ArchivedLogs:Nerds and Dicks

Nerds and Dicks
Dramatis Personae Doug, Jamie
In Absentia	2013-03-30 Doug meets a real dick.
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Tucked down an alley, this out of the way coffeeshop is easy to miss if you don't know what you're looking for. Unassuming from the outside, its inside makes up for it -- spacious, with abundant seating and plenty of plush couches and cosy armchairs along the room's edges. The coffee is good, the prices are cheap, and there is a definitive alternative vibe to the room, from the music they play to the art that hangs on the walls. The real draw to this place, though, stems from its client base -- one of the very few businesses in the city that is welcoming to mutants, Evolve has become widely popular as a hangout with that crowd, and it is quite common to see them among clientele and employees both. At night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits over the coffeehouse. Spring is finally arrived in New York, and the sudden bout of reasonably-warm weather has sent the denizens of the city out into the streets to enjoy the recently-missed sunshine. As a result, most of the walk-in businesses are enjoying an uptick in their sales due to more foot traffic. Evolve is not exempt from said increase in business, a line at the counter, and the tables filled so that if one wants to sit, they'll be forced to share. Some tables have two or three people at them -- like the one where two twins with pale eyes locked on one another sit at a game of chess, the pieces lifting and moving seemingly of their own accord, or the one where one girl with shocking pink hair and glowing eyes sits in front of a laptop on which images flicker by too fast to be seen while her friend with less shocking brown hair talks animatedly into her smart phone, her furry tail wrapping idly around the leg of her chair. There are a few tables that only have one occupant, usually someone studying, like Doug is. Dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve blue t-shirt under a grey t-shirt that reads 'My Other Car is a Delorean' across the chest, the blonde is sitting with his own laptop open, a pencil clenched in his teeth and black-framed glasses pushed up on his head as his fingers skim over the keyboard. One sneakered toe taps idly on the floor, in what appears to be Morse Code. "I wish I could time travel back to when coffee was only a buck or two," Jamie says to Doug after he's entered the coffee shop, hoping to get his attention. In case there was any confusion, this 30-something who looks like shit gestures with a pointing finger to Doug's shirt, about the Delorean. "Do you mind if I sit here? There's hardly any room in this joint and I have to stop walking. I've been doing it so much I feel like I've been walking for three." Irrespective of whether Doug agrees or not, though, he will take his seat in front of him, hardly giving him time to answer. "Don't worry, it may look like I've got company, in a minute, but it's just me getting a jumper hoopswitch mulchturner latte without skim." At the counter, Jamie Madrox waves hello to them both, raising his wallet and pointing to the barista. "We won't bother you, I promise." A flush from the bathroom heralds Jamie Madrox's emergence. He raises his palms as he nears the table. "Don't worry, I washed my hands!" All in all, in about the span of a couple of seconds, things around Doug's table were about to get animated. To say Doug is a bit engrossed in his work would be underselling it. Jamie's comment about time travel gets a 'hnf' of laughter, but the blonde doesn't look up until there's the scrape of chair on the floor, and then he's blinking at the older man. "You look like you walked here through the Lincoln Tunnel," he offers helpfully, and lets his gaze over to the counter and other-Jamie. And then bathroom-Jamie as he draws closer. One eye closes, and he scrunches his nose thoughtfully before the corners of his mouth tug down, briefly. "I don't think there's enough chairs for you and your...brothers?" His voice lifts at the very end, forcing it into a question. "We could probably borrow a couple from Gloria and Rosalie's table," he indicates the pink-haired girl and her friend. "If you can get their attention." "Don't worry about iiit!" Jamie says, waving his hand dismissively and sounding like he's trying a little too hard to be the older guy who is 'with it'. He is trying to play off that comment about him dragging himself through the Lincoln Tunnel coolly. Jamie #2 walks over and places his cup down on the table, hot and steaming, and Jamie three crowds Jamie #1 and #2. In a strange visual effect that makes it look like the other two standing Madroxes are walking behind Jamie and out of sight, the Multiple Man reabsorbs his doubles and is suddenly one guy. "It's sort of like nesting drawers or saucepans inside one another," he explains, going on about it like anybody really cared in a place like this. It's becoming clearer he just did it to feel special about himself and maybe fit in. Doug quirks a grin at the trio, and lifts a shoulder. Whatever retort he might have had dies on his lips at the strange display of re-absorption. He can only blink, for a long moment. It might not be out of place in Evolve, but it's always new to someone, right? Finally, he finds his voice, and offers a slow grin. "That's pretty impressive," he says. "I've never seen anything like that, and I saw someone turn into /me/, once." He leans forward, then, to hold out a hand. "I'm Doug," he says, and then furrows his brow. "Is it just the three of you, like Triplicate Lass?" he asks suddenly. "Or can you make more?" Jamie is in the middle of shaking Doug's hand when he asks about Triplicate Lass, his face falling a little bit. "There's a person calling themselves Triplicate Lass?" he asks in a modicum of disbelief, letting his hand drop back to his coffee so he can take a larger swig of it than one normally would. "Triplicate Lass. Uh, no, no. Actually, I'm not sure how many me's I can make, and I prefer not to find out. It always manages to cause problems. Nice to meet you, Doug. I'm Jamie." Doug stares for a moment. "Dude. Triplicate Lass is a comic book character. The Legion of Super-Heroes? She was from Caarg, and could split into three different versions of herself." He grins, and motions around the cafe. "If there's anyone else out there with your powers, I haven't seen them come in here." He winks. "So, you're safe. No arch-enemies in the making to be seen." He taps a key on his laptop, sending the screen to a screensaver of a black-and-yellow technological-looking infection that threads its way through the desktop image. As it touches various image files, those are converted slowly into black-yellow techno-ness. Doug takes up his own glass of what looks to be lemonade, and taking a sip through the straw. "It probably comes in handy, though, when you've got to move and stuff." Jamie stares for a little bit at Doug and licks his lips, shifting forward in his seat and leaning on his forearm on his table. He waggles his finger a little bit as a thought forms in his head, eyes squinted. Finally, he is able to verbalize it. "Are you a nerd?" He leans forward a little, a predatory grin spreading on his lips a little. He tilts his head, eyeballing Doug's face. "You are, aren't you? You're totally a complete nerd." Suddenly he puts his hands in front of him, as if to ward off any defensiveness. "Don't worry, Doug. Your secret is safe with me." Doug's nerd-senses kick into overdrive as he recognizes Jamie's body language, and he eases back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "I am a nerd," he confirms. "Of the highest order. I am also gay. I've also played soccer for the last six years, and would literally kick someone who made an issue of either of those things into a puddle of goo." This is a simple listing of fact, and he takes any bite out of his words with his big, wide smile, suddenly leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and rest his chin on his interlaced fingers, bringing that wide smile closer. "And what do you do, Jamie?" "I snap photographs of cheating wives and husbands in parking lots," Jamie says blithely and ingloriously, his eyebrows raising on his forehead. With some life experience under his belt, he can't help but have a little fun at Doug's expense, especially when Doug is so prickly about it. "Say, chief, I'm sorry to ask all of a sudden, but I need you to do me a favor, okay? I left my plus twenty rolling dice at home, and I really need to make a dragon saving throw. Do you have a spare?" "Oh, really," Doug says, his eyes crinkling. "So, you're a /professional/ dick. And here I thought it was just an endearing trait." "I'm glad I didn't have to make the joke for you, some kids your age don't even know the term. That's why I love nerds, chief. Nothing gets by them - except genuinely good-intentioned jokes," Jamie says, winking at Doug and dropping his chin into a lattice of his fingers he's created with his hands just above the table. "Since you've been such a good sport, do you want me to get you a coffee or anything? I've got to be honest, despite the confidence and charm, I only got to New York a little while ago, and I've only made dick friends. PIs, I mean. You seem a little less...grizzly, and I like that." He holds up his hands again, to avoid criticism. "Understand if you're not interested, not everyone appreciates the punk puns like I do." "Not everyone appreciates dicks the way I do," Doug says blithely, and leans forward just /that/ much more. "And I'm a really good sport. I have a trophy and everything." Then he's leaning back, and lifting his eyebrows. "I didn't think P.I.s were all that friendly with each other," he admits. "They're always at odds in the movies and books. 'This is my case, McLellan' and shit like that." His eyes narrow thoughtfully as he considers...the offer, apparently, as he shakes his head. "I'm good, but thanks," he says, and his foot taps a bit as he leans back with a smaller, sly smile. "And I'm definitely not /un/-interested." "We are really a lot more like old fifty something wives at a bridge club with one terrible secret buried under the linoleum kitchen floor," Jamie explains matter-of-factually re: private investigators. "Constantly peeking at each others cards, screeching about the latest gossip and trying to avoid talking about the occasional tapping noise coming from underneath the floorboards." Doug laughs. "Well, that's disappointing and fantastic all at once," he says, reaching up to pull his glasses off his head and fold them up, setting them on his laptop keyboard. The infection on the screen has nearly claimed the whole of the desktop image, now. "I guess common secrets force a sort of weird loyalty, whether you're a dick or not." He flashes a brief grin before tipping his head thoughtfully to one side. "How long have you been in New York, then?" he asks. "I mean, not that you're not nailing the local charm. But you said 'a little while ago', which is terribly vague, even for a P.I.." "Honestly? Maybe a month? Probably less than a month. A couple of weeks. I came at the request of a friend, and frankly it was time for a change," Jamie says, sipping on his latte casually, looking over his shoulder towards the door. "It's pretty strictly confidential business but I CAN tell you I'm not getting paid nearly enough for this shit." "Oh, my God," Doug says. "I can die happy, now. I just heard an /actual/ detective say 'I'm not getting paid enough for this shit.'" The teenager seems genuinely delighted at this, and he leans forward. "Does it involve a dame? With gams that go all the way up to the Promised Land?" Now the teasing is entirely on the other side. "Is there a dwarf with a thick foreign accent involved, and a dirty cop?" His eyes crinkle, and he scrunches his nose. "You are officially my favorite person that I've met this weekend." "I HAVE spent a lot of time looking out of a dirty window with halfway shut miniblinds while clutching a fifth of cheap whiskey since I got here," Jamie remarks thoughtfully, his eyes drifting to the ceiling as he taps his finger on his chin. "Sadly, no gorgeous dames with firelockes and a bad attitude looking for missing pearls. If only it was like that, Doug. It's why I got into this business. I really thought it might happen." He looks soulfully mournful. Doug grimaces. "That sounds dirtier than it probably is," he says of Jamie's latest past-time, shaking his head. "And I'm sorry to hear that no femme fatales have landed on your doorstep," he says, and his sympathy might be a /touch/ exaggerated. "But, keep your chin up. This /is/ New York, after all. Excitement around every corner, and all of that." He closes one eye thoughtfully. "There might even be a few feisty redheads in the mix, to keep you happy."