Logs:In Which Evolve Gets Some Rags, and An Immediate Use For Them

In Which Evolve Gets Some Rags, and An Immediate Use For Them
Dramatis Personae Daiki, Rasa, Taylor	2020-10-29 "Imagine... Shane corporate."
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. The city's only mutant cafe has always been a beacon for the community, but these it also feels a bit like a headquarters for the uprising. This is perhaps as much due to its location near enough to the epicenter of the protests as the fact that it is famous and easy to find. Every day, protesters flock here to meet up with others, to refuel and use the facilities, to get information on actions or trainings or calls for volunteers, and sometimes for at least some temporary safety from the increasingly hostile streets. The teams of support personnel rely on it heavily for resupplying on top of everything else, and it's common to see medics, Care Bears, legal observers, and other volunteers taking a break here from their hectic work -- or, as often as not, still working even while there. Daiki wears no patches on his slim, impeccably tailored black suit. No bright green hat covers the gloss black hair he's gathered into a neat ponytail.. He carries no gear save a simple black attaché case. It might be difficult to discern what his role is here amidst the haggard masses coming and going from the front lines, but here he is anyway, tidying up the supplies on a table labeled "Help Yourself!" and radiating calm self-assurance. He's interrupted often by questions, but answers them all patiently. His thoughts are considerably less patient, if doggedly tranquil despite the anger firmly tamped down, a deep if quiet grief, fear that no amount of vigilance can quell, and the accumulated exhaustion of too many late nights and early mornings. For a moment some of this shows and he just leans against the side of the table, staring down into a box hand sanitizer packets. Then he draws a deep breath and starts looking for other tasks. A thick black arm snakes its way around Daiki's shoulders. Taylor has been a mainstay here, from the decision to keep the cafe open into the small hours of the morning the very first night of violence to long (long) hours on and off the clock -- with all the bustle it's hard to entirely tell, at the moment, whether he's on shift or not. He's casual as ever in jeans, a colorfully-designed Blackbird tee, tatty old grey Xavier's sweatshirt unzipped over top. The tea he has curled into another arm is fresh and hot, and he presses it into Daiki's hand. "S'a miserable fucking day. Everyone be slowing down a minute. You can, too." Rasa is slipping in the door, careful to keep from bumping into anyone as ze shakes off the excess water off of zir raincoat, holding a large Ikea sized shopping bag filled to the brim with something -- obstructed from view by another of the same bag covering the top. Only when it seems non-drippy, does ze start to shed the protective layer, folding the outsides in on itself until the pattern of whales spouting perfect streams out of the blowholes over takes the black and multicolor polka-dot pattern on the outside. With the wetness contained with further rolling, ze turns zir attention to the bag, opening it up to reveal piles of cleaning towels, bleached clean once more and dried as best as possible in this damp weather. Ze stuffs zir coat into the cover bag and starts heading for behind the counter with the rags. "Okay. Class is over so I dropped by the cleaners and picked up our towels... but with this mess I don't know how long the supply will last." Ze talks for the sake of talking, for the most part, only glancing up to study Taylor and see what his arms are doing after ze has info dumped. << Shit, sorry. >> Ze falls silent before quietly saying, "Hey, Daiki." Zir mind is absorbed in the busyness of zir classes and the set of errands ze can run, but as she studies the other man, that still dark lump of blue forms in zir throat and lines zir eyes. Though Daiki arches a slightly defiant brow at Taylor, he leans into the arm that curls around him and accepts the proffered tea with desperate relief. "You first," does not come out as quippy as he had really meant it, just kind of weak and weary. "I'll be alright. You just -- never have enough hands in here." << Wasn't doing much with my hands, anyway. >> His smile for Rasa is automatic and genuinely pleased, but beneath it at the awkwardness he's suddenly alert, fretting at the edges of his artificial serenity. << Am I slipping? >> he can't quite stop this frantic thought, knowing perfectly well it's a dangerous road for him to go down -- flashes of the near-riot he'd stirred up at jail support. "Thank you," he still manages to Rasa, smile firmly in place. "By 'this mess' do you mean the rain, or..." He glances out the window, his smile dimming. "...the rest of it?" "Please. The fuck am I doing? Bringing you tea, that ain't no fuss." Taylor's brows knit. "'cept when you make it fuss." He's steering Daiki towards the nearest empty table, kicking out a seat to drop into it himself. "Hell yeah," is his answer to Rasa. "Thanks. -- uh." His eyes dart between the other two, slightly wider now. "Am I missing something? Y'all still cool, right?" "Oh! We're cool! Sorry about that!" Rasa smiles brightly as ze gets a little more acclimated to the cafe. "There was nothing bad to begin with I just thought I was intruding on something with blunt obliviousness. Just trying to be more sensitive these days." Ze snags a pair of shoes from the other side of the kitchen door and switches from zir bulky yellow rainboots to zir work shoes. The black compliments zir pants and the space in between the bright swathes of color in zir top. Zir thoughts are transparent, pretty much exactly what ze speaks, but with an undercurrent of desire to quell whatever discomfort ze tripped into. "And yeah... towel supplies only last so long on a rainy day and the foot traffic is a little more hectic with our more..." ze glances at the crowds, "in and out cus... to...munity members." Daiki is unresisting, easing himself down to sit with no further fuss. << I'll be good, >> chimed sing-song and just a touch petulant. "No we're --" He breaks off and nods at Rasa's reply. "I've just been jumpy, lately, about my control." His slender shoulder shrug. "Which is always liable to be a self-fulfilling prophesy," this lightly, with a slightly crooked smile that he does not at all feel. << Just calm down. >> The admonition is gentle and surprisingly effective -- in that it has any effect whatsoever. Not as much effect, though, as the tea he finally starts in on with a soft, pleased hum. "At least the rain is likely to dampen the enthusiasm of would-be hecklers, as well." "If I wanted privacy, I'd get myself elsewhere." Taylor tips his head back, looking around the hectic cafe. "Oh shit I just had the worst mental picture of a horrible alternate universe where Shane tried get us all corporate and made us call everyone who comes in here custommunity members. We'd probably have some dumbass name too, like --" He cuts off sharply, eyes riveting on the door a half-second before it bangs open. The pair of youths who enter look barely in their teens, awkward limbs and too much shoes and hoodies pulled up over pale and wide-eyed faces, but despite their mostly unthreatening stature they're met with an instant panic, screams and scattering people scrambling out of the way of the guns they're holding. The sound that accompanies the taller one's yell (a very unoriginal "DIE MUTIE SCUM"; lord knows how many times the staff has already washed that one off of Evolve's front wall) is not the loud crack of gunfire, though, but a quieter pop-pop-pop, the room starting to erupt with splotches of color from the paintballs thwacking into walls and tables and patrons alike. "Oh my fucking God --" Taylor isn't even getting up. One enormous tentacle is unwinding from his torso, flinging out across the room to shove the teenagers toward the open door and the cold rain outside. Rasa listens to Daiki, zir face sympathetic. "I'd be lying if I said I haven't been jumpy. I do respect the control you are keeping, Dai. I don't know if I could have the determination to do what you do." Ze moves to join the pair at the table, not quite sitting before laughing. "Imagine... Shane corporate." The amusement is brief as ze tenses when Taylor drops off and stares at the door. Ze moves protectively toward Daiki and remains confused as paint comes out of those guns instead of death. Daiki demures at the compliment. << For the best ze doesn't know iffy this is... >> If he was about to say something else on the matter, its pushed cleanly from her mind by the intruders. He does not panic, his control tightening even as he tenses for action that he never ends up taking. He relaxes by degrees once Taylor has shoved the two paint-ballers back out. Still, he's on his feet, in a crouch, eyes wide and breathing fast. "Well," he says after a long beat, surveying the aftermath. "At least no one's sleepy anymore." Taylor is just scrubbing one hand over his face as he winds his tentacle back around himself. "Wellp." His smile to the others is wry. "Thank God you got all them towels."