Logs:Of Coffee and Company (Or, Always Starting Over)

Of Coffee and Company (Or, Always Starting Over)
Dramatis Personae Kavalam, Kelawini	2020-06-13 "Family is family, screw what the laws say."
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 a gloriously mild summer's day, just after the lunch rush, and Kelawini is on her third cup of candy-flavored coffee. Stylishly dressed in a pink cap-sleeved wrap crop top, black denim shorts with silver stitching and silver sandals that match her scallop-shell-shaped purse, she's been bustling around the cafe, chatting up anyone who's willing. At the moment, though, she's sitting alone at one of the patio tables, watching the city ebb and flow on the sidewalk, sipping her shockingly unicorn-colored beverage. It's easy to miss the cafe door opening, and easier still to miss the dark-haired bespectacled teenager that slips out. Kavalam's drink is far less colorful, an iced chai with a paper straw already starting to grow soggy in the tea. He is less colorful, too -- jeans, a deep orange v-neck tee. He stops, freezes; in a sudden shift snaps from being all-but-invisible to acutely compelling, drawing attention like a magnet before this fades, too, back to just -- -- "Kelawini?" He even pronounces it correctly. Kelawini turns toward Kavalam abruptly at the whiplash tug of his power, flashing him a bright if confused smile. "Chee, did I get a rep that fast?" She sounds unconvinced but equally untroubled. "But, that's me! Come and sit, unless you're in a hurry." She gestures expansively at the empty chairs at her table. "Fair warning, though: I might talk your ear off." She waggles her drink, the ice cubes clinking softly beneath milky purple-pink foam. "I've had a few." "No, I --" Kavalam begins -- and ends again just as quickly, head bowing and his teeth clamping down on the flimsy straw. He sucks a long mouthful of tea. Nods slowly, taking a seat across from Kelawini. "I don't mind the talking. I think I could use more of it in my life." Even as he sips at his drink, he's eying Kelawini's with an open confusion. A little mistrustful. "What flavor is pink?" Kelawini tilts her head slightly when the boy cuts himself off, but does not pursue whatever he stopped himself saying. "Too much quiet back home, eh? I wouldn't know, I've always lived in a full house. Now I live in a full school--it's pretty wild." She takes a long pull of her drink, too, as if to prove to Kavalam it's actually potable. "It's...lavender-honey? Some kind of flower and honey. Pretty good, if you like a little coffee in your candy. What you drinking there?" "I have many siblings," Kavalam answers, looking up towards the sky, "but it's been a little while since I saw them." His fingers tap lightly against the side of his plastic cup. "This is masala chai. It's alright. My chechi's is better." He bites down on the straw again. Sucks another smaller sip, his brows creasing. "I know your school. I mean, I go there. Xavier's. Too. We -- have met." "Must be weird," Kelawini says, eyes widening slightly. "Or, it would be weird for me, anyway. I can't stand my sister some days, but we're kinda-sorta-almost-twins, so." She doesn't trail off here, just shrugs, as if the conclusion should be self-evident. "Is chechi like--grandmother? Auntie?" Her dark, dark eyes were already intent on Kavalam, but at his revelation they go very wide. "Wait, really? Oh no! I'm usually pretty good at remembering people. I guess it's just meeting so many new ones." She scrubs the side of her face. "I'm so sorry I didn't recognize you. Tell me your name again?" "It's -- weird," Kavalam agrees, albeit a little uncertainly. "Chechi is sister -- older sister -- but I think we use it sometimes too for people who are not a blood relation." His hands curl around his drink, and though he hasn't taken another sip he swallows hard before speaking again. "It is not you. My -- thing. Power. Makes people forget me." He looks back up with a very small tug of lips. "My name is Kavalam." "Oh, it's the same back home, you know like we say sista--" Kelawini hesistates, then changes her pronuciation subtly. "Sister, brother, auntie and uncle for so many people." Her eyes are still wide. "Why would you make me forget?" she asks, kind of hushed and suspicious. Then, blushing, "Oh wait you probably can't--like does it just happen?" She sits up a little straighter, her expression aghast. "Like, nobody remembers you?" "So many people," Kavalam agrees with a laugh. "Sometimes not for years do I realize we have no technical relation. Not that that ever changes anything. Family is family, mmm?" His smile is brief. It fades away as he toys with the straw, stirring it lightly through the melting ice in his cup. "It just happens. People don't notice me and after we speak don't remember --" He shrugs, looking down at the table. "Everybody, yes. If I try hard I can stop it, but it -- is very hit or miss." "Family is family," Kelawini agrees softly. "Screw what the laws say." She leans forward, propping her elbows on the table. "That's terrible! That sounds terrible." She bites her lower lip. Sucks down more of her coffee. "Alright. Kavalam, right? What if--what if I write everything down. Would I remember it when I read it later? Then I could remind the other kids about you, right?" Kavalam's eyes widen in faint surprise, lifting quickly back to Kelawini. "It has been difficult," he acknowledges. "I don't know if that would work. It also just -- it makes people --" His brows knit. "Just -- look past anything to do with me." His fingers tap lightly against his cup. Abruptly: "Tomorrow, are you busy?" "Your power is very um...thorough?" Kelawini sounds reluctantly impressed, swishing the remainder of her drink around the bottom of the cup. "I'm not doing anything tomorrow, but--won't I forget you? Or forget I'm supposed to meet you, if that's what you're thinking?" "Maybe. I guess we'll find out." A slight flush darkens Kavalam's cheeks. "May I see your phone? I will not do anything weird. I just want to try -- something."