Logs:Fashion, Food & Fetch

Fashion, Food & Fetch
Dramatis Personae Marinov, Sarah	2019-11-17 "Bonus points if you learn some new things and make money from it in the end."
Location <NYC> Tompkins Square Park - East Village
Winter continues it's takeover of the city, the sun doing little to combat the chilly temperatures that are only exacerbated by the occasional wind. Sarah is bundled up accordingly. Most of her person is covered with a rainbow striped puffer coat, the rest of her just as colorful: purple combat boots, rainbow leopard print hat and gloves, white dandelion puffs drawn with bleach pens cover the legs of black jeans. "You ready? You want the ball?" she's asking to the three dogs of various sizes and colors at her feet, tone high pitched and excited. She receives various answers. The largest dog, a happy but dumb looking lab-mix wiggles himself out of his sit, a wire haired frankenmutt barks gruffly in response, while the tiniest, a dappled wiener dog in booties and a long sweater Stares at the ball Sarah has loaded into the Chuckit like it holds the secrets of the universe. "Go get it!" Putting what little of her body there is into the throw, the tennis ball (slimy with use already) soars toward the other side of the dog run. All three dogs give chase, with varying degrees of success; halfway to his goal, the labmix seems to find interest in something else a different dog is doing, while the wiener dog does his best to keep up with the mutt, yapping every time his little feet hit the ground. Grinning widely, Sarah turns back to her companion. "Anyway, I figure finding one really good vegan cookie recipe for everyone is gonna be a lot easier than different recipes for different people. I'll let you know when I start making them." The colours that Marinov wears are a little more muted than the ones that Sarah has on. A forest green double-breasted pea coat with brass buttons is worn over a wine-coloured turtleneck and a knee length black skirt. Their eyes follow the dogs in play, with their ears perked up excitedly at this play, though their otherwise feline expression does not give away much in the way of emotion. "Don't worry about me, I don't like sweets at all. I'd figure the best way to make a vegan cookie would be to take whatever I eat, then just do the total opposite of that. Real sweet of you to do that for the folks in your building." "Well, isn't there a - Christmas meat pie thing?" Sarah asks, lips pursed in thought. "Isn't that what mincemeat is? I see jars of it around the holidays, but I've never used it before. That could be fun." Turning to track the dogs, she grins again when she spots the dachshund hurrying across the park, tennis ball (barely!) held in his mouth, head held high. "I did it when I moved in, too, but everyone deserves holiday cookies! Or meat pies, depending on their preference." "I don't really know what mincemeat is," admits Marinov. They crouch down low and hold out their hand to take the dachshund's ball, though it requires a bit of tugging to get it free, and their tail curls up in delight at the pup's enthusiasm. "I usually end up just eating like, uh, turkey or ham or whatever people make that time of year. My papochka's a good cook, but I just don't appreciate it like I used to." They scratch their neck as they rise to their feet and turn the slobbery ball in their clawed hand. This inspection only lasts until the two fetch-ready dogs are returned and watching it intently, upon which time Marinov gives the ball a mighty throw. "Well, there's an easy way to find out!" Digging a cracked phone that's a few models old out of her pocket, Sarah slides it open. "Hey, Google, what is mincemeat?" she asks, holding the phone up to her mouth. After a moment--Sarah gives an appreciative "Whoa!" at Marinov's throw while waiting, the dogs tearing off gleefully--a robotic voice gives an answer about chopped dried fruit, spirits, spices, and finally some form of meat or meat fat. "Okay, maybe not as carnivore friendly as I thought it was," she says, nose wrinkling as she puts the phone away again. "I'll brainstorm and get back to you. I'd feel awful making holiday goodies for everyone /but/ you." Marinov's eyes turn towards the device's explanation, "Well shit, why call a thing mincemeat if it's not minced meat? That doesn't make a lick of sense! False advertising is what that is." They chuckle, "I appreciate the thought, but I usually just like when other people get sweets. Get some of that second hand enjoyment out of it, even though it's not something I can taste. I'm satisfied with, uh, raw fish even. So long as nobody gives me some kind of fucking holiday cat food, I think it'll be a fine time." Sarah thinks about that for a second. "What if I make you cookies to give to other people, then?" she suggests. "Then I get to avoid holiday guilt, and you get the joy of seeing your friends enjoy baked goods. Which, trust me, I get that." This time, it's the muttdog that brings the ball back, pace unhurried and fluffy tail wagging proudly. If her head is held high, it's only because the dachshund is doing his best to jump up every few steps and take the ball from her mouth. Giggling, Sarah pulls a ziploc bag of treats from a pocket of her jacket, takes a few out before putting the bag back. "Good girl, Leia!" she praises once the dogs--all three, now that treats are out--are back in front of them. "Drop it." One treat gets tossed to the dachshund before the ball can hit the ground, giving Sarah a chance to scoop it into the Chuckit. The remaining two treats are, of course, divided evenly between the other two dogs. She doesn't believe in favoritism. "Go fetch!" The ball goes soaring again; the dogs follow. Marinov cups their chin thoughtfully, "I think if you made cookies for me to distribute, that'd be pretty nice! Leave a good legacy behind at school. 'Taylor Marinov: Kind of a jerk, but one time brought cookies.'" They put their hands in front of themselves to picture the school newspaper headline. "But seriously, that'd be real cool." They watch as the dogs scamper off again. "I usually avoid my holiday guilt by doing lots of sewing, though this year I'm starting to get a bit overwhelmed at my to-do list. You ever get that, with all that baking? Seems like a lot." "Anything to help cement a good legacy." Any earnest tone attempted is ruined by the smile still twitching at the corners of her mouth. "And sort of, yeah. Baking is like go-to stress relief for me, it's the clean up that's the worst. But then I have a clean kitchen again and can bake more, so." Sarah raises a hand to twirl a gloved finger. "It cycles. Especially if I'm making bread and waiting for it to rise or proof. What kind of things are on your to-do list?" she asks. "Sewing always seemed like some kind of magic to me." "I guess I'm the same way with sewing. I mean, designing things can be sorta stressful, like, what if it turns out that actually I have terrible taste and I've just been getting lucky the whole time," says Marinov, "But the actual putting things together, doing the fine work, it's pretty relaxing. Not that I don't love it all. It's just a different sorta thing." They raise their paw-like hand, "Well, I actually have paid work this year, which is... it's been a weird year, but getting paid is real nice. But some of my fellow monsters need a little extra help wearing something that fits with their personal style, so I try and help out with that." "If people are paying you for it, I'd say that's a pretty good argument against you having bad taste! Along with, you know." Sarah gestures to Marinov's current outfit with a wave of the hand. "It's cool that you help with that sort of thing. As much as there /should/ be something like the Gap for Mutants or whatever, it's nice to know there are people trying to, um. Fill the gap. No pun intended." Head cocking, she hums, tracking the dogs across the park. The lab mix has decided that lying on top of the ball is more important than bringing it back. Going by the dachshund's furious booted digging to try and get underneath him, not everybody agrees. "/Is/ that a pun? Or is it just wordplay?" Marinov shrugs at the question about puns, genuinely unsure as to the answer. “There’s people who pay money for some pretty tasteless shit. But I appreciate the reassurance. And,” they gesture down at their outfit, “The compliment. Not that I was fishing for it.” They cross their arms while still looking off at the pups. “I think it’d be real tough to have, like, a retail mutant clothes store that isn’t all custom, ‘cause of the different needs everyone has. Some people have shapes that are hard to account for, and some people are constantly on fire.” Sarah is about to call across the dog park, but suddenly stops, blinking at Marinov instead. "...What do people on fire wear?" she asks them, somewhat befuddled. With that question out of the way, she returns to her previous task; one gloved hand comes up to cup her mouth, an attempt to project better. A loud voice, she doesn't have. "Oso! Let Tyson have the ball!" It's unclear whether the lab-mix listens or just responds to his name. Either way, Oso stands and trots closer, tail wagging. Tyson immediately jumps on the ball once he does, barking a toothless bark at a bemused Leia who has been watching from the sidelines. "Maybe one day there can be a place like that," she ponders, kneeling down to scratch behind Oso's ears once he is in petting distance. "Just a shop full of mutant tailors, helping other mutants find the perfect clothes for them." "Someone who is really hot can wear polyb... polybenzid... uh, PBI fiber," says Marinov. They crouch down to give Leia some enthusiastic pets when she returns on Oso's tail, "I mean, temperature hot. People who are really hot in non-temperature ways can usually get away with whatever they want." A gentle forehead bunt is delivered to the dog, and for a moment it seems more like Marinov is confiding in the mutt than answering Sarah, "After I graduate, that's something I'd like to do. I have a friend who's got experience with making clothes for folks with non standard sorta shapes and she's also got, like, fucking impeccable taste. I think it'd be cool to team up or something." Leia huffs gently, licking at Marinov's cheek once they're done talking. "Go for it," Sarah earnestly answers, truly this time. "If it makes you happy to do, and has the potential to make other people happy, it's always worth trying." She speaks up a bit to be heard over Oso's playful growling, while also pretending to do her best to take the ball back. "Bonus points if you learn some new things and make money from it in the end." "Yeah," agrees Marinov, "I think it'd be worth trying. I'm just-" They get back up to their feet and scratch lightly at their cheek (on which their fur is slightly wetted from Leia's licking). "Guess I am just getting kind of up in my own head lately, a lot. I've got plenty of other things to worry about in the near future without making up problems for myself to worry about. Get grades, do art, play with dogs." "Well, you know where you can find dogs if you need to get out of your head." Sarah has to stand to throw the ball again, this time by hand. It doesn't go near as far as before, but Tyson and Leia don't seem to mind. Oso simply wonders what happened to the hand petting him; he takes a few steps to sit in front of Marinov, giving them the Saddest Eyes. He is loveless. "And I'm always up for art, but uh. I definitely shouldn't help you with the grades part, unless you're somehow flunking Home Ec." "Oh wow! You're the most tragic dog in the universe," laments Marinov as they crouch back down to give Oso some well earned affection. "I don't think I'm flunking anything, barring underperformance on any tests. I am a pretty terrible test taker, though. Sitting still, filling in bubbles..." Their hands' petting is interrupted to give a twirl of their finger. "I actually really am pretty bad at cooking and baking and stuff like that. Turns out, when you have terrible taste, you make terrible food!" "The last test I took was for my GED. I brought so many pieces of scrap paper, for working out math and stuff, and most of it ended up covered in doodles by the time it was over. I'm probably not the best person to help you there either," Sarah cheerfully says. She pulls the treats from her jacket pocket again as Leia returns with the ball, Tyson on her heels. "Maybe it's something where you just can't cook for other people? I mean, most recipes and general cooking rules are made by humans with human palates. Maybe you can make your own recipes that fit your palate?" "I could start a fine dining restaurant. 'Obligate Carnivore', I would call it," says Marinov while still giving Oso so so many pets. "My target audience would be, like, three people, but then it'd get popular with the dudes. You know the ones, who seek manhood through meat. They'll ruin it. They aren't even eating it for the love of the food, just the cred. I'll grow disgusted with the bloody spittle running down their faces, their distaste barely hidden beneath the enthusiasm they need to display to be seen as manly. I'll hang up my chef's hat, and shut it down." They upright again, and lower their hand in front of their face, their fingers closing together to bring their imagined scene to an end. Their ears perk up a little bit, "I could probably do more to explore my own palate, though. I've never been real into cooking, though. Sorta spoiled by my parents." Sarah is full out laughing by the time Marinov comes to the end of their hypothetical future. "At least you're thinking things through and figuring out what might happen," she says through giggles. She makes the dogs sit before passing out treats and retrieves the ball from Leia, passing it over to Marinov. "You don't really need to cook, do you? I mean, you mentioned raw fish earlier and I know there are some places in New York that sells good salmon and tuna and whatever else kinda fish you can eat raw. And there must be, like, plenty of other raw meat dishes, like tartare. Maybe those can be starting points." "Nah, I don't need to cook at all, but I often will sear things a little... depending on what I'm eating anyways. Sometimes I get like, sushi grade fish, that's the shit right there. Expensive, though." They toss the ball up and catch it in their other hand, an action the dogs are sure to watch closely. "I get plenty to eat, and I've tried lots of stuff." They pitch the ball again, a throw rivaling the Chuckit. "But it's all stuff that's not really designed for my enjoyment, yeah? Like you said, human food." They give their fingers a wiggle as they say the last, and their eyes roll up. The dogs disappear in the blink of an eye, racing for the thrown ball. Copying Marinov's finger wiggle and eyeroll for a moment, Sarah nods after. "I'd be interested in giving Marinov food a try. Maybe we can use a kitchen at Chimaera one day and you can teach me what you know?" she suggests to them. "My kitchen is only big enough for me because I'm tiny. Add another person and that's too many cooks." Marinov chuckles and brushes the fur on the top of their hand back with an open palm. "Well, if you really want to brave my culinary repertoire, sure, we can do it at Chimaera. Sometimes people like some pretty out there stuff, and I'm sure to eat it anyway." Their hand stops on the back of their neck, and they look over to Sarah with their ears splayed and tilted down. "But... you might think about packing yourself a spare lunch." Sarah raises gloved hands to give them a rainbow thumbs up. "The worst that can happen is it's not for me and you get even more, right?" she asks. "I'll make sure to bring something just in case, but I'm looking forward to it. I like trying new foods." She brings her phone out to check the time, frowning some when she sees but smiling at Marinov after. "I should get going," she says, pulling three leashes from a jacket pocket. "Thanks for meeting me out here, it was fun. The pack definitely approves of you." "Yeah, I should get going too," says Marinov. A nod is directed towards the dogs, "I'm usually pretty good with dogs, they're such good animals. It was fun getting to play with them today." They tap their forehead with two fingers and make a casual half salute gesture of farewell towards Sarah. They turn to leave, saying a last goodbye as they do so. "Seeya at Chimaera."