Logs:Slowly Evolving

Slowly Evolving
Dramatis Personae Carnage, Dusk
In Absentia	2022-05-17 "You kinda have to deal with a little weird around here."
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. Carnage is... reluctantly pulling a Cletus. And by that, we mean that he is coming into Evolve minus his blood-arm, minus his yellow eye -- instead, wearing the best 'hand-me-downs' he could find that managed to fit him. Said hand-me-downs are surprisingly not bad! -- a nice (but not too stylish) black leather jacket, a blue buttoned-up shirt beneath, and light beige slacks. The left sleeve of the jacket is pinned up with a safety pin; the right eye-socket has been (again, with some reluctance) tucked beneath a plain-old black eye-patch. Apparently, exposed eye-sockets make people wary. Otherwise, Cletus cleans up relatively well. The ginger's freckled face looks a little sallow, but considerably less sallow when they first found him. His curly, fuzzy copper-red hair is trimmed short, but a little bit sloppily; his one remaining eye (a bright green) swoops around the restaurant almost with a hint of manic fascination. "...Jesus, didn't know they made buildings... this friggin' tall," he mutters under his breath. Dusk in his very own clothing manages to look less put together than Cletus in hand-me-downs, on the far end of casual in cutoff jean shorts, a plain blue v-neck tee, ancient battered Vans sneakers. His brows lift skeptically at this tall. He is eying the cafe, considerably less impressed at its stature -- though Cletus's fascination does put a warm smile on his face. His wing stretches out, lightly bumping the other man's shoulder. "We'll work our way up to checking out Midtown, yeah?" He's sauntering to the counter to grab a menu for Cletus before tucking them both actually in line behind a very chattery pair of teenagers in Xavier's School soccer uniforms. "The coffee is great here. The food gets people's high praise, too, but --" His wing lifts in a small shrug. There's a subtle tension in Cletus's shoulders as he scans the room a little more closely with his eye. He briefly pauses at the teenagers that they settle behind, frowns, moves on -- and then, once he seems to recognize no one else -- lets himself relax. Just a little bit. His hand is still shoved deep into his pocket, though. "I don't think," he admits, hesitantly, "I've ever had coffee." He shuffles a bit in place, slightly agitated. "...it's weird as shit, not..." His eye drifts back to Dusk, briefly alighting over his wings. "People ain't gonna lose their shit here if I just... have my other hand, right?" Under that eye-patch, he might actually be doing the eye-thing. It's harder not to do it. "Mmm -- maybe stick with some lemonade then. Or one of the crazy-sweet coffees, I'unno. It can be a real acquired taste so you totally might hate it." Dusk is watching Cletus watch the room, and his stance eases when the other man's does. He doesn't give an immediate answer to the arm question, brows scrunching. "I think some people might be startled if they notice," he finally offers, "or curious -- younger mutants especially sometimes ask all kinds of excited personal questions about other people's powers -- but people aren't gonna freak out. You kinda have to deal with a little weird around here." "I can deal with questions. I'm used to that," Cletus mumbles, his hand drifting to the safety pin. He unsnaps it and tugs it free. The flap unfurls; something emerges from inside it, flowing forward to fill it. Carnage at least takes care to not make his hand look like the casual weapon it is -- he forces himself to keep the fingertips blunt and human-like, rather than a series of steak-knives attached to a palm. He wiggles his red fingers and sighs with relief, like he's finally stretched a long-cramped limb. His eyes drift past the pair of Xavier kids, again, before mumbling to Dusk: "...there's... there's a lot of mutants in this city..." For just a moment, there's a tinge of something sad in his tone. There are several curious glance from the most nearby tables -- a "holy shit that's cool" from one of the teenagers in front of them -- but for the most part nobody is freaking out. Dusk himself is watching the unfurling blood with an involuntary rumble of his stomach. He pulls his gaze away to skim the room, nodding. "More than pretty much anywhere on earth, I think. Other cities have mutant community, but it's pretty much only here that running into us is normal without seeking it out." He's glancing, sidelong, back to Cletus. "... you got any non-eating-people hobbies? Getting out and doing stuff is a great way to actually meet more of us." Something almost close to a grin flickers over Carnage's face at the response from one of the teenagers, but it only lingers for a moment -- before he's reaching back with his flesh-and-bone hand to scratch at the back of his head awkwardly. "I'm not used to... it's weird, not having people run or scream in terror, y'know?" He blinks at the mention of 'community'. "Communities. Of mutants. Jesus." A pause, at the mention of hobbies. He thinks for a moment, before adding, with some embarrassment: "Um. Horror movies, I guess. And... fighting. I like fighting. But I think... I think that's probably related to the... eating-people thing." They're getting closer to the counter, now; just the pair of teens between them and an order. "...how many of them -- been through the labs?" he asks, that hint of sadness resurfacing. "Well -- not trying to kill them does help with that like -- a lot." There's a crooked skew to Dusk's smile at this that brightens, more excited, immediately after: "Oh shit, fighting? You should come back here with me Friday I'll show you a good time, you really want to tear into someone you can --" He cuts himself off here when the kids in front of him have finished their order, the barista now giving Dusk a slightly bemused look. "... uh-hi-thanks," his segue is a little flustered, "can I just get a large black coffee and -- whatever he wants." Carnage's eyebrows zoom up at both Dusk's excited tone and at the mention of 'tearing into someone'. Without even thinking, Carnage's fingertips have sharpened, albeit only somewhat. There's a ghost of a grin on his face; the left-side of his mouth curls up. "...what, you got some sort of thunderdome shit goin' on down here? Though, I don't know, thing about me is, it's almost never fair --" He pauses, here, shortly after Dusk did. Catching eyes with the cashier, he briefly tries on a fake smile. It looks... actually, not too bad. A bit too toothsome, maybe. "Pink lemonade," he announces, eyes flicking up to the menu. Then, a moment later, as they're stepping aside to let more folks make their way to the cashier, he adds -- a bit more cautiously: "...though, gotta admit, since I got out, I've seen... well, maybe I ain't as unstoppable as I thought." Uncomplicated as their drinks are, they are poured in short order. Dusk takes his coffee to a table, flipping the chair backwards before he sits down in it. "Bro, I run into people every day in Freaktown who could wipe the floor with you. There are definitely people at Fight Club could give you a run for your money. You're tough, but I don't know if you really get how wild and terrifying freaks can get."