ArchivedLogs:Recognition

Recognition
Dramatis Personae Ash, Dorian Siccavil, Doug, Ion	2014-05-08 '
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. The dreary rainy day drives some people that would normally eat outside to seek other options. Others couldn't care about the rain and simply crave the food Busboys and Poets has to offer. Ash is one of the latter, coming in some time in the early afternoon, a damp flannel shirt covering his torso. He looks like he's been in and out of the wet stuff all morning, and now it's time for a warm meal. He has a couple other guys with him as he heads for the line, intent on getting lunch before his stomach starts growling too much. Once they start waiting, Ash stuffs his hands in his rough and kind of dirty jeans, shifting his weight as he looks over the menu. "Chili sounds fantastic. What do you guys think?" The rain /is/ kind of a deterrent to outside activities. Which is why Doug is already here, tucked up at a table with his laptop open in front of him. Dressed in a rumpled-looking pair of khakis and a grey pull-over short-sleeved polo shirt that's equally rumpled. His hair is a haystack of needs-to-be-combed, a fact that's only exacerbated by the way he keeps running his fingers through it and pulling at it. He can't quite suppress the yawn that overtakes his face, and prompts him to grab his empty coffee cup and meander back towards the front. Ash and his crew get a bleary, unrecognizing glance before he holds out his cup and blinks slowly at the barrista behind the counter. "Extra shot of espresso -- no, make it a double shot," he says through another yawn. "Maybe a triple." Ion, for his part, noooot a huge fan of the rain. He's looking more than a little uncomfortable as he stomps his way inside, a tense nervous energy to his fidgety motions. His hands are in the pockets of his canvas jacket, shoulders twitching with a ceaseless sort of shiver. "{Ffff I just need some caffeine in me, earthworm. Chili here /is/ fantastic though.}" His words are in a Spanish as casual-lazy as his English ever is, and he removes his hands from his pockets eventually to cross his arms over his chest instead. Then run his fingers through his loose damp curls. Then cross his arms again. Fidget his weight from one heavy mud-splattered workboot to the other. His eyes narrow on Doug with more recognition than the other man has, though it's a furrowed-brow squint that suggests he's not /entirely/ placing it. "{Know that white boy. Somewhere.}" The rain never really bothered Dorian, evident in the way he lingers outside before following the group of guys into the cafe. Shaking his head to clear the lingering water, his hair is a springy mess of brown curls attempting to escape from beneath the black and white bandana that hold them out of his face, effectively masking his unusual ears from view. A pair of hand-me down work jeans and work boots, paired with a long sleeve t-shirt do well to let him blend in to the crowd of the shop. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, perhaps a bit self consciously as he srugs, "Chili is good? I like chili. And soup. Think I'll go with chili." The shrug seems an attempt to downplay his over anxious chatter, though it does little as he bounces on the balls of his feet, swaying in place while he waits his turn with the others. "{You recognize him? They all look the same to me.}" Ash inhales deeply as Doug moves into line to get his coffee first. It doesn't phase Ash much, he still has a pleasant smile on his face. "Sometimes chili is a soup, but really, I think it is a a rampant mixture of semi-solid food that can only be housed in a bowl or on a 'dog." He shifts between Spanish and English quietly, amused in both. "Do you like coffee, Dori? Because I might get a box to take back to the church when we're done. But... oh, double espressos sound amazing right now." The familiar voice of Ion manages to cut through Doug's seeming stupor, and he slowly turns to blink at the other man, then at Ash and Dorian -- the latter getting a blink of almost-recognition. The Spanish rolls over him, and he snorts a bit at Ash's comment. "{That would be so racist, in reverse,}" he says in smooth, flawless Spanish, yawning again as he scratches his stubbly cheek. He cocks a grin at Ion, and shrugs. "You might remember me, if you'd ever introduced yourself properly." Then he blinks, noticing Ash's body language, and furrowing his brow apologetically. "Shit, dude, did I cut the line? Sorry about that." He steps back, then, to allow the other three to step up to the counter. "I'm barely here today." "Racist in reverse?" Ion switches back to English when Doug speaks up in Spanish, eyes rolling. "Ain't no such thing, gringo. Can be some bigoted jackass, sure, anyone can do /that/. I know you?" He's still fidgeting restless and uncomfortable, arms tightening against his chest with fingers squeezing in at the sleeves of his jacket. "Where from, ese?" His eyes skip over the khakis-and-polo outfit quickly, then back up to Doug's face. "Not church, no? Hm." He rubs a hand against the back of his neck, frowning up at the board. "What other soup they got?" It -- /has/ the options for the day listed right there in plain text, gazpacho, black bean, chicken stew, mushroom bisque, French onion, though he's just frowning at the board and then back down at his shoes. "Chili's maybe a winter soup. Stew? Soup? Gah. Maybe tomorrow we do the hot dogs. Put chili on /them/." Dorian tilts his head slightly, "Haven't really had much coffee before, so I don't have quite much of an opinion on it. I think I like it, I mean, it tastes alright. But, um, I'm a bit hyper as is, so adding caffeine to it just sort of makes it worse. But it's good on a day like this. I think" The young man chuckles quietly, reaching up to adjust the bandanna on his head before shoving his hand back into his pocket, looking guilty as he realizes just how much he was talking, "Definitely shouldn't have espresso." His espression is slightly confused at the banter in Spanish, though only a little more confused than he is any other time - he does look at Doug, also making an attempt at remembering why the young man look familiar. Tilting his head curiously, he looks back up at the menu again, pondering, "I guess I'll go with the chili. But if we go to get hot dogs tomorrow, I really like their chili. I think I want to try the chicken stew. It sounds like it could be good, and still soup without being chili..." his voice trails off as he finally internalizes the babbling, still bouncing from one foot to the other while contemplating. Ash gestures back to the counter, looking at Doug. "You already ordered. You should pay the cashier so he doesn't have to clear out your order to put ours in." He nods to Ion's comments about racism, brows darting upward as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Of course, chili's a winter sludge. Though, if you guys want to go for chili dogs tomorrow, then maybe I'll have that open faced roast beef. What can I say, I like a hearty meal." He grins and glances over at Dorian. "Don't worry about it. I'll buy you a juice, okay?" "Reverse racism actually /is/ a named thing," Doug says, lifting his shoulder as he digs in a pocket. "I mean, you're right in that it's ridiculous, but that's the society we live in." He comes up with a couple of crumpled bills, and hands them to the cashier. Ion' question gets a grimace, and a muffled groan. "/Seriously/?" he asks, blinking a couple of times. "We've met more than once. You're Kay's friend, right? The guy I bought coffee for a couple of months ago?" He shakes his head, and reaches for his filled cup as the cashier hands it over. He sips at the hot liquid, hissing at the burn on his tongue, and looks at Dorian. "And you're...you lived in my...for a while..." he colors, suddenly, and his jaw tightens as he looks at the floor. "I'm sorry. I don't remember your name." He directs his attention back to Ion, the grin coming up a sly one as he places his hand on his chest and crinkles his eyes at the trio. "/I/ am Doug." "Yeah. Unicorns is also a name-thing yo. And Santa Claus." Ion glances back up at the menu board, frowning again as the others smeal. He exhales, shifting a little uncomfortably again, and scrubs at his eyes before just stepping up to the counter to -- order a chili, despite saying he didn't want one. And a triple espresso." His fingers snap together with the mention of Kay; he stops in the middle of extracting his wallet to turn around, pointing at Doug with tongue clicking against his teeth. "Ay, yeah, I remember. I meet you. With Kay, with Dusk, you --" His fingers snap together again, but pause in midair, forefinger pointing at Doug with this introduction. "Doug. /Doug/. You Doug." "I think I met a unicorn once, when I was younger," Dorian chatters idly, apparently not following the conversation all that well as he bounces in place, adding hesitantly, "Could be misremembering, kinda happens." As he steps up to the counter to order, digging a handful of crumpled cash out of his pocket and neatening it to pay for his meal - an order of chicken stew and some bread, and an apple juice. He offers a sheepish grin to Ash, "Um, yeah, probably for the best. Juice, that is." He turns his attention to Doug, tilting his head at the introduction, "Oh! Oh, right. Yeah. When I first got out, and all that stuff. 'm Dorian." The young man offers a somewhat sheepish wave, before accepting his change and moving out of the way, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. "Dude, you're defending reverse racism?" Ash blinks a little, then shakes his head. "That's kind of not the best." He steps to the counter next and orders his food, a double espresso with cream, and a box of coffee for later, fishing out his wallet to pay. He pulls away to eye Ion when he does his finger pointing. "Doug? From the Village Lofts?" He was around, despite not interacting much with the guy. He glances between the two and takes another step back. Doug holds up his hand. "I am /defintely/ not defending reverse racism," he clarifies for Ash, shaking his head. "Or racism in general. I was merely pointing out that it was an actual thing. It's gross, no matter which direction it comes from." He sips at his coffee, snorting a bit at the commentary on other Named Things, and shrugs. "I like unicorns," he says blithely. "Not, y'know, to the point of collecting them or anything. Don't know if I've ever met one, though." He lifts his eyebrows at Dorian. "Maybe they're in disguise, like The Last Unicorn." He steps back a bit further as each man places his order, and nods at Ash. "Yeah. Well, /formerly/ from the Lofts. I guess no one is from there now." His expression clouds over for a moment, and then he furrows his eyebrows. "Dusk /was/ there, that first time," he says to Ion. "You haven't actually /seen/ him lately, have you?" He blinks slowly, and tips a half-smile at the other man. "Whatever your name is?" "Doug. Right. Yeah. Nobody from there now." Ion's paused in his quest for Paying The Cashier, wallet absently shifting with the same restless fidget he's had the whole time, one hand to the other to the other until Doug finishes speaking. He doesn't return the smile. Instead he just steps forward, hand curled into a tight fist -- that's flying hard and straight for the side of Doug's jaw. There's an odd tingle of current that runs through his touch, more /irritant/ than dangerous, a brief zap enough to /jolt/ muscles briefly though it's liable to hurt far /less/ than the solid crack of knuckles, if they connect. Dorian toys with some of his change, carefully turning a quarter over in his hands stiffly, apparently focusing on that activity in an attempt to keep his mouth shut. "I like that movie, and s'totally possible, I suppose, I mean, lotsa things are possible like that," he babbles, staring down at the quarter he's toying with, trying to stay out of the way. He looks up very nervously in the split second before Ion takes a swing at Doug, a ruffle of dark brown fur fluffing visibly at the nape of his neck, escaping the collar of his shirt. The next move is neither brave nor particularly graceful, as the young man skitters to press back against the counter, ducking low and putting his arms over his head. He slouches inward, making himself as small a target as possible in case of a fight. Ash opens his mouth to counter Doug's ridiculous statement when Ion punches him. His brows climb up his forehead as he stares. "Ay, Dios." He then begins to glance around, looking over to Dorian as he gets out of the way, then back to Ion. He stays by the electrokinetic's side, his expression turning bland as he watches Doug. Doug has not had enough sleep for his brain to process things /quickly/. Add to that Ion's complete lack of body language indicating his intent, and there's little wonder why Ion's fist connects with a solid and overly-loud THWACK against Doug's jaw, heralded by a splash of blood from the blond's mouth as teeth are loosened. His coffee mug flies from suddenly nerveless fingers, shattering on the tiled floor and splashing dark stains against the legs of his pants. For a moment, he looks like he might take it in stride; he remains on his feet, and blinks a couple of times in confusion around the room. "Right," he croaks painfully, and turns as if he might return to his table. He only manages a step before he crumples, crashing to the floor in a heap. Ion shakes his hand out, hissing quietly with a small shaky jolt himself, damp clothes not really going very /well/ with that sudden surge of electricity. His teeth are clenched hard together -- more with the brief muscle-seizing /he's/ experiencing than with anger. He curls his arm back around his chest, still shaking, and steps forward with another small hiss. "I seen Dusk, rich boy. He been proper fucked since your stunt. You know some psychos grabbed him off the street. Hacked off his wings, his eyes. Harder out on the street for some than others, ey," in odd contrast to the abrupt punch he's now extending a calloused rough hand to -- offer Doug a hand back /up/? His other hand is lifting to the wide-eyed cashier, head shaking as the cafe starts to stir with noise and alarm. "Yeahno, lo siento, scrap the chili, I'll get. Fff. But trust me, he had that one coming-him." "Yeah. We'll go somewhere else." Ash gives the cashier a wince and a smile, looking around to see if anything else is broken before moving to collect Dorian on his way out. "Come on, hermano." Doug doesn't stay down long, already groaning by the time the crowd begins to react. He pushes himself up on his hands, his breath a bit ragged as he regains his senses. "Wait," he croaks, when Ion mentions what's happened to Dusk, and he grabs the other man's hand to haul himself to his feet. He looks nauseous -- whether from the pain in his already-brusing jaw or the information offered. "They did.../what/?" He can't seem to process this, and he actually looks green. He wobbles on his feet, horror and revulsion creeping into his eyes. "I -- " he can't seem to close his jaw, his bloody tongue not helping with the crowd's reaction. Which eventually, he notices, particularly when Ion and Ash say they're leaving. "I'll go, too," he manages, although the words are thick-sounding, and there's an audible roiling noise from his stomach. He returns to his table, grabbing up his laptop and the umbrella under his chair. He retches a bit, when he bends, but manages to fight it off, since nothing comes of it, Straightening slowly, he swallows once, and begins for the door with the slow pace of someone battling an unruly stomach. He actually makes it to the street before he ultimately loses the struggle in the gutter. Ion's hand clasps firmly around Doug's, and he helps haul the other man to his feet, clapping his other hand to the small of Doug's back until he gets steady there. He heads for the door after this, lifting a hand to wave away the general /clamor/ coming from the cafe; he holds the door open with a heel for Doug, shoulders tensing up once they get back out into the wet afternoon. "Crazy-ass motherfucking cult," he answers, light and casual as though he /hadn't/ just decked the man in the face. "Snatched us off the fucking street. Yeesh." He shoves his hands back into his pockets, glaring up at the grey sky. "Lo siento. I fucked up our lunch, hermanos," he says to Ash and Dorian, cheeks puffing out as Doug retches into the gutter. "Some-times someone they just need a punch, you know. I'll buy for you all. Somewhere new. No punching. Promise."