ArchivedLogs:Lunch To-Go

Lunch To-Go
Dramatis Personae Micah, Hive, Mary	8 November 2014 '
Location <NYC> Busboys and Poets - East Harlem
A quiet, artsy spot nestled away on a side street in East Harlem, Busboys and Poets combines cafe and bookstore in a way a Starbucks tacked on to a Barnes & Noble could never achieve. The food is a solid, multi-national cuisine menu that caters to all kinds of dietary choices, and its fair-trade tea menu is extensive. Its weekend brunch tends to draw a large crowd, but there is ample enough seating both at tables and on its many comfortable armchairs and couches that at other times of the week there is never a wait. The walls are adorned with the work of local artists, and tucked in among and alongside the couches are rows upon rows of books, with a definite slant towards the political and the bohemian. It is a /sunny/ day, if on the clear-crisp side, chilly even mid-afternoon in a way that just begs for hot beverages, soup, and toasted sandwiches. With Jax off at a tattoo appointment, Micah has instead hijacked Hive to accompany him for foods and potential book-fetching. He stands by a corner table, slinging layers of outerwear onto the back of a chair: olive jacket, candy corn striped scarf with matching convertible mittens, olive newsboy cap, messenger bag. In the end he's left in a grey and blue plaid flannel over a slate T-shirt (on which a horde of Minions are absconding with the TARDIS, one triumphantly wielding the tenth Doctor's sonic screwdriver) and faded, patchy bluejeans. "I can grab food things. Anythin' you're in the mood for?" Hive is already sitting, and hasn't actually bothered to shed /his/ outerwear. He's in a fleece-lined denim jacket worn over a bright orange Aperture Science track jacket, a blue-and-grey Ravenclaw scarf wound around his neck and a crimson fleece cap on his head with the Greek letters Theta Tau embroidered into it in gold. Heavy workboots, heavy jeans. He still has a pair of black armwarmers on his arms, a thicker knit grey pair of handwarmers layered over them. His clothes look to not quite fit him right, too baggy on a bone-thin frame. "Hrgh," is what he answers the food question -- not exactly denying so much as sleepy. "... caffeine. All of it." It's possible this doesn't actually qualify as 'Lunch'. His eyes scrunch up, palm rubbing at one temple. "... possibly more than all of it." She'd stopped on the way to the store to learn juggling. Why? Well, noone knows when one might need a cheap gimmick to grab students' attention, and the man was RIGHT THERE juggling flaming tennis balls anyway. After a few minutes to make sure the routine doesn't change, though, she'd pushed into the bookstore and began rifling through the books. It took a while to apprehend something on Vietnamese, and a little longer to find a few books on fencing, and the like. Then she queues up behind the others waiting in line,"Having one of 'those' days, I take it?" As usual, Mary has that quietly disturbing manner of hers. Lacking human body language or reactions. Real uncanny valley type stuff. Micah leans in to wrap an arm around Hive's shoulders in a fond hug. "Well, y'can either come along... Or y'can sit here an' I'll fetch the top two best-sounding paninis with a cup of soup on the side an' y'can pick which set y'want. An' a large black coffee with a triple-shot." He /might/ be rather expert at fetching caffeine for Hive by this point. Either way, he settles into the order line. "Oh, Hive? Ain't a...day kinda thing. Well, not a /today/ kinda thing. He hasn't had enough coffee yet." Micah smiles broadly, eyes catching Mary's serendipitous choice of books with a glint of amusement. "S'like the start of a primer on m'twins you're holdin'." Hive doesn't join Micah in line, jeez, that sounds like /work/. He lets his personal cyborg attendant handle the fetching of foods while he promptly folds his arms on the table and drops his head down onto them. For all this, though, there's some part of him still paying attention -- a very-much-weakened but faintly present telepathic sense kind of /straining/ itself to track Micah's thoughts. And then those of the woman addressing him. It's not very /adept/ at this at the moment, catching only an erratic smattering of the strongest things there. "Violin and robotics and she'd have a decent --" Something. His sentence doesn't really finish itself. Maybe even /that/ sounds like too much work. Her mind is a yawning chasm or black hole of information, truth be told. Hungry, grasping, constantly ABSORBING information, patterns, and techniques like some strange knowledge-vampire. And it's BUSY. Constantly examining information and categorizing it busily, like a little... hive of bees. Curiosity is often the dominant mental process. Followed by very BRIGHT flares when she makes a connection between things. Like she's doing with Micah, right now. Twins. Low probability. Vietnamese. Even narrower correlation. Fencing. Extremely narrow correlation. It's a guess, but she ventures it anyway,"You're the other Mr. Holland-Zedner." She looks over to Hive after a moment, then wonders,"A friend of yours? Or of the twins?" She waits for a moment for the others to order while she waits for the chance for her own little coffee cakes and sassafras-like tea,"I suppose I could study up on robotics, and the violin shouldn't take too long to learn if I pay a visit to the symphony..." Her mind is already spinning up, working overtime as she begins to compose schedules, lines of thought, lesson-plans. She really does lead a very active internal life, even if her face shows none of it. "Pretty much exactly what I was thinkin'," Micah replies to Hive's aborted sentence, grin pulling lopsided. He pauses to order Hive's coffee, a chocolate chai for himself, a set of paninis (one avocado, one spinach and grilled brie) with side soup cups (one vegan chili and one Moroccan bean), and an order of garlic-rosemary sweet potato fries. He shifts to wait closer to the pick-up counter. "Hm, the Other One. S'usually me. Micah's the rest of the name. An' yes to both." The last is with a nod in Hive's direction to indicate his meaning. "Sounds like you're kinda invested in learnin' 'bout the twins. Ain't a chance y'just started a new teachin' job?" For some reason that last question comes with a rise of faint-pink blush in his cheeks. The bustle of Mary's mind pulls Hive's eyes tighter closed, a pained scrunch that pushes his face further into the crook of an arm. After a moment of this he sits up, turning so that he can /look/ at the woman who goes with this noise. "... Frakking -- hrgh. S'a lot of gorram robo-teachers over there." It's almost like 'hello'. "Aaah. Yes. Of course, Mr. Holland-Zedner. I am, more specifically, invested in learning about Shane. I've taken a liking to the young one, and wish to provide him with a suitable, comfortable learning experience. Your husband expressed some measure of surprise... and pleasure that I found him delightful. One of the best ways to ensure Shane has a good learning experience is to understand his interests. I am refraining to learn about his twin until we've met. I feel it would be a privacy breech otherwise." Mary pauses in thought, her good eye flicking between the two, and then she nods, once,"I did indeed. Dr. Mary Carruthers. A... pleasure to meet you both." Her gaze fixes more firmly on Hive,"A big fan of the 'sci-fi' and 'fantasy' genres I take it? Do you require assistance? You seem... unwell?" "It is an extremely pleasant surprise for teachers, especially, t'take a shine t'Shane right off the bat. S'usually an acquired taste. S'a real bright, sweet boy, but a lotta folks get turned off by the...teeth or the cussin' or the smokin' or...the things that come off more up front." Micah extends a hand at the greeting. "Nice t'meet you. What d'you usually teach aside from chuckin' rocks?" Apparently Micah got that memo. His head shakes slowly at the last line of questioning. "He's okay, hon, it's...not somethin' needin' help just now." That was probably meant to be reassuring. "Giant fucking nerd, yeah," Hive agrees with a crooked half-smile at the correct identification of his preferred slang. "Carruthers, huh." His brows hitch up, briefly thoughtful at this name. "-- /is/ kind of rare. Shane's a. Fucking. /Gem/ but most people don't see past the --" He snorts, lowering his head back to his arms. "Everything." The question about his health prompts a few measures of humming from him -- Matchbox 20's "Unwell", before he shakes his head. "Doctor of what?" "It's all packaging sir. Truth be told, it seems your son and I are of like minds on the place that respect and honesty have in day to day interactions. I've merely acquired more polish. I think the problem is less seeing PAST his outside, and more a lack of ability to see what he's showing upfront." She accepts the man's hand. As with everything about her, even the pressure she exerts in the shake is carefully designed to match Micah's own. Mary's a big ol' copycat after all. "I will be teaching 'Challenges of Nocturnal Living' and 'Philosophy of Learning'." At the explanation of Hive's health, she leaves well enough alone. Still, Hive's question requires an answer. "Doctor of Education." And murder. And mayhem. And espionage. That's sort of the past though. Now she's a family woman. The handshake is a firm one, hand callused in a manner that suggests familiarity with manual labour. "Ohgosh, no need t'sir at me." Again, there's a measure of blush added to ruddy Micah's cheeks at that statement. "Micah's fine. I teach a couple of practical classes that weren't offered but seemed kinda needed. Just one a term. Introductory personal an' business finance, citizenship by way of interactin' with the medical an' legal systems with an eye on our students' particular needs." A tray on the counter slowly fills with the large number of items in Micah's order. "C'mon," Hive says with a small twitch of smile, "even your husband /sir/s at you." His head has lifted again at the flutter of thoughts that come after Mary's doctorate. "Fff. Thaaat's interesting." Maybe his tone suggests a little more Interesting than a Doctor of Education would warrant. "... Nocturnal living. I got a friend. Roommate. Brother -- who. Who could --" He trails off again, once more rubbing at his temple with a hand that seems rather noticeably shaky. "What are they? The challenges." The woman opens one of the books, now, and glances at a few pages for one reason or another before closing them and offers,"I can get that if you need help." She points at the tray meaningfully. As for the method of address? Well, no comment. Instead Hive gets a look from her eye, followed by a very clear and deliberately arched eyebrow,"If he's in need or want of learning, and he has access to our school, he's welcome to audit the classes. The first half covers many considerations, such as how to live a safe, happy, healthy, and productive life at night. What dangers are there? What are you giving up? What are you gaining? The second half is more wilderness survival for dark environments to give the children a taste of something more... exciting. I also instruct in self defense, but there are no end of sources for that." Well, /there's/ a brighter blush to be had, fiery red not just in Micah's cheeks but spreading up the back of his neck and to the tips of his ears. "Nobody else needs t'be," he re-asserts, giving Hive a sideways look. "Ohgosh, no, honey. I can carry. S'what the tray's for anyhow. I should get the coffee over t'Hive 'fore he falls over, though. You're welcome t'join once y'got your order, too." His eyes cloud briefly at the talk of auditing classes and living safe, happy, healthy, productive... A shake of his head precedes gathering the tray and carrying it to the table. He sets the whole thing in front of Hive so that he can take his choice of food, then picks up the coffee to put all but /in/ the other man's hand. "Thanks." Hive doesn't so much /take/ the coffee as he does nudge Micah's hand to guide the cup to the table, trusting its solid surface a good bit more than his hands just at the moment. "Doesn't have access to fucking /much/, these days." This is a somewhat gruffer tone. He ignores the soups and sandwiches altogether, glowering down into his cup. "More exciting. Ssssh. You really are new there. That school is like nonstop-fucking --" His smile slips just a little wry. "Murder. Mayhem." Connections. Always making connections. It's part of her enhanced procedural learning ability. Sometimes it provides interesting insights. For example, through deduction and body language observation. Her own order is likely to take up much less time. "If he needs personal counseling... I could see my way to providing it as a favor to young Shane. As your family seems close, I can only imagine the young man feels close to him as well." Then the eye of Sauron falls on Hive as she makes a very specific connection. << Stay out. >> "I can't imagine that's considered polite, Mr... Hive." Irritation. Annoyance. None of it reaching her face. Strangely, she's not holding it off of her face. There's just no... automatic facial response in the first place. Her good eye, meanwhile, dilates until the iris has nearly disappeared, as Hive becomes the intense focus of her observations. Swallowing his every move, his every facial expression, even his heart rate and the character of his breathing... "Welcome, sugar." Micah takes his seat and his chai, picking at sweet potato fries to munch on for awhile to give Hive a chance to choose his food...if he's going to. "There's a bit of a...prison situation, currently. Can't nobody really talk with 'im just now, much less offer any personal counsellin'. Thanks for considerin' it, though." Both Hive's comment and Mary's response earn a lofted-eyebrow look of confusion for a moment. Then his eyes widen, lips pulling into a hopeful smile. "Are you...?" The rest of the question is just a look aimed Hive's direction. Perhaps not the most typical response to thinking your friend is invading someone else's thoughts. "We're all. Close." Hive rubs at his temples again; one hand slips up beneath the brim of his cap, running in a habitual pattern along the side of his head before lowering again. He shakes his head sharply at the mental speech. "Would if I fucking could. But I can't. And no, it's not considered polite." His facial expression is much as it tends to be, almond eyes half-lidded and his jaw tensed, a perpetual chronic kind of /grump/ etched into his sharp features. His head slumps more into the crook of his arm, words sort of /mumbled/ against his jacket. "... the fuck are you looking to find?" "Then kindly refrain from making my private thoughts a public statement. Surely your discretion, at least, is under your personal control." Disapproval. She looks over at Micah, weighing mentally, her irritation vs. her desire continue speaking. "Would you please explain that statement about your prison-bound friend a little more. I'm afraid I'm not apprised of all current events." The woman takes her plate with the coffee cake and drink and moves to join Micah and Hive. Hive's only answer he gets, at least verbally, is one word,"Reciprocity." Her pupil begins to fade back to its normal size. Inwardly, she's memorized his body language, his physiological reactions and micro-expressions, and so much more. Next to a bunch of other templates, there, right in her mind, is Hive's very manner, in miniature. There go the confused eyebrows again, looking back and forth between Hive and Mary. Micah finally claims a panini and soup at random, hoping this might make Hive more inclined to take the other set. Avocado and Moroccan bean end up in front of Micah, as it turns out. Direct questions he can handle. "The person Hive was talkin' 'bout's in prison an' awaitin' sentencin'. For defendin' 'imself after a hunter shot 'im. Meanwhile they ain't lettin' us visit with 'im. So he can't much of anythin' just now, m'afraid." He twirls a spoon through his soup. "Go fuck yourself," Hive answers Mary, sharper-edged now, "the only one who indicated publicly they /were/ your private thoughts was /you/. I /like/ to let people know when I'm talking with them that I can hear their fucking thoughts because I /don't/ like goddamn eavesdropping but I can't help it so it seems /more/ polite if you know I can hear. I also /don't/ like to just announce guess what I'm a telepath because jesus fucking /Christ/ woman, have you lived in this city lately? Even other fucking /mutants/ hate psis. That shit gets people killed. And if you hadn't commented, /you'd/ be the only one who knew I was talking about your thoughts. So if you have a better way to let someone know when it's relevant without --" He shakes his head, ignoring his coffee now to instead just stand. Wobbly, unsteady, gripping at the back of his chair for balance, but stand. The tension in his jaw has increased as Micah talks about Dusk's current situation. "-- actually, nevermind, I don't even give a fuck. I need a fucking cigarette. Enjoy your lunch." "I'm afraid I have an unreconcilable difference of views and opinions from him. A pity. I should probably apologize for upsetting him. However, I thoroughly dislike being sworn at, and will probably refuse to do so as a result out of petty irritation. In future interactions, your friend is of course, always welcome Micah. However, it seems we have a disagreement of views. He feels he was being polite by repeating some thoughts of mine back to me to allow me to know he is a telepath. I feel violated by him voicing them out loud, however." She sips her tea as she watches the man leave, then goes on,"I assume he's going to appeal then? Matters were so much more direct overseas. I don't suppose you could pose yourself as his spiritual advisor? Legally, he IS supposed to be allowed access to one...confidentially. Even prisoners of the Patriot Act are technically allowed such visits, though enforcement of that right is often spotty." "Hive..." Micah puts down his food and utensils. "Honey, don't, just..." He stands to help Hive out and then thinks better of it, returning to his seat. "Just come back in when you're done with your cigarette, okay? I'm drivin' you home one way or the other." His eyes follow the other man out the front door, then he picks up his spoon again. Stir. "He won't need t'do it again. He just...wanted t'let /you/ know without lettin' everybody in earshot know. Usually he might just tell you in your head, but he's had some...health issues. That might be complicatin' that just now." Micah is clearly choosing his words carefully to both explain and give away as little private information as possible in so doing. "The cussin's nothin' personal. Think he'd be hard set /not/ to, even if he tried. I understand your complaints, though. S'your right not t'apologise if it ain't what you're feelin'." With this he offers a small smile before starting to spoon bites of soup. Eventually he does answer the prison-related suggestions. "He's s'posed t'have a lotta things. Like appropriate accommodations t'keep 'im from starvin' t'death. But they ain't been so good 'bout that, either. B'lieve me, we been pushin' through 'bout every avenue we can. An' y'better bet any appeals as can be made /will/ be." "I know something of my current employer's exciting past. I find there's a higher than average likelihood that direct intervention will be applied if more traditional routes fail. St. Augustine and Thomas Aquinas agree. Lex iniusta non ex lex. An unjust law is no law at all. The government must by its nature serve the people, sometimes at the expense of the law, and the people are at duty to serve its government. When the law is the expense, however, and the people are not served, then the people have no onus to serve their government. A contract, even the social contract, only remains valid when both sides abide by it." The woman's tone is very casual. Which to someone more familiar with her might say a lot, since her normal voice is virtually absent tone. "Part of the issue with your friend is that he picked a rather dangerous, to me, set of thoughts to echo back to me. And swearing doesn't offend me. Swearing AT me offends me." She sips her tea, at this point, and after a time, decides to elaborate slightly, "He was referencing my past as a...field consultant for a private security company." Another pause follows, and then she finally decides to be a little more direct, "Micah, questions of right and wrong, they rarely vex me. Do you know what DOES vex me? More than any other thing on this planet?" “You're not the only one as feels that way, but... S'prob'ly best for all involved if we exhaust our legal options first...even if the other team ain't playin' fair.” Micah sounds less than happy about the prospect, but firm in his upholding it. “Ah. I'm guessin' his warnin' was /'cause/ he suspected somethin' like that, an' wanted t'get you t'stop thinkin' it if y'wanted 'im not t'hear.” He nods again, waiting for his mouth to be clear of a bite of sandwich before speaking. “I get that, an' apologise that y'were made uncomfortable. I'll let 'im know that...specific issue. Hopefully things can go smoother.” One brow lifts (they're getting a workout today) as he sips from his tea. “Tryin' t'find that missin' 13 cents when your balance sheet don't add up?” Clever, this one. Really. "Oh, I certainly agree. And, you are... very observant. Yes. If we don't exhaust legal options, well... that would be wrong. As you have so cleverly deduced, correct and incorrect concerns me... FAR more. Your manner suggests to me, though, that you are laying less than good odds that things will be resolved cleanly. Do let me know if there's assistance that can be offered on either end of the aisle when things proceed. I wish I could say my former employment left me with some influence... but in that particular portion of the business, you don't really accrue favors from the government as they are... usually paying up front. Favors only accrue when you're not being reimbursed, sadly." The woman takes a careful bite from her coffee cake,"Pleasing." Another bite, and the whole thing is soon devoured. "You and your husband. You're peacemakers. I feel you are well-suited to each other. You present a pleasant tableau." Hive's return is slow and stumbling as his departure was, unsteady on his feet to the point that he's practically /collapsing/ into his chair once he makes it there. He smells now of cigarette smoke, cold clinging to him like a shroud. He doesn't actually join in the conversation here (though no doubt he's heard at least part of it, in minds if not aloud), just curls his arm around his coffee to drag it closer. He doesn't try lifting it, just dips his head to the rim to sip. “I've learned not t'rely too much on the system workin' the way it should. From a lotta personal experience, unfortunately.” Micah nods again at the offer, swallowing another mouthful of chai. “Sure we'll be findin' whatever options we can all along the way. Thank you for your concern. An' your offer.” The blush returns at the compliment, a self-deprecating grin assisting in brightening his features somewhat after the darker topics of conversation. “Uh. Ohgosh. Jax's usually the one presentin' a... Thing. I'm just kinda along for the ride.” As Hive stumbles back in, Micah /almost/ gets up again. His eyes are glued to the other man, even if he doesn't go to him physically. The woman notes Hive's return quietly, but like Micah, does not acknowledge it out loud. "Sometimes planning feels more like something you do so you don't START OUT looking like you have no idea what you're doing. They rarely seem to come out the way you meant them at all." The woman sips her tea, quietly, even as she begins to pull her mind in on itself. Like someone shutting off machines, one by one. Mental discipline, or opting not to use her power? Either way, her consciousness... 'contracts',"The first thing my wife, Erin, told me is to never assume, in a partnership, that you are merely an accessory. Your triumphs as well as your sorrows shine together. You are a part of the face he shows the world as much as any other of his life experiences." Hive's eyes close, teeth grinding in a slow creak at -- well, something. It's hard to tell, given he's /not/ broadcasting his thoughts. He exhales slowly and opens his eyes again to stare down at his barely-touched coffee. Kind of /longingly/. But doesn't take another sip. Instead he works his wallet out of his pocket, slips out enough money to cover his -- not at /all/ touched -- half of the food, and leaves it by Micah's plate. Then stands again, wallet still clutched in hand, to make his cautious careful way back out into the crisp-bright afternoon. "Oh...no, I think y'misunderstood. I'm just more the behind-the-scenes guy. Jax's got most of the," Micah pauses, a little smirk betraying amusement at his own word choice, "flash." The Worry Face comes back when Hive stands again. "Are you okay, hon?" His lips quirk over to one side at the money placed by his plate, only to be joined by thoroughly knitted brows as Hive heads for the door. "Sugar, y'don't gotta /leave/. Or...lemme get to-go containers for lunch an' I'll be right out. I'll drive y'home. S'too cold out." He nods to Mary before standing. "'scuse me, hon. I gotta get some containers." Which he does request at the counter, returning to transfer sandwiches to boxes, soups to little lidded bowls, drinks to disposable cups. The woman rises a little bit, now, to stand, and holds up,"Go retrieve your friend. It was I who input myself into your social situation, not him. Go get him, bring him back. I have a wife who's probably wondering where I am right now and I've no wish to intrude further." Her own things, already paid for, are laid aside,"At the very least, take him somewhere nice to finish your things." Pause. "Thank you. The conversation was...nice." She doesn't really wait for disclaimers or possible 'imploring' to stay. She just...departs. Micah gathers all of the foodstuff into a paper bag, then wraps himself back into his outerwear. “Apologies, I didn't mean for...anythin' t'kinda go the way it did. I do hope t'see you again later. Was nice meetin' you.” He doesn't try to convince anyone to stay. Least of all himself, as he ducks out the door with his now to-go lunch to collect Hive and head back home.