ArchivedLogs:Purple Fries

Purple Fries
Dramatis Personae Micah, Ion	9 October 2014 A very late dinner date.
Location <NYC> Baohaus - Chinatown
Despite its unlikely name, this restaurant dishes up some of the best hot pot in Chinatown. A great place to go with friends, come pick a broth, pick ingredients, and enjoy the Chinese version of fondue, cooking meals yourself in the steaming soup. And, of course, don't miss the signature buns the place is named for! Autumn is certainly here, thank you very much, and is announcing itself with a particularly /brisk/ wind on this clear evening. Micah is a little /bundled/ as he arrives at the restaurant, waiting until the hostess brings him to the (reserved!) table to unwind himself from hat, jacket, and gloves. His auburn hair is a little less mussed than usual, effort taken to /dry/ it after his shower on account of the chill. He wears a jade button-down shirt beneath, embroidered here and there with leaf patterns, and a pair of dark bluejeans that /don't/ look to be secondhand. He settles in with the default-provided glass of water and orders a pot of tea for the table. One of the pair of menus finds itself in his hand to get a glancing-over while he waits. Unsurprisingly, there's -- a /bit/ of a wait before Ion shows up. Punctuality is not his game -- despite the still ridiculously ostentatious watch glittering on his wrist. He's not quite so bundled, leather jacket (with a very /small/ MMMC patch on it) and dark jeans and tall shitkicker boots. Perhaps to balance out Micah's state of slightly-less-muss, his hair is kind of a mess, probably courtesy of the motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm. His face lights in in a wide smile when he spots the other man, and he ambles across the room to drop into a seat opposite. "Eyy, yo, stranger, que tal?" Micah doesn't seem troubled by the wait, settled back in his seat and sipping from his slightly steamy teacup by the time Ion arrives. He swallows his tea, setting the cup down and standing as his lips tug into a warm, broad smile. "/You/ are a tough fellow t'get a hold of." It's about a step and a half to get to the other side of the table for /hugs/. "How y'don't freeze t'death bikin' 'round out there I /don't/ know. Ain't even winter yet." His shoulders shiver despite Micah being quite /warm/ from handling hot tea. "How've y'been?" "I run hot." Though the evidence of this isn't much apparent in Ion's fierce hug -- there's quite a bit of outside-cold still clinging to his jacket. "And I'm a easy to catch hold of," he objects as he finishes clapping the other man on the back and settles back down again into his seat. "Your husband and I, we got a standing date. Like a clockwork every Sunday. You on the other hand." He pulls his jacket off to drape it over the back of his seat; beneath he's in a long-sleeved black tee with a plain green tee layered over it. "I hear these days, I want to meet up with you, best way is get the pigs to collar me. Jail your new favorite hangout, huh?" "Don't doubt it," Micah returns quickly, his grin going a bit lopsided. "An' /that's/ how I finally got your new phone number. Gotta go t'church t'see you now? There's dates an' there's...church." His tone clearly does not equate these two. "True enough. 'Bout due for m'next arrest if the timin's gonna keep up on schedule." He chuckles lightly as he settles back into his seat. "Y'like green tea? Ain't usually m'go-to, but bein' in a Chinese restaurant occasionally makes me want it." A hand gestures in the direction of the teapot in offering. "You been in my church before, no lightning hit you down. And the inside of that church, it seen /so/ much fucking already, it maybe must got. Potential." Ion reaches for the teapot, pouring himself a cup. "But nah you don't gotta find God just to hook up with me. Now and then, I swing by, drop in on Darkwing down your way, huh? Usually is middle-of-night then, though. That boy he keep some strange hours. What you planning on getting cuffed for next time?" "Mmn, no, I just got shot that one time. No lightning, though." The degree of Micah's amusement /might/ have to do with it being /Ion/ discussing lightning striking people. "Good news, though. I've never been 'specially good at my /own/ religion, much less anybody else's." His smile turns fond again at the mention of Dusk. "He's a bit of a night owl, true enough. Hm. Past two times it's been for standin' near people usin' abilities, so I imagine it'll stay in that vein. Not sure just what set-up I'll wander m'self into this time, though. Don't guess I can convince the cops t'arrest me /for/ usin' abilities again. That was kinda...golden how that came out." His fingers tap along his menu lightly. "I /always/ recommend the taro fries here. They're amazin'. An' the bao, of course. Though they got a bunch of rice bowls an' all if y'aren't into those as much." "You got a religion?" Ion sounds mildly surprised at this revelation. "I could probably work you up some bit a storm, you need your arresting fix." A tiny spark dances between his fingertips and then fades away. "I like bao. Tarot? Your fries gonna read my fortune?" "Well, sort of. M'family's Jewish, but I ain't never been exactly /observant/." Hazel eyes fix in on the quick glimmer of light. "Hm. Down side is y'might get arrested, /too/. Took Hive an' B down with me last time." Micah suppresses /some/ of his giggle at that question. "/Taro/," he corrects lightly. Yeah...so it's not much of a difference in pronunciation to correct. "It's a root vegetable? Kinda pretty purple. Not likely t'read your fortune short of prediction' /delicious/. Y'should try these if y'haven't had before. Um...the tofu bao is /amazin'/. Pork's a close second." See? Not observant. "Oh-h-h. Spence, did he steal all your -- observ... at... ing?" Ion stumbles a little bit on this ending, brows knitting together. The news about Hive and B, though, brings his hands together in a clap, his eyes lighting with amusement. "/Shit/, yo, B? For real? Leetleshark she's turning into, kind of, badass, huh? You should see the bike she working on. Is a -- rrrr." He bares his teeth with this small growl, presumably in an effort to describe The Bike. "Mmn, kinda-not-really. Think his family, his original family, was more observant, yeah. An' he holds onto that connection real strong. It was...one of the reasons that it was so hard for 'im when Liam died. More'n just losin' a friend. He'd been kinda leadin' Spence through all that. I'm a poor enough substitute." Micah's teeth meet with his lower lip briefly. "Yeah. Ze got shot in the process. I'll never stop bein' grateful those kids got that healin' ability." He shakes this off, sipping from his tea. "Hoverbike?" he supplies helpfully. "Lemme know when y'wanna order, I'll flag the server. Think they got used t'me just sittin' here for a bit." "Shit, that's rough. Nine year old and what that kid already gone through --" Ion clicks his tongue against his teeth, frowning down at his tea. "Shot, arrested, your family they attract trouble. Me and my boys," he puts one hand over his heart so very seriously, "we never get in messes like that, huh? You maybe you learn from our good example." His hand lifts away from his chest, whooshing planelike up over the table. "/Flying goddamn motorcycle/, I don't know what you feed your pups but she like a fucking. Genius. You want to come? Fly with -- oh /oh/, order, food, right, this a food place, let's. Do. A food. What's that you said I'm getting? Toro? I want that. Mis fritas, they gonna be purple?" "More'n a lotta folks gotta face in a lifetime," Micah agrees, eyes slipping closed for a moment. "An', yeah, we sure seem to. Though I wouldn't say y'all steer clear of trouble by /any/ stretch." His smile slowly returns. "Ze's been a genius long 'fore I was feedin' hir anythin'. Came by that all on hir own. Got a bunch of good kids, we did." A light laugh answers the new mispronunciation. "/Taro/," he corrects again. "They're kinda browned on the outside from the fryin', an' speckled. Insides can still be purpley, though. I'm gonna get the tofu bao with mine." Glancing around to locate their server, he catches the young woman's eye and waves her over to place the order. "You don't see me and Kay in jail every-two-second, do you? On account of because we're /good/ boys. Oh /oh/," Ion is distracted again by the arrival of the server, a little fidgety-bouncy in his seat. "Oh I'm going to get the purple, the tor -- /taro/. Fritas. And pork baos. And you got a, maybe, maybe a lemonade? Gracias." “On account of you boys is good at not gettin' /caught/ s'about the way of it,” Micah chuckles, eyebrows bouncing once teasingly. “Taro fries for me, too, please. But with the tofu bao. An' I'm good with the tea. Thanks, sugar.” He collects their menus to pass over to the server, as well. “I worry 'bout y'all. But...at least y'do seem t'know how t'take care of yourselves, for sure.” "I tell a secret." Ion's grin spreads wider once the server has left, his forefinger lifting to touch over his lips. "Sometimes, I get caught. Jail I don't mind. Solid roof, three foods every day, any time I want --" His fingers close into a fist, open again to spread wide. "Poof. Anyway my name they don't even know. I never had a, what --" He sketches the shape of a small rectangle in the air with forefinger and thumb. "Name card in my life. Last time I tell them I Ricky Melendez. It sound /Mexican/, right, what these white boys know." His eyes lower to the table, fingers dropping to drum rapid against the side of his teacup. "Some time, though," he confesses, "Kay I worry about too." “Hm, that's one way of lookin' at it. Provided folks treat you okay.” Micah's nose crinkles slightly, lips pressing together with a touch of skepticism over whether /that/ happens or not. “Don't they got prints on you or somethin' they can link y'to by now?” He chuckles at the name offering. “Surprised 'round here everyone doesn't just assume Puerto Rican. S'the funny thing dependin' where you are in the US, they kinda lump all potentially-hispanic people into whatever country's closest to 'em.” The mention of worrying over Kay might earn a little /too/ emphatic a nod of agreement. “Yeah, he don't get away so easy as you do. An' then there's him doin'...things...right on camera. Guess I just worry 'bout /everybody/, anyhow,” he finally gives in with a small smile. "They treat me like shit, I zap out like --" Ion snaps his fingers together. "Anyway Kay, I can take him /with/, but. His name, his face, his everything, is all-over the damn --" His fingers flutter in the air. "You got a whole lot people need worrying though. Us, we can take care ourselves. You know," he adds, slurping at his tea again. "you got yourself many people worry about /you/ too." “Mmn. Need t'train Jax an' Dusk on that one, then.” Micah lifts his cup for another sip of tea. “Though /everybody/ knows Jax an' enough of the /cops/ know Dusk by now, at least.” The corner of his mouth tugs upward into a lopsided grin. “S'better that way. If I'm gonna be worryin' one way or another, might as well spread it 'round a bit. Not stuff all the worries on one person.” Ion's last comment is enough to incite a faint blush to rise in his cheeks, just a pale hint of pink. “I know. Give 'em enough t'worry 'bout anymore, too.” "Come on, Jax, Dusk, how you gonna keep them, they don't want to be kept? Darkwing, I seen him lift my bike with me /on/ it, straight up --" Whoosh, Ion's hand flies through the air again, "over the rooftops. And your boy, man," his tongue clicks together in time with a shake of his head. "He /somethin'/ else, right? He don't want to be in a jail, there not gonna /be/ a jail no more." His arm drops down, hooking backwards over the back of his chair. His eyes flick up-down-up over Micah, smile hooking up with that spread of blushing. "Is better that way, like you say. Lotsa worrying to be done. Only fair everyone get a share." “Ain't a matter of just gettin' away, unfortunately. Too many consequences when you're /known/.” Micah shrugs at that, head tilting to the side for good measure. “An' Jax ain't about t'go blowin' up buildin's as got /people/ in.” Well, /there's/ a look designed to worsen any blush. The spill of colour in Micah's cheeks deepens to a redder shade accordingly. It does look like the server might be headed back their way for a rescue soon enough, tray in hand. “Enough t'go 'round, for sure. This is nice. Never get t'spend enough time with folks just 'cause /I/ wanna see 'em. No crisis.” "Ay, no, I'm having a crisis /right/ now. Is maybe you can help me with this one, though." But whatever the crisis /is/ it'll have to wait, Ion is pausing to flash the waitress a bright smile as he takes his food. The server has a shyer smile to offer Ion in return, a little duck of her head given as she sets the plates on the table and heads off once it is clear no one needs anything else. Micah nods and gives a quiet thanks as the woman moves away. “Oh, y'can't just mention havin' a crisis an' then leave it /floatin'/ like that. What can I help y'with?” "Kind of a big crisis," Ion warns, sliding his lemonade close and taking a gulp. "Is just, see, there this pretty-man. One time? He kiss me." He leans in to say this like it's /confidential/. "Then, some months we don't talk. Then he invite me to dinner, I think, now what? I kiss him? That still allowed? /That/ answer, maybe you can help me, no?" Micah leans in as Ion does to listen to his quieter tones better. As the other man's meaning becomes clear, his cheeks flush outright crimson, colour heating the back of his neck and tips of his ears for good measure. “Apologies for that, sugar. Timin' was horrendous on losin' contact just then. Terribly rude, kiss a fella then don't talk to 'im for so long...” He finally cuts himself off, apparently realising he's rambling a bit. “Allowed. Encouraged, even. Depends what you're wantin' t'do more'n anythin'.” "Sometimes life gets a little chaos in it. Around you maybe-little-more than other people, huh?" When Ion leans in further, lifting his fingers to brush against the side of Micah's cheek, his fingertips are /kind/ of icy-cold from the chill condensation on the side of his glass. The touch of his lips, in contrast, is fiercely warm. It lingers a moment before he settles back properly into his seat. "There. Now maybe we eat." “Maybe a /little/ more,” Micah concedes with a small smile. The little shiver that answers Ion's touch might or might not be due to the chill of his fingertips. He leans in a little closer, returning the soft kiss as his eyes drift closed. His blush is going nowhere soon. A little blink comes as Ion speaks again. “Oh, right. There's food.” "Yeah." Ion's smile is bright again. He plucks up one of his buns, leaning back though his constant fidgety energy leaves him never seeming /quite/ relaxed. "-- And me, I just got /pretty/ hungry." It's Micah's turn to duck his head a little at Ion's bright smile, though he returns it in kind. “Pretty hungry. An' there's purple fries.” Chuckling, he plucks up one of his taro fries to nibble on. "All looks pretty delicious to me." Ion's smile is nooot fading. He /does/ start tucking into his food with a relish -- though his eyes, here, aren't quick to leave Micah.