Logs:Danish Welcome

Danish Welcome
Dramatis Personae Kitty, Lincoln, Scott, Shane	2023-08-06 "You could call us strange."
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. Scott always spends his own money at Evolve, for all the financial good it does the shop when he almost exclusively buys small drip coffees with zero additives. Today, in a gesture of goodwill, he has also paid for his companion and has bought himself a sandwich too, although he's picking at the shredded-radish-and-carrot falling off it with an expression that suggests he's not used to his sandwiches coming with this much flavour. He has his usual ruby-tinted glasses wrapped around his face, his usual T-shirt and work pants ensemble, his usual sturdy boots. He even has his usual frown as he navigates through Evolve's bustling Sunday-lunch crowd -- probably he would prefer one of these stiff, straight-backed chairs (anybody's guess why) but, needs must; he is settling with an almost-inaudible sigh onto one of the sofas, leaning forward to put the sandwich and his coffee cup on the table. "How have you been feeling?" he says; he is going to such lengths to not seem worried or condescending that his tone has circled around to brusque. "The serum's been wearing off for me. One of those things you notice right away." Kitty is taking advantage of summer weather, freedom, and Scott's wallet here -- she's dressed in a black tanktop reading עלינו לשבח לאדון הכל next to a fist holding aloft a lit Molotov cocktail and loose linen shorts, gold star of david resting on her collar. While she hasn't gotten to the set of cheese danishes in front of her, she is clearly relishing the Very Large iced latte in her one free hand. Her other arm is resting awkwardly at her side, temporarily free of its black sling but still trapped in a large elbow cast. She's been soliciting signatures, mostly on the back of the hand. A solid quarter of the cast spanning the outer upper-arm down a short ways below the elbow has rudely been dominated already; Jackson is apparently That Guy when it comes to claiming early and expansive signing real estate. Done in bold and colourful acrylic paints, there are prison bars -- or were, though they're being bent and broken open by flourishing plant life that's grown up thick and viney to tear the bars wide open. Leaping its way quite literally through some of the overgrown bars, a small black cat below the elbow is pouncing at a gleaming blue dragonfly that has flown just over the corner and up out of reach. The cat resting in the hollow of a suspiciously familiar shield eats up more good signing area, the heart following the name of One Wanted Terrorist's well wishes even more, but for the enterprising with a fine tip pen and a steady hand, there is still room to sign, perhaps next to the very tiny 'SCOTT' across the back of the hand. "My ribs feel normal again," is probably not the feeling Scott was asking about, but it's what she answers first. "I'm tapering off the suppression. It's weird enough being solid all the time, I don't need to be out of control of it again, too." She frowns around her paper straw. "The meds suck, though. Did your eyes turn on all at once, or is it --" She balances her drink on her knees and mimes flicking a switch on and off. Lincoln has been busy. Last night the vigilante came out. Crimes were stopped, hatred was stifled (or encouraged, depending on your view of violence). This morning, he's been making deliveries. He prefers a motorcycle for a bicycle, but he learned a long time ago that beggars can never be choosers. Now on what can only be described as 'break', Lincoln makes his way towards Evolve. Boots are audible as he steps into the most esteemed cafe, eyes looking around almost too long. Was he checking for any suspicious persons? Or just looking for a place to eventually sit? He wore black jeans with matching-color boots, a red shirt, and a black and yellow leather jacket that looks like it's seen better days. His long hair is permitted to fall to his shoulders and his lips are firmly set into a thin-line. Who knows. But, as his eyes drift, he notices Scott speaking with Kitty. He knows neither of them from Adam, but he takes notice of the signs of injury: namely the sling and cast that Kitty wears with pride. For now though, he starts walking towards cafe proper to put in an order. He keeps his hands at his sides and he almost looks...nervous? Scott's frown pulls a little at the sides, manages to look even more strained. "Sorry about your ribs," he says questioningly -- probably he does not actually remember what happened to her ribs. He nods, reaching to rub the bridge of his nose, right over the bridge of the glasses -- "I mean, on and off, sure. It doesn't really come with a dimmer." He drops his hand back down, clasping his hands uncomfortably between his knees. "I know it must have been terrible," he says. "I don't know what I would have done if --" he cuts this sentence short -- it is either too difficult or too dishonest to say. "I'm glad that things worked out." "Oh my god, Scott." Kitty takes another aggressive sip of her coffee, eyes narrowing. "Is this 'sorry for leaving you in Prometheus' coffee, I would have ordered all the danishes left if you told me. Ugh." She leans forward to set down her drink and carefully pull a piece of pastry off from the rest with one hand. "I knew the risks -- you know I knew the risks -- and I'm not sorry for trying to get Ryan." She looks away from Scott when she eats, probably aiming to look into the middle distance but catching Lincoln's look towards her cast. She raises her eyebrows back at the stranger, lifting the injured arm up -- a quick signal of I see you looking, not altogether aggressive but maybe that's just Kitty's "resting friendly face" -- before sinking back into the sofa cushion. "It all," she says around a mouthful of puff pastry, "worked out. Except for the traumatized kids and our dead teammates. Have you guys thought about hiring a new counselor, I think the kids are gonna need it." Just popping out from the back of the cafe is one (1) tiny blue X-Man -- today in crisply tailored vest and slacks, button down, tie in an impeccably tied trinity knot, he's not looking particularly superheroic except maybe for the people scattered about the cafe who've ordered banh mi sandwiches -- Shane is verrry carefully balancing three plates as he slips out from behind the counter, probably wishing he had Taylor's extra arms as he makes a delivery circuit. Fetches up at an empty but cluttered table not far from Kitty and Scott, swiping the dirty dishes off of it. "Rasa's looking for clinic hours," he offers lightly, fairly shameless in his eavesdropping. He's followed Kitty's gaze and lift of arms over in Lincoln's direction, and the smile he offers -- distressingly wide, narrow face kind of splitting open until mostly all that's left is huge pitch-black eyes and a whoooole lot of shark-sharp teeth -- comes with the cheerful reassurance to the nervous-looking customer: "Don't worry, we don't bite." It was fine. Until he got caught. Lincoln's eyes meet Kitty's own and his expression seems to suddenly appear shocked. His eyebrows rise and though she has a 'friendly look' in her eyes, he seems to quickly shift his eyes away from her. It probably wasn't smart to lock eyes with someone - he knows better. Was trained better. Maybe she's a friend? Lincoln clears his throat and tries to just flash a quick, uncomfortable smile at Shane when he's called over, a noticeably blue mutant awaiting him at the counter. "Thanks..." Lincoln looks up briefly at the menu as if it were his first time ordering something. "Uh....can I have a coffee?" Enlightening. "Uhm..." He tries to remember how one of the guards kept asking for it done. "Medium cream with sugar?" Scott looks faintly embarrassed at being called out like this, but in his own defense he still manages, "It's not -- exactly --" before giving that up as a lost cause. He follows Kitty's gaze off to the other man, tilts his head at him, but does not offer a greeting of his own before looking at Kitty's already plentiful haul of cheese danishes. "We're thinking about hiring a lot of new people, but --" he breaks off again when Shane joins in. "Right, on my list, I'll… write that down." He is not writing it down, though he does make a show of patting his pockets as though this will produce an old-timey reporter's pad. As Shane greets the newcomer Scott's eyebrows pull together over his glasses -- "You know that guy?" "Oh, Rasa's done with school?" Kitty seems pleased by this news. She is writing this down, painstakingly reaching for her phone with her left hand, setting it down on her knee, opening her notes app, and picking out letters one at a time: 'text scott/charles hire --' is as far as she's gotten when she speaks up again. "Shane knows everybody but I think that guy is new in here. He's got 'oh my god they're all mutants?' energy, you know?" Tap tap tap. "Send him over here and if he isn't actually a cop he can have a danish." "I know everybody except that guy." Is this true, who knows. Shane says it with confidence, though. His flat nose twitches as he finishes clearing off the table, ducking back behind the counter so he can pull a coffee for Lincoln. Medium cream, sugar. "You a cop?" he's asking Lincoln as he hands it over, though even after this he's telling Kitty and Scott: "-- doesn't smell like a cop. If you're not a cop, she'll give you a danish." His clawed fingers flick in Kitty's direction -- where he's heading back, too. Beckoning toward the cast-arm, though he's squinting at it even as he pulls a Sharpie from his pocket -- is there any space left? He'll figure it out. Unknown. Unknown is who Lincoln is and thus far, he barely remembers a time when people didn't know who he was. He's been in the same cage for so long...and now, to be out here with regular people, to have a job that didn't ask too many questions? It was as if he felt some odd sort of normality. You a cop? "What?" Lincoln asks, stumbling for a moment with the cup of coffee in his hand. "Uh....no. I'm a courier. I ride bikes. Do I uh...look like a cop?" Lincoln asks with no small amount of uncertainty. Then, he looks towards Kitty, then back to Shane. Then back to Kitty. "...What's a danish?" The confusion was palpable. Though his steps do carry him over to Kitty and Scott, following after Shane as he sips the coffee. It tastes....not terrible. But he looks between them all. He knows how to introduce himself, even if he looks some weird mixture of trying to be presentable and fully capable of sprinting for the door. "Hi...I'm Lincoln." Scott looks even more pained as Kitty invites the apparent non-cop over. Probably this is only because he paid for all these danishes. He looks sideways, beseechingly, at Kitty, like 'you broke it, you buy it', but when his opaque gaze turns back to the newcomer he manages an almost friendly, "Like the president? I'm Scott." Kitty is trying, without much success, to not look amused at Scott's distress. "Kitty. You mostly look like you're uncomfortable in The Mutant Coffee Shop, but that's not unique to cops." She's holding out her arm easily to Shane -- maybe there's some space on the back of the hand and wrist, still? He'll figure it out. "Nu, you've never had one? It's -- I don't think they're actually from Denmark, actually, but they're good." "Like the car?" Shane is asking, nearly in time with Scott. "These are definitely not from Denmark, they're from about thirty feet that way." He is gesturing, with the Sharpie, in the direction of Evolve's kitchen. He is signing right at the base of the thumb ('2 cast 2 furious' beside a rudimentary line drawing of a shark.) "If you're 'bout to bolt I could get you a to-go lid for that cup. What you look like is lost." His nose twitches, and his already-wide eyes get just a little wider. He snaps the cap back onto his marker, looking Lincoln up and down curiously. "You never been around other freaks before?" "Yeah, like the President." Course, Lincoln is Canadian, but he still understands popular American history. "Nice to meet you, Scott. Cool shades." He compliments the X-Man before his gaze comes to rest on Kitty. "Kitty." He greets her. "I'm not uncomfortable because of he shop." Lincoln remarks to her. "I'm a mutant-" he admits. "I'm just...not used to seeing happy mutants." He shakes his head still regarding a danish. "I'd be happy to try it." "I am lost. Not as lost as I could be. But I've been out of the loop awhile." He remarks to Shane. Though spotted at the possibility of running, one supposes he can't run anymore! Eyes settle on Shane for a moment though, as if debating his answer. Scott reaches one hand to the side of his glasses, automatically, when Lincoln compliments them, though he doesn't respond past a nod. "Ah," he says delicately, glancing at Shane. "Lot of people coming through here these days with -- at least a variation of those same problems. You're definitely not as lost as you could be." Kitty plucks one of the pastries off the stack in front of her -- not the one she's already consuming herself -- sets it on a napkin and holds it out to Lincoln. She's not looking towards Shane, now -- maybe she's just trying not to ruin his artwork any more than is strictly necessary by keeping her arm still. "This is like, the center of mutant New York," she says encouragingly. "Good place to get un-lost." "Ah," is Shane's initial answer, neither particularly sympathetic nor particularly Not; just kind of acknowledging like Lincoln's answer is Not A Surprise. He straightens, tipping his head back to look over the much (much) taller man thoughtfully. "We are kinda hearing that a lot these days. You come out the labs? There's people who --" Here his words cut off, just for a moment, one clear set of eyelids blinking sideways shut and then the more opaque blue ones following. "We aren't quite as organized as usual," he follows this up with, a little quieter, "but if you did I can hook you up with people to talk to about getting un-lost." "Well...I appreciate that." Lincoln remarks to Scott with a softness in his gaze. It's not difficult to tell that Lincoln appears deeply scarred and hesitant, though most likely that's due to the experience of being in one of these labs that Shane so tactfully brings up. Lincoln turns to regard him for a moment with a bit of shock to his features. "How-" Then it makes sense. These folks are part of it in terms of the aggressors. They're fighting back. Hard. "I...well, I suppose I would be open to that..." Lincoln suggests, though no doubt some small part of him wonders naturally if this is a trap. But he seems willing to investigate it. He turns to Kitty when she offers him a napkin with one such pastry atop it. "Oh. Thank you." He accepts it, and he takes a bite. A few silent moments of chewing later.... "...that's delicious." Scott nods again; now his glance at Shane is turning into a kind of intrigued, prolonged stare, possibly. It's always hard to tell. It shifts back to Lincoln as he takes his (apparently first ever?) bite of danish; a smile pulls slightly at one corner of Scott's mouth before receding again. "Isn't it?" Kitty actually smiles when she leans forward to sip at her coffee. "Shane is better at the, uh, post-lab-transition specific stuff, I usually tell people to come here anyway but." She tips her head towards the bulletin board. "Evolve's sort of the epicentre of the community -- check over there and there's like, all sorts of folks looking for roommates, notes on who is hiring people who are unregistered, gyms that will serve mutants, all sorts of stuff." "Isn't it?" Shane's toothy smile grows even brighter at Lincoln's praise. "S'kinda a bastardization of one of my pa's recipes, he's a wizard in the kitchen." He leans a hand on the back of Kitty's chair. His glance isn't quite as inscrutable as Scott's, no glasses to hide it, but it's still not always intuitive to tell which direction his enormous pupilless eyes are facing. Still, at Lincoln's shock he's pausing, with a very small shift of his head towards Scott before he replies: "Grew up in one of those places. Most of my family did. Penfield lab, out in Montana. Don't know which one you came from but I do know they all fucking suck, so --" He's grabbing a napkin from the table dispenser and scrawling a number across it in Sharpie to offer it to Lincoln; the only name attached says 'B'. "You need any help finding your footing -- some of us been where you are." It really is! Note to self, Lincoln really likes Danishes now. The food item. The people are great too! Though his eyes settle on Kitty as she explains the importance of this cafe. An epicenter of mutant activity and a great opportunity for mutants to find jobs, get roomates, services for mutants, etcetera. Lincoln seems to smile at this. "I'm...glad this is here, then. There's plenty of places that don't feel the same way." About mutants in general. Least from what Lincoln's seen. Though he returns his attention to Shane with a kindness in his eyes, then surprise. "Penfield lab? I'm...I'm not familiar with that one. I think I've heard the name before?" He questions, though it's quite likely he heard something else on the guards lips when they were shooting the shit. Napkin handed to him with a letter and a phone number on it. Then...he feels bold enough to ask. "...were any of you at any Weapon Plus facilities? In Canada?" Scott makes a vaguely affirmative noise, low in his throat; probably this is the most he can offer on the subject of mutant community. He opens his mouth to comment, then closes it again, his eyebrows shooting upward over his glasses. Finally says: "Weapons Plus?" His gaze is now definitely on Lincoln. "Oh." Kitty's eyes are going wide. "I've never been -- I thought you were -- well, with Prometheus closing --" She cuts herself off with a huge bite of danish, chewing and swallowing in lieu of finishing that sentence. "-- know a lot of Canadians," she says veeeeery cautiously. "Not a lot from -- that program." "Oh shit," Shane's already enormous eyes go even wider. "You're not from Prometheus, I just assumed -- shit. Well, that's fine, I mean, I don't think my dad's get-labrats-back-on-their-feet fund is gonna, like, discriminate, it's not like he's gonna be all jingoistic, home-grown torture victims only, so you're still welcome to. Uh. Reach out --" His brows have creased, and he looks between Kitty and Scott for a moment, then back to Lincoln. "Oh we know one total asshole from Weapon Plus," he's saying, not cautiously at all, "but the other people I know who've escaped from there are great. Weird as hell, but I assume that comes with the territory." "Yes." Lincoln looks at all three of them, the various reactions would normally be a cause for some level of humor, but instead it makes Lincoln feel slightly on edge. They know of what he speaks of. "Prometheus was a similar creature, if I understand it correctly. I don't know if the two organizations communicated much, but I've heard Prometheus mentioned many times. I always assumed they were competition, in a way." In a cruel, sick way. "That's nice." He remarks to Kitty's supposed knowledge of many a Canadian soul, though his eyes shift to Shane. "Just one?' He asks with some minor suspicion. "Yes...you could call us strange. I spent much of my years in that facility. They were trying to make another weapon against mutant kind in me and the few other mutants who were unfortunate enough to join me there." "Just one total asshole," corrects Scott automatically; the curse word is awkward coming from him. He glances, again, at Shane, when Lincoln describes the lab's goals -- "Yeah, that seems to be the trend." Kitty shoots Scott a sharp look. "Well, unfortunately, you're not alone in that experience -- I think Akihiro has a phone," Kitty is offering as an aside to Shane, as she painstakingly flips through her contacts, "but he might not have it anymore and it's like fifty-fifty whether he uses it to begin with. When did you get out?" This to Lincoln, now. "Our guy probably missed you unless you're like, also nearly a hundred years old." "I don't know about competition," Shane says uncertainly, "I mean, we never, like --" He hesitates, glancing once more to Kitty and Scott, and this time he does think better of whatever he was about to say. His mouth twists slightly to one side, his head bowing. When he looks up again his toothy smile has faded to a less sharp one, and he gestures towards the napkin in Lincoln's hand. "Anyway, if you need anything..." His shoulder lifts in a small shrug. "And if you haven't been up to Freaktown, you should check that out, too. Meet a lot of others like us -- and toootally not like us, too. Kind of a chaos-place." He tips his chin up in a nod. "Nice to meet you, uh, Lincoln. I gotta get back those sandwiches are not gonna make themselves." And he's ducking away, back into the kitchen. "Just one total asshole." Lincoln allows himself to be corrected by a wiser Scott Summers, though he turns his attention to Kitty for a moment, as if trying to think about it. "They grabbed me up as soon as my powers manifested. As to when I've managed to escape...?" Lincoln looks saddened now, his eyes drifting towards the ground with no hope of lifting back up. "I'm 25 now. I escaped...very recently." He remarks to the pair of them. "So...not quite in my hundreds. Though I can only hope that much time alive can be beneficial." As for the owner of this fine establishment, Lincoln turns towards Shane with a small smile touching his features. "It's nice to meet you too. I think I'll take you up on that offer." He remarks happily. He gives the fellow a wave as he ducks back into the kitchen. Scott is watching Shane dart back to the kitchen; he does not quite pull his gaze away from the swinging doors when he speaks. "Long time," is all he says, his voice quiet. When he turns back to his companions he gives Lincoln a frank once-over -- "You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself, though." Is this a compliment? Maybe it was meant as one. "You said you're a bike courier?" Kitty gives Shane a wave as he goes, slightly distracted by the maddening ordeal of trying to Phone with only one hand. "-- never checks his messages anyway --" she's grumbling as she taps out a message. "That's -- a pretty long time for a pretty young person. Unless you're one of those folks who manifested real late, I guess. What's your number, Lincoln? If you go up to Freaktown I'm sure you'll run into our favorite Weapon Plus vet soon enough but --" she glances up, eyebrows raised. "Might be good to give him a heads up." Has Lincoln finished his first pastry? Kitty is nudging a second towards him away. Thanks, Scott! Shane departs properly and Lincoln looks at the other two individuals present. His eyes look towards Scott, seemingly tensing as he notices himself being carefully examined by the X-Man. "Yeah." Lincoln remarks softly, he shrugs softly. "It pays bills. Yes. People tend not to ask questions of messengers, only the message." Seemed smart! Then he turns his eyes towards Kitty. "Sure. It's a burner, but it should get the job done." He jots down a number on a piece of napkin with a pen he produces from his jacket pocket. A second pastry is nudged his way and he accepts it gladly with an 'oo!' that seems almost childish. "I can give you an address too...if you want. I think meeting this vet would be good." "Really," says Scott; his lips press into a wry smile. "I dunno, I see a lot of people pretty eager to shoot messengers." But he is sitting back in the sofa; even this gesture manages to be sort of stiff and straight-backed. "How do you know Akihiro?" he remarks, as an aside to Kitty. "I know in mutant New York everyone knows everyone else, but isn't he…" his brow furrows, though he doesn't say it in front of Lincoln. "We've been running into each other at Japanese cultural events for years," says Kitty, only a little pointed, copying over Lincoln's number before hitting send on her message before brushing a light brown curl out of her face. "We don't have to agree on everything to enjoy, like, calligraphy class together, you know? He's very active with Freaktown defense," she's telling Lincoln, "so I think you might have a better shot meeting him up in the Bronx than getting him to come down here." She's turning her phone, now, her contact information -- an email, a phone number -- visible to Lincoln. "You let me know your neighborhood and I can let you know what businesses are safe for us, when I'm back at my computer." "Oh." Lincoln thinks about it for a moment then. "Well...I hope that nobody shoots at me." The unwritten context in his tone is 'or I'll have to shoot back.' Even still, he seems to have a look of kindness in his eyes, his attention shifting between Scott and Kitty. Lincoln looks at his phone then as it buzzes with faint blue light before it shows the message accurately be sent. "Thank you. I'll stay in touch." He suggests to Kitty, humming. "The Bronx. Alright. I live in Brooklyn." Scott -- keeps looking at Lincoln, though with a sudden set in his eyebrows that suggests his gaze has intensified behind the tinted lenses. It is softer when he turns it to Kitty, though not by much -- probably he does not approve of her giving her number to strangers but, also probably, he knows better than to say so to her. One of his knees bounces, just once. He is offering neither his phone number nor his address. Kitty's posture change is a little more subtle than Scott's, when she spins her phone back around to tuck it into her pocket -- her back straightens just a touch, her next flick of eyes to Lincoln resting there a little longer. She's not giving out her address, just a cheery, "Yeah, I know some spots! I'll text you. Scott, could you --" She gestures to the remaining pastries before tucking her cast back into the sling, then takes her coffee in her good hand. "We gotta go before I give all of these away, but I'm glad we caught you!" She stands up, walks -- directly into the table, winces, and swerves around it. "I'll see you around, Lincoln! Welcome to mutant New York."