Logs:In Which Lael Ventures Into The City And Meets A Good Barista

In Which Lael Ventures Into The City And Meets A Good Barista
Dramatis Personae Lael, Taylor
In Absentia	2019-04-06 "What the..."
Location Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Late Saturday morning at Evolve and business is brisk. The café is bustling with its usual weekend jumble; on balance certainly more people /look/ human than not but the Not stands out readily enough to make the cafe obvious for what it is. Among the boisterous group of raggedy looking teenagers by the back tables is a pair of girls with brilliant iridescent feathers covering much of their neck and arms. Jostling up against their group is a considerably better dressed group of women at brunch, one of which sports soft grey fur, another polished black horns curling around the sides of her head. One of the pair of young men conversing in rapid French by the door animates his conversation as much with his twitching furry tail as with his hands, and on the subject of hands his table mate has an extra pair. Even among the crowd, though, the young man currently standing to one side of the counter being berated by an irate customer stands out. Taylor stands taller than much of the room, his stature and ink-black skin eye catching all to themselves. On top of it the plethora of arms he bears -- all of which are in full view and several of which are currently tensing and untensing slowly -- tend to draw him more attention as well. At this precise moment, his fellow workers at the cafe -- a lean scruffy young Japanese man who appears every so often from the kitchen with food and a harried looking teenage Latina at the front counter -- are trying hard to keep the line at the counter manageable while being down a hand. The skinny middle aged man currently tipping his pale and stubbled face back to yell up at Taylor doesn't seem chagrined by the hold up he's contributing to. Nor the many people staring at him. Nor Taylor's increasingly very, very fixed neutral expression. "-- You /call/ yourselves a /mutant-friendly/ cafe, /do you not/?" Patches of red are creeping into the man's cheeks with this accusatory questions. "Sir, yes, we do try to make sure that we are a --" Taylor begins, but this is cut off by a sharp stab of the man's fingers right up against his chest. "Well, /I'm/ a mutant, boy. /I'm/ a mutant and I just ask /one/ simple request. /One/ simple thing. All I want to do is come here and eat like /any other mutant/ here." Continued sharp jabs of the finger. There are flecks of spittle flying toward Taylor's face with the would-be customer's words, now. Two of the smallest of Taylor's arms coil reflexively at the jabbing, pulling protectively inward against his chest as he shifts slightly backwards, his shoulders tensing. "I understand that, sir, and we do welcome people with specialized diets to bring food in with them if need be, we just --" "Hey /don't/ you wave those things at me!" The man's tone is getting still more shrill. "You don't have to get /aggressive/ just because I'm making a /simple request/. Just say you won't serve me! This is discrimination is what it is!" "Sir," Taylor's many arms are folding carefully behind his back, now, his tone firm but even, "I understand that you have dietary needs, but it is not /legal/ for us to serve human blood." Queuing behind the unhappy hematophagous patron--though he's been slowly shuffling back--Lael was looking poleaxed well before the yelling and finger-jabbing started. He's wearing a black-and-purple striped button-up under a black canvas motorcycle jacket and blue jeans, all of which looks new enough to strike a contrast to heavily worn if very clean and polished work boots. His hair is writhing, quick and agitated, and his serpentine eyes have not blinked once since he walked in the door, though he is making an effort to avoid staring at anyone for /too/ long. Right now his strategy for not staring at the barista /or/ the customer in front of him is to keep his gaze fixed on the chalkboard instead. << It don't feel right to just ask for handouts, even if they're /keen/ to hand things out. >> His thoughts are discordant and loud in his anxiety. << How in the world did this fella ever get the notion /any/ coffee place is gonna sell him /blood/? Though if he just keeps on yelling, I won't have to decide. Maybe just a chocolate, or a tea...but Lord, that food sure smells nice. >> "Oh is that your excuse now, boy?" The man scoffs at this, straightening in disgust. "You'll be hearing from me --" His pause is no doubt intended to be dramatic. "On /Yelp/." Taylor doesn't answer this, his expression impassive as the man storms out. It breaks into a relieved exhale, an apologetic grin at Lael. "/Lordt/ but I thought he was finna keep that up /all/ damn day. I promise it ain't always like that in here, /some/ people just --" His cheeks puff out -- he exhales sharply. "Aite fam what I'm'a do for you? I do make a damn fine chocolate but our hash today --" One slender arm is tapping lightly at the menu sign on the counter -- today's pay-what-you-want brunch item -- "Tak do not fool around in the kitchen and I would not lead you wrong on that." Lael's locks seem to writhe a bit slower once the disgruntled vampire departs, but coil up into tight kinks again when Taylor addresses him. << Oh, heck, I didn't decide on--sweet Jesus, has he got a second brain for movin' all them things? >> His unblinking eyes follow the movement of Taylor's sinuous arm as though hypnotized. "Good mornin'! M'sorry to see you're having a difficult 'un. /Morning,/ I mean." He blushes deep, his hair squirming as if it'd rather not be associated with him or his awkwardness, his drawl growing deeper. "On that high praise, I'll take the hash, please." << How little can I /want/ to pay? >> He does a little quick math with the suggested price and ultimately just produces a five dollar bill from an ancient but sturdy leather wallet that doesn't have a whole lot /else/ in it. "Not to knock your chocolate-makin' skills, I'm sure those are right fantastic, too." "Oh man for a Saturday? That ain't nothin', some customers just be like that. Sophia'll ring you up -- I'll get your chocolate started." Taylor flicks yet another arm toward the girl on register. "First time here?" There's an easy amusement in his smile as he goes to resume his drink-making duties, practiced and familiar routine in his mind -- it really does seem like he /might/ have multiple brains helping with limb management as he unfurls several arms at once to start Lael's chocolate. The person in line behind Lael, meanwhile, has been texting their housemates about breakfast and drink choices; only after a good deal of waffling have they made up their /own/ mind about their coffee order. Though they haven't actually /placed/ any order yet, the newly decided certainty in their own mind finds a quiet echo in Taylor's. His serpentine dance of limbs behind the counter is extending, reaching for more cups, beginning a raspberry soy mocha and a salted caramel extra-whip latte and a coconut hot chocolate even before the person has reached the cashier to voice their order aloud. "Yup, on it," is all Taylor calls over to Sophia when she rings up this next drink order. "Thank you kindly, Sir." Lael blinks--just once!--when Taylor casually speaks of making him a chocolate. << Wait, did I actually order that? Oh, no, is this gonna be enough...? >> His murmured greeting the the girl at the register is interrupted by sudden recognition. << Oh hey! I seen her at school! I probably ain't supposed to say so, on account of that bein' kinda secret? >> But he offers her a brighter smile through his worry and she does not question the payment he offers for /both/ items. "And thank you, Miss." He steps out of the way, hovering uncertainly by the counter and watching Taylor work, admiration mixing with discomfort at the movement of the many limbs. << Awful hypocritical of my medusoid self to be putting up hackles over /that./ >> His eyes flick briefly to the person who had been behind him in line--whose not-yet-voiced order echoes in /his/ mind, as well--vaguely marveling at the sheer variety of non-coffee, non-chocolate flavors in the drinks. And then his attention snaps abruptly back to Taylor. "What the..." he mouths quietly, the ambient noise easily swallowing up what little voice he gives to his abrupt and not very coherent confusion. "Hey, friend, you take whipped cream?" Taylor is glancing over his shoulder towards Lael with no real pause in his movement. << Hey extra arms come in in /mad/ handy when there's a rush. >> After the briefest pause, << -- extra senses, too. You out at Xavier's, then? >> Lael's jaw /actually/ drops open when Taylor address him directly in his thoughts. << Wait, are you...um. Talking to me? Does this even /work/, do I need to do something else to... >> He shakes his head in short, quick strokes, as if to clear it. His hair has coiled itself into tight little knots against his scalp. << Lord, Imma feel like a damned fool if that was like a /rhetorical/ "you". >> Then, finally, "I...y-yes, please, an' thank you." << Nah I meant /you/ you. Guess /this/ is pretty new to you too, then, huh? >> In mental space there is clarity that verbal communication sometimes lacks; Taylor's psionic words carry with them additional layers of connotation on the /this/. /This/, the mental exchange they're having. /This/ voluntary psionic communication. << For me you don't gotta do nothin but think. You wanna talk at people in general, it takes some focusing. >> Taylor has finished Lael's chocolate -- moved on to one more coffees while he finishes up the three he'd already /begun/. One loooong black arm snakes its way over the bar to present the cocoa to the younger man. The whipped cream spills over the edge of the cup -- piled high and stiff, it's been shaped into the form of a squid with two already-melting chocolate-chip eyes and a splay of tentacles bobbing somewhat uncannily on the surface of the drink. "Thank you kindly." Lael takes the mug carefully, as much for fear of spilling the cocoa as of touching Taylor's inhuman limb. Now, though, he cringes harder at his reflexive shrinking away. << You're...like me? Can you hear /everything/ going on up in here? >> Apprehensive, pre-emptively mortified, though he can't quite help smiling at the cephalopod-like whipped cream. << Pretty new, yeah. They mostly haven't taught me nothing 'bout it yet, really, 'cept how to try shutting it off. >> He licks up a dollop of cream before it can melt down the side of his mug. << This is...real weird. >> Yet there's a kind of profound relief in that thought. << Is this /normal/, though? For you? >> << In more ways'n one, huh? >> This, too, comes with a wash of psionic overlay filtering in meaning. There's a sense of /writhing/, (snakelike) (tentacle-like), the feel of Lael's shifting-coiling hair overlapping with the feel of Taylor's shifting-squirming limbs. In /Taylor's/ mind, at least, this comes reflected back with a comfortable warmth, leaning into and not shying away from their shared Otherness. << Don't hear /everything/. Don't try to. I hear what's up front. >> Though Taylor's external attention has apparently turned away -- the line isn't getting any shorter, and he's not slowing down with his work -- his mental presence is steady. Relaxed, despite the bustle. The undercurrent in his mind as he processes the drink orders is rote, more muscle memory than anything requiring much conscious attention. << /Normal/, shiiiit. I ain't been able to tell you the fuck that is for a long time now. But it is what it is. Ain't going nowhere, so you learn to shape it to you. 'Stead of the other way round. >> Though Lael gives no coherent verbal reply to Taylor's commentary on the similarity of their respective hair and limbs, a definite sense of /surprise/ suggests that the idea had not actually occurred to him. He reaches up and runs a hand tentatively through his writhing locks--some of them curl around and cling to his digits in the reflexive way of prehensile things. There's no revulsion in him for /that/, and his eyes return to the ever-moving mass of Taylor's limbs as they work seeing now what Taylor saw. << I reckon so, >> he thinks, finally, leaning much harder on the words in his mind than is entirely necessary. << Ain't no one ever thought of 'em like that, 'cept my baby sis. >> A very brief recollection of a bright-eyed girl smiling up at Lael without reservation. << Me neither. I'm sure glad I don't pick up /more/'n I do but... >> He sips his cocoa and leans against the counter, looking around the cafe again for the first time since he'd been in line earlier. The psionic noise of the crowded venue grows louder and Lael's headache--always there, though he'd more or less forgotten about it for a few minutes--spikes hard. << ...but if I pay attention, it just gets worse. Not sure how I'm ever gonna shape it to me like that. Not even sure how to even /talk/ to folks anymore, when I can hear this stuff ain't no one else got any business knowing. >> << Yeah, it be like that. >> It's not heavy, it just -- is, reflected back at Lael with a quiet sense of understanding. The headaches. The /distance/, despite-or-because-of hearing so much of other people's inner lives. << How's always a question. I've tried telling people up front. That ain't always safe or easy on any of us, but it feels less like /spying/. Try working at it so you don't catch so much spill. Takes practice, though, and practice means hearing /more/ before you hear less. >> There's a pause from Taylor -- a /slightly/ skeptical follow-up, << They doing you /right/ out at school, or they just. Sit you down now and then to blather at you 'bout responsibility and trying to tone that noise down without teaching you much about what's going /on/? >> << Even if it was safe or easy, I don't reckon it'll earn me too many friends. >> Lael Browns, mentally sifting through his catalog of reactions from his schoolmates, both external and internal. << 'Course, it ain't like how I look is earning me too many friends, neither, so maybe it won't make that big of a difference. >> He pauses, thoughtful in a way that's too involved and personal for Taylor to easily follow, but a sense of longing and resignation comes with it. << Though I s'pose anyone what would still want me around knowing about this is probably a better friend for all that. >> There's little certainty behind this, but a lot of hope. << It's been a bit of both. M'sure they're trying--certainly Mister Jackson is, but seem to me the higher-ups are mostly worried about catching me up for the the schoolin' that I missed. I used to do pretty decent in school, but my grades over winter term...weren't so great. >> << Jax is great. Can't always /get/ it, but he's still one of the only white men I trust. >> There's an immediate warmth in Taylor's mind here, fierce and almost protective. << Only friends you want are the ones who can deal with it some way anyway. -- Your hash is up. >> This precedes the actual emergence of Lael's breakfast from the kitchen by a minute or so. Taylor nabs the plate on its way out, passing it forward over the counter, his arm snaking by a young woman who looks none too pleased at the proximity (though he comes nowhere near to touching her with limb or with food.) << I don't even mean nobody should be okay with it. It's unsettling. /I/ don't want people in my head either. But it's gonna happen, and we ain't gonna keep friends who resent it always. Don't think it's much of a friendship if I never tell em, either. >> << He's my advisor. I've a mighty suspicion they only assigned me to him on account of us both being hicks. >> Lael's amusement is warm, too. << But I'm glad of having him to talk to, and...well, it sure don't hurt that he /gets/ the country stuff, too. >> He starts looking for his food at Taylor's announcement, but with abrupt understanding, starts looking for a place to sit, instead. The mental noise in the crowded café starts pressing in on him again, but he spies an opening at the communal table just as Taylor deliver his hash to him. << Thank you kindly, >> once again with more emphasis than necessary, perhaps surmising he needs to think louder overnight to be heard the noise of the other patrons, << for the drink, and the food, and the talk most of all. What you say, it makes an awful lot of sense. If it got you through Xavier's in one piece, I'll give it a try, too. >> << Good, solid friends got me through Xavier's in one piece, >> Taylor answers easily, << and for folks like us they don't come easy there. You come back any time now, yeah? I'm here all the damn time. Stay safe, man. >>