ArchivedLogs:Sanity Break

Sanity Break
Dramatis Personae Desi, Rasa, Shane
In Absentia	2017-09-02 "You might as well put 'Red Sox Fans Only'."
Location <NYC> Liber T - East Village
This little basement establishment is decorated in purple, black, and gold, perpetually smelling of books and tea. The reason for this is rather immediately apparent: about one third of the shop is taken up by dark wood bookshelves laden with books on occult subjects ranging from the serious to the whimsical, and the wall behind the counter is crowded with jars and jars of whole leaf tea. Small tables and mismatched chairs occupy the remainder of the floorspace, though there is also a couch against the back wall and a pair of armchairs not-quite-facing each other in a corner. Most patrons come to drink tea and perhaps browse the books idly, but some regulars are inclined to sit and read for hours on end. The teahouse plays host to at least two pagan book clubs, and many other witchy meet-ups. Perhaps owing in part to the rain, Liber T is not particularly busy for a Saturday afternoon. There's a quiet discussion happening over a copy of /High Magic II/ at one table, but most of the patrons at the moment are solitary and nursing their tea with a book or electronic device to consume their attention. Desi has been here since opening and is finally taking a /real/ break, shedding her apron and slumping down onto the couch with a large mug of tea in one hand and her phone in the other, thumb swiping busily at the screen before she has even settled. She's wearing a ruffled, many-layered black skirt and a purple blouse with 3/4 length bell sleeves, though her forearms are covered by long black gloves. Her hair is neatly plaited down her back, giving her a sort of bookish country-girl look. Like some kind of RUDEface, Shane comes bearing /outside food/ into this fine drinking establishment. Dressed in neat grey slacks, a blue-and-grey vest, black dress shirt with neatly tied tie (its knot a complicated but impeccably tied Eldredge), a plastic bag slung over his arm that smells distinctly of Chinese food. He traipses blithely toward the couches, evidently in possession of all the energy Desi lacks, flumping himself down on the couch beside her and dangling the bag in front of her face. His eyebrows hike up in silent invitation. Rasa trails a little bit behind, dressed in loose, comfortable, black leggings and a flimsy, translucent, white top. Over the top of hir clothes, ze is wearing a spaghetti strapped, drop sleeved duster. It wraps hir bosom in honey yellow with colorful florals scattered over the fabric, the pleated cloth flaring at the empire waist and dropping to hir ankles. Thin gloves grasp the other bag, hir eyes dancing gleefully as they cross the threshold. The rest of hir face and hair is covered in a similarly colored veil. Ze settles into a sitting position on the floor in front of the pair, settling the bag of food in front of hir crossed ankles. Desi sits up a little straighter when the door opens, but relaxes again when she sees who has entered, flashing the two a tired but warm smile. The smile goes wider, as do her eyes, when the scent of Chinese food begins wafting from the bags. "Oh, dear sweet merciful gods, yes." She grabs the bag that Shane dangles in front of her and unrolls the paper liner bag inside eagerly. "You have saved my life--or, at the least, my sanity. Merci beaucoup." Pausing a beat while rooting through the bag, she glances up at her guests. "Ah! But I am being ever so rude. How fair you this fine day? Is it slow at Evolve, as well?" "It's dragging. Taylor can handle it. Last I checked he was still answering fuckstick liberals on Facebook so he's probably golden." Shane squints one eye closed, rolls his head to the side to cast a /skeptical/ look at Desi. Then down at Rasa. "Would it be cruel to break it to her that her sanity's long since been gone?" He reaches into the bag once Desi unrolls it, yoinking a small carton from in it and popping it open. Spearing a dumpling from inside, he pops it whole into his mouth. "I swear to God we've had the same five people camping tables there all morning. One of them's been listening to "Wild Magic" on repeat for the past three hours, I thought I might scream. Just the one fucking track, mind, headphones on blast." Well. By Shane's standards, anyway. "You surviving?" "I'm just lucky enough to not have Shane's hearing," Rasa admits. "I could only hear it when I was actively wiping down his table." Ze starts pulling open the other back, extracting the paper covered chopsticks and extending them to Desi. Shane certainly doesn't need them. Hir free hand reaches up to unhook the veil from one side of hir face and lets it hang casually across hir shoulder. Underneath, ze is a swirled mess of light and dark blue, streaked with yellow - looking very much like marbled paper. Ze keeps investigating hir bag. "Are the eggrolls in that one?" Desi blinks at Shane with wide-eyed innocence, resting the tips of her gloved fingers delicately on her sternum. "Who, /me/? I'm sure don't know what you mean. Merci." She accepts the chopsticks and unwraps them, brushing each against the other to clear away any splinters. Looks down into the bag. "So they are." Plucking out a the wax-paper pouch of eggrolls, she passes them to Rasa. "We have even had anything /that/ eventful. A couple of special orders, some lost tourists..." She tilts her head, tapping the side of her cheek with the chopsticks. "Oh, and I got promoted to assistant manager." "/Slacker/. What you been here like, a week? Shouldn't you own the place by now?" Leaning back, comfier, in the couch, Shane hooks a crooked smile over at Desi. "Congrats, though. I'll get you a drink later, huh?" He spears a second dumpling, though nibbles at this one rather than eat it whole. "We only get /purposeful/ tourists." Kind of a grimace, on this. "Lost ones at Evolve would probably be funnier, at least." "If we wanted lost tourists, we'd have to rebrand as something that doesn't scream 'Yep, Mutants Here.'" Rasa accepts the paper wrapped eggrolls and rests them on hir knees before raising hir hands to demonstrate a banner overhead. Granted, it's over hir head, but more around the couch bounds' shoulders. Ze unwraps a pair of hir own chopsticks, smiling at the other gloved individual. "Congrats, Desi. I suppose that is supposed to be enticement to work even more hours. Does it come with a cot in the back?" Desi snags a dumpling from the carton in Shane's hands. "I'm very disappointed in myself," she admits. "But never you fear, I have a plan." Though her current plan seems to mostly involve shoveling pork fried rice into her mouth. She stops for a sip of tea. "I do not envy you your tourists." Her eyes scan the shop reflexively. "The worst we get, on a regular basis, anyway, are pretentious ceremonial magicians quibbling about our book selection." She arches a slender eyebrow at Rasa. "A cot?" Dryly, though not without a faint touch of a smile. "What ever would I use /that/ for?" "A plan? Do tell." Shane tips the container out toward Desi. His brows raise, curious. He flashes a toothy smile at Rasa, bright, quick: "I got a plan, too. I was gonna slap a banner over the door," his spread of hands mirrors hirs, "that says "Deep dish pizza", hopefully keep everyone away except the people who really know what they're looking for." One of his eyebrows quirks up at Desi. "Are there /non/-pretentious ceremonial magicians?" "Deep dish, Shane..." Rasa shakes hir head at the suggestions. "You might as well put 'Red Sox Fans Only." Still, an amused smile curls up the corners of hir mouth. Ze peels off one of hir gloves to fish an egg roll out of the paper sack. Desi pauses for breath again, dabbing at her lips primly with a napkin. "Come now, and spoil the surprise? Within earshot of my future employees?" She affects a shocked expression. "Would I be so indiscreet? I will say, however, that it is a sight better than /your/ plan, which borders on sacrilege, though..." One gloved finger taps the side of her cheek thoughtfully. "...I suppose it might get you some lost tourists." "I have /some/ discretion," Shane insists, black eyes opening hugely wider at Rasa. "We get enough bomb threats as is, I'm not looking to burn the fuck /down/ again." His sharptoothed smile hooks crookedly up at Desi, needle claws drumming lightly against the side of the dumpling carton. "Well. Before you're through here you'll be, like, a level nine Wicca at the /least/. I definitely look forward to watching what new and powerful levels of magic you attain."