Logs:Bitchy Assholes
Bitchy Assholes | |
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Dramatis Personae | |
In Absentia | 2025-01-08 "You are in sore need of some chop-wood-carry-water." |
Location
<NYC> Evolve Cafe, Evolve - Lower East Side, Manhattan | |
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 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 a crisp January day, and while outside the Lower East Side is a misery of half-refrozen slush, it's toasty and warm in here. Matt is draped sideways over one of the comfortable plush armchairs bracketing the coffee table in back, looking exceptionally put-together in a pale pink dress shirt, a purple brocade vest in leafy arabesques, gray slacks, and black derby shoes with just a touch of broguing. "{...so, hopefully, she'll never come back.}" Speaking in a tumble of soft, vulgar Québécois, his blithe tone belies a deeper concern, but even his concern here has a certain stark fatalism borne of a lifetime in his mother's flickering gaslight. "{But if she does, we'll know her game. Even if I might think the game is...fine, I suppose, until I talk to Luci about it.}" He peels one hand away from the mug he's cradling against his chest. "So it goes." Hive is a sharp contrast to Matt, drab and shabby-looking in his faded old jeans, scuffed workboots, an old crimson sweatshirt with the letters Theta Tau across the chest. He has brought a blanket with him to Evolve to wrap himself up in it, a big soft thing that has a screenshot of the "It's dangerous to go alone! Take this" Zelda screen printed on its plushy weave. He's still wearing the fleecey beanie and fleecey scarf that he'd been wearing outside, and has multiple outer layers -- parka, a fleece -- shed in a heap beside him. His cane is propped up against the side of his armchair, and he's making his very slow way through a bowl of broccoli cheddar soup, his coffee unfortunately already empty. "{-- just gonna trust to some flighty maniac that he's gonna --}" His teeth grind slightly, and he shakes his head, switching back into English to grumble, "As long as she stays the fuck away." And of course, the serpent slithers into the building, sticking out his tongue for a minute as he probes the area. He looks at all the tables, and frankly, doesn't have the nerve to just introduce himself to someone out of nowhere today. However, his eyes lock onto Hive...someone he recognizes. While he's unsure of their exact closeness, he likes the guy, and hopes hive likes him enough back to introduce him to the new guy. Thus, the snake mutant begins slithering over... "Ssssssalutationsssss." He appears behind a couch, waving a little. "Issssss there room for a third?" Confidence wavers. "Y-you remember me, right? From the refuge?" "So mote it be." Matt nods slowly, turning over the amorphous image-sense-idea of Damien in his mind. << {Luci thinks him quite capable, at least, and if she does comes back she will be a fugitive.} >> He steers his attention firmly away from thoughts of his mother and Lucien's father, focusing for a moment on Hive's empty mug as he starts to right himself. Though he comes up a little short when Samuel approaches them his smile is ready and bright. "Ah, are you one of DJ's flock, then?" His mind has spliced the image of this snake-person onto his admittedly vague and pain-laced memories of the Refuge, imagining him coiled around a tree and offering out an apple. Hive is squinching an eye closed, lifting his hand to rub slow and pained at his temple. He slouches further into his armchair and pulls his blanket up a little snugger around his shoulders, and while this does not answer Samuel's question at all, his "-- 'sup, asshole," is as companionable as his gruff voice tends to get. Maybe his vague gesture toward the couch counts as an invitation. His palm presses to the arm of the armchair, pushing him back higher enough that he can pick up his spoon. Only to stir the soup, he isn't bothering with eating. "S'not Mormon, he's just sad," he is -- introducing? -- Samuel to Matt. And the reciprocal introduction, as he jerks his chin towards Matt: "S'is Matt. He was just about to get me another coffee." Samuel slithers over to the couch, recognizing that he's been welcomed here...albeit in Hive's distinct and gruff sense. Due to his interactions with grandpa, he has a sense of how these sorts of people are and how to read between the lines. "Sssssssup, Asshole." He responds to hive with a bit more swagger, trying to seem cool in front of the new guy. "I'm Ssssssamuel, and I'm workin through ssssstuff. Niccccccce to meet you Matt!" Despite his efforts to seem cool, his sheepish grin works counterintuitive to any coolness he tries to project. Matt has set his own mug down, his hand lifting to half-cover a charmed smile. "Why, it's lovely to meet you, Samuel! I'm working through some stuff myself." He looks the snake man over thoughtfully. The Serpent in the Garden of his mind is now offering the apple with a distinct side of 🥺👉👈. "The Refuge is a suitable place for that sort of thing, I suppose." << Have you got yourself a Padawan there? >> "But I was indeed about to get him another coffee -- can I get you something while I'm up?" Hive sounds downright irritated when he agrees: "Place is fucking great for sorting your shit out." This thought has him decidedly scowling. He nudges his empty mug back to Matt, slouching down once more. "-- They won't kick you out if you drink the coffee away from their grounds," he adds. "S'more of a minimize temptation for the other residents kinda rule." He's nestling into his blanket, gripping it tight around him. As if this gesture has reminded him of the chill outside, he's looking Samuel over more critically: "... s'not gonna kill you out there, is it?" "Oh, no worriessssss there." He points to the jacket he's wearing, along with the rest of the outfit. "I've been tessssssssting out ssssssome clothesssss that'll help me get from place to place without keeling over outdoorssssss." Though, frankly, I'm eager for the final version. These just aren't quite my color. "Bessssssidesssss, I had one of the people from the refuge drive me over. They're nice." Nicer then I deserve, at least, bein the pond scum that I am. "Anywayssssss, if you're offering I'll take a diet coke. Love that diet sssssstuff, good for my health." Matt appends a wordless but no less outraged mental grumble of assent. << {It was really mainly you who did the sorting in my case,} >> he admits, << {but fuck him all the same.} >> "Goodness, they probably wouldn't even kick you out for bringing coffee back. But they would have such an earnest talk over it you might wish they did." He tsks and shakes his head as he takes up Hive's empty mug and stands. "They are deplorably nice, and Diet Coke it is. I'll be right back." He sashays over to the counter with a bright greeting for the barista behind it. << Fuck him, >> comes back oddly pleased in its venom, the blunt-heavy WHAM of Hive's mindvoice thumping painful into Matt's head. He stirs at his soup again, and this time does actually take a small bite. "They're nicer than any fucker deserves. It's kind of their whole thing. -- You figure out what you're gonna do with the freedom?" And when asked about what he's doing, Sammy just stares blankly forward for a moment. My dreams are in ashes. I'm never gonna be a star of any sort like this! "...Not really, no. I'm..." Sammy looks discouraged. "I'm kinda lossssst, man. I don't know what I'm gonna do, becausssssse like...well-" It takes a moment to get it out. "I wanted to be an actor, y'know? Movie ssssstar or at least well remembered actor. But asssss a mutant with a face and body like thissssss...I've got basssssically no chance in that field anymore. It wasssssss my dream, and now it'sssss like "It'sssss going to be tough, but you jusssssst have to sssssstart over and find a new dream." And like???? Yeah, I get it! I do! But it'ssssss....I don't know!" More frustration finds an outlet then he wanted to come out. Sammy works to level his temper. Great. I'm probably coming across as a whiner to them too. I have to be better at that. ".....Ugh. Jusssssst feel totally aimlessssss and casssssst adrift." Sammy looks to Matt. "Sssssssso, what about you? What kinda problemsssssssss do you deal with on average? They gotta make mine look trivial, yeah?" I gotta shift the conversation. It shouldn't all be about me being a loser. Matt is returning in short enough order. "Black and bitter, my dear, like your soul," he says as he sets the mug down in front of Hive, then puts the glass of cola down in front of Sammy, "and good for your health, even if you're aimlessly adrift." He drops back into his armchair and considers the question, eyebrows slightly uplifted. "Oh, I've been rather thrown off my average, but that's just as well -- I'm turning over a new leaf, now." He picks his own mug back up, and frowns. << How serious is he about the stardom? I mean in terms of actual pursuit. >> "I did just put myself in quite a bit of debt bailing out the evil bitch who birthed me, but at least she's gone and I can turn now to building a better future for my family and my people. The usual." In his mind's eye, "the usual" is a ghostly glowing arcology assembling itself under Hive's bony hands. "Surely you must have desires of your own? Even if you cannot distill them into aims, as such." << Boy wants to be an actor, >> has thumped heavily into Matt's head while he's at the counter; Hive's bafflement is strong enough to cut through the pain of his mindvoice. "Yeah, Hollywood's bigoted as shit. What -- else are you good at?" He's curling his hands gratefully around the mug. He wriggles himself a little less slouchily and clutches the coffee close to his chest in precariously unsteady hands. "Well," he says, slowly, "turning into a big snake is a pretty big problem but damn if you heard the last year this bitch has had --" He's nodding towards Matt even as Matt is volunteering a little bit about the tail end of that year. "Makes our lives look fucking boring. I get coffee with him when I need to feel better about my small fry crises." Sammy sips some of the soda from the glass, looking bewildered. "...Evil bitch who birthed you...you mean your mom? Did your parentsssss have a bad divorce or ssssssomething?" I can't imagine my parents breaking up...that's the one thing you're never suppossed to do! It's like, violating your holy covenant with god and all! Wait, what am I thinking? I'm trying to do something without the faith. But I can't just toss it either... "I jusssst can't imagine how terrible that mussst've been. Hive wassssn't kidding, my problemsssss aren't nearly assss bad asssss having a straight up evil mother." His understanding of family is somewhat limited...he thinks of family as very much a biological thing. "Anywas, In termsssss of talentssssss...I watch a lot of moviessssss....and play a lot of video gamesssss...and I know neither issssss a pursssssuit that meansssss anything in the REAL world, sssssso I'm ssssscrewed." Sammy says that with the intonation his father used. Telling him he needed a hobby that had some use in the real world, or he was going to be in trouble one day. "Acting wasssss the thing I've been prepping for sssssince I got the role of brutusssss in juliusssss ceassssar! No, back when I got that role in that bug basssssed mussssical, that wasssss when I knew I wasssss born to be on sssstage...but, well. Yeah." "His mom's fucking terrible. Sorry to your bail money but good fucking riddance she skipped town. -- Don't think you have to toss your faith to rethink your relationship wtih it." Hive is answering the spoken words and thought ones in the same bland tone. He takes small mouthful of soup, and chuffs sharply. "Yeeeah I can see how movies and video games aren't helping you much. You thought about school at all? Community college or trade school's cheaper and maybe you'll learn like. A real skill." There's a surge of incredulously amused delight in Matt that does not quite make it to his ruefully sympathetic smile. << At least my sordid drama is dramatic. Not that turning into a snake isn't dramatic, but perhaps I shouldn't encourage him to tap into that. >> "I am sorry to hear of your woes, and curious to hear about your bug musical!" He takes a sip of his tea, eyes searching Samuel in steady appraisal. His incipient idle consideration of the state of the mutant porn industry cuts off into a sharp spike of grief that also does not show on his face. "What is it about acting that draws you? You might find it in more places than you expect." "Well, I did actually have a college lined up by my parentsssss for after I graduated. But...well, I sssssusssspect that offer isn't really on the table anymore. I mean, I could asssssk them if I went back, but-" His voice trails off, and his thoughts speak for him. They'd probably either freak out and be scared of me, or they'd keep me in the house for an enternity. I'd have to do online college in their basement...or worse- "...Well, no, maybe I sssssshould go back. They're my parentsssss. A couple of sssscalesssss can't change the love we have assss a...a..." His tail thumps the floor, HARD. "Oh who am I kidding??? They'd call anti mutant ssssservicessss, or worssssse, animal control. I can't go back." Then sammy hears matt's question, and dwells on it. "Hmmm...I think it'ssss the way it letssss me be sssssomeone elssssse, you know?" Someone better. Someone different. It lets me escape my life and bullshit and be in someone else's for a bit. "I like feeling like I can walk a mile in ssssssomeone'ssss-" Sammy looks at his tail. "Uh. Well. The point issss that I have a lot of fun embodying different kindssss of people and perssssonalitiessssss." "Think even if you hadn't come over all snake you'd need some new skills. His brother," Hive jerks his chin in Matt's direction, "boring-ass looking Hollywood-attractive white man, triple threat on stage, don't think he was making enough to support himself doing acting alone until he had a Tony under his belt. And, well, you are not a boring-ass looking dude." He picks his coffee back up to sip it slowly. "-- we know a lot of artsy fucking hippies. Anyone started a mutant community theatre group yet? Someone oughta get on it, the flatscans all get to torture their friends with their terrible homebrew musicals why not us." Matt sips his tea slowly and breathes through his hysterical internal flailing. He checks his reflexive scoff about the love of Samuel's parents (vs. more than a couple of scales) much more readily, doggedly reminding himself of Jax's and, for that matter, Hive's. "Luci might've got there sooner if he hadn't dropped out of Julliard to take care of me," he allows, "and he applied plenty of acting skills off the stage to pay the bills. On the flip side of that, it took plenty of non-acting skills to make his career what it is today. You don't become a star by being a good actor." He turns one hand up at the air. "Dreams are rarely as simple as knowing what you were born to do and then doing it, and even when they are, the path is as often as not tortuous." "...Sssssso I need to get better at ssssstuff. Pick up new hobbiessss. Easssssier sssssaid then done, given my uh....lack of talentsssss." His tail wraps around himself. "I'm into the theatre group though! I may not have the bessssst looksssss anymore, but I assssssure you I could pull off a variety of rolesssss." After all, performance is just about making the audience believe a lie, and I'm a half decent liar. "Anywaysssss, being realisssstic...what's a good entry level job that a mutant with my lookssssss could get? And I refussssssse to flip burgerssssss." "Mnnh. Not sure how you even know what roles you could pull off right now. You're still getting used to a new body. Actors gotta be hell of comfortable using theirs." Hive -- no actor and making no claim to be one -- does not bother even trying to hide his deeply skeptical look. "Think the real actors I know would take huge damn issue with that, too, acting isn't about lying at all." He is studying Samuel as he drinks but snorts at this last one. "Oh, don't worry, you wouldn't make it as a burger flipper. Giant tail tripping everyone up while they're trying to navigate the hot dishes and hot grease in real tight quarters on a hectic schedule?" He shakes his head firmly. "You're gonna need a whole-ass attitude adjustment if you're gonna survive being poor now, hate to tell you. Be too proud to do honest work if you want, but all that'll get you is cold and hungry." He's looking over toward the counter, studying Evolve's baristas with a briefly faraway look. His attention pulls back toward his own conversation soon, and he shrugs a shoulder. "Well. If you got no skills there's always manual labor. Can't really do construction if you cant be outside but mmn. Could be some warehouses need a hand. Maybe janitorial work, does your brother --" He's starting to ask Matt, but then reconsiders. << naaah this boy's attitude would get him fired Day 1 >> thuds into Matt's mind wryly. "-- well, office buildings and shit need hella janitors." "Oh! You're one of those." Matt leans forward to fix Samuel with an unpleasantly keen stare as his mental stance shifts from delighted ribbing to still-delighted contempt. "Lying is deception. Acting is truthtelling in an imaginary world. Typically, the people who think they're the same thing are terrible at both. But here is a truth for you:" His head cants slightly. "You could be the greatest talent the stage has ever known, and you'd still wash out because acting is hard fucking work, and you are a whiny, entitled little bitch." He straightens back up, blinking again for what seems like the first time since he started speaking, his tone mild and casual again. "So really, it's lucky your prospects were wrecked when you turned into a snake. It's a solid excuse, and much easier on the ego." The reflexive reach of his power for a telepath who isn't there is similar in spirit to Hive's visual sweep of the cafe's staff. There's no real reply to the half-question, just a wordless shrug of agreement with his conclusion. << Thank the gods DJ won't kick him out. >> "You are in sore need of some chop-wood-carry-water." Samuel's utterly CRUSHED by Hive and Matt's brutal honesty. It shows on his face. He tries very hard to keep his composure, but his expression can't hide that his feelings are somewhat dashed upon rocks here. "Ack." Goddamn. Am I really that entitled? I mean, surely not, I... And Samuel just goes silent. Because now he's thinking about everything, like, REALLY thinking. His expression progressively drops. "...Okay. Ssssssure." I'm completely wrong about everything, huh? Wrong about mutants, wrong about life, wrong about acting...what AREN'T I wrong about? I'm always coming up with the wrong answer here! "I guessssss I'll jussssst...do the chop wood carry water bit." He doesn't say much else out loud. He's heavily slumped back into the back of the sofa. ...Maybe I should have let em run me down with pitchforks and shit. "You're a rich boy who's only been a poor a minute. Think some entitlement's kind of par for the course. S'just -- not gonna help you out here, y'know?" Hive shrugs. "Doesn't sound like you have your parents' money to fall back on now and you're going to have to get realistic about what opportunities are out there. Too much pride never paid anyone's bills." "Oh yes, it's quite understandable." For all his easy gleeful vitriol, Matt's agreement sounds sincere and almost sympathetic. "It's just also deeply tiresome and banal, and most people who've been in mutant community any length of time have met ten of you. There's plenty of work out there that does not require any skill or education. You are going to be limited by a lot of things we can't advise you on." His shrug echoes Hive's, and though he doesn't look at his friend he does add, silently, << If he manages to get over himself and still doesn't have a job, I'm sure Luci can in fact be prevailed upon. >> "Other physical mutants might be better resources on that front, but there are also plenty of people around the Refuge willing to help you make connections. They really are just so godsdamned kind there, it's disgusting." Samuel listens, and puts his hands together. He tries to not wallow and be mad and upset and frustrated. He wants to be a reasonable person. If he can be an intellectual, if he can look at the world objectively, maybe he can do better? Whatever I'm doing isn't working. So I have to flip it entirely. "Right. I'm not ssssspecial and I'm a hobo. I have to-" And saying this part feels like chewing on nails. "Just accccccept whatever'sssss free. Be a sssssstar employee and work the good ol nine to fivesssss. I get the deal." He does not entirely get the deal here. "...Hey, by the way, I notice you two've been giving each other looksssss...are you two gossssssipping in your headsssss about me? Y'know, ssssssince Hive has psssychic powersssss and ssssshit?" "I feel like most people assume telepaths are always gossiping in our heads about you but like." Hive's mouth twitches to the side, small and amused. "Dunno what we'd be saying that's worse than whiny, entitled little bitch." He gulps down the rest of his soup and wipes his mouth with his napkin. This time the pull of his mouth is thinner, eyes skipping back to the counter. "-- Guess if you have the misfortune to develop telepathy too, one day you'll find out." |