Logs:The Faces of God
| The Faces of God | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | |
| In Absentia | 2024-12-28 "I'm working through ssssssome sssssshit." |
| 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. Samuel's managed to convince someone to lend him a phone charger, allowing him to get some power back in his iphone and check on things. After checking his texts, he's not sure he wanted to see em. No messages from either of his parents, which he was really hoping for. A few of the people he got the numbers of sent him some...unsavory messages. And worst of all, his sister's apparently sent a TON of texts...and he doesn't have the heart to answer any of em. "...Lil sssssisssss..." He just slumps onto the table, and switches the camera to selfie mode to look at himself. This is his face now. Like it or not, this is him. The big slimy scaly freak. So...what's he going to do with this? How can he make something out of something so...not him? There's another person coming to a table next to Samuel's. Among the mostly human-passing crowd at Evolve, Bryce stands out in his own way as much as Samuel -- a strange melange of ill-fitting features. Vivid red feathers crowning his head, the face below covered in sleek-smooth jet-black scales. Huge insectoid compound eyes. Thick black and white fur poking out at his wrists from beneath the sleeves of his blue sweater. Long clawed fingers. Bryce is carrying a tray -- gooey grilled cheese, tomato soup, a hot mug of cider. He settles himself carefully at the table, pulling out both his phone and a small pocket-sized Book of Mormon. He seems about to open the latter to read it, but instead is turning slightly in his seat, looking with a small tilt of his head at the man slumped against the next table over. The alien composition of his face make his expression difficult to read, but when he finally speaks his voice is cautiously concerned. "Hey, um, are you -- okay?" He looks up at him, and his knee jerk instinct is to be like "WOAH WHAT THE FUCK". He's able to keep that to himself, but his expression doesn't hide his absolute bewilderment at Bryce's appaearance as well as it probably should. He blinks slowly, staring at the strangely morphed mutant. It takes a moment to take his appearance in, and then realize he's being addressed. Find the words, find a story. Try a little harder to fit in here, and think a little less about looks (but he looks like someone hit randomize on character select). "Um. I'm working through ssssssome sssssshit. It'sssss not much to worry about." It's only his life. No big deal. "I'm Ssssssamuel. Who're you?" "Oh," is all Bryce says at first, his expression not visibly changing. There's a delay before he adds, "-- I'm sorry. It looks a little worrying, you were kind of --" He slouches in his seat, sort of miming a slumping motion. "Anyway sorry I wasn't trying to like, interrupt I just -- you looked a little sad and I --" He trails off for a moment. His head shakes, and he's still chipper when he remembers to answer: "Um, I'm Bryce! They have really good cider here and it's so gross out." He blinks a few times. "Well, yeah. I'm ssssssad. Lotsssss of ssssshit to be sssssad about." Samuel tries to play it off. Clearly, he's with someone else with their share of insecurities...so if he gets his act together, he can seem like the mature and confident one of this interaction! Yeah, that's feasible! "Nice to meet you, Bryce. It'ssssss pretty hard for me out in that weather, sssssso I've been hangin around the place til houssssssing isssss figured out. What kinda place do you come from?" "I'm sorry to hear that," Bryce replies, quiet and earnest. His long dark fingers are fidgeting at the cover of the book in front of him, and as if hit by a sudden flare of inspiration, he sits up just a little taller. "Sometimes things do get very sad but --" He is picking up the pocket-sized Book of Mormon and offering it out to Samuel. "-- when things are hard I look in here and it always helps me feel better. Like, just knowing that our Savior came to turn all our sorrows into joys can make so many hard times a little easier." He blinks looking at the book of mormon. "...I'm a chrissssstian, dude. I already have a belief." That said, he's feeling pretty unloved by god at this second. Still, his expression shifts into a "Really?" sort of look, intentionally or not. "Like, I believe. I know that there'ssssss a god looking out for me in all of thissssss." Sammy lets out a little huff. "...I jussssssst can't underssssstand why this would be part of their plan." "Well," Bryce is saying, as though he has a fantastic secret to let Samuel in on, "what a lot of other Christians don't know is that the Bible they're reading isn't complete. There was a whole other testament to Jesus Christ revealed later to Joseph Smith and it has some really beautiful things in there." He has reached over to set the small Book of Mormon down on Samuel's table, giving it a small pat pat. After this, though, his confidence is flagging and he is sounding a little more uncertain. "Don't understand why -- what?" Samuel gestures to himself. "Uh. Y'know. The appearance thing." He points at his face a little more forcefully to make it more obvious. "I can't ssssssssee what purpossssse god would have for me turning into a sssssssnake man. I jussssst don't get it." His tail slides up onto the table, slapping near a soda can a few time. Samuel's trying to make it do what he wants...to middling results. "I don't think God's plan is for us to know, all the time. Like if we knew it all then we'd just be God already, right? That's what faith is for, we wouldn't need it if we understood everything perfectly." Bryce fidgets, and takes a nibble of his sandwich. He chews it over very slowly before, cautiously, like he already might be a little sure he will not like the answer, ventures: "... what's wrong with being a snake guy?"
"That asssssside..I, well."
"People who are....important to me are intolerant of mutantsssssss. Becoming thisssssss hassssss sssssevered my relationssssss to them."
"I'm trying to accept thisssss. To look to the future. But being frank, I'm mad. I can't undersssssstand god'ssssss plan in thissssss, and it feelssssss cruel." "Oh! Yeah, that does sound hard." Bryce winces sympathetically at this, looking up and down Samuel again. He takes another slow bite of his sandwich, this time dipping it first in the soup. "It kind of sounds like a just stay inside for the winter situation, but, I guess, if you're old..." He hesitates, his head ducking slightly in a small cringe between his shoulders. "I just mean," he says hastily, "if you have a job and all, then it would be hard to just hole up." He dunks his sandwich a few times more at the corner and then takes a large bite. Even after he has done swallowing it, he is still chewing lightly at the insides of his cheeks in thought. "I have a lot of those in my family," he admits slowly. "It is pretty rough." Then, teeentatively again, he gestures towards the book. "But! I think times like these can really serve to bring us closer to God, if we let it. When things are at their hardest, isn't that when we need Him the most?" "..." Samuel feels EXTREMELY unemployed. "Working on the employment part. And houssssssing. 2024 issssssn't my year." There's a grimace on his face. "I mean, I guessssssss it can? But assssss I've heard, doessssssn't us being mutantsssss make usssss like...not in hissssss image?" He fidgets with his hand. "A persssssson I knew....an important persssssson..." Sammy's father. Steven Copra, famed author of "The image of God and how we can be worthy of it". It was a bestseller in christian households. "...he ssssssaid that if man wasssss made in the image of god, then ssssssurely mutantsssss are made in the image of sssssatan. It hangsssss on me, that ssssstatement. I do not know how to refute it." "Um, I'm pretty sure that person is," Bryce says, and promptly shoves another mouthful of sandwich into his face. Then takes a loooong slow drink from his cider. Then stirs his soup, takes another slow bite. After all this he is, apparently, running out of stalling tactics, so ventures a little awkwardly: "-- not correct. They kind of just -- sound -- mean, actually? And..." He hesitates on the next part, but then gives up and shrugs, fumbling again awkwardly: "-- pretty wrong. Heavenly Father made all of us and it sounds pretty arrogant to decide they know better than God how we should be. If God made us like this, it was for a reason." He grabs at the can of soda, finally coiling around it and starting to pull it over to him across the table. The tail's working... "...They...were important to me. It'ssssss unlikely mutantsssss could exissssst without it being god'sssss will, but..." Samuel's tail starts to tighten a grip on the drink. "I ssssssuppose its really a matter of that relation. To go againssssst what they taught me, and how they guided me to the lord...it feelssssss like i am sssssinning." "I mean, it kinda sounds like they guided you --" Bryce is hesitating again, stirring at his soup before he plows on: "-- away from the Lord? Like, you literally just told me that we belong to Satan, that's pretty far from God." He shrugs, turning back to take a mouthful of soup. "I'm sorry your faith doesn't have room for, uh, you, in it, that sounds pretty lonely. At my Church we kind of take it serious that we're all God's children. That means believing in a God big enough to love everyone." "Well....I guesssss that'ssss hard to fully dissssspute. It was never an isssssssue until...the mutation." Samuel looks inquisitively at bryce. "Sssssso...what makesssss mormonissssssm different? Assssside from having a place for everyone, I mean." His tail starts trying to lift the can upwards without breaking it... "So many things." Bryce's expression is still difficult to read, but his tone has lit up at this, his posture perking. He motions toward the book that he'd set in front of Samuel. "For one, we have access to the complete Gospel, a lot of -- other churches -- aren't reading the whole word of God. Maybe," he decides thoughtfully, "this is why they're not as good at loving you." He gulps down another mouthful of cider and then digs in his pocket, coming up with a pamphlet, small and glossy -- it's advertising a place called The Refuge. Maybe it's a church. Maybe it's a community center. Maybe it's a shelter. It seems a little vague on the finer details. There are many pictures of people all smiling unnecessarily bright for the tasks they're doing -- gardening, or helping a child to read, or playing basketball, or tending goats. "If you want to learn more you can come visit us, it's just over in Staten Island and we have room for everyone. My brother's the --" Another hesitation, "-- he kind of leads things there and we're very welcoming to mutants and everyone. Plus," he's adding this like it is an afterthought, fully secondary to the pure Love of Christ, "-- we've got plenty of place there for people to sleep if you don't have somewhere. You should think about it, I'd be really sad too if I didn't have a faith community anymore." Samuel can tell the guy likes it when he listens. While he doesn't really know how to feel about the idea of there being a more complete version of the bible. However...he does feel lesser without a religion. So does he just discard his faith and jump into a new one? That's not an easy call at all. "I'll consssssider it. We'll ssssssee how I feel about the refuge, but I'll find the time to at leasssssst go eyeball it." Sammy wonders what the deal is with the brother. Sibling issues like him? "The place to ssssssleep doesssss ssssssound really good right about now....what'sssss the rent?" "Rent?" Bryce's head tilts, slight and quizzical. "What are you talking about?" He blinks. "Y'know...the money you pay to live in a place? The fundsssss? Nobody gets a place to live for free, there'ssssss alwaysssss a ssssstipulation. Correct?" "Um -- no." Bryce is still looking a little uncertainly at Samuel. "It's God's house, what kind of church did you..." He trails off here and hastily takes another bite of his sandwich before he explains, with an air of tremendous patience: "Jesus already paid all our rents." "Ah. Well I mean I thought-" He just stops. No sense in fighting an offer for a free place. "Doessss it come with a full room, or issssss it like a homelessssss ssssshelter where you sssssleep on the floor in a sssssssleeping ba-" His attempt to lift his soda with the tail goes wrong. He squeezes too hard and it explodes on both of them. ".............oooooooooooooh ssssssssssssssssssssshit." "We -- sleep in beds," Bryce's earnest patience is starting to sound just the tiniest bit strained, a faint incredulity in him that -- "Ack!" He's jumping up at the spurt of soda, wiping uncomfortably at his furry arm. "Oh gosh, I --" He's rabbiting off already, though, hastening to go collect extra napkins and a cup of water; he's returned with these in short order, kind of futilely dabbing at his fur with one napkin as he hands a stack of them -- and the water -- to Samuel. "... do your hands... not... work for that?" "...I'm ssssssorry about that. I'm trying to get ussssssed to it." He holds the tail in his hands. "If I can find a ussssse in it....if I can make it worth sssssomething....then it wouldn't be all for nothing. Ssssssso I need to masssssster it." Samuel lets out a huff, before cleaning himself off with bryce's help. "I appreciate that. You're clearly very compassssssssionate." "Maybe that's," Bryce suggests carefully, "better to practice somewhere where you won't..." He cannot seem to find a sufficiently non judgemental way to finish this sentence, and also is kind of giving up on wiping at his sticky arm. The soda is not properly coming off of the thick fur, and with a small sigh he frowns down at his arm. The fur is shrinking, ungrowing; left behind on his arm and hand now is smooth sleek black scales. He wipes once more at these with more satisfaction. "Anyway," he's adding brightly, "I've had lots of practice getting used to new tails -- new everything really. And my brother's a doctor, he specializes in mutants with weird body needs like us. Maybe if you come by some time I can help you practice with the tail thing and he can help you figure out how to manage the whole -- cold blooded stuff." Samuel gets the point. This stupid power’s horribly messy and difficult to use, like dragging a weight behind him. “If your brother’sssss really a doctor on mutation, sssseeing him sssseemssss like it can be a priority. Getting usssssed to all the ssssscaly ssssshit issss crucial.” "Yeah of course he's really a doctor," Bryce is sounding puzzled all over again, "why would I..." He shakes his head quickly, and does not take his seat again. His soup and sandwich are only half-finished, but with a quick! Bright! smile, he's picking them back up and bobbing his head cheerfully to Samuel. He nods towards the pamphlet -- "Well! You know where to find us! Hopefully I'll see you around?" -- and is quickly scooting away towards the counter to get a to-go container. ...Samuel is getting the distinct impression that if this was a video game, he's chosen all the wrong dialog options and put a friendship value into negatives. This has been a real shitshow on his end, huh? "Yeah. Sssssometime for ssssssure." Say something else, say something else. Be natural. "I hope you enjoy your meal!" Fuck. That was not it. "-- oh we have great food too!" is the last, light thing that Bryce offers over his shoulder, in support of Dropping By For A Visit -- and then he's ducking out the door. | |
