Logs:In Which a New Evolve Patron’s Paranoia Is Founded, at Least a Little Bit.

In Which a New Evolve Patron’s Paranoia Is Founded, at Least a Little Bit.
Dramatis Personae James, Taylor	2023-09-25 "I’m determined to prove them wrong." (immediately follows meeting Naomi).
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. It's a bustling afternoon, and Evolve is lively. At a quick and casual glance it looks much like any other coffeeshop in the Lower East Side -- certainly, the vast majority of faces here could easily pass as human. But a second look shows the casual relaxation with which mutant abilities are on display. Here, a teenager chucks his empty potato chip bag with what would be rude carelessness over her shoulder, only for it to blip out of existence and reappear several feet away, falling neatly into the trash. In the back over a game of checkers, only one of the participants is actually reaching for his pieces; on the other turn the little red disc just hops on its own from square to square. Here, a young girl picks up her glass, frowns, blows a frosty-cold mist over it to chill the soda back to her preferred temperature. Behind the counter -- well, there's absolutely no mistaking the barista, anyway. Taylor is tall and broad, wearing a T-shirt that reads "WHITE LIVES MATTER TOO MUCH" in bold all-caps across his muscular chest, skin an unnatural shade of obsidian-black -- though none of these are the most eye catching thing about him. That prize would go to the many sinuous arms that writhe and twine behind him. His inky tentacles are handling several different tasks at once with no apparent difficulty -- two are getting two coffees started, one is snaking far over the counter to stretch out and deposit a soup on someone's table, another refilling one of the carafes of creamer; with the two regular human-looking hands he also has, he's prepping a banh mi for the toaster oven. As James stepped inside, he got just a little taste of the world he’d now have to get used to. Bright colors, busy chaos, and so many interesting smells. And the people, the people were the icing on the cake, he’d been surpised to meet Naomi, despite what he’d heard of New York, and it was STILL a bit overwhelming to see pwople with such unusual abilities just lounging, walking, waiting in line, talking, and they didn’t seem one bit concerned whether people could see them. A few people turned to stare at him. He felt like a bug about to be wiped from a windshield, which was crazy given his size. Nothing, though, prepared him for the Barista up front. As soon as he saw the tentacles wanted to turn right back around and run back to his apartment and just order pizza. He knew he was a hypocrite. Especially since he knew what it was like to have people fear you or hate you, but he couldn’t help it, those black, slimy— Oh. Oh God. Great. Tentacle guy was staring, he had about 2 minutes before he figured his time was up. He did NOT want to have to fight someone in the only place that would let him sit. At least he hadn’t brought Billy. He was a loudmouth and probably would have gotten them kicked out a lot quicker. He checked the room, some people were still looking at him with curiosity, but most weren’t even paying attention. He took a step back, meaning to inch himself out. At least ordering on the phone didn’t require a face and he could send Billy in his place to avoid intimidating anyone- or, as he’d learned, easily offend. Once again, he was wondering, why the hell he’d agreed to come here. He blamed it on Billy’s infectious sense of adventure. "Yo," Taylor isn't looking up immediately -- he's got hella orders still in progress, maaaybe that's the only reason why, although his shoulders have gone just a little more tense. One slim and wiggly arm does lift to wave in James's direction. "It can be a lot, can't it?" The same arm waggles in a lazy indicator of the room at large, and only now does he look up, his broad smile looking all the brighter for the jet-black skin that frames it. "'specially if you new-new, where'd you just roll in from?" The two longest of his tentacles -- club-ended, thick, absurdly long with sharp hook-lined suckers lining their undersides -- are pulling back in from where he's been delivering food across the room, instead winding around and around his torso to make them less prominent. He dodged a tentacle that came a little too close to his face in returning to its master. “ Uh.. Texas.” He swallowed, and tried to focus on the man and not the tentacles. Which was hard, because they never stopped moving. He began to study the menus, even though he knew exactly what he wanted. It was mostly to Momentarily prevent him from having to look at the snakey tendrils hard at work around him. The man himself seemed nice, he didn’t want him to feel any more of a freak than he felt. He probably had a worse time than him, growing up. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to deal with those things all day long. He supposed he should be lucky he didn’t have any extra limbs or eyes. That sort of thing was out of his personal worst nightmares. He could remember weeks, months, a year after his initial transformation. How many times he’d woken up scared to death of changing any more. He had been just a kid, only 8. He heard footsteps behind him. There was probably a line. Right. He found his voice. “ Just a Black Coffee with a bit of Cream.. preferably in the biggest mug you have. Please.” He forced himself to let go of the tension he’d been building up, trying to look more relaxed. It’s not like if one of those things came for him he wouldn’t be able to defend himself anyway. He felt ridiculous being the only one here that could probably take half the cafe in a fight yet being the most damn skittish. He flexed his hand, and let it hang palm open beside him and took a deep breath. It was different, but he’d be fine. "Boy you really new-new, ain't you?" Taylor's voice is warm, not mocking. "One thing you gon' learn quick, you should not be judging mutants by how they look. Ain't no way you gonna tell by looking who you could take in a fight in this room." He's getting a large mug as he speaks, to pour James the coffee. He sets the coffee on the counter, sliding the mug closer to James with a push of one snakey arm. "Lucky thing, though, people come here for the bomb-ass coffee, not to throw hands." “ Wait, What? I-I wasn’t uh.. I mean.. thanks.” He wasn’t sure what just happened, had he read his mind? That too wasn’t far fetched right?-or maybe he was just paranoid. The guy had good intuition, guess it was pretty evident on his face. People who’d been born here were probably good at reading people, especially new people. He dug around in his raincoat for his wallet, pulling out the cash amount to pay. He had a Credit Card but didn’t see a point in using it for the small things like coffee, and, entering his pin was often a nightmare with his big sausage fingers. He turned his attention to some of the art displays. They were all unique in their own way. He wasn’t much of an artist but he could tell that these people had a lot of personality. Daunting, his hometown, didn’t have a coffee shop really, there were a couple diners though. Always competing for business on the opposite sides of town. Old Miss. Nigel and her ex husband Mr. Tucker. The coffee was alright but it was often ruined by the constant competitive atmosphere of two business owners past their prime trying to outdo the other to reel in more customers. It was funny, sometimes, walking up to find Mr. Tucker had repainted and reinvented for the millionth time. Here, though, it felt consistent, warm even. Once you got past the mutant aspect and let the chaos become a background simmer it was actually pretty nice in here. "I read minds," Taylor confirms easily. "Trust, when you look as fine as I do it's a blessing, get to hear all the day just what people think of all this." Behind him, several limbs flex demonstratively. He's gotten a carafe of cream as he takes James's cash to the cash register he's also pouring: "Say when, yuh? -- anyway we repaint a lot too. Not competition so much, sorry but if you a freak-freak we're pretty much the only game in town. Bigots come by and graffiti on the regular, though, and then it's time for another face lift. -- how," he's asking this with his brows scrunched up like he's been pondering this question all the whole while, "anyone get anything done without a coffee shop? That what they mean by sleepy little town?" “ Do you, have any control over that or.. is it just automatic, and constant?” He was now feeling beyond embarrassed and a little self-conscious. Not really sure if it was worth getting his mind read regularly. It definitely hadn’t been on his radar of concerns before he came here, in fact none of this had been. It wasn’t like he was aware of what he was a part of when he got the news so long ago confused and sitting in the doctors office. “ Sleepy isn’t quite the word I would use, more like a residential rest stop. Most people stopped in to gas up, eat breakfast and head out again. Wasn’t very ah.. community like, it was small but people really didn’t gather together much beyond the occasional church cookout. That’s good.” The Barista stopped pouring cream and slid a spoon in the cup and James grabbed it. “ Thanks” He pat back pocket, hoping he had a few extra dollars to tip but unfortunately came up empty. He’d forgotten he’d given that extra ten to that girl a while ago and he likely wouldn’t have much cash until after work started. He’d start a tip tab, and mentally resolved to maybe fish the couch before next time. Billy was always hoarding change for god knows what. He hoped he hadn’t wondered off into the neighborhood alone. He’d hate for him to accidentally pick a fight or get into something he shouldn’t and end up knocked out in a ditch somewhere. Billy sometimes made him feel like a single father just trying to make ends meet. Lenny wouldn’t have fired them if he hadn’t had to clean up the mess Billy had started- well actually, no, Lenny had already been reluctant to hire him in the first place, it probably would have happened eventually. He hoped he had better luck here, he didn’t know what he’d do if he had to go through that again. Better finish up soon and get back just to make sure. "I got some control, yeah. Comes much quicker, clearer, with people who I'm talking to or focusing on, you walk away and I won't hear much unless it comes across real loud. The thing about working at Freak Central, though, is --" Taylor's mouth twists just slightly to the side, here, his friendly tone shifting a bit more matter-of-fact: "Lotta people don't want us in the neighborhood. Lotta people don't want us anywhere. Some Friend rocks up in here looking to do violence," there's a subtle emphasis in his voice here that makes the capital-F in that word very clear, "then people get real happy I hear those thoughts coming." This time when his smile returns it's twisted a little crooked. "-- the rest of the time, though, this," one slim arm taps significantly at his temple. "Don't make nobody happy." He's putting the cream away, starting to make two more coffees even though the newest woman to step up to the counter has definitely not ordered anything yet. "Yuh finding your feet around here okay? Job, roof over your head?" His tone is back to amiable again, though the consideration in his eyes as he looks over James's very inhuman features makes it seem like this is Genuine Concern and not simply idle small talk. “ uh, yeah, alright I guess. I’m starting a new job Sunday, been unpacking for the past couple days. I’m actually surprised at how easy it was. Didn’t think anyone would rent out to someone like me right off the bat. Now I just have to get a new routine down and get a feel for the city. There’s a lot of people that thought I wouldn’t make it in a place like this. Especially my parents. But I’m determined to prove them wrong.” He took a sip of coffee, letting the warmth soothe his insides. “Small town just got a little too small- that’s not a size joke.” He said, letting his guard down just enough to let a small genuine smile out, his front fangs poking out from under his lip just slightly. It looked a bit goofy, but for once he wasn’t thinking about that. "Well, like they say, if you can make it here --" Taylor lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. "It gets rough but this place is pretty damn awesome, too. Wish I could say it was easier for people like us, but -- complicated. Being able to have enough People Like Us to stick together, though, that's not nothing." He gestures -- with his actual hand, this time -- towards a bulletin board over on one wall. "You ever looking for mutant-friendly -- pretty much anything, usually there's some options posted up there." When the woman at the counter now finally does make her order -- Taylor is putting the cap on the two drinks he just made, handing them over to her already. He turns a quick grin back to James once he finishes with the transaction. "Good luck, man. Hope you get all the haters eating their words." “ Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” He said gazing at the bulletin for a minute. He sets his sights on a small table near the back. “ It was nice meeting you..” he realized he didn’t know his name. Taylor's gaze stays for just a short moment longer on James's face. His chin lifts in a nod of farewell, and though his tone is still light there's something just a little bit more melancholy in the cast of his expression. "Yeah. Be sure I'll be seeing you 'round, man." And then -- it's back to work. James headed for the empty table he’d been eyeing, and a couch about half the size of him. As soon as he sank down he realized how exhausted he was. It was the middle of the afternoon but this wasn’t a vacation, moving was hard. He sat back and pulled out a book to relax for a couple hours before heading home. About an hour in, his eyes began to droop..