Logs:Dubious-shelter-of-sugar: A Christmas Story
| Dubious-shelter-of-sugar: A Christmas Story | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-12-25 "-- harder than it looks." |
| 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. Evolve is still bursting with festive red and green and gold tonight -- not just the decoration for the Christmas dinner, but the attendees themselves. The evening is well underway, the ugly sweater competition having already claimed its victor, dinner out long enough for seconds, and the laughter and mingling still in high energy. Tok is, currently, attempting to build up a gingerbread house at one of the tables, tongue stuck out and ears pinned back in concentration. There seems to be some sort of competition going on, various groups circled around their own houses, spread out between mingling attendees and people grabbing food and drinks. Tok’s dark green jacket is tied about their waist, and their tail lifts it up a little as it waves excitedly behind them. They wear a grey oversized t-shirt with some faded restaurant name on the front, cargo pants with patches at the knees, and bulky sneakers. There’s some frosting already on their shirt, covering their claws, and even a dot of some on a stray piece of hair. Their nose is a little red, like they’d recently come in from the cold and jumped in late or last minute for the competition—which might explain their current lack of teammates. This, at least, doesn’t seem to deter Tok, who is very determinedly attempting to get the roof pieces of the gingerbread house to stay on while the side walls begin to fall outwards under the weight. The party's already plenty jolly but it could use a little more jolliness, right? Either way, it's getting a MASSIVE dose, as the Mongrels arrive in force -- their boisterous Santa not possibly able to hold all the presents destined for this particular location, this delivery has come with an entourage. Kadar (glaringly lacking in most of the more interesting patches of the others -- his vest just says PROSPECT) is toting a ludicrously stacked wagon of wrapped presents, teetering precariously as he hauls his porion of the load inside. He's not exceptionally festive, or maybe just not exceptionally festive as compared to some of the others here. He's got a pair of plushy reindeer antlers on and a string of tinsel string round his neck, though his jeans-and-leather ensemble is otherwise pretty drab. He's kiiind of detouring from where his present delivery is supposed to go to take a peek at the gingerbread houses, and sneak himself one of the little sugar-star candies set out for decorating options. "You got a lil kinda Pisa thing going on, don't you?" He sounds cheerfully approving enough of Tok's precarious gingerbread structure. Kamil is not exceptionally festive either, blinking strand of Crayola-colored lights draped around his neck, but otherwise just wearing his own PROSPECT cut over a grey zip-up and holey jeans and an incongruously bright white cable-knit beanie with a fluffy faux-fur bobble. His high-stacked wagon wobbles dangerously when he stops short behind Kadar, oddly jelly-like for a moment, and he reaches one steadying hand behind himself as he pulls out of formation, too, peering around the other prospect like a von Trapp child. Then jabs Kadar hard in the back (half of his hand is sinking into his brother, for a split second) -- "Don't be mean I'm sure he's trying." Tok is perking up at the arrival of the Mongrels—first in a startle that quickly melts into an excited grin and even faster tail waving. They watch Kadar and Kamil’s approach, eyes widening at the way the presents turn jelly-like, and at the question it takes them a few seconds to actually register it, still staring at the spot where Kamil’s hand sunk into Kadar. They finally look down at their (collapsing) ginger bread house, and back up at the two of them again, “So do you two!” They flick a claw towards their respective loads, “But now this is totally gonna be a Pisa thing. Completely intentional, all according to plan.” They grin, sharp teeth on display, then their tone turns conspiring, “Hey hey y’all wanna join my team? I’unno if there’s a prize or nah but we can go split-skees if there is one!” "I'm not being mean --" Kadar's shoulder is squirming forward with the push, also oddly jellylike for just a moment before he's reflexively swiping at his brother's hand to bat it away from him. Where his fingers touch they leaves weird ruts dimpled into the back of Kamil's hand but oh well, "-- it's got personality is all!" He's looking over at their towering-tottering piles as if just noticing them. "We do. Shit this all the big man -- uh, Ion, guess he plays Biker Santa 'round here and I can only imagine Santa's list gets longer and longer each year. -- I'd say hope you been nice but I'm pretty sure this Santa is niceness-agnostic." He's looking to the other gingerbread-houses-in-progress like for a moment he's sizing up the competition, but then squints up an eye, shakes his head -- "I think we're gonna be on elf duty soon enough," sounds like it's a demurral, probably was a demurral, but. Maybe something in Tok's crumbling house is inspiring pity, maybe his Work Ethic just needs work, because he's scooting around the table soon enough to offer advice. Has he ever built a gingerbread house before? No. Does he have any particular savvy in Building Things? Also no. That is not stopping him from grabbing some fresh pieces of Gingerbread Wall with full confidence: "Look we just need more support on this side, right --" He's adding a sort of extra diagonal strut to one of the leaning sides. "You have personality," Kamil shoots back, glancing down at his rippled hand without seeming much dismayed or even surprised. He shifts onto one foot, then onto the other, eyes wide over at where they're supposed to be taking the presents, but then -- "I thiiink helping a little kid make a gingerbread house could be an elf thing," he reasons, and then he is coming over too, just leaning over the table rather than going around, wagon still wheeling creakily behind him, to grab a piping bag of frosting so he can ineffectually try to glue the wall Kadar is already attending to (it takes him a few tries to squeeze it the normal way.) A moment later he just abandons Kadar to that wall and devotes himself to the one next to it, shoring it up with a row of neatly-broken triangular buttresses, his back bowed low over the table. "-- harder than it looks," he says, in a tone of vague affront. Tok makes a small, quiet gasp of excitement once they begin to help and Tok eagerly slides over to allow them room to work. “Heh- Seeee! Told you!” Did Tok actually tell them anything? Either way, they sound more amused than anything else, and they’re jumping in to assist, first helping hold the wall Kadar is working on with their claws, and shoving some gumdrops underneath to help hold it up, then jumping over to help hold Kamil’s. Their tail wraps a few times about their own leg in an attempt to keep it from hitting them in its over-excited waving. “Biker Santa’s got names on that many gifts? You guys’re gonna be busy tonight! S’that what the-” They gesture to their PROSPECT patches with one hand, and quickly return it to help hold things up, “-Oops- Patches mean? I can put in a good word with Biker Santa, tell’im you guys should be uh…Promoted? That how that works?” "It's not not how it works," Kadar decides, after some very intense thought. Or maybe the intensity, brow scrunched, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, is because he's very focused on -- simply adding more wedges of gingerbread, more gumdrops after Tok has placed a few, evidently taking a kind of barricade approach now to keeping up This One Wall that is absorbing all his focus. "Icing is terrible mortar --" he's also getting it all over his fingers, "who the fffuuc -- dge," he's quickly glancing at Tok in vague attempt to gauge their age and giving up on this just as quickly as he's evidently giving up on bawdlerizing his curses: "-- thought this shit was a good building material?" In contrast, Kamil puts zero thought in before decisively telling Tok "No," that's not how that works, though he doesn't explain himself either, just flapping one hand in a bid to wave them away from his One Wall, with a sharp catlike hiss in lieu of a polite refusal of help. "Christians," he grumbles, shaking his head; this isn't actually a curse, bawdlerized or no, but it has the inflection of one. His purview is starting to stretch to include two walls as he tackles one crumbly corner that refuses to square. He also has crumb-flecked frosting all over his fingers, is trying intermittently to shake it off with ever-more-violent flicks down at the table; hopefully nobody is eating this, for after a moment Kamil just sucks the icing off his fingers and wipes his hand on his jeans. "Fuuuck. Every gingerbread cookie I've ever had was hard as shit what the fuck why is this so crummy -- this is a pastime for children?" “Heh-I’unno! Never done this before!” It’s getting hard to tell if Tok is enjoying the gingerbread house building or their struggle with the building more. Probably a good mixture of both. They quickly retreated their hands at Kamil’s waving and hissing, returning their own amused hiss laughter, and move on to attempting to glue the two roof pieces together now with the extra support. “Hey hey you gotta watch your language,” They retort to Kadar, “I’m only five years old, my childlike innocence is fading by the fucking minute.” Their grin is sharp with glee, but still extremely focused on their roof. They gather some frosting that’s fallen on the table and use that to help with their efforts. They perk their head up like a meerkat to get a look at the other competitors, like they may be able to glean some trick to make it all easier. They pop their head back down to resmoosh the sliding roof—which seems to be starting to hold up, at the very least, “I think this is right on brand for christians. Icing mortar with heavy as shit gingerbread gotta be some kinda penance thing right?” Tok snorts, “Go to confession and priest says go build three gingerbread houses.” "Christians," Kadar mutters in echo, his head shaking with an air of great lament, like what else can you expect from Those Guys. He's snorting, quick grin twitching across his face at Tok's retort: "Getting shown up here by a five-year-old, great -- I gotta tell you kid after this, you decide to go into construction for real, it's gonna be a fucking breeze. -- Dude, be gentler with it and it won't be so crumbly!" Kadar is chiding Kamil about this quite precisely as an entire corner of his own wall, now too heavily burdened by its supporting accessories, begins to crumble inward. "Shit shit sh -- I think it must be some parent-hating sadist life with toddlers gotta be sticky and crumby and messy enough without someone deciding this is the best --" His eyes, too, are skating around the competitors, though with a little bit more avaricious interest. He's looking at the very structurally sound neat little cottage built by a young woman with two middling-grown children nearby -- it's not only staying up, it's staying up quite firmly as the mother pipes elegant little curlicues onto its roof. "... how much time we got left on this shit, I could distract Mom with some presents while you pinch the house." "Fuck off, you're not five," Kamil says dismissively, then -- to Kadar, like surely he will know, "-- is he five? How big are five year olds. How big was I," as if the example of Kamil, who hit six feet at thirteen, would be any help in puzzling this out, then, "shit shit shit --" his wall, adjoining Kadar's, is starting to fall inward too. "There's a time limit? That's not fair we just got here --" he's glancing around, too, really only because the others are without seeming to look around at or for anything in particular. "What -- no that's unelflike conduct. Have you not seen the movie." “I’m totally five. I just skipped a few years at school.” Tok explains, as if that makes any sense. They begin to bounce at the idea of the gingerbread house heist “No wait that’s genius! It’s a great deal, and they might not even notice-” Tok looks down at their currently collapsing gingerbread house—one of the roof pieces is sliding without the support of the wall—the other one is very soon to follow. “-Probably!” They’re peeking over Kadar’s head to get another look at the other groups house, just as one of the people leading the event announces “Two minutes!”. “Y’know, I’d say it’s exactly Santa-like conduct! Isn’t the whole thing that he trades presents for cookies? Gingerbread houses are just like—big cookies right?” They raise their eyebrows a few times, and make an Indiana Jones swapping motion with their hands, “Great way to guarantee that promotion.” "Movie? There's a goddamn movie about fucking up gingerbread houses -- of course there is, some sad executive probably learns the meaning of Christmas when a lonely single mom's toddler smears icing all over his Armani suit." Kadar is frowning at Tok, though, but not because of the enthusiasm which with they've jumped on this very ethical plan, just because: "Five year olds are bigger." He's wiping his own fingers on the paper tablecloth set out to preserve some semblance of Cleanliness for Evolve's Tables , and skirting around to (a little stickily) pick up the handle of his wagon. "Anyway it can't be unelflike if he does the stealing he's no elf. C'mon." He's tipping his chin up to Tok. "I'll charm, you yoink. If anyone gets on your case just tell 'em you're five." His smile is broad. "Foolproof plan." "No, the movie 'Elf'," Kamil starts to say, with a somewhat trembling attempt at patience; he's wringing his hands, stretching his fingers weird and long and ropy, wrapping them around his other hand like spaghetti, then letting them zing back to size. He shifts from foot to foot, looking back over his shoulder at Tok gasps, eyes lighting up so bright there might as well be stars in them, “Fool proof plan!” They agree, and skirt around the table to hide behind Kadar to get into position. “AND I ain’t that short!” They wave their hand above their horns, “Horns totally count.” They’ve also begun shifting from foot to another, but unlike Kamil, out of their seemingly infinitely growing eagerness. They whip around towards Kamil, eyes taking in the stretchy fingers with an energetic intrigue, “Oh c’mon it’s obvious! If things get dicey, you’re the muscle.” They pound of fist against their other open palm, “We got this prize in the bag.” | |
