ArchivedLogs:In Which Tea Is Made And Some Opinions Are Shared (Both Aloud And Otherwise)

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In Which Tea Is Made And Some Opinions Are Shared (Both Aloud And Otherwise)
Dramatis Personae

Marinov, Paige, Taylor

2016-11-23


"Wh-what's this about death threats?"

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 mid-evening and the cafe seems quieter than usual. Many people are getting ready for the holiday, whether out shopping, cooking, welcoming guests, or traveling themselves. For some, it's the night before a celebration based in falsity, cultural appropiation, a legacy of oppression, and ignorance of the past. That's not to say the place does not have its fair share of customers and there does exist a din of conversation.

A young woman, garbed in a sweatshirt, sits at a table in a corner. Paige's horns seem to have ripped holes in the top of her hood, the points poking out through the fabric. She nurses a mug of hot chocolate as she slouches in her chair, looking at the ceiling.

Marinov crosses through the door, in a white dress shirt and tie with suspenders holding up their black slacks (designed for their unique physiology), wandering towards the counter and whispering conspiratorially to the barista there. A bemused expression later, Marinov brushes their hair, black and blonde similar to their coat, backwards and more loudly orders some black tea. They sniff the air lightly and then look around before the drink is prepared, eyes turning towards Paige. "Hey," says Marinov, raising a hand towards the young woman, "What's up?"

Many people are getting ready for the holiday but many others are just -- here. Trudging through their workday grind like so many other service-worker drudges. Taylor has been lounging on a stool behind the counter, a Kindle in his hand and a sleepy expression on his face until Marinov's arrival. Their whisper perks him up somewhat, at least; he slides off his stool to get to work -- starting in on prepping their tea without even moving much. Several very (very, very, very) long limbs that had previously been not much noticeable, wound around and around his torso beneath his baggy hoodie, emerge to snake out and start in on tea-making while he rings Marinov up.

Paige gives a start at the greeting with a sharp intake of breath, snapping her head up to look towards Marinov. "Oh." Then a lift of the brows. "Oh! Hey! I'm, uh, well, doing better, I suppose. They gave me a guest room at the Commons, which I keep telling them is like paradise...How's it going with you?" Odd for her usual moody behavior, the horned woman actually seems excited to see the teen. "Do you, uh, want to sit down?" Her eyes flick around, taking in the changes she missed while staring upwards, before settling on Taylor.

A sharp spike of fear, a stiffening of her back, shoots through her. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. Fear does not mean danger. Even if the...person resembles the one sea-creature that really creeps her out. Another breath. It's okay. The barista is just a person. Probably a very nice person, being a barista and all. Right. Breathe. Eyes open. Paige manages to avert her gaze from the multi-limbed man back to Marinov.

"Oh, yea, I am going to sit down as soon as my drink's served up. Staying at the Commons sounds good, I'm glad you've got a safe place to stay," says Marinov, glancing over towards Taylor for a moment since Paige's attention moves in that direction for a moment, and adds in an aside to Paige that would be impossible for a telepath and someone with ears to not overhear, "Did you know that I go to school with that guy? I, uh, actually also share a name with him. Small world. Small school, too." They give a small shrug and, turns back towards Taylor, "Speaking of, how are you? Seems like you've got a nice gig here. Not a lot of nice places to go out for a tea, I've found." At least without being stared at, Marinov adds mentally.

Taylor's arms (all of them) briefly hitch. Stutter-pause, a very small skip-beat in his work as his eyes dart to Paige. Freeze there, hold there, his previous quick smile dimming momentarily then just as quickly rekindling. "Huh. You're staying at the Commons." He sounds just a touch surprised. "Pay's decent here," he answers Marinov lightly, turning aside to finish with their drink. "Probably has to be, to make up for the constant death threats. You have any plans for break?"

Paige's eyes widen as Marinov calls out and Taylor responds, though she manages to keep them on her mug. She's not intentionally ignoring the barista, but mentally rehearsing her mantra - fear does not mean danger. A moment passes, the exchange of words completed, and she turns in her chair in order to watch the other two. "You do? That's...that's cool. I miss school." Her attention then switches to the multi-limbed young man. "Wh-what's this about death threats?" The horned woman is at least attempting to be friendly, anything other than letting her fright show so clearly. Fear does not mean danger. Breathe.

"Yeah, I guess death threats would be a job hazard," sighs Marinov, adding dryly, "But I bet you get a couple drinks a shift, right? So... I dunno, that would balance out. As for my break, well, my grandma and grandpa are going to be over at my parents' house, and they have a lot of Opinions, so I'm going to not go back home for that mess unless I have to. Probably get some projects done. Make a diorama. Maybe make some new slacks!" They sniff the air after answering, reaching to take their drink and sit in the seat near the counter, across from Paige. Marinov tried to speak in a more soothing tone than their usual to Paige, smelling some of the fear on her. "I used to not really fit in at my old school, got into a lot of fights, so being in a school for misfits has been different. It's been nice, and I don't get into fights so much. Where did you go to school?"

"Balance out." Taylor sounds mildly bemused at this. His head shakes, shoulders hitching in a small shrug. He turns back around, sliding Marinov their drink. "People aren't too cool with a mutant-owned mutant-friendly business. We get a lot of them." He takes his seat back on the stool, tucking his Kindle back onto his lap, though its brightly colored cover is shut now. "I can't wait till graduation." His own smile is wry. "But we do have nice pamphlets. I guess if school's your /thing/, it's --" Though here he stops -- considers -- shakes his head, leaving this thought unfinished.

Though still anxious, Paige's fear has relaxed its overwhelming grip on her, her muscles loosing some of their tension. However, the mention of family threatens to swarm the horned woman with guilt and longing. Along with Marinov's words and tones, her mind deviates from focusing on the barista. She takes a sip of her hot chocolate before replying with a nod. "I can see that -- not the fights. I mean that it must be nice. I was at SNHU before the whole, you know," here she gestures towards her head. "Before the whole...everything. Wish I could see my family. Grandparents are dead and Thanksgiving was usually just the four of us, but still." The young woman takes a deep breath, mustering up courage, before asking, "How long until you graduate, uh..." What did she put in for the younger teen's contact name? "Taylor? What are your, uh, plans?"

"Like, in a couple years, I don't have plans, I am not good at making decisions," says Marinov in response to Paige's question, before realizing, "Oh, you probably meant..." They gesture towards Taylor-who-goes-by-Taylor and nod slowly at the too-late realization. "My parents are great, but my grandparents and I just disagree on some stuff. Like, everything about me. Usually it was just me and my parents for holidays, but since I'm out of the house, I think the grands are taking the chance to get closer to my parents again."

"SNHU? Where's that at?" Lightly curious, head tilting slightly to one side. Taylor's rubbery long arms are slowly winding back beneath his sweatshirt, tucking away out of sight again -- except for one, which stays braced on the countertop, absently swivelling him back and forth on his spinny stool. "What brought you to New York, then? Just --" His smile brightens quick again, the clublike tip of his tentacle turning out toward the room at large. "In search of other freaks?"

To Marinov, Paige shrugs and replies, "Well, you have some time, so take it. And you love them, though, right? Your grandparents? Even if you disagree?" As her attention returns to the barista, she takes another sip of hot chocolate. One might pick up on the horned woman's surprise as Taylor so easily conceals seven of his limbs -- perhaps mixed with a twinge of jealousy. "Southern New Hampshire University. It's in Manchester." She watches Taylor turn his chair back and forth. "I just...needed to...kind of hide and not be found by my parents. And, uh, my name's Paige, by the way." Breathe. Relax.

"I guess I love them, yeah?" says Marinov with an unsure tone and expression. "I mean, it's one thing to disagree one what TV shows are the best, or what soups go with what sandwiches, but when someone disagrees with sorta who you are and can't help but being, I dunno. Puts a strain on the relationship, you know?" The teen headshakes and says, "Not that it was ever great, but the whole mutant thing... they didn't take that so hot. Although... I guess I didn't either."

"Yeeeah, there's kind of a huge gulf in the whole 'difference of opinion' thing if you're talking about, like, ice cream flavors versus talking about, like, respecting your right to existence." Taylor's nose has wrinkled up slightly at this. "Just because someone's your blood doesn't mean they get an automatic /pass/ for being an asshole. I cut most of mine out of my life like --" The club tip of his tentacle makes a swift knifing motion across his throat. "The terrible ones, I mean."

It seems Paige is a little disappointed at the felinoid teen's response. Perhaps the questions meant more to her than she let on. She nods silently, listening to the two Taylor's words and watching the one's gesture. "So...you mean there wasn't any chance at reconciliation?" Her tone is not accusatory in any sense of the meaning and is more curious than anything else. "I mean, if that's true..." The horned woman trails off, dismissing the line of thought with a wave of her hand. "How terrible are we talking about?" She poses this question, furrowing her brow in concern, to the multi-limbed mutant. At least she's not freaking out anymore, overtly or mentally -- though she does remain anxious and a bit tense.

"For me, there'd be a chance at reconciliation with my grandparents maybe, but they'd need to treat me like a real person," says Marinov with a shrug. The youth takes a sip of their tea now that it's adequately cooled off. "I'm not really big on giving a shit about pronoun use, either, but 'it' is fucking unacceptable. But I guess my mom must think there's some chance of reconciliation, so I dunno." Marinov becomes more silent, glancing over towards Taylor so that he can speak.

"Yeah no that's -- not. An okay." Taylor cringes sympathetically, shoulders pulling inward at the mention of 'it'. "I look like Cthulhu and read minds," he answers Paige with an odd amount of cheer, kind of amused laughter in his voice. "It sets a pretty high bar in my life for terrible. Family included." He glances over towards the door as it opens -- a freckle-faced teen with frizzy red hair pulled up into a ponytail has just walked in -- and slides down off his stool. His head bobs in a quick nod to Marinov and Paige even as he's ducking out from behind the counter. "S'my cue for a break. See ya."