ArchivedLogs:Too Many P.I.s

Too Many P.I.s
Dramatis Personae Anima, Shelby, Jamie, Melinda	2013-03-19 '
Location <NYC> Montagues - SoHo
Montagues harkens back to the day when SoHo was filled to the brim with artists, with its mismatched furniture, all plush and decorated heavily with carved wood, but remains trendy enough to keep its newer patrons by making sure that furniture is clean, in good repair and inviting. The antique tables all have been reinforced to seem less creaky. The real draw of the cafe is the smell: fresh roasted coffee mingles with perfectly steeped teas. Spices from crisp pastries mingle with the tang of clotted cream but don't overwhelm too much the scent of chalk on the menu boards. Afternoon wears on into evening and Melinda is stuck behind the espresson machine as her second shift clicks into effect. She is tired, tired, tired, tired around the eyes, but is still pleasant to talk to - for the amount that she is talking today. For the most part, she's settled into churning out drink after drink after drink for the paying clientele with exceeding accuracy and a little finesse. Her coworkers are talking about her quietly, and one finally encourages her to stop and take her lunch break, as she is past due and could probably use the break. Others assure her that they've worked double shifts before and no one minds her slacking off a bit while they are still fresh. She steps away from the bar with a tired smile and an extra large coffee'd drink that smells of chocolate and cinnamon. She heads over to the food counter and orders a club sandwich and steps out into the dining hall to look for a place to sit. "MELINDA!" Shelby never does anything by half-measures. She's just entered and is making something of a production of bouncing on her toes to look over the crowd. Since it is /very/ crowded and she is less than tall, even while bouncing, shouting seemed like the next best option--especially for someone with a singer's set of lungs. The teen is in a black-and-red plaid skirt--a hint too short for schoolgirl regulations--with her favorite gold leggings, black Ugg-ripoffs and a zipped up puffy jacket. Once again, she has a black teardrop "tattooed" under her left eye. Prison tough, she is. Just ignore the ginger pigtails. Backpack jostling against her back, she then proceeds to elbow her way through the crowd on a course towards the lady on break. A tall, rail-thin young woman with mousy brown hair sits at the edge of a reupholstered, lime green sofa, staring at the window. On the low, oaken table around which several other mismatched seats are arranged, rests a neglected cup of coffee in its white porcelain mug. Black and potent, it still steams, exuding its rich aroma that blends well with the overall scents pervading the cafe. Quiet, and minding her own business as she basks in the sun and watches passersby, to some, she is recognizable as one Tanya, the glow-in-the-dark mutant who was among those rescued from the Prometheus raid several weeks ago. It seems she has stuck around in the area. Melinda looks up when her name is shouted and she pauses in her distracted revelry to pick out the person who has called out to her. She spots Shelby and her brows rises. There's a little bit of a smile too. She moves toward her and waves her drink at her, looking her up and down. "Hey, Shelby. I heard you had some good news. Do you want to sit or are you going to order something." Far be it for Mel to neglect pushing her wares while she is at work. As she speaks, she spots someone she recognizes over in the corner and smiles at Tanya/Anima. "Go order something, Shelbs. I'm going to say hi to someone." So now Shelby doesn't have a choice. Melinda's already on her way to the other woman's table. "Hey, do you mind if I sit?" "Yeah, check out my guns!" Or maybe just one gun--Shelby is flopping and flailing out of her jacket, revealing a t-shirt with a Marilyn face and her spindly arm cocked to make a muscle. It is not impressive but the bones all appear straight and's decorated her bicep with a cherry blossom branch that's pretty enough. This posturing continues until she's shooed away. It earns no protest, just a grin and an about face to march back towards the counter to torment the barista on duty. "Extra large, three cream, three sugar, double-pump of French Vanilla, whipped cream and cinnamon on top, please!" Tanya(Anima) turns her head away from the glass panel to the inside of Montagues when Melinda approaches. A distracted, mute expression lingers on her face before she remembers to animate it, shaking her head, hair scattering in front of her over narrow-sloped shoulders. "No, not at all. There are plenty of seats." Dressed in a white tee and light-wash denim pants, she is a plainly pretty woman, round almond eyes and small pert mouth inviting toward the barista. To better engage with her new company, she uncrosses her legs and adjusts her position to face slightly inward more, hands nestled in her lap. "Nice-- weather, no?" "Very nice," Mel comments Shelby's arm before walking away. When she is allowed to sit, she settles onto the couch near Tanya and leaves room for Shelby on the far side. She puts down her plate and cup, and relaxes just for a moment. She is tired. After a breath of distraction, she glances outside at the 'weather' and smiles a little more. "Do you like the wet stuff?" She has perhaps been inside too long and doesn't know if the precipitation falling is snow or rain anymore. It could be a mix! "I like a good storm. Rain feels wonderful sometimes." It takes a moment for Shelby's SugarMonster drink to be whipped up. During that time, she fidgets as if already hopped up on caffeine, and some of the sparkle that had been aimed at Melinda dims. Several checks are made on her phone, scanning through with flicks of her thumb. Whatever seen there leaves her expression looking pale and rumpled with concern. But! When a mug piled high with whipped cream is presented to her, she slaps a smile back on, shoves her phone into her pocket and sets off in Melinda's direction. "Hey," she greets Anima with the sort of off-hand familiarity teenagers are good at, whether they know someone or not. Then she is /walking/ up onto the couch before flopping down, legs curled beneath her and mug held between her hands. She sips. Loudly. Whipped cream is left on her upper lip. Just to top off first impressions with the /best/ sort of behavior. The woman takes a moment to glance outside again, formulating her opinion. "Sound. I like the sound. When it pitter-patters on the roof or plops against a window," is her answer for Melinda. As Shelby joins them, she presses back into the corner at an angle, studying them both. "Hello. I'm -- Tanya," she supplies with brief hesitation. Leaning over, she collects her mug from the table, pulling it towards her and inhaling. "Is it always busy here?" Lucky for everyone, Melinda is wearing a name tag, just in case someone has forgotten it. It's is quite convenient. "It can be. You should see it on an Open Mic night. That's most every Thursday night. We'll get young or new musicians in and allow them to play for cash, tips, and the chance to sell merchandise." She looks sidelong at Shelby for a moment in an uncharacteristically cranky expression before she smiles again, as if it never happened, and leans over to grab her sandwich. "Shelby played once. Now she's opening for Ryan at the Bowery." "Tanya?" Shelby rewards the stranger with a closer once-over, that hesitation noted and then dismissed. "Shelby. Go motherfucking Y-names." A bit of whipped cream is scooped up on her finger and popped up into her mouth while she very carefully avoids returning the cranky look sent her way. If she doesn't see it, it didn't happen? That appears to be the theory. " "Tanya?" Shelby rewards the stranger with a closer once-over, that hesitation noted and then dismissed. "Shelby. Go motherfucking Y-names." A bit of whipped cream is scooped up on her finger and popped up into her mouth while she very carefully avoids returning the cranky look sent her way. If she doesn't see it, it didn't happen? That appears to be the theory. "So long as he posts bail in time," she says of Ryan, brow crinkling again. "S'gonna be big if he pulls it off though." Outside, it sounds as if there is a crowd thundering down the sidewalk, which comes and goes all in a moment, possibly around the back of the building. Not long after, a looking-like-shit-as-usual Jamie trudges through the door to Montagues, scratching his cheek with a lethargic, apathetic look on his face. He is not suited to SoHo clientele. "Hm." Anima processes this information with a quiet nod, breathing in the scent of coffee once more before she takes a sip. Stringent and bitter as black coffee may be, she gulps down a large slip, luxuriating in the flavor. Offering Shelby another Look, she nods, saying, "Oh. You play music? What kind?" She ignores the tribute to y-names, unsure of /how/ to respond to that-- it sounds like teenage speak. "Ryan was arrested?" There's a tick-back through her mental index, retrieving a face to match the name. Low-powered, non-brainchipped, and average looking, she was one of the first to leave the refugee camp in the Village Lofts and set off on her own. Though, appearing in familiar company, she has not gone too far. Melinda is seated on a couch with two other females, Shelby and Tanya(Anima), pulling her plate, laden with a hitherto touched sandwich. The assistant manager of the establishment looks exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes. She lifts one half to her mouth and starts mechanically eating - but finds herself quite hungry and starts enjoying her food a moment later. "HMMm.. Yes." Melinda clears her mouth and wrinkles her nose, pausing ingestion briefly. "Someone reported him for drug use and possession. It... I guess, will pass, as it does for every other musician who have had similar issues in the past. So, the show will be huge. I... no longer have tickets." "Those government sons of bitches did it," Shelby puts in with no little amount of pissiness. The noise levels in the coffee house are such that it doesn't travel /too/ far, but... "Fuckers. Someone needs to find out who's in charge and put a fucking bullet--" It's around that point that she thinks to lower her voice, ducking her head to take another noisy sip of her drink and wiping the cream away afterwards with the back of her hand. Calm, calm. Calm. "I, um. Play guitar. Banjo. Sing. Pretty much whatever. Didn't have any tickets to start with, but..." The teenager sighs, giving Melinda a look that is both pained and sympathetic. Shelby's voice carries far enough for Jamie to overhear. He's recently dived head first into some risky business that involves the government being sons of bitches, so he has his antenna up. As nonchalantly as possible, he starts wandering in the direction of said couch, especially when he spots Melinda there. He pretends, of course, like he didn't hear anything, and raises his hand in Melinda's direction. "Thought I'd come back for another bite to eat. Who're your friends?" Anima holds her mug tight against her, as with one sip follows the thirst to drink the rest of her coffee shortly. "/Oh/," she exclaims at the teenager's input, her own face twisting darkly. It's a fleeting hostility that passes into neutrality when she raises her mug again, expression erased when she passes another sip of the dark liquid between her lips. "Are they coming after everyone?" Unlike Shelby, her voice remains low, and monitored, with a darting glance of suspicion at the intrusion of Jamie. Instead, she places a hand on her in comfort; however, with this touch comes an insipid, subtle sampling of the thoughts going through her head -- nothing strong, and something too weak to almost notice. "Well I am sure if he is your friend he can give you tickets." On that same breath, "Hi. I am Tanya." "Oh, we were hawking our tickets online to get up the cash for bail." Melinda shakes her head at the possibility of tickets. She shrugs. "I'm sure I'll hear him play some other time. He plays a lot around the apartment lofts." She looks over at Jamie the newcomer. "Oh. Hi. I'm sorry. I remember you, but I don't know if you gave me your name." She wrinkles her nose and looks to Shelby again. "It's great to see you, hun, but can we not discuss shooting people in the government loudly in my cafe?" Shelby is not much for mostly-strangers touching her but she is caught off-guard, having been brooding. So that press of palm to shoulder is treated to a flash of nausea-deep worry and anger--what if they make Sebastian and Shane disappear? They could totally do that, just bounce 'em from foster home to foster home until they get "lost" and then she'll never see them again, never see /Bastian/ again and he'd only just started getting okay with kissing her and /fuck/. Then she's flinch-twisting away from Tanya's hand, lifting her mug higher and mumbling a half-assed apology--though Mel and Anima get to argue it out between them which that was intended for. "Fuck that," she says of concerts, "I bet he gets us all back-stage passes...yo." Jamie is give a narrow look. She does not make room for him. That's okay, Jamie is a big boy and also fairly annoying when push comes to shove. He's also really good at pretending to ignore these little exchanges. So he instead keeps standing in front of the three seated women, dropping his hands into his pants pockets and rocking a little bit onto the balls of his feet. "I guess I should've left a card, Mel. Jamie Madrox, P.I. I was in a hurry to disappear, otherwise I would've stuck around to chat you up some more. Nice to meet you, Tanya. Are you all open, or?" Anima quickly jerks her hand back from Shelby, coffee near-spilling with her sudden movement. She mutters an apology, looking to Melinda and then the uninviting Shelby as the three collectively take up the couch. "You can have my seat. I need a smoke," she explains, setting her empty mug down on the table and rising and picking her jacket that was pinned beneath her. Fishing through a pocket she produces a carton of cigarettes, brandishing them before she excuses herself. "Sorry about your friend. And your tickets. Maybe I'll catch you around again." And, she's off! Maybe the drop of 'private investigator' spooked her away! Melinda continues to watch Jamie curiously, a small wrinkle of concern between her brows. "Nice to meet you, Jamie." Then Tanya(anima) leaves! She frowns down at her sandwich and takes another bite. She watches her leave and shakes her head, looking a bit headachy. "Yeah, maybe. I don't know. Everything's kind of shit. It would be nice to just get out for a little while, but..." She reaches out to take her cup for a sip. "Sit down, Jamie. You should be warned though, not exactly a fan of private detectives right now. Known one or two too many." "Tanya"'s rapid exit earns little more than a glance. Proving that she is the very soul of discretion, Shelby eyes Jamie. Eyes Mel. Eyes Jamie again. "Are you hitting on Mel?" she inquires, tone sweet only due to the high levels of sugar she is consuming through her drink. "Hey, Mel, dude's hitting on you." /Helpful/. She goes on to confirm this by adding, "S'bad manners to ask chicks if they're open, man. May as well ask if they charge by the hour or what." As she speaks, she is rummaging around in her pocket. After a moment, a small travel pack of Advil is found and offered over, without looking, to Melinda. Jamie raises his brows and juts out his jaw a little as he takes his seat on the couch, folding one leg over the other and rubbing his knuckles on his shirt. An aloof expression that has very little to do with Shelby's prodding. "No, no. It's nothing like that. I just had some questions based on some rumors that have been floating around here lately. I'm investigating some disappearances for a client. I understand, though, if neither of you are interested in answering questions. I'm only pushy because it's my job - not because I'm a bad guy!" So it remains to be seen, anyway. "If you're referring to that mother fucking ass, Murphy, you can tell him that Jim said he's going to put his face through a fucking car windshield," Melinda replies crankily, eyes narrowed on the top of her drink, taking a sip before eyeing the advil and smiling warmly at Shelby. She accepts the pills graciously and tears them open before popping them in her mouth and swallowing them down with her coffee. "And if you're asking for Jim, tell him he can jump off a pier and grow the fuck up, the belligerent jackass that he is." Despite her crankiness, she never really raises her voice. She's just cursing, really. Unfortunately, something causes her to pause and she considers this for a moment. "I'm sorry. You client probably isn't either of those two people," Mel is apologetic and polite once more, wetting her lips before looking at Jamie again. "What about disappearances?" Shelby's narrow look at Jamie grows that much more narrow. The next thing she produces from her pocket, after setting aside the empty mug, is her phone. It is flipped open and...her thumbs start flying over the keypad. But Melinda succeeds in something rarely seen in the wilds of New York City--she makes a teenager put the texting on pause. Shelby stares, /stares/, at Mel for a moment, jaw sagging slightly. Then she gives a low whistle and turns her head to watch Jamie with bright interest. How's he going to take /that/. "Dude, /burn/." Old Madrox has to stifle a snicker, his cheeks blowing out and moving his eyes so he doesn't have to make eye contact with anybody. He holds his mouth over his lips for a few seconds, his shoulders trembling a little, and his nose snorting delicately, for just a microsecond. When the moment's passed, and he's regained his composure, he swallows in his own throat, wipes his hand over his face, and looks up, supplying in a wobbly voice: "I'd heard there had been a few children in the area who had been taken off the streets, that's all. I just wanted to know if you had heard anything about kidnappings, children not coming home at night, that sort of thing." "Children," Melinda considers this for a moment as she continues to sip from her mug, enjoying the spicy chocolate flavor. "No. The only disappearances I heard about were in relation to that blood monster from the papers." She gives a little shrug, and returns to sipping from her cup. There's a quiet moment and Mel looks at Shelby, concerned. A ding from Shelby's phone has her huddling down behind it, typing intently with a scowl on her face. "Fucking /Thursday/," she mutters, apropos of nothing. Then a brief glance is sent over the screen at the grownups. Melinda is spied and her eyebrows shoot up--wut? Oh. "S'Bastian," she explains before hiding--poorly--again. As for the conversation, she is /about/ to say something when the barista's comments filter through and earn Mel another glance. "Uh. Yeah. What she said." Normally her lying is a little slicker but she is distracted. "Anything else unusual happen around here lately besides the monster that struck either of you as unusual?" Jamie probes, leaning forward in his seat on the couch and giving either of the ladies an inquisitive and attentive look, now cured of his recent bout of the almost-giggles. "Tell him, I say hey," Mel looks sad, but inhales deeply to pull herself together. "I ... um. Wow. That's kind of a vague question. Were these disappearances in SoHo? Or the Lower East Side? Or hell, in the East Village? I haven't been out of those parts of the city, so unless you want some completely unrelated news, you might want to be a little more specific." She's being helpful - it must be the headache that is making her sound edgy. "Kids go missing every fucking day," Shelby puts in without looking up from the phone. Tap tap tap. She's quiet for a moment before adding, "I saw a dude who didn't have a nose yesterday. Looked like it rotted off, there was just a hole where his nose was supposed to be." Jamie gives Shelby a weird look out of the corner of his eye, tapping his fingertips together a little bit. "I guess, there isn't much to go on. To be honest, I'm being paid a pittance and I have barely any idea what to go on. A couple of these children were from the SoHo area, so I thought it might be related to anything that might stick out in your memory. Like I said, not much to go on - it's less than vague, it's pretty much foggy. I guess I shouldn't waste too much more of your time - I'll let Jim and Murphy both know how you feel, alright? Nice meeting you, er..." he fumbles when he realizes he never learned Shelby's name. "Don't you fucking tell them how I feel." Melinda grumbles in reply, shaking her head and glowering. "If he gave a shit about me, he'd come by and ask himself, instead of being a self absorbed cock monkey." Which one is the proper /he?/ the world may never know. "Holy shit, Mel..." Shelby is dragged up from the world of text messages again to /stare/ at the other female. She seems even more impressed this time. "You just fucking used the C word. Oh my god, wait, wait, I gotta record this, say it /again/..." Buttons are being pushed, her phone aimed at Melinda and poor Jamie is overlooked for a moment--until it registers that he's fumbling in her direction. She glances at him, cool as only teenagers can be. "I'm Shelby. With a y." Jamie mouths to himself silently with his brow knit into a confused frown: 'That's the C word?" He raises his brows and shrugs his shoulders. "Shelby. Got it. Nice meeting you. Look, Mel, it doesn't take a genius to see one or both of them has been getting on your nerves, so I'll let them know they need to shape up. Thanks for indulging my questions." Madrox extricates himself from the couch and stands up to leave. "I am not going to let you record me," Melinda grumbles at Shelby now. She scowls at Jamie as he departs, brow furrowing. "Do you think he really knows who I am referring to? Are there that few 'Jim' and 'Murphy's in this City?" She shakes her head again and spends some time drinking deeply from her coffee. Shelby meekly retracts her phone. Also it dings again, so meek doesn't last long. "Fucking creeper dicks," she comments of the departed Jamie. A glance wings Melinda's way and then she not so subtly squirms closer until she's resting shoulder to shoulder with the older woman. Then? Then, miraculously, she keeps her mouth shut and just rests with Mel, typing away on her phone but making no other effort to fidget or speak or /anything/ that might detract from...well, resting.