her eyes and she smiles faintly. "Right...we did. I thought you looked familiar. The wings threw me off a bit." An eyebrow is raised as Dusk orders, though she remains silent about it. "So do you regularly just show off to the world then?" she asks, nodding her head lightly towards the wings. She also briefly glances to Micah and offers a brief, faint smile in greeting. "Oh, maybe I should get somethin' else now, then. Save the omelettes for Sunday. Hm...French toast with blueberries and maple syrup." Micah has no resistance to offer the pull toward Dusk, rather leaning into it. He moves away only to take his own seat at the table. "We need t'get y'back on schedule, man. Can help with that, at least for today if y'need, though." He lofts a single brow in time with this. Dusk's greeting to the woman at the next table draws his gaze aside, however. "Oh...evenin', Miss. I'm Micah," he offers along with a little wave and smile of his own. Though the smile fades slightly at the question of 'showing off'. "... Threw you off," Dusk echoes, eyebrows lifting in puzzlement at this statement. "I -- had them last month when we met. They're not really new. And kind of hard to miss." Though they do /twitch/ in a faint restless shift at the question about showing off. "You're an /incredibly/ shitty Xavierite, dude." His tone is light, casual rather than sharp, the words coming with an amused snort. "Yeah, I /show/ the fuck off. By existing. I can't exactly help it. It's two in the morning and I'm really starving so I'm here to eat. With wings. In fact," he adds almost cheerfully, "I /regularly/ have them. I wake up with these wings and pretty much every day I go about my life with 'em. The coat wasn't even to hide them it was because it's cold as hell out there and their surface area is fucking enormous that is a ticket to mad hypothermia. In summer I don't bother, why would I? -- Oh my god, blueberries." There is an edge of a moan in Dusk's voice at this. "I am pilfering some of your blueberries." His wing curls out again now that they are seated, settling around Micah again. "... and maybe some of you, too." Anette shrugs slightly, apparently not overly concerned. "I think I was paying attention to your face more last time I saw you." She leans back against her booth, picking her mug up and sipping at her chocolate as you rant on about 'showing off'. She doesn't express much, even as you appear to be insulted by her, though she does listen and waits for you to finish before responding. "Oh, I could have told you I was a shitty Xavierite myself. Couldn't wait to finish but that's besides the point. By all means, eat where you want displaying whatever you want. I'm just used to mutants hiding what they can where they can. Your...carefree attitude just took me by surprise. I'd love to be as open as you but...well, forgive me if I'm not overly trusting of the world at large. Especially humans." She turns back to her mug and, draining it empty, does the ever-loved snap towards the waitress, motioning for a refill. “Admittedly a face worth payin' attention to,” Micah teases, more at Dusk than Anette, clearly. “Though the wings are pretty enough t'look at, too.” He pets at the wing curling around his shoulders, nuzzling into it comfortably. “You're welcome t'pilfer whatever you want.” His grin has gone fully lopsided by this point. “Oh, were you at Xavier's? Recently?” She does look relatively young, after all. His fingers scrub through his wool hat mussed hair, doing...some small bit toward neatening it. Slightly. Dusk /grins/, bright and fangy-broad. "Face is worth a look, too," he admits oh-so-modestly. "But why the fuck would I hide. This is who I am. The rest of the world can bite me. Anyone who expects me to hide can bite me twice. My wings are --" One of them squeezes gently around Micah, rubbing in against the other man's shoulder. "-- Look, people can do what they want. Cower in the closet pretending to be flatscans --" A touch of colour flushes his cheeks at the slur and he glances a little sheepishly to Micah, signing 'sorry' reflexively, "-- humans if they want, but that's not for me. And believe me, it's not because I /trust/ the world. It's because I've seen way too much of what goes on in it to just skulk around letting everyone else tell me how to live." Anette chuckles at the so-called modesty of both Dusk and Micah. "I've seen worse faces," she adds. She can't help but grin briefly at the affection between them. Only briefly though. "Well...I consider self-preservation a decent reason to lay-low. Though otherwise, I agree with you. Then again...I prefer to lay-low -because- of what I see in the world. Besides...you can fight battles just as easily from the shadows. More fun that way, too." She glances to Micah, glancing him over briefly before responding. "I graduated three...actually, almost four years ago. Don't particurlarly miss it though." She looks back to Dusk. "So...what are you? The Amazing Bat-Boy?" she asks, half-teasingly. The waitress reappears right about now with a fresh mug of chocolate, which she takes without even looking up to her. "Somethin' t'be said for bein' able t'leave the /house/, honest. What else is he t'do?" Micah inquires with a shrug. "Can there be bitin' /without/ expectin' y'to hide? Just sayin'." There are wing-snuggles going on, one can't /really/ be blamed for easy distraction with such things. He does /flick/ the wing at the use of the slur, crinkling his nose though he's still grinning. Anette's question earns an amused laugh, making him pause before he provides the answer, "He's...the gorram Batman." Another snicker punctuates the reply as Micah turns his head to nuzzle his cheek against Dusk's wing. "Graduated with Jax, I think she said," Dusk clarifies offhand for Micah. "So what exactly battles have you been fighting." His eyebrows raise, and though his expression and tone have been amiable before they clamp down into annoyance at her treatment of the /waitress/. "Jesus, where are /your/ frakking manners. -- You ready to order, man?" he asks, with a soft rub of wing against Micah's back. And with a signal of hand to the waitress and a rub of fist over his heart in signed apology, "-- forgive me, yammering on, I think we really are getting food. How's your night been?" he directs up to their waitress, with a cheerier smile. "Do you think you could get me a giant coffee? Soy, extra sugar? And a corned beef hash, two eggs over-easy, please." He waits for Micah to deliver his order as well before turning his attention back to the others. "There can be all the biting. And self-preservation's cool and all but it's short-sighted. I mean, /hiding/ for self-preservation's short-sighted. 'Cuz the world's not going to change if we don't get out there and change it. And people too scared to even admit who they are aren't going to change anything." Anette nods at Dusk's explanation. "Something like that..." She sips at her chocolate as gets chastised for her behavior. "I don't like people," she replies simply. She frowns slightly at the question about her battles. "I haven't...exactly done much. Yet. Those I'd /like/ to ally myself with are shall we say, a bit hard to find?" She listens intently to Dusk's views on change and preservation, smiling slightly up until the last line. "I'm not scared to admit who I am. I'm damn proud of who I am. I just know there are people out there who wouldn't be I'd like to avoid being their target until I'm good and ready." She leans back against her seat, nodding slightly. "But I agree. The world won't change unless we change it. Whatever it takes." "Oh wow, you were in Jax's class? I'm his husband, actually, nice t'meet you. Small world." Micah nods in answer to Dusk. "/Been/ ready. Blueberries, man." He offers the waitress an apologetic smile when she arrives, but waits for Dusk to finish ordering before addressing her. "Evenin', hon. Or...mornin'. Could I get the French toast with blueberries an' maple syrup? With a glass of soy milk, please?" Dusk steals his attention back quickly with promises of biting, a blush dusting across his cheeks as he pets the wing on his shoulder. "Sounds like a plan for the rest of the evenin'...or mornin'." He frowns faintly at Anette's pronouncement. "Not likin' people ain't a reason t'be rude to 'em. Might be the reason y'find 'em so unlikable is in /answer/ t'that kinda treatment." Micah remains quiet on the topic of how public to be with one's mutant status. "Oh, liking people's a totally separate question from manners," Dusk agrees. He rests his elbow on the table, chin in his hands and his fingers curled very loosely against the bruise on his cheek. "Oh man. I have /so much/ plan for the rest of the night. But I took a /pounding/ so I'm going to to stock up before I can --" He quirks a crooked smile. "... give a pounding. I think prison spoiled me, really. Every time I eat /right/ it gets that much harder to stop. I look at people now and --" His eyes skim down over Micah's face, dropping to his neck and then the table. Moving over to Anette; his gaze lifts to the young woman's neck but then falls back down to his own hands. "Hard to find? Heh. I know half of /every/ freak in this town and if I don't, Jax tends to. Helps that there's so few of us. Even if I don't know who you're looking for I could probably find you someone who does." Anette raises a brow at the revelation of Micah being Jax's husband. "What? You mean...you two aren't..?" she begins to ask, glancing between Bat-Boy and the man cuddling in his wings, before stopping herself and throwing up her hands. "You know what? Never mind." She waits for the waitress to finish taking everyone's orders before continuing the conversation. "I don't know, nine times out of ten, they're the problem first. So I just learned to beat them to the punch." She looks over to Dusk as he states his opinion, giving a faint shrug. "Meh, you do what you want and I'll do what I will." She raises another brow as the topic of pounding as brought up but she resists the urge to ask. She does catch Dusk's sudden interest in necks, narrowing her eyes but once again, not bringing it up. She does take Dusk's offer of contact information. "Brotherhood," is all she says, picking up her mug and taking a large swig of chocolate. Dusk's playful word choice handily deepens the colour on Micah's cheeks, the downward movement of the other man's gaze certainly not /helping/ the situation. "He's not kiddin', though, they do kinda know /everybody/," is all he manages to say for a bit. A hand slides up to press fingertips over his lips with a light chuckle. "Aren't what...married? Not us." His thumb moves subconsciously, rubbing over the glass bead of the little silver ring on the opposite hand. He nods at Anette's live-and-let-live statement. "Fair enough. Won't keep fussin' at ya. Apologies." /Both/ of his eyebrows raise toward his hairline at that single word, however, quieting him again. "Us, pfft, no, not married, we just kind of have a standing -- thing. He comes here with me when he's in the mood to cheat on Jax," Dusk says with teasing amusement. "Though usually it's a Sunday morning thing I was just ravenous." His tongue swipes over his sharp fangs briefly again, a slow growl rumbling in his throat as another party is shown past their table to their seats. "... still ravenous," he allows. Anette's answer lifts his eyebrows, too. "You think they'll have any interest in /you/?" he wonders. Anette glances back and forth between Micah and Dusk and shrugging and setting her empty mug down at her table. "Whatever floats your boat," she says, letting the whole who's-with-who go. She blinks at their reaction to her choice of alliance, but simply shrugs. "Who knows? I'd like the chance to prove myself though. I'll do whatever it takes, though." "Oh/gosh/." Micah's hand moves further over his mouth, his skin finding even more impressive shades of red to display. "Stop tryin' t'make it sound so /scandalous/. The...comin' here thing. He means for eggs. Jax's vegan, so I can't eat those at home," he explains, removing his hand from his lips to gesture idly at the table. Not that there are any eggs on it presently. He reaches over to squeeze Dusk's hand at the growl. "Easy, hon. Ain't long t'wait. Food comin' now an'...home's not far after." Hazel eyes slip back over to Anette with a look of concern. "Don't know that I'd go about just /sayin'/ that kinda thing t'just /anybody/, sugar. S'like t'draw unwanted attention even more'n wings do." "Do you fight?" Dusk's tone is offhand, a lazy-casual question that doesn't seem all that related to the others. Maybe related to the /bruise/ on his cheek; he's rubbing it lightly with his fingertips. "Some of us get together on Friday nights for some -- friendly," he emphasizes with light amusement, "sparring. Keep in shape. Help each other keep in shape. -- I'm not making it sound scandalous," he rubs a wing lightly against Micah's back as their drinks come, pausing to thank their waitress warmly before returning, "you're just making it more boring. I can't help it," and here he speaks a little bit softer, a little bit more seriously, "everyone's just been -- smelling so. Much like. Food." Anette smirks playfully at Micah's explanation. Suuuuure.... She does become serious again as he grows concerned however. "Well, I'm not talking to just anyone, now am I?" she replies, turning back to Dusk. "Yes, though not in ages. I'm a bit rusty but nothing some practice can't fix." The mention of practices seems to brighten her attitude significantly. "That sounds great. I'd love to join in." Your next revelation takes her by surprise though, her eyes widening slightly and tensing faintly. "So...vampire bat?" "Not makin' it sound borin'. The only illicit part's the eggs. The /rest/ is one-hundred-percent /sanctioned/." Micah's eyes drift closed for a moment at the rub of Dusk's wing, though his blush is clearly going nowhere any time soon. His eyelids creep back open when the waitress sets drinks in front of them. "Thanks, hon," comes with a lazy sort of wave in the woman's direction. "We gonna need t'get this order to-go, honey?" The lofting of brows is directed at Dusk this time, a look of mild concern sparked by his more serious tone. "Just mean as y'don't really know us...or who we might talk to...or anythin', really." He shakes his head after this with a dismissive laugh. "Apologies. Just another sign of my tragic space dementia. All paranoid an' crotchety." Letting the more serious parts of the conversation go on /around/ him, he simply surrenders into wing-snuggles. "I mean, the eggs are sanctioned, /too/. S'not like you're sneaking around behind his back for forbidden eggs. Just -- can't cook them at home. He still knows you're here," Dusk replies with a crooked smile. He tips his head up to start to thank the waitress for the drinks, though his thanks trails off, eyes drifting after her. His teeth sink down against his lip, and he swallows slowly. "Might be a good idea," he answers Micah a little huskily. "I had -- kind of a workout. Feeling a little --" His head shakes quickly, and he scoops his coffee towards himself, locking his eyes down onto it. He lifts them only briefly towards Anette. "I'm just a guy. You got a number? Or email? Or something I can tell you when and where we throw down on Fridays?" Anette grabs a napkin and quickly scribbles down her information. "I suppose you could rat me out...though technically, there's nothing wrong with being interested in them. Besides, call it a gut feeling, but I didn't think either of you would." She slides the napkin over to Dusk. "I need to get going, pleasure to meet both of you. Enjoy your forbidden eggs," she teases briefly, standing and dropping some cash down for a tip on her table before making her way to pay the bill. A good tip, too. Maybe she's not -completely- cruel after all. "I know. I just also know he approves of /you/ a lot more'n the animal products," Micah returns with a giggle. At Dusk's confirmation, he stops the waitress from leaving completely with another little wave, changing the meal request for to-go containers. "Won't take long t'get home. An'...y'can eat whatever y'need /first/ soon as we get there." He stands out of habit when Anette moves to leave, nodding at the farewell. "Nice t'meet you, too. Have a good night." Micah also reaches into his pocket to withdraw his wallet and from therein cash for a tip, seeing as they will be settling up their bill faster than anticipated. Once the wallet has been pocketed again, he begins to cocoon himself in his winter layers once more. "Well, sure, I'm pretty largely cruelty-free and eating me is totally consensual. -- See ya," Dusk adds to Anette, pocketing the napkin she leaves with a quick smile. He winces as Micah begins to layer himself again, signing 'sorry' hastily. "I feel like I need to /wean/ myself back off of --" His cheeks flush, a little darker. "I saw a doctor so the prison put me on a diet I'm actually /supposed/ to be on, you know?" He pulls out his own wallet, withdrawing enough cash for his share of meal and tip. "But now I can't --" He just shakes his head, here, fidgeting with the wallet in his hands even once he's closed it again. He signs 'sorry' once again. "Didn't mean to drag you back out in the cold again so quick." "Mmn," is all Micah manages to say for a moment, the flush in his cheeks kindling anew as he watches Dusk. "Don't apologise. Sure the cold ain't like t'last long." His head tilts at the mention of weaning. "Y'know, there's /better/ options than starvin' yourself. With the Clinic bein' open now, I'm /sure/ they could supplement y'on the regular as part of your /medical need/. Like a person as needs transfusions. On top of whatever donors y'find on your own. Maybe let y'actually feel /healthy/ for a long stretch for once." He pauses in his winter gear donning to move over to Dusk's side and run his fingertips along the other man's jaw. "Y'deserve t'be treated /better/ out here than y'were in /prison/, hon." "Nah." Dusk's smile is quick to return. "Jax and I'll warm you back up quick enough." He tilts his head thoughtfully to the side at the suggestion of regular supplements from the Clinic. "That could --" His teeth press down against his lip, wings shifting restlessly but a suddenly /hopeful/ look to his face. "I mean, god, the shit they put in blood packets makes choking them down kind of make me want to puke but the difference in how I /feel/ is like -- well. Like when I'm /starving/ and when I'm not. It'd be worth it to -- and I'd probably still have friends who'd let me feed now and then just so I could still have food that /tastes/ --" He growls, soft and hungry when Micah's fingertips run against his jaw. His head dips, face nuzzling against Micah's palm as he draws in a sharper breath. His growl is starting to sharpen when the waitress returns with their boxed-up food; he tenses, and it takes a concerted effort for him to turn his face aside from Micah's hand. "Right. Clinic. I should -- Thank you, hon." This last is to the waitress, with a smile. "M'sure." Micah's smile broadens at the assurance. "It'll be just like...takin' your medicine. Keep you all hale an' hearty." Micah's other hand starts to reach up toward Dusk, but manages to resist the urge to /touch/ him more, to avoid tempting a Public Incident. His teeth meet with his lower lip before he succeeds in withdrawing the hand from Dusk's face. Instead, he zips his coat, tugs on his gloves, and winds his scarf back on before gathering the food boxes. "Let's pay an' get home already. S'a short drive but not /instantaneous/, so I think we need t'put a little hurry on it." Dusk curls a wing around Micah, starting to curl the other man in closer but ultimately just takes the food boxes so that Micah's arms can be freed. "Right. Yes. Please. Hurry. Because dear god do I want to sink my teeth into you."