Logs:Book/Cover

Book/Cover
Dramatis Personae Ion, Samuel
In Absentia	2024-12-27 "I am a man, ssssssir."
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 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 Friday night, and Evolve is bustling. There's a steady thump-thump-thump coming muffled (and intermittently less muffled, as people move from the cafe to upstairs and back down again) from the club up above. The cafe itself is packed, a boisterous mix of those caffeinating for a night of dancing, friends just enjoying the weekend, and the regular mix of bedraggled mutants keen to get out of the increasingly colder night. Ion, just recently loping down the stairs from the club overhead, is bouncing his cheerful way between these disparate groups with an amiable ease. He's stopped at one table of college-aged youths excitedly discussing New Year's plans to pass one of them a medicated lotion ("{-- tell your gran I swing by next week, too, check up her car trouble for her --}"), quietly tucks a blanket over a shabbily dressed middle-aged man who's fallen asleep on a back couch, stops to give an older teen an exuberant hi-5 ("-- yo you really get in MIT you gonna show Boston how we do it, yeah?, congrat --)" -- before he fetches up (with a few empty plates and cups he's snagged from around the room on the way) nearby the counter. He's taking the dishes he's collected to the busing station, jerking his chin up to the purple-haired barista. "Yo IcyHot you get me 'nother?" The barista is nodding; Ion is settling in against the counter to dig his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. In the sturdy jeans, sturdy motorcycle boots, black-and-white flannel, his outfit doesn't look much at all like the gaudy Santa costume he'd had on days earlier, but the heavily-patched and well-tended leather vest he wears is still highly identifiably the same. Above and below the mutated Jolly Roger emblem with its fanged-and-horned skull and crossed lightning bolts in place of crossbows, his patches read 'MUTANT MONGRELS MC' and 'EMPIRE STATE' on the back; in the front, the name patch just says 'ION' over 'PACK MEMBER' and 'RABID DOG'. One foot is bouncing rapid and jittery while he stands, his hand taptaptapping on the countertop like it just can't stay still. Ion is clearly a man who knows how to work with crowds and hang with the people. In a stark contrast to that, Samuel's always been that chubby nerd who watches people socialize at prom while standing at a distance and holding fruit juice, wishing he looked all pretty and handsome and that girls would fawn all over him. Metaphor that went really off the rails aside, Sammy isn't really sure how to socialize with the people of the bar, aside from the ocassional "Hey, what's up" which quickly trails off after a conversation starts, killing it prematurely. He's really not having a lot of luck, his uncertainty getting smashed up against others who clearly hold a greater deal of mutant pride then he does right now. Unsure of what else to do, he slithers (uncomfortably, due to his adjusting sense of balance) over to the countertop and leans on it. Then he notices Ion. Sammy thinks the outfit looks absolutely badass. The jeans, the boots, that monochrome flannel, and the emblemlooks rad....though the mutant mogrels label does scratch a part of his brain that screams "thug who's gonna take my money". He tries not to think on it. "Uh....yo." He awkwardly pauses. "The ssssssssssssshirt'sssssss pretty radical, dude." He just finger guns and tries to smile. This shows off all of his fangs, which he immediately regrets. "Damn, gotta real mouthful teeth on you, huh?" Ion is grinning broad and considerably less fangy. He's also looking down at his shirt with a squint, a tilt of his head, a shrug -- "Is cozy as hell. Ey, you was at Christmas, yeah? Ain't see you 'round before, you new?" Samuel's inner bashfulness increases dramatically at the comment on his teeth, shutting his mouth. "You could ssssssay that...which isssss to ssssssay, yesssss." Confidence. Don't show weakness! Scary looking dude! "I arrived here late. Had a hell of day and itssssss not easssssssy to travel new york without phone power." The snake tries to play off the direness of his circumstance with a shrug. "The batteriessssss on the thingssssss get worsssssse each model, amiright?" "Shit I wouldn't know I ain't had no phone in my life." Ion holds up -- well, not his hand; there's a gleaming hook in place of where his right hand should be. A shiver of sparks dance along the prongs as he opens and closes them, the electricity crackling bright and harmless for a moment and then vanishing. "I kinda murder on the things. You come from far? Got more freak here than anywhere 'round," Ion is saying this with pride as if, somehow, he personally is responsible for New York's mutant density, "you come the right place." He looks flabbergasted by the hook. Is this guy some kind of mutant pirate????? "Woah. I, uh, jerssssssey. I come from jersssssey." The snake fights not to tug at his shirt collar, a common fidget instinct. "Not, um. AHEM. I try not to conssssssider myssssself a freak, but the face makes it pretty damning." A slightly more honest statement comes from his mouth. "Must be nice, havin a face that lets ya passsssss for being a normie." "Jersey? Shit but that ain't but a minute away --" Ion's laugh here sounds kind of delighted, he's telling the barista cheerfully as she returns with his coffee, "-- this boy talk like Jersey a whole trek -- that tunnel do feel like a lifetime though." The tip he's leaving is easily probably three times the coffee itself. He lifts the cup in his hook, saluting the barista before he takes a swig. Inhales sharp like it's way too hot, like obviously it's way too hot when he was just handed it Three Seconds Ago, but is that stopping him from taking another sip? No. He ambles just a few feet to the side, kicks a chair out from one of the tables so that he can plop down in it backwards, one arm hooked over its back as he faces Samuel. "I real sorry to be the one to tell you, but you a freak. Is cool, you got good company." His brows have hiked, though. His smile doesn't go anywhere -- wide, bright -- but it does sharpen, somehow more toothy than before. "Boy," he's shaking his head, a small chuckle in his rumbly-deep voice, "I not gonna pretend I know shit of what you deal with. I don't. But you dumb as rocks you think I --" He's tapping the MUTANT MONGRELS patch on his jacket, "got one speck of give-a-fuck on passing for a damn flatscan." Samuel looks embarrassed by the remark about jersey. Getting here in the winter was absolute MURDER. "Right. Mutant pride and all, my bad. Sssssstupid to mention." The word flatscan...he can't place exactly what it means, but the intent with which its used makes his heart drop a little. "Asssssss of recently, I'm twenty. Thusssss, I'm hardly a "Boy" of any sssssortssssss. I am a man, ssssssir." This begets a careful pause. How to proceed with this? His tail acts as a tell of nervousness that he can't control, thumping the floor. "Ssssssay, what do I call you? I didn't get a name." Ion bursts out laughing at this -- a loud guffaw, hand slapping his knee. "Damn, boy, shit, lo siento, I couldn't see you grown as hell." He takes a gulp of his coffee, wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. "You go out that door," He's gesturing with his hook, sending a small shower of sparks glittering off in the direction of the exit, "whole damn world of flatscan all revving to make you feel small. Ain't gotta go do their work for 'em, huh?" Ion's leg is bouncing again. Quick, jittery, a small thumpthumpthump of his heavy boot heel against the ground. "Ain't got your name either, boludo. You know me anywhere this city by the colors --" He is again tapping at his Mongrels insignia when he says colors, "-- me and my dogs always gonna have a minute for our people." He looks at the mongrels insignia, unsure what to say or how to feel. By all accounts, this man is a dangerous mutant gang member of some sort...but by those same accounts, he's an evil mutant who eats rats. "Well..." His attempts to front as any stronger or more confident then he is have totally crumbled before this guy's sheer authenticity. "I'm Sssssamuel. Friendsssss call me Sssssammy or Sssssam. And assssss an out of towner...I have to admit I'm sssssomewhat at a lossssss assssss to what a flatssssscan isssss. Are you talkin about...humansssss?" "Go here to Australia and back, a flatscan still a flatscan. Human, yeah. No-power-having plain-ass bastards jealous as hell they ain't got themself a level up." Ion swigs again at his coffee, then lifts it in salute to Samuel. "Ion. S'me. You go one side the city to another you tell some freak you looking for Ion, if he don't know me he find you someone who do. You get yourself in some trouble, find someone in these colors, we have your back. You staying or just a tourist?" Somehow, the pejorative in Ion's voice on tourist is heavier than it had even been on flatscan. Samuel can really feel the crushing weight of tourist, and his statement comes out faster and firmer. "Ssssstaying. I've got nowhere elsssssse to go after they ditched me." He's not angry enough? Not frustrated enough? Vent a little, maybe that'll get him somewhere. "The moment I got thesssssse sssssscalesssss, people sssssswitched up on me. I wassssss ready to move and all, but I had the choice taken from me. If thisssss doessssn't work, I'm roadkill." He lets a snort out of his nostrils. "Humanssssss..." And he loses the aggression in his voice easily. To be frank, he feels more betrayed then anything. He wasn't beloved, but for them all to turn on him... He can't stop thinking about the way his parents just stared from the stands. They didn't do anything to help him. Nothing. "S'fucked up, man." This sounds genuine; Ion winces sympathetically, his head shaking. "People real fuckers, sometimes. Shitty that happen to you. You stay here, maybe, you find some new people. Less of fuckers. We got all kind people here." He is transferring his cup from his hook to his actual hand; his fidgeting seems to transfer at the same time, hook now going clack-clack-clack restlessly where he's dropped his right arm down to his side. "You got some plan? Work, school? New York she great but she gonna eat all your cash up fast." "Not sssssure on that front, man. I had....plansssss for what I wassss gonna do, but they involved a college I wasssss gonna go to next." He chooses to leave out the part that nepotism benefits would've gotten him there for dramatically reduced cost. "It'sssss...ssssssafe to assssssume it'sssss not on the table anymore, consssssidering my allowance ssssssseemssssss to have sssssstopped coming." Sam taps his finger on the counter with a bit of frustration. "Dunno if it ssssssoundsssss ssssstupid, but was anglin to get into the film indussssstry. Wanted to be the next big ssssstar, yaknow?" His gaze meets Ion. "Probably alssssso impossssssible with a face like thissssss." Again Ion winces; again his head shakes. "Damn. Bad fucking break, huh?" He's looking over Samuel with a frank assessment that pulls his smile a little sideways, briefly, into a sort of grimace. "Don't think star in your stars now, hermano. Hold your nose, choke a gag reflex down, maybe you get enough Scary Thug Number 2 to pay some slumlord rent." His head rolls one side to another with an audible pop on the stretches. "Still can have you some life, though. You maybe just gotta do a hard think what that look like with scaleface and no trust fund." He grunts a bit. "Bad..." There's nobody to judge. He can just come out and say it here. "Bad fucking break coversssss it, but alsssssso feelssssss like a sssssimplification. Went from cozy home life to the woodsssss with progresssssively colder blood. Wassssssn't a fun learning curve." He sticks his tongue out like a real snake for a moment. Just one of those weird habits he's starting to pick up. "It'ssssss like....I've never had to think too hard on how to plan a whole life ssssstructure. Now I'm tossssssed in the deep end. Fucking ssssssucksssss. Like...I wasssss gonna be out in the world sssssoon, but I didn't think it'd be like thissssss." Samuel just sits with that for a moment, before looking to Ion. He's hoping for something profound. "What made you feel sssssso....ssssssso powerful? How'd becoming a mutant make you like...I dunno, ssssssso ssssssself confident and that jazz?" "Yeah, that don't sound fun." Ion is in the middle of taking another gulp of coffee when Samuel's latest question comes. The reflexive lift of his hand toward his mouth might have stopped his amused-choking spray if he in fact had a hand, but given all he's got on that side to press to his lips is the hook he is doing half-a-spittake anyway. At least it's aimed downward and not at Samuel. "What, you kidding? I was rad as hell before, this shit --" Another quick crackle of power, "just be some bling on top." He's wiping at his eyes, a kind of manic-bright energy in them. "Real talk though being a mutant ain't make me no confident. Whole damn world is fucking awesome, I ain't gonna let some bigot tell me different." There's a beat, a little sharpening of his smile. "No cap though shootup some lightning, it don't hurt for feel powerful." "Hmmmm...that'ssssss probably the difference. If the mutation represssssentsssss who we are insssside...you got lightning becausssse you're absssssolutely electric. You're badassssssss and your power sssssayssss that. I'm a ssssssnake becaussssse...." He trails off. ``Because I'm a liar and a bad person.`` "Well, it probably doesssssn't ssssspeak well of my nature, I guessssss. The ssssssnake isssss the lowliesssst of creaturessss, curssssed to crawl on itssss belly for tempting eve." Samuel drinks some soda he picked up, practically chugging the thing. "If I could sssssshoot lightning I'd probably feel badasssssss too." "Damn, a snake eat your momma, why you ragging on snake like that? One my best girls she was all snakey, scales, spit venom, she electric as hell too where it count." Ion taps his hook against his HEART demonstratively, but he's laughing again at the end of this: "Damn straight you would. Challenge anyone not feel like a badass doing some lightning shit." Ion chugs down the last of his coffee and hops back up to his feet. "Think you a snake because some genes decided. How you feel about it, you gotta decide that." "The bible, mosssstly." And as he listens to Ion describe one of his best girls, some very not christian approved thoughts beem into his brain. Sammy doesn't know it yet, but this conversation is gonna give him a thing about reptile woman and men for probably like, forever. Ah, the joys of becoming a man. "Well, I guessssss I can't argue with geneticsssss. Wasssssn't much for ssssscience though, alwaysssss hated that classsss." Samuel realizes he's getting off topic. His mind briefly imagines a snake woman without a shirt and his scales turn a bit redder. "ANYWAYSSSSSSS. When you sssssay one of your girlssssss, doessss that imply you have multiple? Like, girlfriendssssss?" "Man, fuck that, Jesus and me like --" Ion is holding up the wrong hand, at first; his hook is not the best for demonstrating this. He has to set his empty coffee mug back down on the table so that he can lift his other hand, fingers crossed tight to demonstrate the level of homeboy Jesus is. "-- but he come die for us outta love he not 'bout hating on no snake or anyone." He's forgotten, already, that his drink is woefully finished, because he lifts it to take another swig and then looks positively taken aback when no further coffee is forthcoming. He lets the mug dangle on its handle from his hook and gives Samuel a baffled look. "What? I mean, huh? Sure, I got plenty -- but my girl ain't mean my girlfriend, I just mean one my dogs, right? Mongrel. Was in my pack." Samuel looks kind of surprised to see Ion announce Jesus as his homeboy. He hadn't really expected that from a guy sporting an attire like this, much less someone who's presumably had sex with a lot of different women (though he could be misunderstanding something here). "You believe in Jesssssusssss? For real?" Samuel tilts his head. "I hadn't figured you for the type. Caussssse you like...tell me if I'm reading wrong here..." Slightly more hushed voice. "Are you a....well, criminal? Do you do ssssstuff that Jesssssusssss wouldn't approve of?" He honestly has no idea what to make of this situation. But he can practically hear his father's voice in the back of his head. A speech about how the bible isn't pick and choose, and you cannot claim to believe it if you don't commit to all of it. "Boy, don't go try pull me in your damn hangups. Me and Jesus tight as hell, you got wallowing to do leave me out it." Ion's smile is still quite broad but -- though his rumbly voice is still amiable enough -- there's a certain ferocity about it now that leaves a visceral hindbrain reminder that in many species, bared teeth are a threat display. "You plan on stick around, I tell you this free. You of all-damn-people gotta learn it's a fuckshit move, judge someone by some shitbag idea from how they look." He lifts his hook, waggling it in a lazy kind of wave that clinks at the mug it still bears. He's sauntering a few steps over to leave the mug neatly in the bussing tray and then -- no fanfare, no goodbye, just a quiet pop and a faint ozone tinge in the air, and he is gone. Samuel watches him leave, only to be fucking flabbergasted by his instant dissappearance. "Huh???" He just stares at the place where Ion was. He can TELEPORT??????? "...Wha...how..." And then he just sighs, looking back at the soda can sitting on the counter in front of him. Judging people by how they look... He lowers himself on the table and looks at the can head on, his reflection barely visible in it with the light shining through the windows, making that can look all shiny. ".......Maybe I'm a fuckin idiot."