Logs:In Which No Further Cups Are Dropped And Two Sandwiches Go Uneaten
|In Which No Further Cups Are Dropped And Two Sandwiches Go Uneaten|
"Making scenes and spilling things are only slightly behind eating, drinking, and blogging as regular Evolve activities go."
<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 bustling this afternoon, boisterous and noisy with more or less its usual mix of teenagers and neighborhood regulars and businessfolk and houseless people glad for a place to sit that won't kick them out and occasional gawking tourists, most of the room not-obvious in their mutancy until they levitate their plates over to the bussing station or reheat their coffee with a touch.
Most! Taylor, though, he's plenty visible at all times. Casual in threadbare old jeans and a black tee (it reads "rooting for everybody black" in bold print down its front) that's had MANY new holes slashed into to make room for his wealth of tentacles, the Evolve barista is eye-catching as ever as he makes his way out from behind the counter, holding two plates (a large banh mi on one, a spicy barbecue pork sandwich on the other), two large coffees (one black, one piled high with whipped cream), a bowl of lemongrass soup, a plate with two large cookies. All of this still leaves his hands free to tug out a chair at one of the tables, his many limbs twining slithery and snakelike as they move to set the many foods down on the table. He flumps heavily down into the seat, exhaling a hard breath. "Wuz de scene, huh?" does not actually wait for an answer even if one is expected; he's moving straight on into a cheerful but tired: "You hear we doing Halloween in here? Gonna be wild from what I'm hearing. Full-on circus craziness."
Slumped into a chair at the table in a collection of long, angular limbs is Scramble, all butched up today in her Mutant Mongrels Motorcycle Club cut (her rank patch read 'DOG OF WAR'), worn open over a black t-shirt that reads 'TRY ME' in large bold text, and beneath it in smaller letters '-Malcolm X', a thick studded belt, and heavy-duty black jeans tucked into engineer boots. She's still wearing jewelry, though -- a simple gold ankh on a black cord around her neck, and smaller, matching earrings. "Gotta relocate another family later. It's some bullshit but it's gotta be done." << What's gotta be done is fucking that landlord's shit up... >> She sits up a little straighter, revived by the arrival of caffeine, calories, Taylor, or all of the above. "You are the fucking bomb." Snatching up the coffee, she raises her brows. "I heard about Halloween, but I didn't hear it was gon' be a circus. Tell me more."
Sebastian is a lot more composed this time than in his last visit to evolve. The drugs seem to keep him bedridden most of the time, but days like today pass more easily when they seem to give him a brief reprieve from the more dramatic side effects. Meaning he's happy he's not hugging a toilet for the moment. His eyes are circled with dark blue lines from lack of sleep, thanks to the fact that the drugs have been keeping him up during his usual sleeping hours. His stomach feels nauseous. His joints are tight and painful. But this is shaping up to be a good day. At least in comparison to the past days since his treatment.
Bastian walks in wearong, more or less, comfortable clothes. He has on a red shirt with a golden Lannister lion, a pair of loose fitting blue jeans and red and white shoes. Managing a very natural gait, he glances around for the very recognizable mutant that had been witness to his little episode. When his eyes finally land on the mass of tentacles exuding from Taylor's back, he approaches cautiously. Really, he knows he is only apologizing to save face and attempt to not garner the reputation of a spaz, but somehow he has convinced himself that he' here because apologizing is the right thing to do. He can't help pitying the other. << To think, I complained about eternal youth, >> he thinks to himself upon his approach. "Excuse me," he calls out just loud enough, standing only a few feet from Taylor's table. Until that moment, he hasn't noticed the Mongrels jacket that Scramble was wearing. Now, with a clearer view of the other, he thinks, << Where have I seen that, before? >>
"Yah, acrobats and aerials an all dem, it's finna be a good time." The cadence of Taylor's voice grows more sing-song with his excitement. << Where he at? Yuh need some extra hands on that, later? >> drops casually into Scramble's mind. He's just picking up his sandwich as Sebastian draws nearer, but lowers it again untouched with a very brief and very small grimace crossing his expression. It doesn't last -- when he looks up there's only a small polite smile there. "Sorry, I'm on break." The sing-song pitch has left his voice here, too, just mild and apologetic. "They can help you at the counter."
Scramble's excitement is vivid in Taylor's mind. "Aight, I'm down," she declares easily, sucking down a gulp of only-slightly-too-hot coffee with a wince. << It's that slumlord own half a block down Seward Park. Family didn't want no trouble, but once they out... >> Her free hand flexes, knuckles cracking audibly. For all that, her expression is pleasantly neutral when Sebastian approaches them, though she leaves Taylor to answer the non-question. << Shit, what you got all dem tentacles on for if you ain't serving white folks with em? >>
Sebastian flinches when he realizes what they expect of him. He hadn't thought about how they might take his presence. Actually, he hadn't thought about a lot of very important details, it seems. What makes him think that Taylor would even be interested in his self-centered apology. << I shouldn't even be bothering them, >> he thinks, << But if I just leave, that's going to be awkward for me... >> "I just wanted to apologize for what happened a few days ago. I'm not really sure how often... That... Happens." He keeps his hands in his pockets and his head down to the floor now. "I made a bit of a scene and spilled something on the floor. I don't know if it was out of the ordinary enough for you to remember, but... I just don't feel right without apologizing."
<< Erry day I thank the Lord for blessing me wit all dese serving limbs. >> Taylor's reply comes bright and cheerful. << You give me a time, they'll help dat man head right open. >> He slumps back a little more at ease in his chair, several of his boneless arms draping over the backrest. "I remember you." Light and casual, as is his follow up, "Only real spot for freaks to hang out in this city, we can't get through a week without some kid stumbling in here thinking we're gonna set all their problems straight. Glad your head's a little less explodey -- you find yourself some help?"
<< Call it 6? We go grab some food after. >> "I feel like you're downplaying the variety of freak drama that happens here," Scramble adds mildly. "Making scenes and spilling things are only slightly behind eating, drinking, and blogging as regular Evolve activities go." The casual sweep of her hand encompasses the bustling cafe as she lifts her mug for another drink. Then she narrows her eyes slightly at Sebastian, searching her memory for the source of her familiarity with his face. "You hang around here much?"
Bastian stares at the table with a look as if he has been slapped when Taylor describea the situation. << That's putting it delicately, >> he thinks, sarcastically. << Explodey? >> Can he really blame Taylor for expecting something of the sort to happen? After all, the strength of the migraine almost made explosion a definite possibility for Sebastian. Perhaps even voluntary. Despite the side effects he is dealing with now, at least he will no longer be forced to deal with those world-crushing migraines. Scramble's response eases his tension a little bit, though. << More than a decent bit, >> he thinks. Though if he knew she recognized him, he would probably think it's from Manhattan papers that ceased to exist a year or so ago. "I find my way out here often enough," he answers, forcing himself to meet her eyes. Though any embarrassment has faded from his face in a mild display of Sebastian's ability to suppress his own emotions.
<< Why's it white boys always got the paper-thinnest skin? Can't say boo to them without a look like you just stabbed their grams. >> Whatever Taylor's aside to Scramble, his expression doesn't slip from its look of polite interest. << You know this kid? >>
He lifts his coffee, takes a small sip. Then lifts the cup in a lazy waggle of wave to Sebastian. "Well," he replies, cheerful enough, "I'm sure I'll see you 'round, then."
<< Probably rough getting it through they heads not everyone gonna bend over backwards to make them comfortable. >> Scramble puts her coffee down. Leans forward slightly. "Cool. Well, I dunno your situation, but whatever was causing the scene and the spills, I hope you're doing better." Despite Sebastian's answer, she's still racking her brain, unconvinced. << He look real familiar and I didn't think it was from seeing him here, but I guess it must be. >> "You be safe, now."
Sebastian almost leaves, raising his foot to turn around, but he stamps it down almost as quickly as he raised it up. "Oh," he exclaims. "I almost forgot." He looks directly towards Taylor wanting to meet his eyes before continuing... Sebastian steps closer and walks a bit to Taylor's right to add to that last statement. "Thank-you for telling me about the clinic. Believe it or not, I hadn't really heard about it before." << Probably because I keep my head buried so deep in the sand that I can't feel my legs... >> Sebastian beams a bright smile. "Really, thank-you. The clinic..." << The medication, actually, >> "...is a revelation." He shrugs his shoulders as his smile trtransfms into a grin and he looks down again, prepared to actually leave, now. << I wonder if they could help him, >> he thinks, referring to Taylor's appearance, << Maybe they can't. I guess he'd already be taking the treatment if they could. >>
Taylor has lifted his sandwich again to take a bite, but he freezes with it halfway to his mouth. << Unfortunately, inflicting they asses on service workers like to just reinforce that idea. >> His eyes don't meet Sebastian's, locked across the table on Scramble, but they do open a little wider, his brows lifting. His mouth twitches slowly into a fixed rictus of a smile. "I'm glad," he replies, determinedly pleasant, "you got yourself some help. Hope it works out for you. Yuh take care now, yeah?" One of his smallest arms lifts, its tendril-like end curling in a wave.