ArchivedLogs:Tasty

Tasty
Dramatis Personae Ion, Jack, Micah, Shane, Taylor
In Absentia	2014-11-24 '
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Spacious and open, this coffeeshop has a somewhat industrial feel to it, grey resin floors below and exposed-beam ceilings that have been painted up in a dancing swirl of abstract whorls and starbursts, a riot of colour splashed against a white background. The walls alternate between brick and cheerfully lime-green painted wood that extends to the paneling beneath the brushed-steel countertops. There's an abundance of light, though rather than windows (which are scarce) it comes from plentiful hanging steel lamps. The walls here are home to plentiful artwork available for sale; though the roster of prints and paintings and drawings and photographs changes on a regular basis it has one thing in common -- all the artists displayed are mutants. The seating spaced around the room is spread out enough to keep the room from feeling cluttered. Black chairs, square black tables that mostly seat two or four though they're frequently pushed around and rearranged to make space for larger parties. In the back corner of the room is more comfortable seating, a few large black-corduroy sofas and armchairs with wide tables between them. There's a shelf of card and board games back here available for customers to sit and play. The chalkboard menus hanging behind the counter change frequently, always home to a wide variety of drinks (with an impressive roster of fair-trade coffees and teas largely featured) though their sandwiches and wraps and soups and snacks of the day change often. An often-changing variety of baked goods sit behind the display case at the counter halfway back in the room, and the opposite side of the counter holds a small selection of homemade ice creams. A pair of single-user bathrooms flanks the stairway in back of the cafe; at night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits up the stairs above the coffeehouse. It's not dinnertime yet, and Evolve isn't nearly as busy as it /will/ be once dinner gets here. It's busy /enough/, though, a trio of teenage girls chattering on the sofas in the back, a rather /rambunctious/ conversation -- argument? -- it's hard to tell, going on in sign language between a young woman with yellow slitted eyes and another young woman, tall and very dark-skinned with an enormous poof of afro. A few of the other tables are taken up more quietly, someone reading a book here, a few people scattered on laptops there. Near the front of the room there's a young man who even in a place like this is incredibly distinctive; jet-black skin and shaved head, his plain blue hoodie has been very carefully modified with extra holes to allow for his extra limbs. A /lot/ of extra limbs -- not arms or wings but /tentacles/, small ones and big ones and /enormous/ ones with serrated-toothy-suction cups and huge hooks nestled in the centers. The be-tentacled teenager, huge mug of coffee and a laptop of his own both in front of him, is at the moment wearing a crooked smile directed at the shop's owner. Shane is dressed sharp as ever, not very bundled given the freak-unusual warm snap the day has been having. Crisp-tailored vest over a dress shirt, slacks, polished Oxfords, bowtie. "-- for a given definition of /true/," Shane is saying with a snort, folding up a fist to bop the other teen on the shoulder as he turns away. "Whatever, fucker." The last time he came here, Jack had arrived after Evolve was closed. But running into Jax was enough to convince Jack that a return visit would be worth it. And today he's come for that return visit. The warm snap has been appeciated and today the invisible teen's not wearing the 'borrowed' gloves as he steps into the cafe as quietly as he's able to. Accepting place or not, it's hard to shake the habit. He peeks out from under his hood and takes a deep breath before pulling the hood back. There's a nervousness to him even if he knows the cafe is an accepting one. Scanning the room, he was surprised to spot Shane as quickly as he did but he still approached the sharky mutant. Part of the reason he wanted to come back to the cafe was to see the owner. He waits for the conversation to end before lifting an invisible hand. "Umm...hi. You're Shane, right?" he asks, remembering the name Jax told him. One long tentacle is snaking out to thwack Shane in the back of the head. It means that the initial greeting Jack receives is kind of a /yelp/, though it's an amused yelp. Shane rubs at his head as he turns around, sniffing more than looking for the questioner. "Hey yeah, that's me, who's -- oh, yeah, hey, Jersey. Did I get your name, don't think I did? Maybe I forgot. Lo siento." Jack blinks at the yelp but since there doesn't seem to be any fighting happening, he relaxes. He shifts a litle awkwardly on the spot and then chuckles. "Oh, sorry. Forgot to introduce myself before. Nervous," he explained. "I'm Jack," he said, offering his hand even if it just looked like he was offering an empty sleeve. "This place is pretty cool. I can't believe there's actually a place like it." There's a few small rapid blink -- hard to see, Shane's inner eyelids are clear and his opaque outer ones stay open -- at the apology, and at first Shane doesn't take Jack's hand. It takes him a couple awkward seconds to /register/ the meaning of the extended sleeve, and he darkens, cheeks blushing a shade nearer to purple as he extends his hand to grasp uncertainly at where hopefully a hand should be. In contrast to his /father's/ fierce-hot grip, /his/ webbed-clawed hand is considerably /colder/ than a normal human body temperature, a little clammy, very chill. His smile is bright and warm, though, if still disconcertingly toothy. His grip is firm, a quick pump before he drops the handshake to wave his hand around the cafe. "Oh, yeah. Wasn't my idea. I mean, this place was here way before I ever -- some other people ran it for years. Kind of kept it on the downlow, you know? Just sort of spread word-of-mouth that it was friendly. Was kind of a hub of the early mutant community in New York." Jack helps make sure the handshake connects and his tilts his head curiously at the blush. The cool temperature of Shane's hand does get a curious glance downwards and Jack idly wonders how many other mutations effect body temperatures. The smile is returned even if his own is considerably less toothy and visible. He listens to the tale of the cafe's history and flances around. "Oh um, do you still want it kept on the downlow? Not that I have anyone to tell but I'll keep quiet about it if it's not supposed to be spread around too much." Outside there's a distinctive throaty growl of a motorcycle engine, pulling up outside and then shutting off. It's not long afterwards that the door opens. Kind of noticeably, too, Ion doesn't do /subtle/, thrust open heavily on the jut of one banged-outward fist as he calls something loudly over his shoulder in very coarse (and rather profane) Spanish to someone outside. In jeans, black-and-white flannel shirt, black leather kutte worn open over top (today, his club patches are worn huge and noticeable and proud -- Mutant Mongrels MC, with the same twisted skull-and-crossed-lightning-bolts logo, only large-size; the kutte also has a set of bleached-out handprints on the leather on either side at his waist. Singe marks liberally scattered about it. /Bite/ marks in places. It's Been Places.) Same shitkicker boots. Same /godawful/ gaudy watch, though today it's actually displaying the correct time! "/Eyyyyyyyy/," he's calling this loud and cheery straight across the cafe, "/Leetleshark/, {what you got for me today}, huh? Something tasty?" His arms are already opening to CLAIM a hug as he BOUND-vaults his way across the room to scoop up one sharkpup, conversations be damned. "Oh, shit, nah, that cat's way the hell out of the bag." Shane's grin skews just a little crooked; there's a small flutter of his gills that whickers against the stiff fabric of his shirt collar. "Word kind of spread a little too much? Some assholes firebombed the place. Couple years back. Shut down for a while. The old owners didn't want to -- anyway, me and my partner bought it, gave it a facelift, opened it back up. Not exactly a secret anymore, though, the firebombing was in the news and so was our re..." He trails off, head tilting even before the door opens, lips quirking up into a smirk at the sound of Ion's chopper. He's /bracing/ for impact already when the door opens, though he meets hug with a /thump/ to the electrokinetic's back. And another set of bitemarks to add to the kutte, rrrr-arr, playful-growl as his sharpteeth close briefly on a leather flap. "I don't know, motherfucker, you gonna actually pay me today?" It's kind of teasing. Maaaybe. "{For you, I've /always/ got tasty.}" There's -- /something/ in the tone of his Spanish here that may not entirely be talking about Evolve's menu? Just as easily he slides back into English, slides back into the previous topic, "-- right, no, you don't have to keep it quiet. It's pretty much open these days, we just. Kind of get enough scary-ass motherfuckers," he's whapping Ion lightly in the chest, "to hang out here all the time that you'd have to be a moron to start any shit here these days." Eyes flicking towards Shane's gils, Jack idly wonders what it'd be like to have some of his own. He shakes the thought out of his head at the news of the firebombing though. "Oh man..." he trailed off, shoulders set a little tense. He hates bullies like the kind that would try to blow a place up just for being owned or frequented by mutants. "Partner?" he asks, still curious. He's been out of the loop news-wise for a lot so he's eager to learn what he missed. The rumble of the engine gets Jack glancing towards the door. Still in the same dirty hoodie, the stains from where the sausage had been dropped against him visible, Jack's got the hood pulled back while in Evolve. No gloves either. When Ion makes his surprising entrance, Jack jumps. "Clothesline-Hotdog guy," he says before thinking about it, surprised to see the man. He takes a step back as the man bounds over and just stares at the biting and scoop-hugs. "What the..." he trails off. He catches the tone in those words after a bit of time to let his brain catch up and blushes a bit not that anyone can see it. "You guys know eachother?" he asks, glancing at Ion. Like so many of Ion's touches the hug comes with an inadvertent static-shock zap. Ion flicks Shane lightly in the ear afterward. "You /wrong/ in the head dog I like your /dad's/ age. -- woooah ohshit!" This last is a little bit of excited /whoop/ when he catches sight -- or not -- of Jack. He holds out a fist for knuckletapping. "You, hey, ese, que tal. Leetleshark, he my brother." "Business partner," Shane clarifies with a nod. "And, uh, friend, and roommate. Her name's Aly. Co-owns the place with me." He snorts at Ion's remarks, head shaking as he rubs at his ear. "Yeahokay so what? /I'm/ like my dads' age. -- Not like literally his brother. Ion thinks /everyone's/ his damn brother. /You/ guys know each other?" His grin curls wider. "You brothers?" Jack taps his invisible knuckles against Ion's after a moment. His shoulders tilt a little as his head does, Jack wondering about the brother comment. "Yeah, I was about to say they both look pretty young. I was even wondering if you guys secretly had the fountain of youth when I met your one dad," he remarks to Shane, a little amused. When asked about knowing Ion, Jack rubs the back of his neck. "I don't know. I tried to steal his lunch the other day and he almost took my head off," he pauses a beat. "too bad mutation beat him to it," an attempt at a joke. Ion's hand pulls back from the fistbump together with a harmless but showy shower of sparks as he spreads his fingers. Blowing that shit /up/, yo. "I come here maybe get a dinner, eh? You don't steal that too?" His head shakes, hand waving dismissively. "Fuck that shit /most/ the world ain't /no/ family of mine. Us though." His fingers waggle between himself and Jack and Shane. The cafe at large. "Enough shit in the world, ay? I fight like /damn/ hell for /that/ family. /Even/ the ones steal my fucking sausages." "Oooh." Shane winces, pressing a fist to his lips with a faintly pained-concerned look passed between the two. "Tried to steal from /this/ --" He waggles his hand, indicative, to the fading sparks. "Lucky it was just almost. Wait, shit, you're both here for dinner. Should I be, you know, getting you a dinner? 'Stead of, uh, /not/ getting you a dinner? There's a lot of talking happening. No dinner. And yeah, my dads /are/ both pretty hot." That's -- not what Jack said, but who's counting. Micah has the look of just getting off work, yet again (funny how that work thing just keeps /happening/): TARDIS-blue polo shirt and khakis visible under the olive canvas jacket and fingerless green-gradient gloves that are...strangely all that is needed today after day upon day of cold. A matching olive newsboy cap is pulled on slightly askew over his tousled auburn hair and a messenger bag thumps merrily along at his hip with each step as he walks. Catching sight of Ion and Shane at their table, he waves, a bright-broad smile spreading across his features and a faster near-lope to his gait bringing him to the table quicker. At which point he overhears the tail end of the conversation and slows. Eyebrows up, cheeks slightly redder than when he first came through the door. Considering the present company and the rest of the conversation, he's hoping /really/ hard that this is a /literal/ sausage conversation. "Hi!" It's all he manages at first, though enthusiastic. The footing is just a little uncertain as of yet. "No, I wouldn't steal from this place. Not after Shane and his dad were both so nice to me," Jack says firmly. "Besides, it's not like I /want/ to do any of that stuff," he mutters. "I was actually wondering if there was something I could do to pay you back for the soup and drink your father gave me. I still feel bad since I think I kind of freaked him out or something and he went out of his way at like four in the morning just to give me something..." he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Oh um, I'm not in a rush," he says when the talk of food comes up. Hood down and gloves off, his lack of visible head and hands can be seen but not the blush that spreads across his cheeks at Jack's statement. He jumps, startled by the greeting and looks towards Micah. "Hello." "Shanedads? Nice is like their fucking, fucking, what's it. Called. /Thing/. Nice it's what they /do/. They goddamn /made/ of nice, both them." Ion bounces, a little more eager at the mention of food. "Oh shit! Yeah. Yeah /dinner/ that's what I hear for. I'mm'a be /two/ whole meal today! Isra, earlier, I eat a lunch with her. Was gonna be just a beer but she said -- oh fuck!" Easily derailed, this one, the arrival of Micah makes him forget entirely to finish this sentence. Instead he slings his arm around Micah's shoulders for a (tinyzap!) jostly-squeeze. "/Yo/, hey, Cyborg, howzit? We just singin' your praises, man. This ghostboy he say you a angel." It's also not exactly what Jack said, but who's counting! "Nice is kinda their Thing," Shane agrees. "Pay me back?" He looks a little puzzled. "It takes a lot to freak my Pa out, he's -- seen Some Shit. -- Ba! Hey!" He adds his own hug to the mix, less zappy, more squeezy. "You really feel like paying me back, there's always dishes need doing. Tables need wiping. You want to help with cleanup tonight we can call it even for the soup. And tonight's dinner." He waves a hand towards the colourful chalkboard menus. "Take your pick. -- The black eyed pea and greens soup," he's telling /this/ to Micah, not to the others, "is /so/ good tonight, you should take some for Pa." "Hello, again," Micah makes the wild assumption that this invisible person is the same one that Shane told to come here not long ago. Ion seems to be working pretty effectively at deepening the redhead's blush right on into strawberry territory. "I sincerely doubt /that's/ what Isra said." His grin quirks a little lopsidedly playful, both arms pulling Ion in for a tight hug. "Mmn...good t'see you." A little giggle answers the zap that comes with the charged contact. "Angel? What'd I do this time?" Micah's eyes widen appreciatively at the description of the soup. "Oh, that sounds like perfection in a pot. I'll hafta be gettin' some, thanks for the tip-off. Was just gonna bring cocoa an' somethin' sweet, but may go whole meal t'tote home instead with that." "Ghostboy?" Jack sounds more amused at the nickname than anything. He registers what Ion said a moment later and then blinks. "Umm...I meant the other dad but he seems pretty cool too," the invisible teen remarks. Shane gets his attention quickly and an unseen grin spreads across Jack's face. "That sounds perfect. I can't thank you enough," he says. "Err, I'll have whatever you reccomend." Ion shrugs, shaking his head when Jack corrects him. "Nothing, I guess. Wrong dad, sorry, you the devil one. Jax the angel. You can be angel next time. How I suppose to know, two dads, so hard to tell apart." He holds his hands palm-up like, what. My bad. "Uhhh --" He peers over at the menus, too, before his eyes light. "Shit-shit-shit. You make ice cream, the ice creams sandwichs? Can I do one of those? With a chocolate chip cookie. Brownies ice cream. It'll be the shit. -- See, dog." He's gesturing between Jack and Shane with Shane's offer of dishes-for-dinner. "S'what it's about. Fucking family. Like I /said/. Is how you don't do that shit no more. You find somethin' /better/." "/Seriously/." Shane can't help a snort at this. It's hard to /see/ his pupilless black eyes rolling up, but they're rolling. "/That's/ your dinner, dude? And you're pulling the I'm-too-old-for-you card. /Christ/ on a fucking -- right. OK. Soup for you -- I'll pack up some lentil for Hive too -- and a fucking /ice cream sandwich/ for the Responsible Adult here. No allergies or anything?" he asks Jack. "Cuz I'm thinking maybe a bacon-tomato grilled cheese with a side of chili. That's like. Hearty. Dinner. Yum. And a chocolate chai. Micah talk some goddamn food sense into this moron." "Ah, y'met Jax. Angel's pretty right." Oh, dopey-fond grin. There it is, though rapidly interrupted by the rest of Ion's answer. Micah lightly play-baps the electrokinetic on the back of the head. "Should darn well /hope/ y'can tell us apart. Else I'm gonna have some cause t'be fair offended here." For all his upturned-chin and slightly jutting lower lip wounded look, his tone is the better part amused. "Responsible Adult? We talkin' 'bout the same guy?" And more teasing. The play-bapping hand musses at Ion's hair instead. "Spicy corn chowder. S'got cilantro an' Sriracha. Pretty excellent for warmin' up, 'specially if you're gonna go an' ice cream-cold all over it after. Also recommend the spiced cocoa. Which I'm gettin' one of as well, if y'don't mind, sugar?" That last is delivered in Shane's direction. "Yeah, I ran into him the other night. Same day I met Sausage Man here," Jack replies, gesturing at Ion. Jack can't help but smile a little at all the interactions between the other mutants. It's much nicer than the streets and what he's used to from Newark. He snickers a bit at Ion's choices and the reactions to them but stays otherwise quiet. When Shane speaks to him again, Jack jumps a bit but shakes his head. "No allergies I've ever run into," he says. "Oh man...that sounds so good," he replies to Shane's suggestion. "Do you need any help?" "Ay-ay-ay." Ion rubs at the back of his head with /such/ a stung look, you'd think that bap had actually hurt. "/'course/ I can tell you apart, Jax, Jax, Jax, he, uh, he." His fingers snap together. "He got the funny-accent, yeah?" The stung look fades off into a bright grin, and he leans up against the back of a chair. "Spicy, shit, I like spicy. Maybe I do that. What he say. Spicy. Shit. Later this week, when it fucking /snowing/, I'mm'a come back, eat /all/ your damn spicy." His smile is fading, a little, at the thought of the snow. "Then I'm be creeping in your window like the fucking cat, Micah. /Snow/. It warm as spring today. But /snow/ coming. At least no-damn-thunderstorm, though." Ion may not pay good attention to time but he keeps hella good track of the forecast. "Sausage man." Another snort. "/That's/ a nickname." Shane winces at all the mention of snow, though. "S'like sixty today that's fucked up. I should -- check on Anole, it's vacation and -- he's a fucking lizard. Where the hell /are/ you gonna -- you always seem to just turn the fuck up do you sleep on your bike?" He shrugs at the question of help. glancing over towards the counter. "Oh. Right yeah no I got a -- like, a /staff/. See look here's the work I'm gonna do:" And Shane slips away to the counter, leaning up against it to deliver the list of orders to the young man manning the register. He /does/ at least, duck behind the counter to prepare the drinks, though the long list of food is left in more capable hands than his. Micah mouths 'Sausage Man' with an incredulously arched eyebrow, a slight questioning look aimed at Ion. Though he's soon quirking his lips over to one side at the accent comment. Har har. "Y'know we got a /door/. Several of 'em. An' you're totally welcome t'use 'em. An', like, rooms an' beds an' everythin'. Snow or no snow." A slow smile spreads at another thought. "Y'know Jax'n I been /talkin'/ 'bout gettin' a cat, though." If Ion's going to keep teasing, he's getting it right back. "Definitely I'm castin' a vote on 'no snow' either way. Should be against some kinda weather law, snow 'fore Thanksgivin'." "Snow...I hate snow," Jack groans. That is going to be such a pain. Finding a warm place to sleep would be a lot more of a priority. Along with finding warmer clothes. What he had on was not going to cut it. He goes otherwise quiet aside from a bit of snickering at how Ion and Micah interact. He has to wonder how long they've known eachother. He nods a little to Shane though. "Okay," he says, settling back and waiting. "You and me both, brother." Ion shakes his head, pulling out a chair to slump down into it. "Snow, rain, wet, short the fuck /out/. Yeah-yeah-yeah. Sleep on my bike if I gotta. Why not? Quick way out if the cops come hassling. Know some beds if I need. Here there everywhere. Couple safe places, I guess. Sprinkle mattresses around the city. Tuck 'em away." He makes a little sprinkling motion of fingers in air. "Store 'em ups. For winter." He's slouching down in his seat, looking pretty-damn-satisfied too with Upcoming Food. It's the drinks Shane returns with first, a tray of them that he sets down on the table before darting away to come back a second time with food. Bagged up and draped over his arm, for Micah; on a second tray laid on the table, for Jack and Ion. "I can never tell if you're serious or not," he says to Ion. "But I think you're kind of insane. Try to stay warm, alright?" Maybe this is to both the others. "I gotta get back to work. Enjoy dinner." He tips his chin up to Jack. Scruffles Ion's hair. Pecks Micah on the cheek. Darts off to lose himself in the cafe, which is starting to get /bustly/ now that the dinner rush is rolling in. "Seriously, though, you let us know if y'need a place t'stay. /That/ wasn't a joke," Micah reiterates, expression finally tempered by the conversation content. He settles into the chair next to Ion, hand patting at the other man's shoulder on the way. "Mmn, thanks, sugar." This second is to Shane at the delivery of delicious things. The teen, too, gets a pat (reaching more at low back level) in exchange for the kiss as he runs off. "S'always good that it's busy here." "Thanks," Jack speaks up once Shane sets that food and drink down. He settles in to eat in silence, food just vanishing into thin air as he eats it. He'll stick around after, ready to help clean things up just like he said he would. Of course he's making a mental note to try to find Ion later to ask him about some of those sprinkled around places and if there's a way he could borrow one. He'll just wait until later. For now, tasty food.