ArchivedLogs:Sympathetic Ears

Sympathetic Ears
Dramatis Personae Doug, Lucien	2013-03-07 No refunds.
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. A Thursday evening, and Evolve is as busy as it ever is at this time of night, which is to say that business is steady, but the tables remain largely unoccupied. Those that are contain primarily students immersed in desperate last-minute cram sessions for the mid-terms that loom. The coffeeshop bumps rhythmically, the addition from the club upstairs catering to the early-weekenders. All in all, it's Thursday night at Evolve. One of the students, tucked up and away from the others at a table near the window, is Doug, dressed in jeans and a well-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt that has some sort of flow chart in white lettering with the words 'Friendship Algorithm' printed at the top. He is no less engaged in studying, or at least, he should be. His laptop is open, and a pile of books next to it indicate that his mid-term is probably in some sort of computer class. There are even barely-legible notes scrawled in an open journal. But he is definitely /not/ studying, staring off out the window with a distant, thoughtful expression. Lucien is not a student. He is of an age to be, for sure. He lacks in the requisite backpack, the requisite laptop, the requisite books. He does have a rather distant expression, though, that suits studying -- or, well, suits daydreaming while one should be studying. He has a black peacoat buttoned up, a pair of grey slacks, black leather gloves, and he beelines straight for the counter upon entering to order a chai. He pulls the gloves off, slowly, after paying for the drink, while waiting for it to be prepared, green eyes scanning the room slowly. Doug might have seen Lucien pass by the window on his way in, but he's a while in turning his head to look at the other man, leaning to rest his head against his hand for a moment before he slides his chair back and rises, stretching lightly and grabbing his phone. Then he's stepping up to the counter beside Lucien. "Triple shot," he says to the barista, and fishes out a bunch of crumpled bills from his front pocket and counts out the price before shoving them back and offering the older man a small smile. "Lucien," he says, leaning against the counter. "How've you been?" "Doug." Lucien's voice is quiet, gentle, his head tipping slightly towards the younger man. "Not nearly caffeinated enough," he gives in answer, lips curling slightly upwards. "Which I intend to remedy posthaste. And you? Well, I hope?" Doug chuffs a laugh. "I might be over-caffeinated," he says, tilting his head. "Mid-terms. I think my bloodstream is about 85 percent coffee and Red Bull, at this point." He smiles, and lifts a shoulder. "I've been all right, I guess," he says. "Learning a lot." "That sounds healthy," Lucien answers, quietly amused. "For your tongue as well as your blood. I never could stand the taste of Red Bull. Drinking it is like drinking medicine. Just suffer through it for the good it will do. What have you learned?" "I'm a computer nerd," Doug says. "We live on the stuff. I probably burned out my taste buds a couple years ago. So now it's just the buzz I crave." He scratches at his arm exaggeratedly, wincing as the barista arrives with Lucien's chai and attempting to pass it off as adjusting his sleeve. The question gets a tightening of the teen's mouth, and he scrunches his nose. "A lot of Econ and computer stuff," he says slowly. "And that when something is unique, you should be careful who you give it to, no matter how nice the offer or how badly you want to be rid of it." "Did you hurt yourself?" Lucien murmurs, glancing at Doug's arm when the other man scratches it. He thanks tha barista warmly, drops a tip into the jar, and snags the cup off the counter. He doesn't move, though, getting out of the way of the line but staying to look Doug over with a slight lift of brows. "If you /want/ to be rid of it, does it matter much that you do not have it anymore?" Doug shakes his head in answer to the first question, lifting his shoulders in a hunch. "That's a good question," he says. "I suppose not, but now I'm rid of it, I kind of want it back to try again." He smiles tightly. "Is there such a thing as 'giver's remose'?" He chuckles, turning as the barista returns with his cup, and the tip he leaves is smaller than Lucien's, but comes with an equal warm thanks. "Because I have that in mass amounts." He moves around the counter towards the condiment station, snagging four packets of Sugar In the Raw. "Have you ever felt like that? Glad you did something, but sorry at the same time?" Lucien studies Doug a moment, lifting his cup to drag a finger through the whipped cream atop it and suck it off one fingertip. "There is," he allows, quietly, drifting a few steps after Doug but then just leaning against the counter. "I take it this is a no-refunds kind of thing, then?" His eyebrows lift a little higher. "The /big/ No Refund," Doug says meaningfully, lifting his eyebows and glancing at the line to make sure that no one is eavesdropping. He tears open the sugar packets, dumping them into the coffee and grabbing a straw to stir. "It's weird. Most guys my age would be glad to have it over with, and even bragging about it. But some stuff I found out later made it seem..." he wrinkles his nose. "Not worth bragging about." He flashes a grin that doesn't quite ring true. "Not that I was going around showing off my recently-punched card or anything." "Ah." Just ah. Lucien trails his finger through the cream again. Savours it longer this time. "I admit," he says, a trifle apologetically, "I never understood the importance placed on virginity. I am sorry, though. It sounds an -- unfortunate situation." Doug chuffs a laugh, lifting the straw to his mouth and sucking it lightly before tossing it in the trash. "I never really gave much thought to its value until afterwards," he admits, stepping away from the condiment station and tilting his head towards his table in invitation. "I was just...flattered by the attractiveness of the guy who offered, and didn't really do any research on him. Turned out to be kind of creepy." He lifts a shoulder and makes a rueful face. "He did try to warn me, but I thought it was part of the whole spiel." "Have you given it much thought now?" Lucien drifts after Doug. He doesn't take a seat at the table, but rests one hand against the back of an empty chair. He lifts his cup near his lips, absently lapping, catlike, at the cream, now. For a few short licks, anyway, before he adds, "What value have you found it to have, to you?" Doug sits, setting his cup down next to the pile of books and leaning back in his chair. He regards Lucien for a long moment, his eyes searching the other man's face and body for those telltale body signals that explain what he's feeling, if anything. He exhales breathily, and runs a hand through his hair. "I've thought about it more than I should, probably," he admits. "I should just chalk it up to Life Experience, and move on. But, it seemed kind of cheap, after the fact, to give it up to some pretty cop with a good line and a lot of bad...ideas." Lucien is a difficult man to read; his posture is as impeccable-straight as always, his hand rested against the chair lax, not supporting his weight but absently bracing it, his expression composed into something thoughtful as he studies Doug back. "But you can't get it back," he says, quiet, "so even if it is rough, you may as well chalk it up to Life Experience, and move on. Perhaps the next time will go better for you." Doug quirks a grin. "Yeah. That's probably the best course of action," he says. "That way, I can enjoy my Spring Break, instead of moping around." His exhale this time is one of relief, and he pushes a hand away from himself. "There. Now it's just in the file." He tilts his head at Lucien, and offers a bright smile. "So, now that I've bludgeoned you with TMI, what's new with you, lately?" "Do you have plans for Spring Break? Plans are a good way to escape moping." Lucien's own smile in return is slow, and small. "TMI. In my line of work there is little such thing. I do not know whether that makes me a better or a worse person to talk to, on these issues." "Nah. Gonna bum around the city and do some stuff. Maybe take the tour of Stark Tower. Going to take in that classic sci-fi double bill at the Waverly with my buddy Micah." Doug grins, and reaches for his coffee. "You know. Stuff." He takes a sip, crinkling his eyes over the rim at Lucien. "I guess it depends on the nature of the assistance or advice the person is seeking." "Stuff," Lucien agrees, finally taking a slow sip of his chai now that he has largely decimated its whipped cream coating. "Generally the best thing to do with breaks, I expect." His eyes meet Doug's steadily, studying the younger man thoughtfully. "What sort of advice or assistance /are/ you seeking?" Doug tilts his head. "Was I seeking advice?" he asks, eyebrows lifting slightly. His lips curl in an amused sort of smile. "Maybe I was just seeking a sympathetic ear from a friendly face, so I could say it out loud and let the Universe have it." "Or assistance," Lucien repeats, his head tipping down slightly. "A sympathetic ear is that, in a way. Otherwise people would not seek them out nearly so often. You are smiling more, though. Does it help? To voice your problems to a --" He shrugs one shoulder, smile curling a little wider. "Friendly face." "True enough," Doug says, taking another sip of his coffee. "I guess since I wasn't /asking/ for help, I didn't think about just listening being a sort of help." He sets the cup back down, lifting his chin at the question with a thoughtful expression. "You know, it really does," he says. "Not that I really intended to unload on you. It was just the thing on the front of my mind. Has been since yesterday." He lifts a hand, palm up. "I'm happy to return the favor, should you ever need it." "That recent?" Lucien does not wince but his rueful tone implies it. His cup taps against his lips, smile briefly hidden behind it. "Are you? That is a kind offer." Another slow sip of chai precedes his next statement, "Perhaps unloading will clear your mind some. Free up space for midterms." "Well, within a week," Doug admits, with a light shrug. Apparently, he really is letting the Universe have it, now, since he looks far less regretful. "But the offer is genuine," he says. "I'm the /best/ at listening. Any language." He smiles, and pats the stack of books. "Nah. I've just got the one left, and that's a computer course. I can walk through those. Leaves me free for all sorts of other pondering." "That is quite a pile of studying," Lucien murmurs, weight settling a little bit more heavily onto his arm where it braces against the chair. "I suppose it is fortunate that it is easy for you. Though perhaps not, if it leaves enough free time to drift," trails off into a question: "Other pondering? Productive pondering?" "Econ was the bear," Doug says with a chuckle. "And that was earlier in the week. So, I've had all kinds of time to think about other things." He tilts his head, nodding at the question. "Yeah, I think they are," he says. "I'm almost done with character design on my game, so now I'm thinking about world design." He says that as if it makes sense, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. "I'm also thinking about finding a job," he confesses. "I could use the extra money." "Your game?" Lucien echoes this with a slight lift of eyebrows, not particularly understanding. The next is easy enough to understand, though. "In this city," he says wryly, "who could not. What sorts of things are you looking at?" "Yeah," Doug says. "I'm creating my own video game. It's been a project of mine for a couple of years." He seems very proud of this fact, his smile slipping wide. "I'll work up a demo to show you, sometime, if you like." He shrugs at the question, elbows flapping at the sides of his head like wings. "I was thinking something like web-design or some kind of computer work," he says. "But I'm probably going to see if I can get on at the U.N.. My mother has connections that could likely get me in, there." "The U.N.? That would be impressive," Lucien says, his eyebrows raising. "Not, of course, that computer work is not. I imagine designing your own game takes a good deal of work. It sounds like either way you might have some interesting roads ahead of you." He straightens, offering Doug a small smile. "My apologies. I was only stopping in briefly. Good luck," he offers, "with your exams. With your -- everything." "Yeah. The U.N. will look more impressive on the ol' resume," Doug says, pronouncing the word 'ree-soom'. He grins, and lifts a hand. "Thanks for listening, Lucien," he says earnestly. "I'll see you around." He watches through the glass as the older man takes his leave and walks down the street, his expression as thoughtful as before.