Logs:Regina and the Chocolate Factory

Regina and the Chocolate Factory
cn: mention of severe violence/antimutant hate crime
Dramatis Personae Regina, Shane
In Absentia Taylor, Jax, Ryan, Hive	2023-07-19 "I think I have gone from drowning to a light doggy paddle."
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 been an entirely average Wednesday, all things considered. The intermittent thunderstorms have kept most people off their patio, though the lone pair of young women who have currently claimed a seat out there seem fully unbothered by the downpour, their table and food and a small halo around it oddly fully dry. Inside, the tables are packed. Over here a cluster of teenagers have pushed many of the tables together and are repeatedly trying to film a short video while several of them animate their lunch spread -- pink coffee, pink macarons, strawberry ice cream, beet salad -- the food seemingly magically dancing along to Nicki Minaj's "Barbie World" with some added sparkle effects conjured out of a photokinetic's mind. Over there, a very harried looking man in a suit trying to ignore the teenagers while he sends a flurry of emails; his coffee appears to be drinking itself, the level continually diminishing though he hasn't physically touched it in some time. At the back, a skinny and very likely homeless youth is juuust starting to stir from the blanket nest they've been sleeping under on a couch for quite some time, peacefully undisturbed by the staff. By the bussing tray a used plate is just gently setting itself back down into the tub for used dishes. While most of the patrons on the whole look Fairly Normal, the overall vibe -- fairly not. Into this mix, now, there is a very tiny person slipping out of the back -- almost certainly came in through the back entrance because he definitely hasn't been here for most of the shift: even among this crowd he'd be hard to miss. He's under five feet tall but his clothing (well tailored grey linen slacks and vest, silvery-patterned blue tie tied in an impeccable trinity knot) doesn't suggest he is actually a child, nor does the presumptive ease with which he's availing himself of some of the freshly made lavender lemonade. He has a sandwich on a plate in his other hand, a bag of chips beside it, and he takes these off to the back to set them down on a table in front of the just-waking-up pile of blankets on the couch. Only then is Shane returning to the front -- taking advantage of a who-knows-for-how-long break in any actual line of customers to place his webbed hands on the counter, huge pupilless black eyes tipping up-up-up toward the newest barista. "So. You surviving?" Regina remembered what she felt when she stepped into the café. A scent of roasted coffee beans being freshly ground, and their oils being released into the air, a perfume of sweet dark and bitter blond roasts mixing into an intoxicating concoction. Cool air flowing easily through the busy crowd, sunlight adding a glow that the lamps could not provide. Faint music thudded in her veins, whispering of lives beneath lives, yet another world outside of her reach. Color danced before her vision: architecture, art, and people. All shades of life, moving and still. To say she was not overwhelmed would be a lie. A small part of her wanted to sit and take it all in, that any of this was real. When she had imagined a mutant business of any kind, she thought of the ones in her neighborhood. Dirty little holes in the wall that were barely surviving the week, scuffed walls and bigoted graffiti sprayed just as much on the inside as they were on the outside. Stained concrete and rusting metal. Glassy eyes and decaying souls, with more homeless for their customers than humans or mutants alike. Businesses that were like fireflies: born bright yet died sooner than you could remember them. Evolve was nothing like that. If anything, it was a roaring, defiant beast of an establishment, living and breathing with nothing but spite in its’ veins. So this is what Charlie must have felt walking into the Chocolate Factory, she thought to herself. Today was her first day. Training was a bit more difficult than she imagined. That wasn’t her employer’s fault; for once, she was being taught standards. She welcomed the challenge and was surprisingly attentive to what was being told to her, despite her impassive expression. She craved new knowledge and soaked it up like a sponge, willing to make whatever mistakes needed to be made just to attain new wisdom for her skillset. In truth, she loved what she did. There was an unspoken passion in her movements, to speak of new products and getting into the flow of production. She even smiled more- however slight -with her new clientele. Other than their abilities, they were no different from the usual breed of caffeine-addicted customers she was used to dealing with. Just made the transition that much easier, really. “I’ve got an iced Americano for Jerry, a flat white for a Monica, and a Blueberry Lemonade with a shot of hibiscus for Benny! They’re ready to go, folks, and don’t forget to tip for our local shelter on Broad Street!” Regina called out over the moderate din of the crowd. She watched her boss come over and her features relaxed. Rather, she made herself relax, not wanting to visibly react to his appearance. He was not grotesque in any way, oh no! A small part of her wanted to gibber about how cool he looked, yet she was faintly aware that that might be borderline offensive. “I think I have gone from drowning to a light doggy paddle, “She joked, the corners of her lips perked up. “I’m still not used to having a set of standards to work by. But, you know, give me a week or two, and there shouldn’t be any issues.” Shane's smile curls brighter -- uncannily wider than it seems like it ought to be in proportion to his narrow features, face half-splitting into a flash of shark-sharp teeth. "Thank God plenty people round here are real good swimmers, huh? You met Taylor y... nah, he won't be on for a minute. Big dude, lots of arms, you ever floundering he'll steer you right." He is ducking beneath the counter once again, plopping himself down (on one of the actual stools they have for the baristas at the cash register or in a slow stretch!) and planting his hands on his knees. "You know, the shit thing is, we'd probably have customers enough without the standards. Our people get so desperate sometimes for a safe place to go we could be serving them swill and it'd be better than getting spat on and told to leave, you know?" Beneath his collar his gills are fluttering idly, and he's studying Regina's far-more-human face with a thoughtfulness that suggests you know is an actual question instead of a verbal tic -- probably he is not assuming that her coffee-buying experiences and his have been in any way identical. "But that would've been a garbage cash-grab. People deserve some joy sometimes, not just tolerance." Her eyes followed his movements but checked around the floor out of habit, not wanting to leave anyone on stand-by. Anyone who even had an iota of retail experience knew the trick of it: better to be a meerkat than a dead rat. Trust your peripheral vision, and it is better to be safe than sorry. Yet her eyes did not deceive her. They had, for the moment, finally reached a period of stillness. She exhaled the breath she had been holding for some time and took a rag from the little sanitizer bucket next to her station. She listened to him as she wiped her counters free of spilled coffee, dust from the lamps, and residuals of spilled sugar. Perhaps nothing to most, and even not that much to the naked eye. But she knew that, like everything else, that it was the little things that lead to the greatest messes. Trying to clean this up at closing would be nightmarish. “Joy, hmm?” Regina slowly nodded before tossing the used rag into another standby bucket. “Not to sound like a burnt-out Millennial with a jaded view, but since I 'am' one…” She let her sentence trail off for a moment, kneeling to open a cabinet and pull out a few small boxes. As she began to stock the cups and lids, she spoke a little more softly, “Joy is a hard commodity to come by. Pretty much reserved for people who can sleep in a comfortable bed, eat a hot meal, and not think twice about bills that may or may not be stuffed into the mailbox. Before…all of this, tolerance was something I would have robbed someone blind for. But you… Well, you seem to have managed to carve out a spot where that’s possible. I mean, no one’s skipping around and shooting rainbows out of their mouth. Not yet anyway. But you know what I mean. You did something great with this place. Wish I had known about it sooner.” Finished with her task, she knelt again and put away the boxes, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She felt awkward. High praise wasn’t Regina’s strong suit. Shane deserved it, though. By all rights, he could be considered a saint. And while she wasn’t a lie detector, she could tell he meant what he said. Stood and lived by it. So instead of keeping silent, she turned her head to offer a half-smile. “And no, I don’t expect a bonus on my first check. I’m terrible at kissing up to people in authority.” Shane's brows hike at the comment about shooting rainbows out of their mouth, his teeth baring once more in a brightly amused grin. "Shiiiit, too bad you can not meet my pa yet." There's a faster-unsteady flutter of his gills after that, sharp edges whispering against the starchy collar of his shirt. "I'm fucking terrible at being kissed up to, so that works out good. My biggest concerns are you make good coffee and try to keep this a welcoming space." Here he frowns -- just a little -- glancing first around the floor, too, and then to the back of the room before looking back to Regina. "One thing about this job here and not somewhere else -- you're gonna get a lot of people coming in who are looking for --" His head shakes, shoulder hitching. "Shit we aren't set up to give them. Like, we're a coffee shop, not a shelter or a drop-in center but -- we're also one of the only places people have ever heard to go when they're a freak trying to figure shit out." He hops down off the stool, and gets a slim binder out from where it's been unobtrusively tucked away on a lower shelf, and his sharp claws drum indicatively against the cover. "There's not many resources in the city but we collect the ones we know about, here. It's organized -- where to get food, where to find a doctor, landlords that might rent to you, if they can afford that shit -- people will ask. It can be tempting to sir, this is a Wendy's them but -- try to see if you can find them some resources here first. And if all else fails, there's always beds up in Freaktown --" his grimace is fleeting. "While it lasts." A question was burning about why his father was implied to be able to shoot rainbows out of his mouth. Emphasis on was. The very idea of it died as soon the topic turned to more serious matters. A part of her knew it was coming. Trying to find a place in this hellhole that would be able to help someone in need is one thing. Being willing to? A whole other matter entirely. And they barely did it for the humans. For mutants, they might as well lie down in the street and die in the gutter, especially in New York. She had once heard some cops talking in a dingy bar she used to visit. She may have had two too many Sangrias, but she remembered every word that night, clear as the glass she stared into. ” You remember Billy off Main? That, uh, that mutie who could clear up your skin and shit with a touch?” “Doesn’t ring a bell. You know I can’t keep track of all these freaks, John.” “The one who’d fetch cigarettes for you on Fridays!” “Oh, him. Yeah, what about it?” “Heard of the Scalpers?” “Again, what the fuck are you talking about? We’re in New York. There always a new group of shitheads trying to be shittier than the last one.” “Jesus, the punks that go after muties!” “They the reason why I got a shit ton of paperwork on my desk this last week?” “Yeah, and Billy was on your desk. Man, I saw photos of the scene? It was fucked. They skinned him, man. Skinned him like my daddy used to do with rabbits. They musta thought his skin had his power, you know? And he’s not the first.” Regina had stayed away from the bar since then. She bought a taser the next day and kept it on her ever since. She wasn’t like some mutants who elemental or transformative powers. What she could do did not amount to anything close to being an offensive power. She could throw a few decent punches and kicks at best, but she never had time or money to spare for defensive classes. But she could do this. She could answer questions, point the way to whatever resources were available. Give the help that she was able to give. She nodded, responding in a low tone, “Sure thing. Pretty sure it wouldn’t hurt our bottom line to give ‘em extra food or a place to chill for a while. Maybe… Maybe I could also do some good with what I can do. Help them calm down.” "Oh!" Shane perks, head bobbing. "Yeah, no, we got a system in place for that -- anyone who needs a meal, a drink, can't pay, ring 'em up under our suspended payment plan, they can get the meal free. It mostly," and he's admitting this with a wryyyy smile, "doesn't make us go out of business cuz Ryan Black comes in here every damn week and suspends, like, hundreds of dollars but hey whatever works, right?" He rubs slowly at the back of his neck, and his head tilts just slightly to the side. "Empath?" he hazards a very uncertain guess. "We get all kinds in here and some number of them are -- pretty much guaranteed to be in crisis. I don't expect y'all to be mental health workers --" His flat nose wrinkles on a small amused huff -- "... any more than any service worker has to, but if there's things you can do to help make people's day better, and they want the boost, I'm not gonna stop you." “How about a compromise, boss?” Regina leaned against the wall and folded her arms, taking the moment to ease some of the pain in her lower back. One of the downsides to being a “charmer?” She couldn’t exactly trick her body into thinking it wasn’t in pain. For one thing, it did not last long. For another, it would impede actual medical issues she might need to deal with. The last time she did, she had accidentally broken her arm and had confused the doctor as to why she wasn’t screaming in agony. She had managed to stammer out an excuse about being in shock; that was an incident too close to comfort for her. Being that close to revealing her mutant identity was enough to make her think twice about pulling that shit again. “I’ll do what I can, but I won’t go farther than I need to. Gotta take care of myself, or you’ll be short a barista again.” She paused for a second. “I don’t know about being an empath, necessarily. More like a hypnotist. I haven’t been able to sit down with a mutant-friendly doctor and get the science of it. All I know is I can stare into someone’s eyes and fuck with their mood after a couple of minutes. I touched a person once and made them act hungry, just because I was hungry. That’s, uh, empathy, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I just realized I fuckin’ mansplained- “She rubbed her face and groaned. “This is why I can’t socialize. The more I talk, the more I forget all social cues and shit.” "Wait, can you mansplain to another man -- are you a --" Shane is peering a little closer at Regina as if this might help him further suss out any traces of gender. Does he get there? Who knows, he is continuing on with a small furrow of his hairless ridged brow, "... fuck am I about to mansplain mansplaining, how does this work. I need a flowchart." He's putting the binder back away where he retrieved it. "Taking care of yourself sounds like a good place to settle. I would say this job can be hard if you're feeling other people but --" He shrugs, turns his hands up: "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that, you've been slinging coffee with your powers -- empathy or not -- for how long? I'm sure you know plenty how draining customers can be." He's glancing back towards the door as its front bell jingles, spilling in a cluster of youths all wet from the storm -- probably this conversation-break will come to a precipitous end as soon as one of them decides what to order. For his part, though, he's just giving Regina a bright smile as he ducks away to grab an apron and wash his hands, presumably to help with the oncoming rush. "-- Thankfully or not thankfully, there'll be plenty of times it's too busy for talking." A bark of a laugh escaped her. Regina had very few joys in life, but being very confusing to anyone about her gender identity was one of them. One of the perks of being bald, gifted with angular features, and tending to wear baggy clothes. But she also laughed because Shane was genuinely funny. He had a great energy about him, and he had this capability of making others comfortable. Fitting for an owner and a leader! It’s a wonder that Evolve had to hire anyone at all. Between him and Hive, she was getting dangerously close to gaining a social circle. The thought almost made her laugh again. Right now, my two friends- if you can call them that -in this entire city are an irritable telepath and a shark with a heart of gold. Can’t say I’m exactly mad about it. “If it helps at all, I use she/they. Mostly because trying to stick to one gender is exhausting. I don’t want to have to explain to everyone why I come to work wearing a suit one day, and a skirt the next. Here, I don’t foresee that being a problem. Everywhere else, it’s either a migraine of a conversation, or none because I am not approachable. A skill I take pride in.” Her thoughts were interrupted by the chattering of- ugh -YOUTHS. But wait. They were probably mutants. There shouldn’t be anything to worry about. Right? Right. Noticing Shane putting on an apron, she gave a sigh of relief and mouthed a “Thank you.”