ArchivedLogs:The Baker and the Boxer

The Baker and the Boxer
Dramatis Personae Hanna, Trib
In Absentia	2013-07-06 '
Location <NYC> Strand Books - East Village
The Strand manages to pack a whole lot of character into one bookstore, but they have a lot of space to fit it in. They advertise themselves as having eighteen miles of books, and whether or not that is true, it certainly is true that they have an enormous number of shelves packed into their rows and rows and rows of books. A book-lover's haven, this East Village landmark boasts an enormous collection of volumes of all types among their stacks, crammed into the narrow aisles. Well-known for their rare and out-of-print collection, they have many hard to find volumes tucked away in their labyrinth of shelves as well. It is hot in New York. Scorching, some would say. The only mercy is that it's not as humid as it might be, keeping the air dry and non-oppressive, at the least. Still, anyone who doesn't have to be outside isn't, and many of the stores and restaurants are not as full as they should be on a Saturday afternoon. The continuing tension of the city is not helping, either. Trib does not live in the Village. So his presence in the cool interior of Strand Books might be a surprise to those who frequent the establishment. Of course, for those who know him, his presence might /still/ be a surprise. The big man LOOMS in the narrow aisles of the bookstore (seriously. He might be blocking actual daylight), near the bargain shelves. He looks dressed for running, with his battered-looking sneakers and dressed in orange soccer shorts and a deep blue sleeveless t-shirt. In his left hand, he carries two books (THE BLACK DAHLIA and FROM HERE TO ETERNITY), and with his right, he traces the spines of the cheap books, occasionally pulling one out to peer at the cover before sliding it back. Small excursions are just what the doctor ordered, in Hanna's case. Well, not really, the order really was more along the lines of 'get out of my hospital, freak', but regardless Hanna feels compelled to get out in the open air once in a while. The door chime for the book store dings one, alerting the inhabitants of a new arrival, and Hanna makes her way into the shop at a slow, somewhat limping pace. The curvy Islander is dressed far more simply than she normally does, with a pair of red and white floral patterned board shorts and a "Property of Hawaii" gray t-shirt to match, her feet shod in simple black flip flops. She looks tired, quite possibly related to the right arm, immobilized in a standard blue sling, or the bandages around her left wrist, complimenting the host of smaller band-aids up her left arm. A polite smile is offered to the clerk, and a polite word is exchanged, apparently being someone she knows, and she continues on toward the gardening books, her pace slow but determined. Trib looks up when the bell chimes, and he watches the woman entering with a solemn sort of expression. The path to the gardening books is currently more or less blocked by the boxer, so her trajectory brings her right at him. So, she gets a polite nod as he attempts to get out of her way; a prospect easier typed than done, given his size. "Sorry," he rumbles in his Jersey accent, flattening himself against the shelves. He crinkles his eyes a bit, in amusement. "I'm pretty damned effective as a roadblock." Hanna offers a kind chuckle and looks up at Trib with coffee colored eyes, tinged with gold, "Oh, no worries, sweetie. But thank you. You don't take up that much room." Her voice has a mild accent, but it is rather difficult to place, unless one has traveled to the Hawaiian islands recently. She does step past him, picking up her pace a little bit to get past him, a little bit of a grimace on her rounded features as she moves along the shelves. "It's not like I'm exactly a waif of a woman, myself. But I do appreciate your moving to let me through," she smirks, resting a hand on her hip as she does with a glance to the shelves, "Anything good in the bargain bin today?" Trib chuckles, and wrinkles his nose. "I take up plenty of space, but thanks for the sentiment." His own eyes are a golden amber color, hawk-like as he looks over the woman. "Besides, I'd be a real shitheel if I didn't give a wounded woman the right of way." It might be sympathetic, only one corner of his mouth curls in a hard-edged near-smile. He shakes his head at the question, glancing at the shelves. "Not really," he rumbles. "Less you like origami an' books on classic cars." Clearly, neither are his cup of tea. "There's some good stuff in the used section, though," he notes, holding up his left hand in evidence. "Lots of good noir shi -- uh, stuff." Hanna takes a longer look at the shelves, eyes crinkling with laughter, momentarily taking on a slightly more golden color to them before fading back to normal, "I imagine I'd be rather crap at origami right now. That usually requires two moderately usable hands. Not so much my forte at the moment. And it never turns out quite as nice as the pictures." She wriggles the fingers of her immobilized arm in evidence, managing not to wince at the movement for the first time in almost a week. "And you'd be rather surprised. Some people are real asses, even to a poor little beaten baker woman," Hanna grins and chuckles, the laughter almost contagious, offering a half of a shrug, "Classic cars are nice and all, but the books never do any of them justice." "You ain't the only one," Trib chuckles, holding up his right hand. "I couldn't do it when I had all my fingers; I'm pretty certain I'd be shit at it, now." The laughter does seem to be contagious, and he rumbles another chuckle, poking at the shelf once more. Maybe something has changed, since he spoke. When she comments on the nature of some people, he lifts his shoulder. "Like I said. Shitheels." He quirks a grin, and wrinkles his nose. "I hate classic cars," he admits. "Every guy in my neighborhood was a gearhead. Drove me fuckin' /nuts/." He smiles, and lifts a shoulder. "But they are pretty to look at. They have them shows in Atlantic City all the time, an' I'll see 'em there." He wrinkles his nose. "Baker woman, huh? You bake, like, bread an' shit?" There's a bit of a wince at Trib's hand, and Hanna curls her bandaged hand reflexively, "Ow. Yeah. Origami - horrible hobby. And classic cars are noisy and obnoxious sometimes - lovely to look at, hell to share the street with sometimes." She shakes her head, still smirking a little bit and looking over the shelves, pulling out a cheery little "101 Cupcakes!!!" book free from the bargain shelf, and grinning at the colors, "Yes. I own a little bakery over in TriBeCa. Happy Cakes. We, ah, well, we've been closed the last week. Some men thought that I wasn't a positive influence on the neighborhood, and felt the need to express their opinion. Physically." She winces a bit, bandaged hand balling into a fist as she speaks of the attack. "I do bread, yes, but mostly cupcakes and sweet treats." "Yeah. Anything requiring all your fingers is off my list of shit to take up," Trib rumbles good-naturedly, pulling out a glossy-looking book entitled The Encyclopedia of Boxing. His eyes don't exactly light up when he discovers it, but he definitely looks pleased by the find. When the woman names her bakery, he frowns, brows furrowing as he works through a memory. "Hey, I know that place," he says. "It was on the news, when that kid got shot." His expression slides on into stormy darkness when she explains their closure, and his half-hand mimicks her bandaged one, curling into a fist. "Who the fuck has a problem with /cake/?" he growls, his teeth grinding audibly. "That is some fucked-up shit, right there." Hanna chuckles at the comment about hobbies and shakes her head, idly glancing at the back cover when Trib mentions the shooting, "I... yes. It wasn't in the bakery. Just... just down the street from us." Her voice cracks slightly, and she looks almost like she's going to cry for a moment, but she clears her throat and gently sets the book down, taking a moment to compose herself. "They had all just been in the bakery. Moments before. We are, well, we're not in the business of turning business away. And that includes mutants," Hanna looks up, her eyes having shifted almost imperceptibly to a flat brown color, losing the golden ring around the iris, though damp with tears, "I rather assume the men who beat me and my partner were rather upset about that, instead of about the baked goods. They weren't exactly verbose about their "warning" when they threw me through a display case. But I'm gonna go ahead and assume that's what the issue was." Trib's expression doesn't lighten as the woman offers more information on the separate incidents. No, he actually looks less and less pleased, and his hand tightens into a fist that seems ready to serve as cudgel. "Good for you," he says of her business policy. "Last I checked, this was still fuckin' America, land of the motherfuckin' free. You should be able to serve who you want without people fucking you up over it." His voice isn't exactly rising, but he's making no pains to keep it down, either. Something other patrons are starting to notice. Not all of them look like they agree with him. Trib, however, rumbles on, color creeping into his cheeks as he draws himself up to his full, infuriated height. "And what motherfuckin' coward gets his buddies to join in fuckin' beat up a /woman/?" Looking a little bit terrified as Trib starts to get louder, Hanna cringes away from the taller man, glancing nervously around the book store as people look their way. When she responds, her voice is low, calm, and even, and she nods, "I agree, yes. I... don't know their names, unfortunately, or, rest assured, I would be having some exceedingly strong words with them. Through a lawyer. And my fists." The last part is added with an almost out of place growl from the plump looking baker, her bandaged hand clenching tightly. "It was three of them. I assume a man and his sons, from his reaction when I tackled one of them," she raises her free hand to rub at her cheek at the memory of being punched. "And to be clear. They beat up two women. My partner and I. But," she shakes her head and offers a cheery smile, a comforting warmth to her eyes behind it, "I have friends. And contacts. We'll reopen this coming week. I'm a stubborn little thing. A little violence has never kept me out of the game for long before." Trib's brow drops even lower, if that's possible, but he at least falls silent. He offers a hard nod at what would happen if she knew the perpetrators, and he even offers a thumbs up when she finishes speaking. "They're still motherfuckin' cowards," he says, huffing it out as he shifts his weight. "You get any tips on who it was, you can give me a call. I'd be happy to teach a lesson or two to those guys." There's far too much tooth when he smiles. Like a predator about to chomp down on something. "An' good for you on re-openin'," he says, giving another nod. "Stick it right up people's fuckin' nose, an' give 'em hell." He grins a bit wider. "I'm gonna have to start eatin' more cake an' givin' you business," he rumbles, slapping his stomach. "Even if it means I'll have to hit the gym more." "Yes. They are. And the "authorities" aren't doing shit about looking into it," Hanna says, her soft voice laden with venom at the thought, "But I'm not going to let them get away with it, one way or another." She shakes her head and offers a little bit of a sinister smile, though nothing to match Trib's toothy grin. "I opened the bakery to bring a bit of cheer where I can. And yeah. There have been some issues. But, well, people seem to need a little bit of cheer. And safety, anywhere they can find it. I just wish I could extend the safety outwards, beyond the walls of the shop." She snorts and shakes her head, "If nothing, I'm persistent. And Jayna and I aren't going to give up on this city so easily." Trib barks a laugh. "The cops ain't gonna do nothin'," he says with firm authority. "Believe me. They're the -- " Suddenly, he seems aware of others nearby, and he looks around before he lowers his voice. "They're the fuckin' worst of the bunch." He rolls his head around on his neck, vertebrae cracking loudly. "So you go on as you go, an' if you run into trouble, I work for a guy who takes care of shit like that. You just give us a call. His office is closed right now, but I bet he'd fuckin' open it up for this kind of shit." He shakes his head slowly, exhaling through his nose. "This city's fucked up right now, but it's still New York. Things'll settle back out, again. At least to the way it was before all of this." He doesn't sound so authoritative as he did before, though. "Hopefully." Hanna nods, quietly answering, "I have heard. About what was being done. Before the news broke." She wrinkles her nose and cringes, "I appreciate the offer. I have," she chuckles slightly and shakes her head, "I have been offered by numerous people to, ah, protect the bakery." She smiles and nods, "I'll be keeping it in mind. In case things get rough. Again." Hanna straightens herself up, trying to reclaim some dignity and stop sniffling, a wry smirk on her lips, "New York is certainly a great deal more than I expected it to be. Even I couldn't have guessed at just how screwed up it could get. But really, apparently cupcakes are a tipping point." Trib's mouth is pressed into a tight line as the woman speaks, and he rolls a shoulder. "It was pretty bad," he says, looking back at the books and nodding. "Well, it's a firm offer. I don't put up with shit like pickin' on women. Or cake," he adds, with a sudden crinkle of his eyes. Maybe he's trying to alleviate the tension. "An' definitely not women who make cake. That's like, double jeopardy right there." He strokes a finger along the spine of a book, and tips his head to look at the woman more closely. "Anything's a tipping point, right now," he says with another shrug. "Where you from, originally?" As the tension breaks and the rest of the people in the shop continue on about their business, Hanna offers a kind smile, "I appreciate it greatly. I certainly hope it doesn't come down to violence." She winces slightly, as a twinge in her arm reminds her that it already has, "But, regardless, it is good to know that I have people willing to stand by me in the community." A bright smile spreads over her features as she is asked about her original home, and she bobs her head, "I give off that much of a 'not from around here' vibe, eh?" She chuckles and grins, "I'm from Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, originally. Lived there my whole life, save for about two years ago. Left home to travel, and now, I'm here." The abridged version of her life story is relatively straightforward, at least. "Hey, people got to stand together," Trib says, his mouth pulling to one side. "If we start leavin' each other to our own devices out here, we're all fucked, yeah?" He pauses, listening to the origin story. "It ain't that you give off a vibe -- you do, but it ain't that." He lifts a finger and closes one eye meaningfully. "It was you sayin' New York was more'n you expected. That was kind of a big tip-off." He seems impressed with her place of birth, though, and his exhale might be a sigh. "I want to go to Hawaii one day," he rumbles. "How's it compare to the rest of the world?" His grin is a little looser, and toothy without predation. "In your well-traveled opinion." Hanna chuckles and nods, "Fair enough. Though I suppose some people who have lived here for their whole lives occasionally express that idea. This city is certainly not all that New York, New York and Hollywood have marketed it to be." She shakes her head and grins, "Hawaii is gorgeous. I will say that. I was a bit, ah, sheltered. At home. It was a very small, very close knit community in town. My mom and I owned shops right next to each other, for quite some time. That's where the original Happy Cakes was." The thought of traveling back to Hawaii gets a grin, "If you ever find yourself on the way there, let me know, I'll hook you up with some of the not so touristy things to do on the Islands." Trib wrinkles his nose. "You lived on an island," he notes. "I figure that's gonna be the kind of place where close-knit communities are bound to pop up, yeah?" He chuckles, and wobbles his head. "I mean, it ain't like you said you was from Texas, or Wyoming, where people's all spread out." He pulls another book (an Ali biography! A steal! at two bucks!) from the shelf and tucks it under his arm with the others. The offer gets an uptick of his eyebrows. "Oh, man, that would be sweet," he says. "Although, my plan was never more than findin' a beach to camp out an' watch surfers all day." Hanna smiles and reaches to the shelf just beyond where they were standing, and selects a few gardening books, including a few about various types of plants and bonsai care. "It's a big Island," Hanna says with a laugh, as though that explained everything, "But yeah, it certainly was a relatively small community. Had to be close knit, since there were so many tourists coming through." She hugs the books with her immobilized arm, pinning them to her chest, double checking the titles. "I should likely be going home. My room mate can't really go out too much, so I'm picking up a few books for her to keep her amused," Hanna offers with a smile, "It was nice speaking to you... ah," she pauses, "I don't think I caught your name. I'm Hanna. I'd offer to shake but, well." She wiggles her injured hands around the books and shrugs. Trib wrinkles his nose. "That's kind of a shame," he rumbles sympathetically. "Livin' in Paradise, an' havin' to deal with folks trompin' through all year 'round." He shakes his head. "Still. Livin' in Paradise." He nods when Hanna begins to make her withdrawal, offering another small quirk of a grin. "That's nice of you," he notes. "But then, you seem pretty nice. I'm Trib." He thumps his half-hand against his chest and bobs his head. "It was nice meetin' you, too. I'll have to come into your shop, when you re-open." He taps a finger against his temple, and winks solemnly. "Happy Cakes, in TriBeCa. I'll definitely remember." "Well, Trib, it was lovely to meet you," Hanna says with a smile and a slight bow, "I'll see you around. We should be back up and running on Monday. Tuesday at the latest, we hope." She smiles and bobs her head, starting to shuffle her way back towards the front of the shop again. "And thanks again for looking out for me. Hope you find some books you like here." She pauses at the counter to pay for her order, loading things into her reusable bag like the hippie she is. Before she heads out, she offers another wave to Trib, smiling kindly before exiting the shop, out into the miserable heat of the city.