ArchivedLogs:Your Honour

Your Honour
Dramatis Personae Micah, Elliott	26 June 2014 Discussing politics over books and mochas.
Location <NYC> Busboys and Poets - Harlem
A quiet, artsy spot nestled away on a side street in East Harlem, Busboys and Poets combines cafe and bookstore in a way a Starbucks tacked on to a Barnes & Noble could never achieve. The food is a solid, multi-national cuisine menu that caters to all kinds of dietary choices, and its fair-trade tea menu is extensive. Its weekend brunch tends to draw a large crowd, but there is ample enough seating both at tables and on its many comfortable armchairs and couches that at other times of the week there is never a wait. The walls are adorned with the work of local artists, and tucked in among and alongside the couches are rows upon rows of books, with a definite slant towards the political and the bohemian. It is commuting hour, really, a brief lull in business as people flee from offices to home. A few people linger around the store, largely having the look of college students and folks waiting out traffic for a bit before they do the same. Micah blends in well in his TARDIS-blue polo shirt and khakis, auburn hair rather mussed after a full work day. He is crouched in the children's fantasy and sci fi section, though occasionally he turns around to scan the young adult section of the same (which is conveniently just behind him). A small pile of books grows like a time lapse video of a strange, papery plant at his feet. Elliott admittedly somewhat /also/ has the fleeing-office look about her, dressed in pale blue slacks and a white blouse, jacket shed for the heat and draped over her forearm as she slips into the cafe. It’s not exactly /furtive/, how she sidesteps the seating area and makes some small haste to disappear into the stacks, but there’s just a hint of /harried/ about her that suggests she’d rather not deal with -- wait. She has walked straight past Micah’s row when she backtracks, eyebrows hiking up and her faintly tightened expression softening into a sudden easier warmth. “/Yo/. Cyborg.” It’s a /very/ formal kind of Mayorly greeting. The casual way in which Micah turns to the call implies that he actually answers to that name regularly. A smile sketches across his lips when he recognises Elliott and he slowly works his way back to standing like a normal person in a bookstore. “Evenin'. Afraid I don't even know the proper honorific for Mayor. S'it 'Your Honour' like judges? Or somethin' else?” There is the slightest hint of teasing in his pondering. He is also speaking in a lowered voice, whether out of consideration for people reading or to avoid announcing the Mayor's presence to the store. “Congratulations, by the way. I sent a card, but I imagine half the state did, as well, so I don't expect you t'even remember if y'got it.” Taking a few steps to close the gap between them, Micah leans in as if to share a secret. “I voted for you.” “Oh, Jesus, sure, if you want me to deck you,” Elliott answers him with a quiet groan, hand lifting to rub against her cheek before she adds, less disgruntled: “I prefer Your Excellency. Seriously, though, I’ve been /Madame Mayor/’d and /Your Honour/’d at enough these past three weeks to last me a lifetime.” When Micah leans in, she just lifts an arm, hooking it around his shoulders to drag him in for a squeeze of a hug. “Fuck you, then. Why didn’t someone stop me, what was I thinking? I haven’t slept all month.”    A snort of laughter from Micah punctuates Elliott's reply. “Wait, wait. Let me set up m'phone t'record first. /Then/ we'll try that. Pretty sure that kinda footage is paid for well by the news outlets.” The playful quality hasn't left his voice with the suggestion, his arms lifting to return the hug when he's pulled closer. “Y'were thinkin' maybe y'cared enough 'bout how crazy things've been t'do somethin' 'bout it. S'a new job. S'always extra crazy at first. I'm sure you'll hit your stride.” His head shakes slowly at the mention of not sleeping. “S'amazin' how that seems t'be the first thing t'go when y'set out t'help folks. Got enough sleeplessness at my place often enough, too.” “Oh. Man. I am sure somebody would love /that/.” Elliott shakes her head as she rocks carefully back a step, hands lifting to brush stray wisps of hair back behind her ears. “People are just waiting for me to do something off-the-wall stupid. I am too young, too female, too crippled, and too fucking Chicana --” She presses her lips together, hand lifting to her lips as her eyes cut to the side like maybe there’ll be a camera /there/? Now? Watching? “-- to do this job, at least if you listen to half the internet and two thirds of the news tell it.” She rests a shoulder against the bookshelf, inadvertently stifling a yawn behind one palm. “How /are/ things at your place? I haven’t read about your husband getting shot in like -- at least a week so I’m hoping that means better? How’re your kids doing?” "There're always folks waitin' for just about anybody t'slip up."  Micah chuckles at the litany of things 'wrong' with Elliott.  "Bet y'could beat the tar outta just 'bout everybody claimin' you're crippled."  He nods with a bit of a wry smile.  "Things've been good.  Jax had t'take a fair bit of time off with his most recent injuries, afraid is the main reason he ain't got hurt again on top of it.  Kids're good.  Spence is startin' summer camps.  B's still workin' at Stark.  Shane reopened Evolve.  Have y'been?" “I probably could, but they’d blame it on my Mexican roots, they’re all savages there, you know? Not that you don’t sometimes just want to --” Elliott grins, quick and sharp. “Maybe that’s the sleep-dep talking. He, uh --” For a moment her teeth sink against her lip. “He improving, at least?” The mention of Evolve presses her lips together again. “I heard it had opened but I didn’t know it was /your/ -- is that really a good idea? It seems a little -- I mean, after what happened --” But she stops here, shaking her head with a small quick smile. “No, I haven’t had a chance to stop by just yet. Is he doing well?” "Oh, right, s'all severed heads an' drug cartels from coast to coast down there," Micah pretends to realise, though his eyes are rolling throughout.  "Jax is doin' good now.  S'back t'work an' all now.  I'm hopin' it don't mean more injuries are on the horizon."  He smiles fondly at the discussion of Shane's work.  "S'been goin' good, actually.  Gettin' business an' nothin' too...violent happened as of yet.  Always got excellent vegan baked goods." “Actually, that doesn’t sound very /different/ from describing New York through most of November.” Elliott represses a small shiver, though her expression remains easy, small smile still in place in echo of Micah’s fond one. “Good. Good. That’s -- good. I’m hoping it stays that way -- you know, I’m moving forward already with a new program that I’m /hoping/ will help address the violence problems in --” Though here she stops, tipping a puzzled look to Micah. “Wait, Shane reopened -- Micah, aren’t your boys in high school?” "Well, that means you're uniquely qualified for the job, then.  Next campaign ad writes itself," Micah offers with a cheesy grin and wink.  "Twins.  Or kids.  Not boys.  B don't identify as male.  But, yes, they're teenagers.  He really wanted this, though, an' he ain't really ever shown interest in somethin' like that before.  Also, he's got an adult business partner with experience in the field, so that's good."  Micah's eyebrow lifts.  "What program now?" “Oh -- oh. Lo siento, I thought they were --” Elliott pauses, shaking her head in faint bemusement. “Good. Good, that’s. Good. Ah -- the new task force I’m trying to get created with the police. I’m really hoping that a dedicated division trained and actually equipped to handle mutant issues will make things safer -- across the board for everyone. I mean. I’d say that the NYPD’s handling of mutants so far has been terrible, but that’s such an appalling understatement.” “No, no, not a problem, hon. It's a relatively recent realisation on hir part. I just try t'correct people so ze doesn't have to so much.” Micah pats a hand at the air to dismiss the need for apology. “An', yeah, I'm hopin' that'll help some. I'm glad Eric did come talk t'you in the end. He was a fair bit skeptical when I recommended it. Wasn't sure by the end of the conversation if he was just sayin' okay t'get me t'stop talkin' 'bout it.” Elliott's last statement can't be answered with anything but a very /emphatic/ nod of agreement. “Wasn’t quick enough to keep his job, for him, unfortunately. Though I’m hoping we can rectify /that/, too.” Elliott grimaces, faintly, pressing fingertips against her forehead. “Sometimes, you know, it just feels like things are such a tangle that --” She breathes out, a quick breathy laugh, smile on her face once more as she looks up at Micah. “Oh, god, forgive me, I’m not going to stand here and complain at you about work. Of all things. I’m sure you have a better perspective than /I/ do on the --” She glances over Micah’s face, thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose you and your husband -- well. You’re probably insanely busy already.” “It'd be wonderful if y'could. He'd been...real good 'bout checkin' some of the bad things goin' on in the force, where he could. S'only so much one man can do, 'specially while sittin' in the Mutant Closet. But he did it.” Micah reaches out to pat a hand against Elliott's shoulderblade. “Really, it's okay. Stuff's relevant t'my life, too. I don't mind talkin' with you at all. How 'bout I grab m'pile of books an' we get you somethin' t'drink t'help take the edge off? Mocha?” He pauses on the way to collect his kids' books, turning with an intrigued expression. “Don't interrupt yourself when you're havin' a thought 'bout needin' help with somethin'. What were y'thinkin'?” “There were a /few/ officers who lost their positions over their mutant status and I’ll be looking into all their cases.” Elliott twitches a small smile at Micah, stooping to help gather the books off the floor.  “Mocha does make basically /everything/ more bearable. I won’t say no to that.” She looks down at the topmost title in her hands, starting to proffer the tinystack back to Micah before instead just tucking it in her arms. “I was just -- thinking that it would be really helpful to have an inside perspective about the issues facing -- mutants, parents of mutants, families -- the whole community in this city. And you two are fairly well connected -- at the least, if I were to form a -- committee to help advise on these issues you’d probably know who to point me at to talk to. Besides yourselves, I mean.” Another nod of approval meets that announcement. Elliott would be looking down at /The Borrowers/ balanced atop /Matilda/, /The Graveyard Book/, /Have Spacesuit, Will Travel/, and an assortment of Harry Potter and Tamora Pierce books. Micah takes the books with a quiet thanks. “That could sure be helpful. I can ask around our place t'see who might be interested. An' we got a group for children with special abilities an' their families that just started recently at the Clinic. Could also put some information up at the Clinic, if y'wanna make, like, a flyer or somethin'? Then we sure could get 'em out there. Best way t'know who's good for you t'talk to is the ones that volunteer.” He moves his stack of books over to a relatively secluded table before joining the ordering line. “Oh --!” Elliott smiles at the Tamora Pierce, and then taps her finger lightly against the spine of /Matilda/. “Have you seen that musical? It’s absolutely charming.” She nods, as she follows along with Micah, draping her jacket on the back of a chair at the table. “I’d appreciate that. Outside of a few notable exceptions, the places it would be good to reach out to mutants tend -- not to advertise themselves much, it can be hard sometimes knowing quite where to even. Start looking.” She queues up in line beside Micah, arms crossed loosely over her chest. “And --” But wherever that line of conversation was going, it cuts off instead into a sudden quick and practiced smile, Elliott’s posture straightening /just/ a hair as she glances across the cafe. A young man is getting up from his table, beelining for them with that look of /recognition/ in his eye. “Ohboy,” she murmurs, beneath her breath. “Tell me, do I have my /Honourable/ face on?” “Ha, no, I haven't yet. But I rather imagine I will. M'husband's got one of the songs as a ringtone,” Micah informs her with lips curling upward in amusement. “Sure, sure. Draw up the information an' pass on' over t'me an' I'll distribute it. 'Tween folks at my place an' the Clinic an' Evolve, an' any people /they/ might talk to, y'should have a good group provided folks is interested.” He tilts his head to regard the woman for a moment. “Y'got your /attractive/ an' right-sure-of-herself faces on, but also the exhausted one. Let me get y'that caffeine t'help the latter.” At which point Micah sidles up to the counter and orders two /large/ mochas with the addition of a pair of chocolate fudge chunk brownies. Probably the extra chocolate helps when speaking with constituents.