Logs:Friend-to-Be

Friend-to-Be
Dramatis Personae Hulk, Marinov
In Absentia	2021-12-18 "Hulk can have different clothes?"
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. While the din of the lunchtime crowd is starting to fade, the cafe is still busy enough that the conversations that are happening blend together. Some stand out more than others, however. Marinov is wearing a cherry red jacket, over a grey top with a plunging neckline, the thicker white ruff of their chest fur poking out in contrast to the black lining and collar of the jacket. Their pants are equally red as the jacket, and they presently sit forward on the chair with their tail threaded through the back. "... Thank you for your input, I will make the adjustments as requested." They nod their head towards their companion, who is apparently just leaving. The woman with four black eyes, chitinous iridescent skin is putting on her jacket, crossing her extra four thin limbs underneath it so that she can get it on. Her voice, while not particularly loud, somehow carries through any background noise."No, thank you! I am so excited to see how it turns out, if you need anything, just..." She makes a phone motion with her hand and then waves again, "Alright, gotta run! Have a good one!" Marinov inclines their head slightly in acknowledgement, "You too," as the woman heads to the door. They tap a claw idly against the various croquis they have both on loose sheets and in their sketchbooks, their eyes no longer on their work but at the door that closes behind the woman. The door closes behind Marinov's clients, then immediately opens to admit another stand-out patron, stooping carefully as he enters. He's easily 7 feet tall and looks nearly half that wide, and wears only a purple athletic tank topping black shorts. Also, he is solid, vivid green from head to toe. He's perhaps not a completely unexpected sight, given the green-haired barista greets him with with "heyyy big guy!" He orders five of the daily specials, an extra-extra large hot cocoa, pays in cash and refuses the change with an enthusiastic "HULK TIP!" before wandering farther into the cafe in search of seating that will comfortably accommodate him. Normally that would probably be the couch or one of the large arm chairs in the back, but all of those are currently occupied and he looks uncertain how to proceed. When he spots Marinov he brightens and evidently forgets all about his seating woes as he lumbers over, till for all his size and strength he manages not to knock any tables or chairs over. "KITTY!" he exclaims. Then, frowning, repeats in an indoor voice, "Kitty person." The urge to peoplewatch only increases as the giant green man enters the cafe, and Marinov watches his interactions with curiosity. But when faced with Hulk's outside voice being directed their way, their ears immediately fold back, eyes widen with wild panic, their hair stands on end, and their carefully threaded tail floofs up. And, is that a hiss? Marinov might say it was a stifled yelp, but they would be a less than reliable witness. There's a few moments pause as they blink a few times and then begin to brush themselves off as if nothing ever happened. "I don't normally go by 'Kitty', that would be confusing as that is my roommate's name. I am Taylor. Marinov." Hulk looks somewhat perplexed, thick brows furrowing in thought. If he was going to ask for clarification, he never quite gets there. "Taylor is Hulk friend!" He is clearly struggling to keep his voice low. "That Taylor." He points towards the counter and the kitchen area beyond. "Hulk happy to meet Taylor Marinov!" He frowns again, then helpfully ads as he taps his own chest with an index finger, "Hulk." "Oh, yeah, that Taylor," Marinov also points in the general direction of the counter, "is my friend too. He's a great guy." They straighten some of their pages as well as their posture. "It's nice to meet you too as well. Hulk? That--" Their eyes drift over Hulk's extremely muscular form. "Makes sense. I bet your friends probably ask you for help whenever they need any help moving. How'd you meet Taylor?" "Bad People!" Hulk would clearly like to be shouting this, but has settled for the loudest stage whisper anyone is likely to hear without audiokinesis being involved. "Bad people try to hurt Taylor." Their frown is disapproving in the extreme. "Hulk help! People try to hurt Hulk, too. And other people like, like--" He points at himself, then at Marinov then at the counter again, though presumably not at the only-technically-physical-mutant barista pouring hot cocoa into a comically large mug. "Us. Need to protect each other." Marinov nods a couple of times in understanding, their eyes still fixed on Hulk. "Ohh, yeah, sometimes bad people can be like that. Glad you were able to help out, I've been in dicey situations 'cause bad people can be total jerks to 'us', I know how it is." They turn slightly to grab their twitching tail so that they can smooth it down to regular size again. "We definitely got a responsibility to look out for one another. If we don't, who will? Though, uh, I'm sorta surprised anyone would try and hurt you, since like." They flex their arm demonstratively and squeeze their own bicep. "Jerks!" Hulk agrees vehemently. Then repeats the word as if trying it on for size, "jerks." He watches Marinov smooth over their tail with unabashed curiosity. He blinks hugely at the (probably rhetorical) question. "Maybe...the other mutants?" He does not sound skeptical as such, but there is a suggestion of not-holding-his-breath in that hesitation. "Jerks try to hurt Bruce, or other people, then Hulk get mad and tell them to stop. Sometimes jerks run away!" His massive shoulders shrug. "Sometimes not. Sometimes, they have knives and guns. Sometimes they call cops." "Aw fuck. Yeah, jerks will often call cops," says Marinov, their ears flipping back once again as they huff at the thought. "Sometimes even after the guns and knives. I hope the cops don't give you too much hassle." This is said more sympathetically than with the expectation that cops are not going to cop. "Is Bruce another friend of yours? It's good of you to look out for people like that... whether they're friends, or friends-to-be." "Cops hassle Hulk." Hulk's voice is low and unhappy, here. "Cops hassle us because they think we look weird. Hulk think they all look the same." He hunches slightly, the effect particularly dramatic on someone so large and seemingly self-assured. "Hulk don't think Bruce want to be friend. But Hulk stuck with Bruce and Bruce stuck with Hulk." His hunch squeezes in tighter. "Hulk not know word for that. Is that 'friend-to-be'?" Marinov laughs delightedly and takes a sip of their tea, gesturing with it towards Hulk, "Yeah, and they sure don't help by all dressing the same all the time! I respect a bold, different kind of look." They gesture between themselves and Hulk at this. "I identify people easier by smell, too, so the smell of pork overwhelms." They pause for a few moments as they think, watching Hulk's diminished posture, "I am not sure what the word for that is. Is he your brother or something? I'm an only child so I don't really know what that's like. I sure hope it is 'friend-to-be', you seem like a nice guy, dunno why he wouldn't want to be friends." "Cops smell like pork?" Hulk sounds somewhat amazed by this revelation. "Hulk not notice that before." He seems to give the question a lot of consideration, and even when he does reply he sounds very unsure. "Bruce afraid of Hulk, but maybe Bruce is Hulk brother. If you meet Bruce, you can ask." The barista sweeps over with Hulk's cocoa (the mug, not one of Evolve's standard set, reads "I Like Big Mugs and I Cannot Lie"). Her eyes skip between Marinov and Hulk and the table he's not really sitting at, unsure exactly what to do with the cocoa. "Food will be up in a bit, but uh, do you want a chair? I think the communal tables has like three extra." Hulk blinks slowly at the barista as he takes the cocoa, then tells her in a confidential whisper that can be heard three tables away, "Hulk break puny human chairs." "Well... maybe not quite like pork," admits Marinov, "but they tend to have a pretty coppy kinda smell." They sit up a little bit when the barista approaches with the big mug, and then look around at the exchange to see if any of the more accommodating spots have freed up, though alas, none have. "Hm, I wonder if we can't claim a seat that would be more comfortable. Though," they look from their fashion sketches on the table to Hulk, "I could also stand, so that at least you are not the only one unseated." The barista flushes bright red and scans the cafe more or less as Marinov just did and, presumably, arriving at the same conclusion. "I could ask some of the people at the couch if they wouldn't mind moving?" Hulk does not seem much put off. In fact, the widening of his eyes and his sudden wide smile speak pretty strongly of surprised delight. "Taylor Marinov no need stand. Magnet Girl no need bother couch people. Hulk sit here." By way of demonstration he just--sits down cross-legged on the floor, his head just about level with an average sized person sitting in a puny human chair. "Maybe Taylor Marinov show Hulk your art? HULK LI--Hulk like art!" "Well. That works," says Marinov, their eyes about level with Hulk's now. "The couch people can rest easy now," they remark for both Hulk and Polaris's benefit. Their ears swivel away in anticipation of another moment of loudness, but they just as quickly swivel back and perk up. "I would be happy to! These are croquis, or fashion sketches. I design clothes, but for every design I do, I draw a whole bunch of these." Marinov turns a couple of pages around, depicting the four-eyed model in a few poses wearing sketches of designs that would allow her space for her lower arms not normally afforded by other clothes. The figures are elegant enough, but the clothing is certainly the part that has been given the most love, in terms of how it drapes and the fabric patterns. "I often design for those with unusual proportions, or whose powers make other clothing difficult, so I have lots of these. I store my finished designs on my tablet." They gesture vaguely to the device under other papers. "Easier to colour them in without extra equipment that way." Hulk sucks down what would probably count as a whole cup of cocoa to most people, studying Marinov's croquis with interest and growing amazement. "Taylor Marinov make clothes? Put the art in the computer and it print clothes?" He plucks at his own tank top, then looks back down at the sketches with Marinov's client. "Pretty!" It's unclear whether this refers to the outfits, or the person in them. "Taylor Marinov make those clothes?" Here, at least, it seems evident he means what Marinov is currently wearing. "If only it were so easy that I could print them out! I have to sew them, generally speaking," says Marinov. They pick up their tablet, the screen lighting up as they start to search through their gallery of images. "I make a lot of clothes I wear," they explain, as they turn the screen around to show Hulk. Coloured sketches of their current outfit, being worn by a felinoid figure. "I have unusual proportions, so I need to customize other clothes I get as well." There is a few moments of pause as Marinov considers Hulk himself. "How do you get your clothes? I have a hard time even estimating what your measurements would be, you must get from pretty niche sellers." Hulk listens with wide-eyed wonder, as though it had not occurred to him until now that people could sew clothes. "Hulk have unusual proportions, too!" He seems very pleased to find this common ground. "Bruce print clothes, with the computer. Maybe Bruce show Taylor Marinov how!" He retrieves from a pocket a wallet far too small for his gigantic hands, and delicately removes a business card with the Stark Industries logo at the top ("Bruce Banner," it reads above the contact information, "Senior Engineer, R&D Division"). "No need measurements, Hulk clothes stretchy." Then, after a small hesitation and another glance at Marinov's tablet, "Bruce not artist." Marinov's eyes widen, as if amazed by this teeny tiny wallet in those huge hands. "Ohh, stretchy, that makes sense. With conventional fabrics, I expect that even flexing you would cause some tearing... I wonder what kind of material he uses?" They look at the card for a few moments, then slips it into a pocket inside of their jacket. "Senior engineer. He must be some kind of genius, I heard Stark gets up to all kinds of research. If he has access to textiles that can stand up to punishment, then I bet he could help a lot, though I expect the materials would end up being outside my price range... but at least if he is not an artist, I may be able to help him with adding some diversity to your wardrobe through designs that he can, presumably, print. If that is something you'd like, anyhow." Hulk nods very seriously, but there's amusement in his expression and voice. "Hulk tear many clothes." He plucks at his tank again. "Hulk not know what this is. Science cloth. Bruce big genius." He frowns, reconsidering these words. "Small genius." His eyes go very wide, his smile even wider. "Hulk clothes all the same. Different colors, same, same..." He does not seem to know the word he needs, and moves on without too much fuss. "Hulk can have different clothes?" "I guess if your clothes are printed, they are likely seamless," says Marinov thoughtfully to themselves. "I am not sure what Bruce's printer can do, but I would bet you could have all kinds of clothes. That are totally stretchy and everything!" They gesture as if pulling on something to stretch it out. They glance over Hulk again. "Though you pull the athletic clothing look off well, and I like that purple on you. So it would all just depend on the kinds of things you'd like to wear. Different people have different tastes, and I try to be understanding of that." Hulk rubs his chin thoughtfully; the gesture looks odd on him, as if he has learned it from someone else, but not well enough yet to make it look natural. "Bruce has many printers. Tony has many printers. Print different things." He takes another "sip" of his cocoa. "Hulk not know what Hulk likes to wear." Though he brightens suddenly. "Hulk like soft things." "Soft things are nice," says Marinov as they rub their own neck as if to test it out for softness. "I think a lot of people don't know what they like to wear, personal style is a process of discovery." They tilt their head back and forth, and it seems as though their thoughts finally catch up when they say, "Wait, you know Tony? Like, Tony Stark? Guess 3D printing is like, the way of the future... All kinds of Star Trek shit. Stark Trek." "Hulk like discovering. Discovering soft things is good!" Hulk seems more and more enthusiastic about the proposed clothing design adventure. "There are labs, with those machines. People go in there to make things." He frowns deeply, troubled. "Hulk know Tony Stark but Hulk call him Tony. Tony also little big genius, he make a lot of machines." "Huh, holy shit, guess you've got friends in high places! Well..." Marinov taps their breast pocket where the card was tucked away. "Guess I can reach out to Bruce, and maybe we can get a tour of some of those machines. I would love to see what they have and if anything might benefit my clients, even if it's not currently available technology... If Bruce is already making clothes for you, well, I would hope that he welcomes some creative suggestions." Their tail curls up slightly, and their expression softens with delight at the prospect. "Either way, it would be my pleasure to assist in your exploration."