Logs:SITREP: As The Kids Say

SITREP: As The Kids Say
Dramatis Personae Blink, Scott	2023-11-15 When it comes down to it, that's what I'm doing on this team, too.
Location <NYC> East Village Thrift Shop - East Village
There is a furor of ferocious wind and torrential rain whipping through this already claustrophobic thrift store, ripping vintage coats from their hangers, plastering the walls in wet T-shirts, hurling lone shoes and handbags to and fro. At the center of this indoor maelstrom is a distraught young woman, huddled at the center of a now-mostly-empty circular clothing rack, surrounded by the rattling hangers; closer to the wall is Scott, the collar of his battered motorcycle jacket turned up uselessly against the wind, attempting to fight his way through the storm and being buffeted back by a wave of denim. The lights in the store are flickering badly between fluorescence and darkness, but the red glow of Scott's visor is almost steady through the lashing rain. His voice, too, is steady, if a little strained from shouting over the noise -- "We should go get coffee after this, I'm freezing my --" This is cut off when he's nearly brained by a cowboy boot, which he knocks handily out of his face with a short optic blast. "Let's talk about it later," he suggests. Blink has been trying to line sight a portal in the cramped quarters of the shop from behind the cover of a sturdy piece of furniture whose purpose is somehow not immediately obvious. Her thick braid sheds an arc of water when she turns abrupt unblinking green eyes on Scott at the suggestion. "Wait, did you just say --" --- <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. Somewhere between the thrift store cyclone and here, Blink has wrung most of the water out of her hair and swapped her fanciful purple hooded jacket for a soft black Evolve Cafe hoodie. She hasn't pulled the hood up like she might in most cafes, though. "Sooo..." She rotates the large mug of pumpkin spice latte between her slender hands. "How...have you been?" Scott's motorcycle jacket has been relegated to the back of his chair, and he's swapped out his visor for his usual tinted red frames, but otherwise he's still in his hurricaned-on clothes, his hair still dripping down the back of his neck, hands cupped around his own steaming mug (though he takes his coffee black.) At this question he huffs out a light, wry sigh -- "Been better," he says. "But I can't complain. School's doing okay. Kids all accounted for." He takes a short sip of coffee, and lets out another huffy breath -- "You?" Blink is nodding emphatically, maybe even enthusiastically, with "kids all accounted for". Then she's blushing, the markings on her face just a little more visible. "Low bar, huh?" But she isn't disagreeing. "I'm..." She doesn't sigh, but she does think about it just long enough to be awkward. Then just owns the awkward with a sheepish smile and a "Been better. I probably can complain about Nazis in my sort-of back yard, but." She shrugs, taking a sip of her own coffee, still a little too hot. "Sorry if that's um. Oversharing?" "Hah! The bar is underground, is that what the kids say?" Scott shakes his head -- maybe at this youthful turn of phrase, maybe at himself for using it, maybe at himself for laughing in the first place. He turns his mug one-eighty-degrees on the table, and tucks the fingers of his other hand through the handle, and sighs again, even quieter. "No, maybe I should be complaining too," he concedes. "And it's not oversharing, I asked." Nevertheless, he seems stumped how else to respond, staring down at his mug like he can divine a new conversation topic in it. Alas; he just falls back on the old one. "Have you been to Riverdale much since it all went --" with his hands still wrapped around his mug, he gestures with his head instead, nodding it in a way that might be meant to suggest a rapid downward tumble, or might just be bopping off-rhythm to the music in the cafe. "Is that what the kids say these days?" Blink scrunches her eyes up in a look of humorously exaggerated skepticism. Or maybe it's a normal level of skepticism exaggerated by her white-less eyes. "Gen. As the kids say. Oh no, that still sounds kind of sarcastic. Sorry, it's just..." She tugs at the tail of her braid, surprisingly neat for it's trip through the unseasonable weather. "Yeah, no I was crashing there a lot for a while. Freaktown." Not Riverdale. "It's nice because of the..." She waves at her general face region. "Freakiness. But I like living with my sister. Even if she has shiiiii -- terrible taste in men." The blushing is a lot more pronounced this time. "I've taken some shifts with the safety squad." She chews on her lower lip. "Is it messed-up I'm bracing to be in trouble for that?" "I can never tell what the kids actually say," says Scott thoughtfully. "Probably some of what they tell me is not gen. Ungen? Disingen?" This doesn't seem right even to him -- he's frowning slightly, mouthing it silently back to himself, before he seems to decide his best course of option is to move on -- "Ah yes," he says delicately, "I see." Does he? He extricates his fingers from his mug handle only to rotate the mug ninety more degrees and cup it between his hands again. "Your sister lives..." he doesn't even bother to hazard a guess, just lowers his brows quizzically. A moment later this frown is joined by a hard press of his lips, and he lifts his gaze away from his mug, though not quite making eye contact -- "I won't reprimand anybody for wanting to protect a place they feel community," he says, though he belies his point by saying this with mild reprove. "If you need scheduling accommodations then let me know, but I don't control what any of you do on your own time." "Oh yeah, they definitely tell you all kinds of nonsense just to see if you'll buy it." Blink nods sagely, then hastily adds, "Not that I would have, if I'd gone to Xavier's. Seriously, I was way too dorky. I probably didn't even know what the kids were actually saying, especially after coming to the States." She smiles, then looks down into her coffee, self-conscious. "When it comes down to it, that's what I'm doing on this team, too. I get that you worry, but that's kind of nice, too." She picks up her mug again, then hesitates. "Anyway, I'll take 'you do you'." She takes a sip, then smiles a smile she'd been suppressing through it. "As the kids say."