ArchivedLogs:Not Rivals

Not Rivals
Dramatis Personae Cage, Elliott, Emma
In Absentia	2013-10-10 '
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. There's been a small crowd gathered, here in the cafe; it's not unusual for this place to be used as a meeting space, for various activist groups, and today it's a youngish group, a little older than undergrads but still definitely carrying the general look of Students. Kind of earnest, kind of casual, a plethora of laptops and backpacks among them. Here and there, people entering or leaving stop to look, or stop to say /hi/ to one of them, a young woman with brown hair neatly tied back from her face in a French braid, dressed comfortably but neatly in a knee-length grey skirt, green sweater vest, long-sleeved blouse; her sheer tights obscure but don't really /hide/ the prosthetic that is her right leg. Even after her group clears off, Elliott lingers, books spread on the table in front of her and laptop on her lap; she doesn't seem to be working so much as engaged in bright conversation with a passing customer. The other man is her age, dyed-blue hair tied back in a ponytail and a large mocha in his hand; he is bending her ear about registration, it seems. "-- not really the point, is it?" the man is saying, "I mean, in times like these --" "-- In times like these," Elliott cuts in with a small polite smile, "it's all the more important not to just throw away all freedoms for some measure of safety. Implementing registration is one thing, but what you're talking about comes close to --" "Are you going to Godwin this already?" the other man scoffs, though he's got a crooked smile on, too. "Hey, I'm just telling it like I see it. Look, I don't want to keep you from class, you have a good day, yeah?" Elliott offers him a firm handshake before he leaves. Emma enters the coffee slash book shop as if riding on a crisp autumn breeze, her clothes a few shades brighter than the gray overcast that covers the sky. She moves toward the line of patrons waiting to order coffee and lets her mind bounce merrily off the different thoughts emminating unchecked from the thinkers who have chosen to roost in the shop today, getting a feel for the climate indoors. She listens to a little philosophy here, some pseudo-erotica there - really, would people please stop glorifying that ridiculous Grey book? - until a familiar mind catches her attention. She pauses and turns her head casually to look, making sure it is the correct person. Her attention focuses ever so slightly on Elliott then, smiling to herself. Elliott's thoughts have been a crisp veneer of professionalism over an undercurrent buzz of Daily Life Concerns, but with the young man left and her /audience/ gone she slips back from Public Persona to just Elliott: a little bit tired, a little bit caffeine-wired, a little bit apprehensive about an upcoming Constitutional Law midterm. A little bit buried in coursework, a little bit really-should-be-planning for an upcoming debate she has. A little bit gosh, I could use another (double-shot) (whole milk) latte. She tips the last of hers down her throat, debating the merits of getting up to get another. Almost unconsciously, her leg flexes, testing its current state of ache after physical therapy and a run earlier that day. Emma smiles to herself as she considers the lovely Elliott running then turns her eyes away for a moment, her mind tugging that thought about another latte to the forefront of her mind, quietly and subtly until she either makes a firm decision against it or decides to get up and join Emma in line. The telepath also hangs back a step so that other customers can get in line ahead of her, just in case Elliott does choose the caffeinated choice. She studies the board while she waits, unbuttoning her white trench coat and straightening the light weight sweater underneath, one that is just sheer enough to show that the ivory camisol and skirt underneath are not a single dress. She shifts her weight from one boot clad high heel, to the other, her mind starting to question mocha and plain croissant, or cappuccino and chocolate croissant. Luke steps in from outside. He's wearing a dark gray suit, and black wool overcoat. It might not be /that/ cold out yet, but the combination looks good together at least. And it's not like he's got hat, scarf and gloves. He comes in and falls into line, smiling at the barista who catches his eye - they are probably acquainted. Luke's mind is occupied with all manner of busywork concerns, managing his court case, the upcoming campaign rally, and the several unfinished investigations still on his plate. His buzzing thoughts are fairly uniform as he steps into line behind Emma, until that is, he spies Elliott sitting at her table. He fights the urge to walk right back out, squares his shoulders, and affixes a friendly smile, just in case Elliott looks his way. Elliott looks /Emma's/ way, at first; first with a niggling itch of recognition that blossoms into a full-on smile when memory catches up with her. This, at least, makes up her mind on the coffee front; she clears her old mug over to the stand where used dishes wait to be cleaned, and after busing her table moves towards the line, her gait just slightly uneven. "Emma. What a pleasant surprise." This cheerful greeting comes as she approaches Emma -- putting herself not quite /in/ line but next to it, just in front of Cage. /He/ is hard to miss, and so he receives a small polite smile afterwards; unlike Cage, this comes with no desire to flee at all, just a bland frank assessment matching up what she knows (or thinks she knows) of the man << mutant, invincible? Attention-seeker. No experience to back up his City Council bid, and judging from the press he's received no common sense to compensate. >> with his current appearance. "Goodness. Luke Cage." She extends a hand to go with the smile. "I don't believe we've met though I think it was inevitable we'd have to." "Elliott, darling," Emma leans toward Elliott as if to embrace the other woman, but her movements slow as she gets a mindful of the awkward situation. The smile on Emma's lips takes on a slightly more cunning, yet appreciative tilt as she studies her acquaintance for a moment, then allows it to soften to something more professional as she glances at Luke. "It has been an age," Emma replies as she gives Elliott a warm look and pursues the hug, only if the recipient seems willing. Luke watches the exchange between the women in front of him, and nods at the inevitable greeting. His thoughts also run through a quick categorization, and include a frantic moment where he is blank on Elliott's name, but he recovers in the nick of time, complete with rank, sort of. "Lieutenant Carruthers," Luke says with a smile, and a warm handshake. Luke's mind is a strange mix of genuine friendliness, wrapped up in complicated political opinions. Luke is often accused of being simple, or oversimplifying complex issues, but it would seem his concerns run as deep as anyone else's. "Thank you for your service. I've been looking forward to meeting you." Another statement utterly genuine, and yet complex in undertones. Luke smiles politely as Emma greets Elliott in her own way, and looks away briefly at the menu board. Elliott does seem willing, thoughts warming at the offered hug; she leans in to accept and return it, one arm squeezing Emma briefly around the shoulders. "I haven't gotten down to the Club lately nearly as much as I'd like." Though her mind holds more regret over missed opportunity to see /Emma/ than missed opportunity to partake of the HFC's opulent facilities. "How have things been? Hopefully -- quieter?" Her handshake for Cage is brief, and firm. "Lieutenant Commander," she corrects mildly, more out of a habituated /attentiveness/ to such things than any offense. "Have you?" There's a warm note of laughter buried in her voice. "That's not what most people on your side of the issues tell me." "Well, if one can call the sound of hammering construction quiet," Emma teases lightly, making sure there's a soft touch of cheek against cheek during the hug. When she pulls away, she does so with a deep breath to exaggerate a sigh, "but really, I kid. Yes. Things have been delightfully quiet. I'm getting ready to throw the Halloween Ball and Grand Reopening at the end of the month. I would love it if you could come by, you know, barring other plans." She catches Elliott's hand for a moment, squeezing her fingers gently before releasing her completely and turning her attention to Cage. "Don't tell me that you two are rivals of some type!" she blinks as glances between them. Luke lets the 'club' discussion slide by, mentally logging it as 'none of his business'. When Elliott corrects him though, his eyebrows go up, genuinely impressed. "Is that right? Congratulations on the promotion. I guess I'm behind on my homework." Again, his mind, face and voice all seem to be in line with what he's saying out loud. Undercurrent opinions do not seem to unseat his respect for Elliott's position. "Well, with any luck, Lieutenant /Commander/, maybe 'sides' will be less of a thing." He turns his smile to Emma and extends his hand to her as well. "Hi, well yes, sort of," he says with a smile. "Luke Cage. Running for District 9's Council Seat. The Lieutenant Commander and I disagree on the topic of mutant registration, but in spite of the rhetoric out there, I hope it's a debate we can keep civil." "Rivals? Hardly," Elliott says with a soft laugh; inwardly there's mingled thoughts at this reaction -- /relief/ at dealing with someone who doesn't carry the weight of expectations from her public persona but, additionally, a mild hint of distaste for someone so uninformed about current events as to not know who they both are. "Rivals implies a competition; I'd like to finish my degree before I try my hand at politics. I'm actually throwing a fundraiser," she says this with the faintest overtones of apology, "next week for Alisa Vallejo, who's also a contender in the race. You might be familiar with her, she's served on the School Board for some years now?" Her head shakes slightly at Cage's statement about sides. "I think we have a /long/ way to go before any sort of resolution on this issue." Emma smiles warmly as both deny rivalry, her eyes glittering in amusement while she mentally takes note of the feelings behind their reactions. "Ah. Forgive my assumption. It's just the nature of opposing political views that tempts me to poke and prod." She wets her lips and glances between them once more. "Then again, the party lines do seem to be laying themselves down," is the off hand comment she makes. "I would tease further, but I can only imagine how tense you both are after recent events and I'm sure you both came here to relax." Luke provides a professional grade smile-and-nod package when Elliott dismisses the idea of their rivalry. His thoughts betray an emotional hotbed buried underneath, but not actual hostility. He gestures acquiescence at the mention of the Vallejo fundraiser. "Oh yeah, Ms. Vallejo has done terrific things with our schools in the district. Really. But of course she and I disagree on some key points. I just hope we can have an election where people who disagree can do it without getting down and dirty, you know?" He offers a grateful smile to Emma's mention of wanting to relax. "Oh, it's ok. I like this place a lot, but these days, I know if I'm going out in public, I'll probably be having a conversation of some kind. This is certainly better than the one I had four blocks ago." Luke's smile is bland and generic, but his memory flickers briefly to men leaning out of a truck window, hurling trash and slurs at him. He barely avoided the trash, and he'd never admit to how much the insults effect him. "Oh, I'm not overly concerned about things getting dirty. Ms. Vallejo is an old friend of my family, she's," << Not the type to /smash/ her way into the headlines, >> "such a dear. Tough on the issues, though nothing but sweet otherwise." Elliott gestures towards the counter when the line in front of them clears. "You're up." Her weight shifts again, a small twinge of annoyance coming with the motion though it doesn't make its way onto her face as she takes a step closer. "Relax? Here? They do have excellent coffee but with the number of activists who use this place as a meeting hole it's pretty inevitable a stop through here ends in some debate or other. To tell the truth, I find it pretty invigorating. It's kind of refreshing, talking with people who take an interest in the world." Her eyebrows raise at the mention of four blocks ago, following this up with only a curious, "Oh?" though there's already a note of distaste in her mind for some of the things she's heard happening to mutants in the street lately. The disaste is followed up, admittedly, with eminent unsurprise that Cage might get negative reactions: << Make a name for yourself violently and what do you expect? >> "Oh, my turn," Emma states and turns to the counter and order. And she orders it to go. "I am afraid my time is short and I must go, but I look forward to speaking with you both at a later time." Since she has her purse open, she is able to pull out her business cards, the ones with black on white linen that list her the event coordinator at the Hellfire Club. By the time she's given them both one, she's picking up her order. "Have a wonderful night!" Luke nods his agreement with Elliott's assessment of Vallejo, and looks over the counter again as Emma orders. "To be honest, Ms. Carruthers, I come here for the same reason. The energy of people who care passionately is much better than those who don't give a sh-." Luke makes an apologetic smile. His tone using her name is familiar, rather than intentionally snide, omitting her title. Of course, not everyone is a mind reader though. "Excuse me. I mean, those who don't care either way. He waves dismissively at his own '4 blocks' comment. "Oh, it was nothing in particular. Nothing mutants haven't gotten for months in this city." He shrugs, not wanting to make too much of it. He accept the business card with a smile, and peers at it curiously as Emma turns to go. "Huh. Never heard of the place." "It was delightful to see you again." Elliott takes Emma's card with a smile and a warm thought, a definite intention to /use/ the number shortly. She steps up to the counter to get her own order -- another double latte, whole milk. "Mmm. It's always such a shame when people resort to violence to make their points. This city has --" Her eyes flick briefly over Cage, a small tug upwards at the corners of her mouth, "-- seen so much unnecessary destruction and violence lately. I prefer to make my arguments with words. -- I really should be getting back to my studying, though. Good luck in the race, Mr. Cage." She offers another handshake, before paying for her drink and returning to her table to wait for it.