Logs:In Which No Shakes Are Drunk, Several Overlapping Conversations Occur, And One Headache Is Induced

In Which No Shakes Are Drunk, Several Overlapping Conversations Occur, And One Headache Is Induced
Dramatis Personae Lael, Naomi, Taylor	2020-09-22 "I thought there would be more solidarity, or somethin."
Location <NYC> Sinkers and Suds - Salem Center
This diner, though very new, has modeled itself in the throwback style of Salem Center's main drag. Black and white checkerboard floor underfoot, steel stools cheerfully upholstered in bright red vinyl, brushed chrome tables both standalone or in the booths that line the walls. The servers are impossibly perky, the jukebox only plays oldies, and the seats at the long counter also often include conversation with the very chatty soda jerk manning the fountain there. The smells of fried food and fresh coffee generally fill the air. The first day of fall is crisp and bright, the pleasantly mild afternoon hovering on the edge of an approaching evening chill. The diner has not quite picked up for the evening rush, yet; it's still mostly quiet in here, only a few of the tables occupied. It would be easy enough already for the students to find someone they were meeting even if they didn't stand out quite so much as Taylor -- large and muscular and ink-skinned, several of his tentacles shifting in a serpentine writhe where he's tucked into a front window booth. He's in jeans, a black tee that reads WHITE LIVES MATTER TOO MUCH in bold white all-caps across the chest; the black leather vest he wears over top (its sole patches say, only, PROSPECT) and the motorcycle helmet sitting on the bench beside him suggest that probably the blue-black chopper parked outside belongs to him. He's been here long enough to get water but no food, just looking over the menu as his head bops, not in time with "Red Rubber Ball" currently playing over the diner speakers but with Megan Thee Stallion's "Savage" stuck on loop in his head. The bell on the door jingles as Naomi pushes through, stepping to one side to let Lael pass her. A blue beanie sits askew on top of her locs, a lined denim jacket over a Janelle Monae tee-shirt and torn up jeans. She glances around, does a double take when she sees the person (<<octopus-person?>>) at the table. "That your friend?" She's a little nervous, a little excited, and praying that it doesn't seem like she's staring. Lael looks nervous and fidgety as he follows his sister in, his locs clumping together, squirming slow and close to his scalp. He's dressed in a light brown chore jacket over red and white raglan shirt, sturdy blue jeans, and brown work boots. He spots Taylor just as Naomi asks, and his smile is broad and relieved. "Yeah," to Naomi; then, waving to Taylor, he ushers his sister over. "Thank you so much coming out here," he says. "This is my little sister, Naomi." One of Taylor's limbs, small and slender, lifts up to waggle in a wave towards the pair. << Squid person, more or less. >> drifts back to Naomi, a ripple of amusement felt more than heard in the gentle psionic touch. "Yooo. Honestly nice to get out the city, s'stifling some days." This comes when the Winterses draw nearer. "Naomi, hey. Heard so much about you. M'Taylor. Hard not to stare at first anyway, yeah?" Several of his arms are lifting in some approximation of a shrug; the smallest one is flicking towards Naomi's face, Lael's hair. "All damn day I hang out with freaks I see someone new I'm still like shit, yo, you got style." Naomi catches the thought, cheeks getting hot for a touch as the two of them reach Taylor's table. <<cool as hell either way, though.>> She slides into the booth, taking the inside window seat. She smiles a bit when Taylor points out her scales, her own hand lifting to them. "Tried matching my nails to 'em," she offers, showing off a chipped black manicure. "Trying for style, anyway." She glances at Lael - << I like him, I think. >> Lael sits down beside Naomi. "Getting all modest on me here," he jostles Naomi lightly. "She got all the style in the family." But there's a twist of anxiety beneath this that he doesn't intend for Taylor but which comes through loud and clear. << Ain't right, being relieved she ended up like me. >> But there's a wash of relief, too, at her admission. "Taylor's amazing," he agrees aloud. "Used to go to Xavier's too." << You know about all that with Xavier over the summer? >> This last, at least, he does intend for both of the others, his mental voice unpracticed. "Trying and succeeding." Taylor's nod is approving as Naomi lifts her hand. "And the thing about style is, you can grow it." He offers this with a bright flash of smile. "Casual's a style, though. Effortless? A style. Country's damn sure a whole family of style." His eyes drop back to scan his menu again, one of his arms wrapping around his water glass to lift it for a sip. << Yeah, I've heard some stuff. Wish I could say shit's gone downhill since I was there but damn if it don't sound like that mess been going on an age. >> His words come more easily, directed to both the siblings. Naomi's smile widens as she drops her hand to the tabletop, leaning into Lael with a bit of force to bump him back. "Damn right I do." She glances down - "Love your shirt, Taylor." << if ACAB was a style.. .>> Her smile fades as she picks up the mental voices, unused to the feeling of echoes in her own head. << I feel like I still don't know what the hell happened. Like... we're back here, right? An' now everyone is just on edge about telepaths or whatever. >> She glances at Lael - "Wanna split a shake?" "Tryna imagine how much crap you catch for that shirt, workin' where you work." Lael makes a soft click against the inside of his cheek. "Should bring this one by Evolve sometime, too. Bit of a hike but I think we could both use more time away from school on the regular an'...ain't a lot of places too eager to serve the likes of us even in The City." << It turns out he didn't do nothin' to Marinov, but maybe Tasha n' them--and for some reason that's...alright? >> Beneath the surface thoughts he intends to convey there's a powerful current of unease that only Taylor can sense, though Naomi is used enough to the quickened curling of his hair to guess. << I ain't too clear on it, but the upperclassmen thought it was safe--or safe enough. >> "I'll split a shake if you split some tots." "Thanks. Just come from work. Gotta whole rotation I keep for the white yuppies whose solidarity start and end at the X-Gene. They get big fucking mad but what they gonna do, tell my boss on me? Always goddamn hilarious when they call his ass out." Taylor's head shakes, and he sets his menu aside. << Wish that was now. We always set people on edge. Can't say it's without reason. I don't much like nobody poking my brain, either. >> "Y'all want an actual meal? Shane pays me aiite." Naomi doesn't quite understand the references being made, but Taylor's delivery is enough for a small laugh. Her eyes catch the locs, moving faster and faster, and bumps Lael on the shoulder again. <<They don't mind it when its me getting them a van,>> she thinks, unsure if she's broadcasting but certain in her assessment. "I dunno," she says out loud. "I thought there would be more solidarity, or somethin." She glances down at her menu - "Thank you, if Lael don't mind that would be lovely." "Taylor's boss is Shane--Mr Holland's kid," Lael explains, and only the realizes it's not much of an explanation. "His other kid." And mentally summons an image of Shane, tiny and dapper and blue. "I don't know him well, but he got a reputation for speakin' his mind." Fear and frustration alike ripple through him at Naomi's stray thought. << It weren't right then, neither. We shoulda found another way. >> His hunger stirs, and a shame -- at his poverty, not his appetite. << Oughta get me a job, too. >> "I'd much appreciate it, thank you. Still wanna split some tater tots, though." Taylor's eyes shift to Lael, and what he says first is casual and direct: "Ain't nothin' shameful about being poor. Wish I'd unlearned that a lot earlier." He settles back in his seat, a few of his arms winding themselves languidly around his torso and out of the way. "Got three kids," he adds, absently, "Shane's a twin. And solidarity's complicated. Mutant covers a lotta ground. Feel like I expect solidarity from folks who can pass as human or don't read minds 'bout as much as I expect solidarity from pee-oh-see on Black issues. Sometimes it's there. Sometimes it's fickle." One of his arms runs over the smooth surface of his head, his eyes turning up as if searching the ceiling for the rest of his answer. << And sometimes -- it's messy. I'on got a right to nobody's mind. There's times when people want me to use it all the same. 'specially if there's danger about. Figuring out boundaries on that shit's a headache and a half. >> "We can still split," Naomi demurs, glancing at another patron and his milkshake. "Huge glasses and plates here anyway. Can't eat all that by my lonesome." She doesn't respond to Taylor aloud, but there is a feeling of shame crawling up her legs for being called on being ashamed. "Mr Holland - that's the Human Dev teacher, right? I'm taking his class, he's nice enough." <<So far.>> She nods, though, laughs out loud at Taylor's inflection on P - O - C. "True that," she says. "Still disappointed, though." At the echo of boundaries through her brain, she flinches a bit, memory of her recent talking-to's flashing at the front of the brain. <<Been hearing that a lot lately.>> "Mr. Holland's pretty alright," Lael says confidently. "Any child'a his I'll assume is alright until proven otherwise." His head dips. "We was dirt poor comin' up. I know it ain't really no shame, but I get to feeling off about it, going to such a fancy school." He glances aside at Naomi. << Ain't nobody sayin' it's easy. Ain't even sayin' I always get it right, neither. >> That wave of discomfort again--and an incongruous mix of fear and protectiveness toward Naomi. << We can figure this out together. >> "Know that feel. Gone from the hood to jail to that bougie-ass school to living in the sewers. Always someone tryna make me feel a way about some part of that. Fuck 'em, though." Taylor rests an elbow on the table, pillowing his cheek on a palm. "You ain't wrong, these shakes are practically a meal to themselves." << You gonna have a lotta people telling you a lotta shit. Next few years and after, likely. >> His gaze is drifting away, idly catching the eye of a server. << I'on got shit to tell you on what's right, sis. Hell if I know that. All I do is stay alive. >> Naomi reaches for Lael, gives his arm a small squeeze. "Fuck 'em," she echoes Taylor. There is a swirl of feelings - anger, shame, doubt, hope- that all end up getting buried by the growl in her stomach. <<Ain't staying alive it's own kinda right, anyway?>> She slams a finger down on the menu. "So. OREO shake?" Lael's headache worsens, and he makes a concerted effort to quiet his telepathy now. But for all that his hair is squirming slower, more relaxed. "I do think it is," he agrees aloud. "Hard part's reckoning how best to do that. Whole entire religions out there all about that." His smile is weak but genuine. "Oreo shake," he agrees. "God's got His place, for sure, I give him time every Sunday. Shit hits the fan though, it's making sure there's folks here on earth can trust me that's saved my skin time and again." Taylor sits up, hands drumming lightly on the table as their server approaches. "Erry single time I get chocolate malt but you know, maybe it's time to branch out." Naomi squirms a little, zoning in on one word. <<Trust.>> “Is it easier to trust folks, when you can hear ‘em up here?” She taps her temple, nail clacking on scale. “Or is it-“ <<worse>>, is where the thought is going, but she changes tack when the server arrives at the table. "I think it's harder, both ways," Lael says. << It's sure harder for me, >> comes unbidden. He places his order and thanks their server, switching back to telepathy despite the splitting pain. << Folks wanna feel like their minds are their own. I still gotta work on giving 'em that, I know. >> Taylor's smile is automatic and polite as he places his order, gives his thanks. << Issa struggle. Took a lotta practice to work on judging folks by what they do and not what they think and feel. Lotta practice not to overhear too much shit in the first place. >> The smile fades as they're left alone at the table once more, his weight sagging forward onto a pair of boneless limbs coiling on the table. "Lotta work the other way round, too." This, with an acknowledging flick of tendril-arm toward Lael. "Building a trust that I ain't gonna pry. Hard, sometimes. World's mad dangerous, for us even more than most. Got a lot of reason to be wary." Naomi's voice is a little stilted as she orders, taking care to enunciate and be polite. She slumps a little as the server finally walks away. "Sounds tough," she says finally, but there is a touch of envy there that she doesn't voice. "More tough for y'all than Dr. Grey, I bet." <<ain't fair she ain't at least physical, too.>> Naomi glances to her side, blinks once then realizes. "How's your head, Lael?" "Can't promise 'bout no overhearing, but I don't pry." Lael rests his elbows on the table. << Can't get on a high horse, though. Might be I would, if I knew how. >> His smile is a little rueful. "Hurts. S'all right, though. Better I get used to doing all this--" He taps at his temple. "--talkin' to folks agreed to it. Helps in the long run." He turns back to Taylor, brightening a little. "But if you got any teacher recommendations, for or against, an' you comfortable sharin'? I'm all for getting my gossip the old fashion way."