Logs:What Else You're Here For

What Else You're Here For
Dramatis Personae Desi, Eric, Shane	2019-02-25 '
Location <NYC> Evolve Coffeeshop
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. Late morning on Monday is not Evolve's most bustling time. It's quiet in here, the lone barista behind the counter sitting on a stool fooling around on their phone, a couch in the back occupied by -- it's hard to tell, really, whoever is there has buried themselves under some ancient tatty coats for a nap -- and one singular young woman /actually/ currently drinking coffee at a table by herself. When the bell jingles the barista looks up attentively -- looks back down again upon noting the small and neatly-dressed blue shark person entering. Shane has a long black peacoat over grey slacks and vest, a pale blue button down, his tie tied with an elaborate trinity knot. He carries his violin case in one hand, a black messenger bag slung over the opposite shoulder. His announcement of, "I need like /ten/ coffee," seems less of a demand and more just general information, given that he's ducking behind the bar to make it himself. The tall young woman trailing in Shane's wake is dressed somewhat less formally, a knee-length stand-collar aqua coat over a lilac top dappled with impressionistic flowering trees (plum? cherry?), and a long multi-layered skirt in peacock colors. Her own messenger bag is purple and emblazoned with a stylized red phoenix. She drapes against the counter near where Shane has gotten to work on cranking out caffeine, propping her chin in the palm of one hand. "Would you mind making that ten coffees and a matcha latte?" It is only a few moments after the door closes behind the two step through the door of Evolve that the door swings open again, admittedly a substantially less well dressed figure, blue NYPD uniform streaked with a broad band of brown dirt across the front — and the beginnings of a tear making its way across his stomach. Panting slightly, Eric takes a deep breath and straightens up to glance over the room, though his eyes clearly spend most of their time stuck to Shane. “Mornin’ Shane. Mornin’, ma’am.” he says, voice quiet (and still slightly out of breath), as he steps behind Desi in the line in front of the counter. "Just one matcha?" Shane sounds extremely skeptical of this. He's dumped his bag and instrument and coat in a heap by the counter, sleeves rolled and tucked neatly as he gets to work. "Cuz if you have designs on one of my dozen coffees, just know I'm not sharing." Though he is, ultimately, making himself only /one/ coffee. It still counts as one no matter how many espresso shots go into it, right? He's still busying himself with the drinks when Eric steps up to the counter. His gills whicker softly against the inside of his stiff collar, and he gives only a cursory glance to the officer's disheveled state. "Not bringing any trouble in here, are you?" "Curses, foiled again." Desi does not sound or look much distressed that Shane saw right through her dastardly plan. "Perhaps one /very large/ matcha, then?" The sharpness of her gaze as it cuts aside to Eric forms a stark contrast to her languid posture. "Mmm, it must be the latest fashion for New York's finest--it shows that our offericers are /really/ down to earth." Eric gives the two a smile, though it’s a bit wan at the edges. “No more than usual,” he says, shrugging his shoulders a little bit from side to side. “Down to—“ Eric looks down his chest and then back up, smile turning a bit more genuine. “Ah. Had someone try to jump off of a building today, and I got a little bit dirty making sure it was only a try. But, I do think it looks almost avant-garde. Distressed uniforms are the new black.” "Uh --" The shift across Shane's eyes is subtle, easy to miss as his clear inner eyelids shift closed. "Well, I'm." A long pause. He relaxes at the quiet chime from some of his machinery, turning to finish the drinks he's been preparing. "Glad you got a fashion boost out of the experience. Did you actually want coffee? You should," he jerks a claw in the direction of the barista, "order." Desi's expression and posture do not change when Eric relates the story behind his wardrobe malfunction. Probably only Shane is in any position to actually notice the faint dilation of her pupils, but overall the effect of /darkening/ her bright green eyes might be more apparent. "I'm sure that a little police brutality was exactly what that person needed." Her tone is light but just about bone-dry. Eric gives Shane a puzzled look for a moment, and he hesitates before taking a step forward - closer to both barista and the other cafe customers. “Hiya, can I get a mocha to go? Large, please, with a shot of espresso. Thank’ya.” Eric turns to face Shane again, eyes flicking over his face. “Better a couple’a bruises from a tackle than a six story fall onta’ concrete.” Even though the answer is more to Desi than Shane, his attention is clearly focused on the latter. "Yeeeah I mean I do generally find that brute force is the best tool to apply to psychiatric emergencies. So sending cops to deal with suicidal people --" Shane's tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. He turns back to the counter, setting the two drinks down on it and also snagging a pair of cookies from behind the bakery display before he ducks back beneath to join Desi on the other side, leaving the barista to attend to Eric. "Merci." Desi curls a hand around her mug and drags it close without unfolding herself from her casual lean. But she does shift slightly toward Shane when he comes around the counter to join her. Arches one eyebrow delicately at him, her eyes flicking to Eric and then back. A flicker of annoyance flashes over Eric's face, and though he follows it quickly with a reassuring smile to the barista, his eyes quickly snap back to Shane. "I ain't the one who called them," he says, accent thickening as more emotion seeps into the tone. "And if I hadn't--" Eric cuts himself off, gritting his teeth and momentarily closing his eyes. One can almost see him counting in his head, and a few moments later, he lets out a long breath. "Ain't matter none, not right now. I wanted to talk to ya, Shane, and I ain't seen you in a while. Do you have a couple?" He glances at Desi, then at the barista, then back to Shane with a meaningful lift of his eyebrows. Shane answers the lift of eyebrows with a dip of his own hairless ridge of brow. "You got your coffee, don't know what else you're here for." He's nudging his pile of things towards the nearest table with a foot, mug too full to bother with picking /up/ his coat and bag and violin. "But as you can see --" He's lifting up his mug. His cookie. "I've already got plans." Desi relocates her mug and cookie to the table Shane has selected, but does not yet sit. "Officer, you may choose to forget that everything you do is backed with the threat of state violence, but it can prove somewhat harder for others to ignore." Even now, addressing Eric directly for the first time, she does not look at his eyes but rather the smear of dirt on his chest. Her tone is icy and her posture ramrod straight. "That applies whether you're ordering coffee, performing non-consensual active rescue, or harassing your ex." “Non-consensual—“ Eric blinks at Desi several times and then rolls his eyes. “Right.” His eyes flick over to Shane again, and he gives the younger man a sad smile. “Alright. If that’s what you want, Shane. You’ve got my number if you change your mind.” He pulls out some cash from his pocket to cover the coffee and nods once to each of the two. “Shane. Ma’am.” Eric turns smoothly around, shoulders straight and tensed, as he quickly moves to leave. Shane's gills flutter faster, scraping rapidly against his collar, but he doesn't say anything at all. He lifts his coffee in a vague sort of salute, not really looking toward Eric at all as he settles himself at the table.