ArchivedLogs:Subtle

Subtle
Dramatis Personae Eric, Micah	18 November 2014 '
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 plentiful 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. Lunchtime at Evolve is one of the busy times as people come in to get their coffee and snacks as they trickle out of their offices from the surrounding area. Many of them, certainly, wear Mendel Clinic IDs somewhere on their person - and so it is no surprise that the Mendel guards sometimes send along someone with the crowd to make sure they don't have any trouble back and forth, when the protesters are especially thick. Not that Evolve doesn't have its own forms of protection, frequently sprawled out on sofas or sitting at tables in a corner. It's somewhat ironic, perhaps, that the NYPD division tasked with policing the mutant community ends up being some of Evolve's most frequent customers, but loyal customers they are indeed. This lunchtime has three of them at various points around the room. One sits at a table in the corner on a thick ruggedized laptop, another in the seat across from him engrossed in his cell phone. Eric is in line for yet another cup of coffee, waiting patiently in line as he flirts with the completely disinterested nurse in front of him. Micah's lunch hour doesn't usually line up precisely with everyone else's...even when he is actually spending most of the day in the same building. His more variable schedule has him wandering in a while after the larger Mendel rush. Of course, given the weather today, his tardiness may be due only to the time it took him to get into his winter gear for the short walk. His usual TARDIS-blue polo and khakis are all but lost under an olive puffy coat and coils upon coils of Fourth Doctor scarf. Likewise, his hands are hidden inside candy corn striped convertible mittens and his hair under an orangey-knit Jayne hat. Even so, his lips are a little blue by the time he makes it inside and into the line. It might not even matter if they have /food/ today, provided there is enough Warm Beverage to tackle the freezing. When the nurse reaches the front of the line, Eric's attention drifts and he looks around the line, thumbs hooking into the heavy belt cinched around his waist. He adjusts the volume on his radio absently with one hand, turning it down - just as his eyes land on the newcomer, lips nicely color-coordinated with a scarf. "Hey hey, there!" Eric's greeting is bright, stepping out of the line to move to the back and wrap Micah into a tight, warm hug. Eric's own outfit is similarly colored, perhaps, but festooned with /stuff/, mostly hanging off of his belt, but some strewn across his chest and down to his legs. He has no jacket, though there is an extra one hanging off of the chair at the MID satellite office over in the corner. "How are ya doin', hun?" Micah's hands slip out of the mittens, tucking them into his pockets only to allow his hands to rub together more effectively in an attempt to generate warmth. "Hi," he replies with a smile that is largely amused at Eric's exuberance. He shifts the messenger bag at his hip a little to get it less in the way of hug. His return of the hug /might/ be a little more enthusiastic than usual because /ohgosh/, someone with actual body heat! Micah mostly has person-sicle to contribute from his end. "I can only conclude that I've personally offended some wind god. 'Cause it ain't right for days not t'go above freezin' an' it ain't even winter yet." A little cringe accompanies his own words. "Can we put a ban on winter? Just give it a skip this year?" Shiver. "How're you?" "Hey, if you can work that out, let me know. I ain't got no problem just skippin' it this time around and goin' straight into spring again," Eric drawls. "I know I moved up here'n all, but couldn't I have brung the weather up with me?" He rubs his hands on the smaller man's back for a moment, friction doing little to help warm Micah up. "So far, so good. Keepin' the peace, as it goes." The police officer takes a step back and glances over briefly at his companions over in the corner. "Truck's 'round back, but so far, quiet shift. Think it's too cold out for people t'be commitin' crime. Ain't complainin'." "Seriously. What good's comin' outta the deep South if y'ain't gonna help thaw the frozen North out none?" Though Micah's tone is accusatory, his expression is clearly teasing, eyebrows lifted and lips (slightly less blue now!) tugging into a lopsided grin. "Guess there's /some/ small blessin's t'be had in frigid weather. Though now I'm picturin' cartoonish Criminal Folk all holed up t'hibernate like bears. With their little bandit masks an' crazy twirly moustaches." Twist-twist, the gesture is mandatory when discussing Moustaches of Evil. "Things been quiet 'round here, too?" He shifts up a few steps in line as it progresses. "Busy, but quiet. Too cold for protesters, here or down the street, it seems." Eric comments, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head lightly. "They'll get used to it and be back out in full, I'm sure, but at least this damned cold's gonna buy us a couple'a days, I think." Eric pauses, briefly, tilting his head to one shoulder to better listen to a quiet transmission over the radio. His neck cracks lightly as he straightens it back up, and the police officer winces and rolls out his neck on the same side. "It works both ways, ya know? Crime goes down, fires go up. And the other way 'round." Micah nods slowly at the mention of protesters. "S'a good thing. Been downright weird havin' the new set of protesters fussin' over Dr. Toure... S'a whole dif'rent bunch of folks'n signs t'get used to, I guess." Another shift in line. Almost to the warm-things! "Should put you'n the fire department through cross-trainin' so's y'don't get bored in your respective off seasons." He has another teasing smile to offer there. "Yeah. Well, people got short sightedness. It'd be nice to have somethin' like the tazer that works on everyone, you know? Otherwise it's straight from the baton ta' the guns, and that's not good for anyone. And hey now," Eric says, shaking a finger at Micah slowly. "That's some fightin' words, right there. I /work/ for a livin', not sit around in a firehouse all day polishin' the truck." Eric leans in closer, voice a murmur in Micah's ear. "Prefer to polish the dolphin', ya know?" Nudge nudge, wink wink, and Eric laughs brightly as he straightens back up. "Mmn." Micah's shoulders tense a little at the mention of Dr. Toure's work applied to the police force, though he keeps the more verbal portions of his opinions to himself. Even so his grin returns (more in the guise of a smirk this time) when the firefighter/cop comment has the desired effect. "It's a clean machine," he quotes somewhat liltingly, not quite singing the lyrics. Eric's sotto voce addition just earns a head-shake in reply, though there is little solemnity to be had in a bobbing Jayne hat pompon. "Dunno if it even /counts/ as innuendo anymore when you're /that/ obvious 'bout it." Everyone's a critic. "Innuendo?" Eric blinks, tilting his head to one side as a puzzled look comes over his expression. "What's that?" He only manages to keep the innocent expression for a few seconds before his laughter returns, bright and with a playful wink and a jostle of Micah with his shoulder. "How about ya? How's your day goin' so far?" Eric asks, taking another step forward and glancing up at the menu. "You come for lunch, or just for a cuppa?" There is a little snort in answer to Eric's feigned innocence. "Pretty quiet, too. Mostly at the Clinic t'day. Little slower'n usual with fewer folks wantin' t'go out if they can avoid it." Oh, they're up in line! And for once, pfft politeness. "Both. Pretty much just /all/ the warm things." Micah knows what he wants without looking at the menu and isn't the one who's been sitting in a nice, warm coffee shop all morning, after all. He does offer the young man behind the counter a little wave and smile of greeting before rattling off his order. "Bowl of the sweet potato black bean soup an' a /large/ mocha, almond milk. Thank you, sugar." "I'll take the usual, please, n' somethin' sweet to go with it. Surprise me," Eric says, flashing a bright smile at the man behind the counter - and a wink. Eric tugs out his wallet to retrieve a few dollar bills and slide them across the counter. "Did ya end up gettin' less people after that article came out? They really gave the clinic the one-two, it seemed'ta me. Don't know how that actually plays out, though. If I needed doctorin', it'd still probably be the first place I'd go." He shrugs his shoulders, stepping to one side to let more people come up to the counter. "Though s' not exactly a little if." After exchanging payments and a few bills into the tip jar, Micah slides over to the pick up counter. "Think there were fewer /new/ patients for a minute, but it didn't do as much for the regulars there. Think...it's that they really know they ain't got a /better/ place t'go. Even the ones as're far less than pleased. But the ones who ain't come yet...more of 'em are willin' t'put off seein' anyone at all. Just thinkin' ain't nobody trustworthy. T'hear the murmurs anyhow." He sighs heavily, leaning against the counter. "It's some of the worst of it. Dr. Toure lettin' this get sprung on everyone the way it did. S'hard enough gettin' folks t'trust /anyone/ in the medical community, then t'feed the fire of mistrust at the Clinic specifically? Might never /get/ that trust back, an' it was /hard/ earned." A small smile softens his expression. "Yeah, I'm restin' pretty certain on never havin' /you/ as a patient, at least." "Hey, never know. I could need a prosthesis for a couple'a days or somethin'." Eric says, shouldering Micah in a friendly manner. "Ain't good, that's for sure. N' with this shit with Themis house comin' out right after, it makes them look like the good guys. I know a couple'a my guys have gone there. Ain't right, but," Eric shrugs, shaking his head. "Well, passin' ain't exactly somethin' they don't have a lot'a practice with already. Me neither, for all's worth." Eric shifts uncomfortably for a moment, glancing over the counter. "Then again, m' sure I'm not the usual case anyway." "Usually don't deal in short-term," Micah returns. He snatches up his coffee as soon as it arrives, not waiting until the soup is placed next to it. Mmn, warm. "M'not overly optimistic 'bout that line they put out, neither. Figure...if folks would rather choose them than go t'jail, that's not /exactly/ involuntary, is it? S'how they're gonna play it, I'd expect." He nods along with Eric's explanation. "Yeah, y'are subtle in that way." There might be a gentle ribbing hidden in that comment, too...just a little leaning on the 'that'. Eric's eyes twinkle at the teasing, and he takes a step closer to the counter to pick up his own coffee, body pressing lightly up against Micah's back as he leeeans around the smaller man. "Very subtle. Ya know, most people had no idea?" Eric says, brightly, innocence itself. "Then again, I ain't sure how many people knew but didn't want ta' say nothin'. Always a possibility as well; people clam up easy." He takes a sip of his coffee, lingering a couple moments longer before taking a step back away from Micah. Micah's eyes roll just a /little/ at that move. Yep, subtle alright. "Figured they wouldn't. Short of gettin' yourself shot in front of folks, how's a body t'know?" And there's the soup! Micah collects his bowl with /almost/ as much alacrity as he did the coffee. Two very warm hands with the promise of lunch to follow makes for some happiness, for sure. "Where're we sittin'?" He glances over the tables, adjusting his foodstuffs in his hands a little. "Yeah. And god knows, that ain't never happen in my line a' work." Eric says, grinning as he loops an arm around Micah's shoulder and gently leads him over to a table near the other cluster of police officers. Both of them glance up at their approach, sizing up Micah for a moment, before returning back to their various non-work activities. "What's on your schedule for the rest'a the day?" Eric asks, curiously. "And for the evenin'?" This last is added with a wink and a twist of his grin. “Hopefully not, like, on the regular. Seems like a poor way t'stay in a job.” Micah offers a nod and smile in greeting to the others, lifting his coffee mug in lieu of a wave before settling mug and bowl on the table. “Workin'. Clinic 'til evenin', some deliveries after. Got game night back home t'night. Went without for awhile with Dusk... But he's here for now, so. Dinner an' geeks.” Maaaybe it's not quite the kind of answer that was being sought. "Worse for some people, but yeah, not good. Happens less here n' it did down south, actually. Less people with guns - or less meth labs, anyway." Eric says, shrugging his shoulders. His eyes light up at the mention of Dusk. "Fangy is comin' back home?" Eric says, perking up. "Hey, geeks are great. Dusk, Jax, you, me... some fun games. Good night all around, huh?" Eric suggests, eyes twinkling and smile spreading wider on his face. All answers are Eric's type of answer. "An' they say the Big City's the dangerous place," Micah says with a little 'tsk' and shake of his head. He settles into a chair at the table by his lunch. "Ohgosh, y'didn't hear? Sentencin' was Thursday. He was at...Friday night. Workin' off some energy. But been back since. S'long as that lasts. Dunno what they plan t'do if he ain't gettin' the treatments at Themis like they entirely illegally ordered 'im to. Or how long he can stay out while we fight it." His spoon swirls through the soup to blend the chunks of vegetables and beans. "Yeah, board games, card games. Dusk, Jax, our kids. Y'know." Not quite the same speed. "Shane can come too." Eric suggests, snickering a moment later and shaking his head. "I mean, I heard same as everyone what they decided at sentencing. Just figured it'd take them a while more to process 'em through, 'specially with what Themis was sayin' about the whole thing." The police officer leans back in his chair onto two legs, taking a long sip of his coffee and looking across the table at Micah. "Give 'm my best. I'll have to come visit 'm sometime soon, 'specially since I'm bettin' they're going'ta have me n' mine involved in his parole." The look /that/ suggestion earns is skeptical to the point of reproach...certainly not involving any laughter. Micah chooses not to linger on it. "Nah. Think they were glad enough not t'have t'deal with 'im, given the chance. Just hopin'...maybe they can keep 'im on house arrest or somethin' while we work it out, 'stead of just throwin' 'im back in. We been tryin' t'make the best of whatever time meanwhile." He tucks into the soup with a pleased expression at the sweet and spicy blend of flavours. "Don't guess you're wrong there. Dusk'd prob'ly be much happier for that than the alternatives, too." Eric glances sideways at his team, and his voice quiets as he leans in. His smile stays the same as always, but his tone is quiet and serious, not at all matching the flirtatious smile on his face. "Ya ain't hear it from me, but I've heard some talk that they're considerin' askin' the federal penitentiary system ta take mutant transfers n' hold them there, at one of their sites, for those deemed too dangerous ta' be in our system. Just rumors among the men, and there may be nothin' to it. Certainly us'n'them ain't get along most'a the time. Still, might be good information for ya to have, just in case." Eric laughs, then, winking at Micah as he sits back and turns to take a bite out of his cookie. Micah obliges the front Eric is putting up, continuing his casual consumption of soupy goodness. “Might be better,” he replies in equally hushed tones. “Considerin' /they/ actually /fed/ 'im last time. Would at least have that goin'. But thanks for the intel.” He switches out spoon for mug for a moment, taking small sips of his still-very-hot coffee. Eric shrugs his shoulders, putting down plate and cup to lace his fingers together and crack out his hands. "Maybe. Questions like that ain't at my paygrade," The police officer says, with a wide smile and a gesture to the stripes on one arm. "I still work for'a livin', after all." He laughs lightly at his own joke, then quiets as there's a beeping from his radio - and from the radios of the officers sitting a table away. He drops one hand almost absentmindedly, turning the volume up with a twist of two fingers and listening to the message. "That's us, boys," Eric says, straightening up in his seat. "Pack it up, get the truck running out front; I'll be right there." Both of the officers jump up quickly, one slamming the computer shut, the other pocketing his phone, and head out towards the back door. "Sorry, Micah. I ain't one ta' talk'n'run - believe me, I prefer hangin' around for a while afterwards, if ya know what I mean," he drawls, eyes twinkling. Micah quiets at all the fussing over radios so that the cops can sort their messages and responses. “Gracious, I'm pretty sure /everybody/ knows what y'mean,” is /mostly in jest as the other man prepares to head off. “Good luck t'you. Sure I'll be back at work for y'all get back here. Have a good one.” Then...then there is soup. And coffee. And a walk back to the Clinic that won't be acknowledged until it has to happen. Brr. "You'd think, but I've gotten plenty'a evidence ta the contrary," Eric says, standing up quickly and stepping over to the other table to pick up his jacket. He slings it over his shoulders, and then withdraws his baton in a smooth movement before replacing it in the holster at his back, on the outside of the jacket this time. "Good one?" He laughs and winks at Micah. "I'll try," he says, raising a hand in a rough salute. With a final grin, the police officer heads for the front door, thumbing his radio on. "Dispatch, MID-3. 10-4, on our way."