Logs:Today's Tom Sawyer

Today's Tom Sawyer
Dramatis Personae Dawson, Gerard, Polaris, Wendy
In Absentia	2020-07-17 "More red meat, more manliness."
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 quiet mid-afternoon, and things around Evolve are -- very slow. The actual cafe floor is quiet, barely any patrons inside right now -- possibly the muggy midday heat is keeping many people indoors, waiting until evening when the city has shed a few degrees to venture back out. Aside from the barista browsing Twitter behind the counter the only people inside right now are a lean young woman with yellow slit-pupiled eyes and greenish-yellow scales sprinkled down her arms, wearing a black leather vest that reads MUTANT MONGRELS MC on the back and drinking an extremely large cup of coffee as she reads Still Black, Still Strong on the couch, and a trio of excitedly chattering teenagers clustered around a front table with large cups of ice cream. Just outside the front door to the cafe, Dawson is leaning up against the railing that surrounds the front patio. He looks as unassuming as always: neatly pressed khakis, pale green short sleeved button-down shirt, hair carefully combed. The mechanical arm he wears is the most colorful thing about him, today painted up in vivid shades of blue-grey, black, white, patterned like a splayed row of white-tipped feathers. There's a bucket of soapy water at his side, though he's not yet touched the scrubbers inside it. Right now he is frowning at the sandwich board outside -- its elaborately lettered chalk that had been cheerfully advertising the day's specials (barbecue tofu banh mi! Mojito sorbet!) has been painted over with bright spray paint that just says: NO. There's a much larger defacement on the actual restaurant wall, reading "DIE MUTIE SCUM" over -- well, it's hard to tell what the picture underneat is. Something pointy? Maybe a knife? The face it is stabbing MIGHT have horns. "No what," Dawson is musing, aloud. "It's succinct, I guess." Polaris has her leaf green hair coiled in a messy bun at the back of her head, a single lock hanging lose beside her cheek. She's sitting balanced--graceful but precarious-looking--on the railing beside Dawson, dressed in a black fitted t-shirt with a silver graphic of an intricate origami unicorn on the chest and tight black jeans, her black leather boots, belt, and wrist cuffs all heavily festooned with steel hardware. "They're just really opposed to tofu banh mi. Obligate carnivore, maybe?" On Polaris's other side, Wendy already has a scrubber in hand. Dry, so far; clearly she hasn't been doing any cleaning. She is wearing white culottes with a gauzy layered yellow top, a flower-embroidered bucket hat on her head, her long black hair bound up in two braids tied off at the ends with ribbons. She taps the back of the scrub brush slowly against the opposite palm. "I read on Twitter," she tells the others, very solemnly, "that soy makes you gay. Maybe they also heard this. Maybe they're concerned for everyone's masculinity." And for our third member- we follow the sidewalk down about a block to find him- gazing upon a small business card referencing the coffee shop known as 'Evolve'. This was Gerard Fursey, a new name in town seeking Xavier's Institute for the Gifted, a rumor passed around heavily between those like him. He dressed in a plentiful amount of black, a heavy trench coat fell to about knee-height with a collar that crawled up to about halfway his cheeks, underneath which he wore a black tank top, that comfortably settled around a black, leather belt with an impressive golden buckle. I'm sure you can assume the color of both his jeans and his loafers as well. The card Gerard held between his index and middle finger incinerated into ash as the young mutant continued his trek towards the coffee shop- holding his head high as he noticed the presence of other teens around the shop's patio, who look to be cleaning up the place. The young mutant passed an old appliance shop- which he peered into the window of to use as a mirror- raking a hand between his horns and through his hair only to watch the curly mess snap right back into place again. Gerard cracked a smirk- one which he maintained until he got within earshot of the patrons outside the shop, where he asked aloud, "Hey! This place a coffee shop?" He continued forward a ways until the defaced mural came into full-view, "-Woah. You guys think it's because soy turns you gay?" Dawson has long since passed his teenage years, but he is still on the patio as Gerard comes into sight. He's still examining the sandwich board, brows slowly pinching together. Thoughtful. His bright blue fingers tap as a unit against the inside of his (regular, fleshy) opposite arm. "I'm normally in favor of brevity," he decides, at least, "but I think this is sacrificing too much clarity. I'd rate it one and a half stars, at best." The heavy scarring on his face crinkles with the quick half-twitch of his smile. "Ohhh. Is that what did it." His brows lift, eyes pulling up from the board to look over to Gerard instead. His gaze freezes on the young man a few beats too long before his smile spreads wider. "Oh, no. We were just speculating about the motives behind --" His arm uncurls from around his chest, fingers flexing out toward the defaced menu board in indication. "If you have ideas, I'm all ears." "Are people still on about 'soy boys'? Or--again?" Polaris snerks, eyes flicking sidewise at Dawson. "Ditto, I guess? Pretty sure I was bi before the vegan phase, though." This with a questioning glance at Wendy. She turns when she hears Gerard's question, though her incipient smile falters when she catches sight of its source. Even so, her answer comes, almost automatic: "It sure is! If you're looking for the infamous Evolve Cafe, you've found it." Her dark green eyebrows arch high. "Yeah, we were just kidding around." Half a beat's thoughtful pause. "I think. Not gonna stop me getting a tofu banh mi for lunch, those things are delicious." "Well. According to this candidate for Florida's 18th congressional district, soy milk is a liberal drink that will send estrogen into your body at record warp speed. -- Does it work the same way for women?" Wendy's head cocks just slightly to one side. She turns the brush over in her hand, fingertips playing against the frayed edges of the stiff bristles. "I think we just turn high-femme." She tips herself down at the waist, dangling the brush into the soap water before taking it toward the wall. She looks at the wall critically, too, though, before she puts bristles to bricks. "Only half a star for this artwork. I don't know what they were going for. Are those horns or --" She half-turns as she starts to scrub, briefly quieting when she looks at Gerard. She blinks once, turns back to scrubbing. "This place is a cafe," she replies, instead of finishing her previous sentence. The stranger took his own look at the defaced mural- his eyes squinted as a milky, secondary set of eyelids split open, revealing yellow eyes with oblong pupils, similar to a goat's, he gazed against the entirety of the mural for only a moment before his vertical, pale eyelids hid his pupils, "Well- big thanks for the directions, all of you." The devil said, turning to the Dawson fella with the robot arm to address his question, "And, y'know, I see the direction they were going with it but I feel like the horns was definitely overdramatic." Gerard turned to the rest of the crowd and poked fun at his own mutation, "-I mean, I know I'm an exception. The name's Gerard, everybody, but if an angry mob asks, y'all never saw me." He took notice of the people around him's work on cleaning up the mural- and for once he felt an obligation to step up and help- "Since I haven't done my good deed for today, I'm sure you folks wouldn't mind a little bit of help?" The devil approached one of the patio's banisters, where he slipped the dark trench coat from over his shoulders and draped it over the metal railing for safe keeping, revealing that his skin was indeed, red, and not just a cheap cosplay- additionally- his arms were dotted with latin phrases and odd runes branded into his skin. He passed by the gal with green hair, Polaris, and proposed a deal with her on the fly, "And maybe once I finish up here you'll let me buy you that tofu?" He rose his hands comically and innocently, "-Just a thought." Before he made it to the soapy bucket where he grabbed a sponge of his own, and started work on scrubbing off those horns. "Uh --" Dawson just blinks as Gerard talks, looking down at the soap bucket in mild bemusement when the teenager takes a sponge unprompted. "Thanks." He picks up a scrub brush of his own, crouching on one knee by the sandwich board. "Most angry mobs that come by here are -- kind of untargeted. Not usually looking for someone specific." He looks a little bit regretful as he starts scrubbing at the menu board -- the bright and cheerful chalk lettering comes off quickly, leaving behind the spray paint. His mouth twitches up when Gerard offers the sandwich -- he darts a brief, amused glance to Polaris. Scrubs diligently at the paint. "Warp speed? You know," he muses, "I did only start eating more soy after moving to New York, and also --" One of his shoulders lifts in a very small shrug. "I feel like the Church is shooting itself in the foot a little encouraging moderation in meat eating. That's clearly what did it." "Man, who needs hormone therapy anymore, just chug a soy protein shake a day and you're good to go." Polaris grins, bright and sharp. That grin fades briefly when Gerard sheds his coat, but returns quickly. "Wow, I feel like Tom Sawyer here, letting you all doing my work for me." She teeters precariously on her perch, then rights herself in apparent defiance of gravity. "Oh, thank you! That's a real sweet offer, but I'm an employee here, so--free lunch." Her smile softens all the same as she finally hops down to examine the graffiti the other are scrubbing at. "Maybe I eat enough of them I can aspire to--any kind of queer aesthetic." She watches Gerard work. "So, are you new in town?" Wendy hides a smile behind the tips of her fingers, stifling a small laugh when Gerard asks Polaris about the sandwich. "The banh mi here is very good," she says lightly, stepping to the side and squatting down lower so that she can start scrubbing at the bottom edge of the messy lettering. "Are you saying the Church is cultivating queerness. Goodness. I don't think they'd like that idea at all. You should let them know. More red meat, more manliness." She glances over to Gerard, then to the coat he's just shed, very brief. Her lips compress; she tugs just a little self-consciously at the light and gauzy hem of her own shirt. Gets back to scrubbing, harder. Gerard seems rather diligent at his work. The devilishly handsome mutant took in the words from those around him with a 'spaced out' grin to him- he was just listening is all. But something strange changes about him, internally, his body temperature spiked but he didn't seem sickly or ill in the slightest. He broke out of the trance in accordance with Polaris' question, peeking over his shoulder to gaze on the dame as he responded, "-No, ma'am, I'm originally from Nevada. You wouldn't imagine the kind of hitchhiking and jaywalking I had to do to make it here." He quips with a snicker. He awaited Wendy to finish up- and with her comments- Gerard's body temperature rises by another small increment, but he still doesn't seem ill in the slightest, if anything, he was becoming smoother, more suave- "It's strange, really, people follow the church's rules so blindly they forget that simple things they do on a daily basis- like eating red meat or pork are condemned in their scripture." Wow, that was a lot of syllables, "-But what do I know about religion? Churches gather angry mobs when I walk by their doors." Gerard let a short increment of time pass before he spoke again, "Sorry for interrupting you guys, but-" He turns from his scrubbing on the wall to face each of the three equally, "-Does anybody here know where a guy like me could find a mattress to sleep on? Maybe one with a frame and some sheets on it?" "I think some of us might imagine it. At least a little." Dawson dips his brush back into the bucket, returning carefullly to scrubbing. His eyebrows lift; he glances over toward Wendy. Then back down to the menu board in front of him. "Condemned in -- whose Scripture, exactly?" His tone is mild -- a thread of curiosity winding through it and lifting his words. "Whose church? I think a lot of people do think through their own scriptures, quite deeply. And come to a whole range of conclusions on what they mean." His lips compress, brows furrowing in sympathy. Softer: "And not every church has those bigotries, either." He tips his head up after this, toward the door of the cafe. "There's a person inside -- green skin, leather vest? She usually knows if there are free beds in some of the local safehouses. But do you mean -- more long term than just a few days?" "I feel like...yeah, that." Polaris inclines her head slightly in Dawson's direction, but it's Wendy she looks at as she says this. "Doesn't make the trip any shorter, but I'm glad you made it here." Her head tilts in the other direction, thoughtful. "Well, growing up Catholic, we weren't super huge on scripture, but I still did my share of thinking about the Church and its teachings. Mostly cuz of her, if I'm honest." She snaps her fingers and points at Wendy. "The veganism had nothing to do with any of that, though." She sobers at the question, nodding at Dawson's reply. "Yeah, and if you're sticking around for a while--living situations can look a lot of different ways, but hopefully we could find someone to point you at?" Wendy's eyes dart to Dawson, but only veeeeeeeeeeeeery quickly before she turns her attention instead to Polaris with a soft hum of laughter. "I seem to inspire that in people. Just -- break out into introspection around me. Debate religious law for days. I have," she confesses thoughtfully, "thought a lot about scripture. Including the Catholics. But I haven't heard of the no red meat thing. Is that new?" Her brows scrunch, uncertain. "There's also a squat. In the neighborhood. A -- sort of nice squat." The pale, milky eyes of the teen squinted on Dawson. What's with the over-analysis? Gerard never found much of an interest in religion as it went hand-in-hand with occult practices as a child, but he knows how to reluctantly quote some scripture, "Check Leviticus Eleven. Read what it has to say about swine- it's sin to even touch a pig." The devil's brow relaxed as he continued, "Everyone knows about the whole 'Buddhist' thing sweeping the nation, right? It's against that statue guy's word to eat red meat- and some of you wouldn't believe me when I told you I met this Hindu kid once, great guy, good sense of humor, who told his dad he was staying for after-school tutoring when he was really at the McDonald's drive through." Gerard chortled before he shrugged, "But to each be their own- and by the way- when you look like this, it's not too hard to find masses to upset." The teen returned his focus back on cleaning up the mural, working while he spoke, "Well, I'm just looking for somewhere to kick my feet for a while, y'know? Something to really be a part of.-" He cut himself off to listen to Wendy's suggestion, favoring it to an extent, "-Now, a squat is something I'm familiar with. Really kindhearted people run those things- it's a shame they all struggle like they do." The image of the horns on the mural had washed down into a tiny pool of red soap, with his part finished, Gerard offered to take up Dawson's share of work, "I can take over from here, if you wish." "I know what Leviticus says," Dawson replies with a small shake of his head, scrubbing the last of the board clean. "I have read the Bible. There are plenty of people who do follow those strictures. The reason most Christians don't has -- literally nothing to do with not knowing they're in there, you know." He lowers his brush, eyes just slightly wider as he blinks over at Gerard. There's a noticeably long delay, but he's still gentle when he continues. "I -- don't think you're really entirely clear on what Buddhism is about." He shakes his head at Gerard's offer. Politely: "I'm fine, thank you." He flicks a stray soap bubble off the bright blue tip of one of his mechanical fingers, standing and plucking the bucket up to move it closer to Wendy. "Be part of? In what kind of way? I mean, are you just looking for housing, or are you looking for..." He trails off uncertainly, his brows furrowing, briefly, before he gestures to the door again. "You should talk to J.C. Inside, in the Mongrels vest. She'll get you sorted." His smile is quick, but encouraging, before he turns back to the wall. Puffs out his cheeks, sets himself to scrubbing the enormous letters alongside Wendy. Only after Gerard has disappeared inside does he shake his head, say a little more flatly: "... the whole 'Buddhist' thing."