Logs:Diversity of Tactical Apparel

Diversity of Tactical Apparel
Dramatis Personae Anahita, Ryan
In Absentia	2024-11-04 "Maybe more like Antifashion performance wear."
Location <NYC> Le Bonne Entente - Astoria
This hotel is the reincarnation of a condemned neoclassical cathedral, drastically yet skillfully renovated such that its majesty feels distinctly sacred but agnostic of any particular creed. The annexes and exterior redesigns harmonize stunningly with the original architecture. By day plentiful sunlight streams in through tall stained glass windows. At night the white marble exterior is lit from below to faintly ethereal effect. The grounds are not extensive, but meticulously landscaped, with tables and seating arranged within a circular colonnade and benches scattered along paths through the surrounding gardens. In stark contrast, the interior columns are richly gold-veined black marble, relieved with lighter accents, softer furnishings, and a surprising amount of greenery. The lobby is magnificent yet welcoming, expansive but not imposing. The reception area is nestled between twin staircases ascending to a mezzanine that circles the grand ballroom to an expansive multi-leveled cafe in what was once the sanctuary. The gallery hallways that look down from the upper levels are lined with conference rooms, spas, gyms, and guest rooms, many with external balconies and all sumptuously appointed. The crypt chapel and part of the crypt proper have been converted to a matched club and lounge respectively which manage to convey a sense of almost scandalous intimacy despite their considerable size. The crown jewel of this ambitious architectural endeavor is the sprawling restaurant that spans the airy clerestory to spill out onto a crescent-shaped grand balcony with a breathtaking view of the Manhattan skyline across the East River, especially at sunset. Above this, the soaring bell tower remains a mystery to most guests beyond the lush conservatory in its base, and though the original bells have been restored, they are not currently in use. This tiny nook of a balcony is not, technically, private -- it's quite easily accessible from an upper floor exit -- but, unmarked and unattached to the bustling restaurant or event rooms or other luxurious amenities, it is quiet and out of the way. It bears only a couple small and comfortable chairs around one low conversation table, a small gas firepit ensconced in glass in the table's center, a few plants spilling out of their sconces to add a pop of color. Ryan adds a pop of color, too, ancient jacket in a jagged patchwork of rainbow denim covered heavily with a mix of patches in leftist messaging and intricate artwork (and some that are clearly both), paired with similarly ancient wide-legged jeans. His crutches lean up against the balcony railing, and though there's a squat glass of alcohol in front of him it is hardly touched. His attention has been mostly taken up by a sheaf of paperwork in front of him, fingers rubbing tired at his brow as he looks through it. Anahita's footfalls are quiet, but Ryan can probably hear her approach well before she realizes this balcony is occupied. When she does realize, she hesitates only a moment before continuing on. She's dressed in denim overalls and a plaid flannel in shades of pink and purple, her long hair draped over her shoulder in one thick braid, carrying a tray from le Sanctuaire with a steaming cup of tea and a croissant. "Would you mind some company for a while?" Her voice is laden with weariness and worry, but a ripple of pleasant surprise, too. "Got a room up here, if I did." Ryan is shuffling his papers away, though. Picking his drink up, but not to go anywhere -- just waggles it at the empty seat in invitation and rolls a slow swallow down his throat. "Long day?" She inclines her head and takes the longer way around the table, inspecting the plants in passing before sinking into the offered seat. "Yes, and busy, too." She picks up her tea. "But the steady, productive sort of busy that accomplishes much leaves little space for other worries. Pleasant, in its own way." Her eyes skip to the work Ryan has set aside. "I hope that your busy is to some level of satisfaction." "Pleasant," Ryan echoes, and in his voice there's a (pleasant) wash of thoughtfulness. As he sits back he's glancing down to his folder of papers and then out to the river past the balcony. "Yeah, decided I was going to start my own clothing line. Fashion performance wear for aspiring terr -- well, freedom fighters. Gonna set the world on fire you should look the part. Lot of paperwork if you want a be a capitalist, though, it turns out." Anahita takes a delicate sip of her tea, her eyebrows lifting above the brim of her cup. "Fashion performance wear," she echoes as she lowers the cup, her curiosity resonant, "for aspiring freedom fighters. Maybe more like Antifashion performance wear. Countercouture. Black flag apparel." She tilts her head. "Is this sportswear, or tactical? I guess there's overlap." "Is there a difference?" Ryan lifts a shoulder. "Maybe for some people fighting the government is great sport. If it takes off we can branch out. Tactical athleisure wear for the prepared telepath, best to be ready if you're at home on the couch in a support role when the pigs break your door down." Anahita nods sagely. "Diversity of tactical apparel. Your endorsement may just encourage some young comrades to dress more appropriately for actions." There's a sadness here that feels incongruous to her gently speculative tone and that she gamely tries to shed. "I may not be much of a revolutionary athlete, but if you make a quick-dry red scarf, I'll be a customer for life." Ryan is taking another pull from his drink. His laugh, soft and musical, spills warm amusement over Anahita. "Damn, look. Haven't even started the thing yet and I'm already earning loyal customers. Shoulda tried selling out a long time ago." He presses his knuckles to his eyes, and then lowers his hand to his lap. "Look, if chess is a damn sport, you definitely count as a revolutionary athlete." Anahita smiles, just the faintest curve of lips and crinkle of eyes. "I have a weakness for sensible clothing and faith in your attentiveness to labor conditions along your supply chain." The affection in her voice is simple enough, at least. She has just lifted her tea again but comes up short. "Chess is a sport?" She shakes her head, incredulous. "Next I expect you will tell me there's a video gaming category in the Olympics now. I suppose radical organizing is heavy in cat-herding. You could no doubt compete in that, as well." "I don't think they've succeeded in winning over the IOC but not for a lack of trying. And it's definitely not Olympic Material yet but," Ryan is informing her lightly, "you want a real bit of generational whatthefuckery, I'll tell you there's whole entire video game combinations got the audacity to call themselves eSports now. Almost makes me grateful to have had a Lassiter ceiling crush me, I wouldn't be nearly old enough otherwise to be shaking a cane but some things deserve it." He's not shaking his cane, just rocking slowly back in his seat. "Pff. Can't you just see me in a Team USA onesie." Anahita slow-blinks. "I might need to procure a cane just so I have one to shake at these Millennials ruining the Olympics. Back in the day, everyone had to compete stark naked and covered in oil." Her amusement does not really clash with the mock-disappointed shake of her head. "Alas for these decadent times, but if anyone could make a Team USA onesie look stylish, I think it must be you." She tips her hand at Ryan's folder. "You are on track to revolutionize athletic fashion. When rioting becomes an Olympic sport, we will be ready."