ArchivedLogs:Finding Peace

Finding Peace
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Micah, Deanna, Gabriel	15 December 2013 Some serious conversations while waiting for brunch. (Part of Infected TP and Prometheus TP.)
Location <NYC> Home – Greenwich Village
Nestled into the heart of the Village, Home is an unobtrusive place, with an unobtrusive name to match. A nondescript storefront opens up into an equally nondescript cafe, plain tiled floors, an assortment of veneered tables with plain wooden chairs or booths with cracking vinyl benches. What it /does/ have to recommend it is the food, hearty solid breakfast and brunch served twenty-four hours a day. Known to locals and little frequented by tourists, its friendly serving staff tend to remember their regulars, giving the place a warm feel that lives up to its name. The weather outside is still definitely wintry, cold and snowy and the city's spotty infrastructure means that cleaning /up/ the mess has been spotty, too. It's not very inviting weather to be out in, but it /is/ inviting weather to enjoy a cozy warm meal, which makes brunch time at Home a rather /crowded/ affair, tables packed and a cluster of people on chairs by the front waiting to be seated. Dusk's options when he wants to go out for a meal tend to be limited. /Arriving/ at the diner he doesn't look all /that/ noteworthy, long trenchcoat giving him an odd hunchbacked appearance -- though as soon as he takes it /off/ the reason for it is evident enough in the giant wings pressed up against his back. He's otherwise kind of bland in appearance, oversized sweatshirt, jeans, boots, sunglasses. Thankfully, this place at least is not just tolerant but friendly, even if the server is apologetic when she tells him the wait might run about half an hour. His fanged teeth scrape against his lip, and he looks from the crowded dining room to the snowy streets outside. "I mean. That's half an hour at least that we're not out /there/. /And/ at the end of it, there's omelettes." Micah is accurately /dressed/ like it's wintry outside and he's not a New England native. He's wrapped head-to-toe in cold weather gear: bright orange Jayne hat, olive puffy coat, massive candy-corn striped scarf, green gradient-striped gloves, and hiking boots. By the time they get inside, he is carrying his neon orange forearm crutches rather than using them, sparing the facility's floor a good scuffing from the snow/ice attachments on their tips. As they reach their waiting space, he works on tying the crutches into a holster that is crafted for carrying them on his back. "I got no objections t'waitin'. S'fair often I end up sneakin' off for eggs while Jax is off at church. Get powerful cravin's for omelettes sometimes, an' it's not like eggs in the /apartment's/ an option. S'nice t'be out an' about for awhile, anyhow." Once the crutches are tied up and leaned to the side, he removes his outdoor accessories, stuffing them in the pockets of his coat before unzipping /that/ to be slung over an arm. Beneath, he is dressed in a black Batsignal hoodie worn open over an equally black Reading Rainbow-dash T-shirt and faded, rainbow-patched jeans. His auburn hair is a tousled mess from being under the wool hat. Deanna's arrived just after Dusk and Micah. She's asked for a table for three, though she seems at the moment to be here alone. Her long dreads are ponytailed down her back, her boots still snow-crusted and her worn leather jacket still chill from outdoors. She's shedding her jacket about the time Dusk is shedding his trenchcoat, turning towards him as though about to say something. She stops, though, mouth closing again. Her eyes sweep, over from face to wing, running down their length slowly. Then back upwards, to study Dusk's face thoughtfully. It's Micah she eventually addresses, though, turning to look /him/ over and then speaking in a soft deep contralto: "I know you." The next entrance is Gabriel, who is counting money in his wallet as he enters, but stops when he notices Micah, Dusk, and Deanna, waving and smiling. "Micah, Dusk, hey! Cold outside, isn't it?" He then turns to Deanna, giving a polite nod. "Oh, hello." Gabriel then turns back to Dusk and Micah, speaking again. "What's the wait time?" The young Hispanic is dressed in a long gray jacket, a pair of thick jeans, and brown boots, his hands covered in fingerless black gloves. "I could eat like 40 plates of pancakes, no joke, ran out of stockpile at home." "Sneaking off for eggs, man, it sounds /almost/ like you're doing something illicit except then actually it's omelettes. You know when our apartment's not an icebox you could come up /there/ for eggs any time." Dusk folds his trenchcoat, draping it over an arm too and slowly shifting his wings, not so much a stretch as a fidget, the best he can manage in close quarters. "What would happen if you did bring eggs, would you be like. Exiled?" He tips his head just slightly when Deanna looks him over, brows raising above the lenses of his sunglasses. There's a moment of delay before a crooked fangy grin spreads across his face. "Hey. Friend of yours, Micah? -- Heyyy, uh --" He hesitates when Gabriel addresses him, a brief hesitation before he just caves and admits, signing 'sorry' as he does: "Shit, I forgot your name, man. You're on Jax's floor, right? Do you usually /stockpile/ pancakes, because I need to get in on that." Deanna's inspection of Dusk briefly draws Micah's eyebrows together and compresses his lips in a thin line. Hazel eyes continue to regard her, not turning as he reaches for his holstered crutches and slips them on over his shoulder, black strap slicing crosswise over his chest. When she speaks to him, however, the concerned expression melts into a warm smile, the effect intensified by the roses blooming in his cheeks from the transition from outdoor cold to indoor heat. “My apologies, ma'am,” he drawls in his distinctly not-from-here rural Virginia accent, “but I'm not findin' your name despite goin' fishin' for it.” His fingers reach up to tap at his temple, indicating which pond it is that came up empty. “I'll make introductions in a moment, if you'll kindly grant me the reminder?” “Gabriel, good afternoon!” Micah greets, as well, when the new addition arrives on the scene. “Seems like we all had about the same thought. Wait's s'posed t'be some half hour, or least it was when we got in. Could likely keep the wait time down by addin' y'to our table?” This last statement has the rising tone of a question, directed both at Gabriel and Dusk to determine if they are amenable to the arrangement. “An'...no, not exiled so much. But it's a vegan kitchen, y'don't just...make omelettes in Jax's pans. I /could/ keep your fridge stocked with some brunch ingredients, though. Trouble usually is less the no-heat in your place an' more the only food bein' instant noodles.” He jostles Dusk's arm playfully with an elbow at that. Deanna's lips twitch faintly upwards when Dusk asks Micah if she's a friend of his, her head giving a very small shake. "No," she demurs, "we haven't met." She, too, drapes her jacket over a forearm, crossing her arms loosely over her chest. She watches the crutches as he puts on the crutches, only afterwards slowly half-rotating on a heel to examine Gabriel as well. "Though half the city must know who you are. If they follow the news." She looks between Gabriel and Dusk, her eyes this time lingering on Dusk's fanged smile. "Are you friends of Mr. Holland as well? Your family's made quite a stir." "It's Gabriel, no need to apologize, we only met once." Gabriel says, smiling brightly. "Oh, yes, I could sit with you, if you guys don't mind. Makes it easier for everyone, I suppose." Gabriel turns to Micah again, smiling. "Oh, and congrats, to both you and Jax!" When Deanna questions him, he laughs, nodding. "Knew Jackson back in high school. Micah, he's more of a new acquaintance." Dusk's wings ripple again, shivering and pulling in closer against his back. "His name's Jax." His correction is automatic, even with the man in question nowhere present. He snorts at Micah's jostling, one wing shifting to bump Micah back in the shoulder. "That -- that is /so/ untrue, sometimes we have leftover takeout, too. /Gabriel/, right. /Right/, high school -- I sure don't mind. Did you see their rings," he adds to Gabriel. "I mean, they're not new but they're pretty gorgeous." His attention returns to Deanna; he pushes his sunglasses up into his dark hair, brow creasing. "I don't think they exactly -- /made/ the stir so much as. Brought long-overdue attention to things that had been going on a long while." "Ah. B'lieve the lady means t'say she knows /of/ me as opposed t'/knows/ me," Micah concludes with a nod of understanding, meaning to clarify for his companions. His smile and tone both remain polite, conversational. "Ain't so much been lookin' t'make noise as we've been lookin' t'live our own lives, an' t'let our friends live theirs, in peace. But the world often has other plans." At the offered congratulations, Micah's smile brightens once more. "Thanks, Gabriel. S'been a good thing for us'n the kids." When Dusk brings attention to the ring, he holds his hand out for Gabriel to inspect should he wish. A small ring made of hand-crafted silver links there holds a bead of deep indigo glass with silvery glitter swirling through it. "Jax made this'n. I picked the stone an' designed the settin' for his, but I'm not near the artist he is. Still had t'have a friend-of-a-friend who's a jeweller make it for me." "The world often does." Deanna's head inclines in a small nod of agreement with this, her own brow wrinkling very faintly. "No," she gives Dusk a very small smile, "you're not wrong. That kind of thing -- it was inevitable people would find out eventually. People /should/ know. I think," she exhales a small sigh, here, "that you did this country a favor." She looks down at the ring, when it is mentioned, and her arms uncross and recross. "Things haven't been all that peaceful." Gabriel answers, back to Dusk's question about /pancakes/, however. "Well, no, I just, eat a ton. Metabolism is shit, need to eat a ton or I'll die. All my money goes to rent, food, and phone bills. Luckily, this month's rent seems to be free." As Micah shows the ring, Gabriel admires it. "Oh, wow, that's gorgeous." Gabriel asks the attendant for a menu, to look through as they wait, and begins going over it, before turning to Deanna. "Well, we /did/ just have a swarm of zombies rain through town, that's not peaceful at all." "Seems to be. I wouldn't go spending your rent money just yet, though, if you're boned when they finally do ask for it -- you'll be boned." Dusk grimaces at that thought. He glances outside, shivering again. "I think things weren't peaceful way before the zombies. The zombies never would've /happened/ if things were peaceful." He relaxes a bit more at Deanna's answer, though. "Yeah. People should know. We went to the press once before but the story got buried. I'm glad it's getting out there this time. Just hope it does some good." Micah gives a little nod at this, withdrawing his hand once the ring has been viewed, a soft 'thanks' given in return for compliments. “We certainly hope some good manages t'come out of all of this. What happened an' the media attention, both. Maybe some positive change is t'be had from all the chaos. 'Cause you're right, ain't been much scraps of peace t'hang on to lately.” The hand already finds ways to busy itself again, resting on the back of Dusk's arm (rather right where he'd just /elbowed/ at it earlier). “I wouldn't say there's any luck in the rent this month, Gabriel...we're thinkin' the management just didn't make it out of the infection, or the aftermath. Which is unfortunate on its own, but also, whoever comes in to take over is gonna want the back rent, y'better bet. S'just a /reprieve/ for now. Y'still got heat? S'a number of the apartments that don't. A friend was gonna call in for an HVAC guy t'look at it, but I ain't heard if they been out or what they found if they were.” "What do you think it would take? To find peace. I think everyone hopes for it but it can be hard when there's been so much pain." Deanna's fingers drum against the inside of her arm. She laughs, quick and quiet. "Free rent? In New York? /That's/ a --" Though the news about the potential death of management kills her laughter as well. "-- oh. A shame." A troubled expression crosses her face. She studies Gabriel quietly, and then sneaks a look at the list of parties still waiting for tables. "Eh, I can only hope." Gabriel says wryly, but this fades when he learns about the death of the management. "Ouch, okay, I take it back, that's..wow. I got heat, guess I'm one of the lucky ones." Gabriel, looking up from the menu, notices Deanna watching him, and his eyes flash briefly as she looks at the list of parties, before he looks back down at the menu. "If everyone stopped hating each other for being different, that'd probably change things. We're all people, after all." "They could stop torturing and killing us, that'd be a start," Dusk answers with a snort. His wing shifts, brushing lightly up against Micah's hand. "S'a lot of places still kind of trying to find their way back to functioning. It's weird how much you take for granted and then suddenly --" His jaw tightens, lips compressing. "Suddenly a /million/ people --" The wing that rests against Micah's arm shivers, briefly. He takes a deep breath, but rather than calmer, when he speaks again his tone is more edged. "For being /different/, don't be so naive. /I/ don't hate anyone for being different, I hate them for all the torture and the murder. And they don't hate us for being different, they're just scared if we had numbers in our favour /they'd/ be in /our/ place. And you know, people keep this up long enough? They may /make/ that be true. Cuz most people, most people don't just kill for the hell of it but a whole lot of people, you kidnap their kids, you torture their families, and you shouldn't be surprised when they turn around and kill you right back." “Everybody acknowledgin' one another as people an' /actin'/ like it might be a good start. 'Stead of monsters or freaks or animals or lab rats or weapons or expendable resources. Could be a crazy-dreamer an' go for /not/ treatin' other folks like second-class citizens. But just /people/'d be a good jumpin' off place.” Micah's hand strokes against Dusk's arm, in attempt to be calming to...the other man or himself or /both/. His shoulder presses back into the wing. “S'gonna take that t'start. It'll be time an' more t'work at all the real understandable /hurt/ people've built up with things bein' as they are, too.” "Most people do need a good reason," Deanna acknowledges mildly. "Even in war, soldiers are reluctant to actually fire shots to kill. You need a strong cause --" She shakes her head, her lips pressing together. Her eyes flick to briefly take note of Micah's shift in motion as he presses into Dusk's wing. "I'm not sure all being people will go far to help. People have historically been pretty awful to each other." "Well, yeah, that too." Gabriel nods to Dusk, tapping his fingers against his wrist, before continuing. "Luckily, not all humans are bad, some of them are actually better than most mutants." Gabriel grins, glancing to Micah. "Hopefully the next mayor'll be more progressive, change some things. Less killing, more being people again." Gabriel looks back at his menu, before turning to Deanna to comment. "Yeah, but, things /have/ gotten worse since mutants were discovered. It's safe to say it's different now than it was in history." "And some mutants are better than most humans. Not really saying a lot there." Dusk's wing presses up firmly, curled in supportively now against Micah's shoulder. "It does take a lot," he agrees, "to push people that far. But I think the world's pushing /pretty/ fucking hard." He glances up, exhaling a quick breath as the server calls his name. "That's us," he says with an apologetic crooked smile. "It was nice talking to you, though, Ms. --?" “People've been awful at other people forever, s'true. But the first thing they almost always try t'do is...dehumanise the other group. Makes it easier t'be awful if the other person you're bein' awful to ain't a real, thinkin', feelin' person.” Micah's cheeks take on another dusting of pink at the implication in Gabriel's glance, timed as it is with that particular statement. “Alright, folks, we're gettin' all divisive an' value judgement-y with that language, let's not...start down that road if we don't have to.” He perks up visibly when they are called for their table, however, because that means /brunch/ is calling, too! Taking a single step forward, he offers his hand out to Deanna. “Yes'm, thanks for the talk.” "The world does have a tendency to push." Deanna glances up when Dusk's name is called. She looks towards the door after this, a little hopeful, a little expectant; looking away means there's a brief second of delay when Micah offers his hand before she turns back to him to take it. Her large hand is calloused and rough, her grip firm in one quick pump. "Deanna," she finally offers. "Enjoy your lunch."