2013.10.18 - Odd Girls and Sexy Blokes

There are trendy, upper-class coffeeshops where a latte and a biscotti will set a person back ten bucks. And they're all over Greenwich Village, where poseurs like to descend from the upper crust of Metropolis and pretend they're members of the social strata that gives Greenich its special social flaire. 
Tucked away behind the back streets, off corners and main access routes, is The Green Bean. It's a converted diner that found more profit in coffee than in greasy burgers, but still has a grill and frier in the back. So it's a popular place for those who're nursing hangovers and the folks who are just out for a reasonably priced cup of coffee. 
Remy's somewhere between those two groups, sitting at the bar that's one of the few pieces of furniture that survived the remodel. He's got a cup of coffee- black- steaming in front of him, and even from a few feet away, smelling strongly of bourbon. He's also got a plate of french fries in front of him, and the Cajun is picking at them with the grim determination of a man nursing a brutal hangover and trying to cure it with greasy food and some hair of the dog.
Second day on Earth, and Raven has spent most of her time to date stuck in Troia's room, meditating. The entire universe she used to inhabit had less lives than this city. The crush of emotions was taxing, no matter how she might try to block it out. She'd answered questions in her usual, taciturn nature... but the fact she'd healed one of their own had bought her some measure of trust from her hosts. 
And she can't stay there forever. Raven doesn't have time to shut herself away; she has to acclimatise herself as quickly as she can. What better way to get started than a coffee shop? 
So the teenager, in her cape and boots, hood up, eyes down, shuffles her way into The Green Bean. A few somewhat-dirty notes clasped in one gloved hand. Her expression is set, carefully neutral and composed as she slides herself onto an empty table next to Remy, and focuses her expression on the menu in front of her. 
... And finally, she can bear it no more, turning towards the Cajun to ask, in a bland, monotone voice. "... What are you eating?" Because hey, it smells... good!
Outside of The Green Bean is a young woman, with fiery red hair and a youthful face. In a place like Greenwich Village, she certainly doesn't stand out in the crowd of models, hipsters, and other fashionable types; a knit dress of deep amber, beat up orange Chuck Taylors, black tights and a grey jacket which appears to have been purchased at a military surplus store and modified to fit her frame expertly.
For the past few moments, the girl has been standing outside of the cafe, smoking a cigarette. Her bright eyes are watching the passersby keenly, occasionally seeming humored about something or the other. Humored might even be the wrong word... pretentious? Yes, that's the look upon her face, and it flashes every so often based on the way some of the people act as they walk past, both native and tourist alike.
Eventually, however, she throws the cigarette to the ground and stomps it out, before stepping into the shop with lanky steps and a slight hunch to her frame, as if going inside made her feel somewhat out of place.
 
The door opens with a ring of the bell, and it's Pete Wisdom holding it (?!) for a cute goth girl (oh), looking ungodly amused. "No, I swear, the greasier the better. Maybe we can get them to batter and re-fry some chips. There's this place in Scotland does deep-fried Big Macs with curry, thing cured a tequila bender."
As soon as he's in, he's scanning the inside of the place-- and winces when he sees Gambit. "Shit," he mutters, "I owe that bloke five hundred dollars." And this is where he tries to make sure Amy's between him and Remy. Maybe Remy won't notice him. Maybe. Especially with a different cute goth girl distracting him.
"Wouldn't it be illegal to resell Big Macs?"
The cute goth girl Pete is holding the door for is a very special kind of cute today. Her eyes are half shut, her skin is an especially ghastly shade of pale, and she can't seem to get her boots off the floor. She shuffles inside but waits for Pete to walk past her. Deciding where to go is effort. Pete is doing the heavy lifting right now.
"They can't make Big Macs themselves, either. They'd get the special sauce wrong. It was Big Macs with the special sauce, right?"
Feeling some amount of motivation, Amy Winston opens her eyes as much as she dares and checks out the fluorescent interior. "Ugghhh. UGGGHHH. Did I tell you I grew up on diner food? My mom was a waitress. I mean, before, uh... the other job."
Coming in behind Pete and Amy is an Indian woman, dark haired and dusky skinned, who glances around at the various other people herein the place. After a moment her eyes return to Pete, and for a second or two she tracks him. If he's trying to hide the fact that he's there and avoid notice it's probably not going to work, since she move toward him and speaks in a conversational tone, her accent a mix of received pronunciation and a slight indian accent. "Peter Paul Wisdom?" she asks. It doesn't seem like she expected to find him here and came looking for him on purpose, but more like she's taking advantage of a random encounter.
 
Remy winces a bit even at Raven's dull monotone. The Cajun is /very/ hungover. "Shh, shh, taisez-vous," he mutters, holding a hand near his ear. He sips his heavily doctored coffee, then glances sidelong at Raven. "Fries. Dey call 'em French Fries, tho ah don' know why. Nothin' French 'bout 'em. Jes' fried spuds," he mutters. He slides the plate an inch towards Raven, along with a little cup full of a pink and red spotted paste. "Remy's special fry sauce," he explains. "Try it, you like it. Guarantee." 
Remy takes a long sip of his doctored coffee again and rubs the heel of his hand against his eye, blinking wearily. More than a few people had nightmares last night, apparently- a fact that might have something to do with the ginger woman slouching into the bar. Raven's presence distracts the Cajun from Pete's entrance, though he turns scarlet-hued eyes towards Dreamraker and Karima as the two women slip in afterwards. "You hidin' from someone? Didn't tink dey were wearin' hoodies wit' capes anymore," Remy asks Raven in an affable Creole brogue. "What dey call dat- a cloak?"
 
"With special sauce," agrees Pete, jamming his hands in his pockets for a second, before he figures out he's doing the heavy lifting. "'S probably illegal, but I don't think they gave a--"
So there's this woman asking him if he's who he is, and he's suddenly on actual guard instead of 'hide from Gambit' guard. "That's what my ID says," he tells Karima, eyeing her; he gives up on five hundred and starts steering Amy toward Gambit and Raven, because there are lots of places over there where no one's sitting yet. "What'd I do /this/ time?"
Also to Karima, though more over his shoulder. Which means he also spots the redhead, and-- you know-- man, redheads. But no! No! There are things going on he needs to track. "Ames, you all right with a full breakfast? I'm not even gonna think about your mum waiting tables, I'll have nightmares forever."
Raven's eyes widen momentarily, and she turns around to stare at Amy as she enters. It distracts her, for a few seconds, from Remy... but when she realizes she's being talked to, her attention does turn back towards him. Purple-gloved fingers take an offered french fry, and she dips it in the sauce. 
"... Hiding? No. Not, really." She says, though she does look sidelong at Amy again. There's a subtle darkness that imbues the menu of the restaurant, and it levitates up to hide her face as she slinks down. Something... doesn't feel *right* about that girl with the excellent fashion sense, and she doesn't know what it is! 
"It is a cloak, yes. Its good in all weather... modest for flying, too." And then she pops the fry in her mouth, and if her eyes had been wide when she'd spied Amy, they are saucers now. 
Suddenly, she coughs, tears welling up in her eyes, and she gasps. Still, she tries to put a brave face on it. Forcing herself to swallow, before she speaks up, somewhat strained. "... That is... spicy." She whispers. "But... thank, you?"
The moment she hears the word 'Scotland', Dreamraker flashes her eyes toward Pete Wisdom. The chap gets a good once over, before she turns to face him fully, staring at him from beneath her fashionable glasses. When she looks past Pete, her eyes fall upon the cute goth girl, and that pretentious look is right back in her eyes, paired with a disgustingly blatant smirk.
"Glasgow," she says, butting right in on Pete's conversation with Amy Winston. "McKinney Street and Avenue 15." She looks at Pete with a wry expression, and leans to the side just so, planting one hand on her hip. "Been there a hund'ed times, at least." She speaks fondly at first, her heavy Scottish accent almost cocky, but then her expression sours. "Bunch a' fuckin' neds hang out there these days."
Suddenly, she seems to express awkwardness at having butted in. "Sorry," says the Scottish girl, before spinning about on her heel and making to move off toward the line. It might have been the interruption of the Indian woman, or it might just be that Dreamraker is... well... socially awkward. "Sorry my arse," she mutters under her breath. "He's cute, and that... that thing he's with. God. Bloke figures he can get any dumb --" (the next word is muttered so quietly it's almost impossible to hear the vulgarity) "-- he wants jus' cause she knows how to cut up a pair of fishnets and wear black."
Beat.
"Eh, 'e's prolly a ned, too."
Princess Amethyst, besteered. She looks over her shoulder at Karima as Pete guides her along, missing the part of her brain which normally tells her that strangers deserve a polite expression. They find someplace to sit and Amy is grateful enough to stop paying attention to the other girl.
"Yeah, full breakfast," she mumbles. "Her name was Grace. Get it? You probably guessed. I mean, my name's Amy."
Her voice is quiet and she continues on while conversation bombs fly and people die behind her. When Pete doesn't immediately respond, she spins around in her seat and sees a gaggle of women trying to climb Mt. Wisdom.
Whaaaatever. Amy goes back to the counter and buries her head in her jacket sleeves. Her stomach growls... no, no, not really. She still feels sick, but, it's not--it's not the...
Amy swallows. She lifts her head just a bit to look sidelong at Raven.
"I'm not sure what you've done now, but given your history I suspect a lot of things that upset a lot of people, even if they were the right decision," Karima replies to Pete as she follows him doggedly. "That's not what interests me, though. I was hoping you might be able to help me with a search for information." Her gaze shifts around to all the others around her, but she doesn't let up. "My name is Karima Shapandar, and I was a detective for the Indian National Police until persons unknown kidnapped me and experimented on me against my will. I'm trying to find out who."
At this point she looks around again and then adds, "I apologise for interrupting your breakfast, but I saw you here and couldn't pass up the opportunity to approach. I wouldn't mind contacting you later to discuss this, if you would be so kind, to avoid interrupting further."
Remy chuckles and shakes his head at Raven's discomfiture, shoulders moving back and forth under his heavy Inverness jacket. He beckons over one of the waitresses, and she brings over a little plate with some bottles of flavorings and sauces. Remy moves with practiced motions and quickly makes a little sauce tray for Raven, salmon colored and minus the extra spices he'd ladled into his. "Try dis. Bit of vinegar an' a dab of garlic. Might 'gree wit' you a bit better, oui?" he says, offering the much milder sauce to the gothic girl sitting next to him. 
At Dreamraker's lilting Scottish tones, he looks sideways- then does a double take at Pete Wisdom's approach. "Merde, Pete Wisdom," he declares, a broad grin crossing his face. Remy gives Amy a blatant up-and-down as she approaches, then looks at Karima as the woman makes a simultaneous approach and Dreamraker peels away from the group. "You been makin' some attractive new friends, Pete," the Cajun says, leaning an elbow on the counter with a languid ease. "Nice to see you doin' ok witout Remy 'roun' t' play wingman. Hey, you got dat money you owe me?" he asks, brushing a thumb along the ruddy stubble on his jaw and then brushing against the end of his nose. "Not dat Remy about money, mind, but it be a long day since we crossed paths. Me joindre?" he says, gesturing at a little corner table big enough for everyone to sit at comfortably. He nudges Raven and tilts his head towards the table, gathering up his plate and his coffee. "Got 'nough folk heah we might as well sit at a table like civilized people, oui? Yoah invited too, mon ami," Remy says, calling out to the leggy redhead floundering around the entrance. He flashes her a bawdy wink and settles into a seat without waiting to see if anyone comes along.
For someone who isn't hiding from anyone, Raven is doing a fantastic job trying to shield herself from Amy's attention behind a flimsy coffee shop menu. The offered extra sauces give her something else to focus on other than the growing general background level of, well, *awkwardness*. 
She pokes at the sauce with a fry, and nibbles at it a little bit more. She had been looking a little, well, sweaty, but now that broadly neutral expression seems to have returned. "Its ... good." She says, starting to feel better - right up until the moment Remy nudges at her. 
Then, her eye twitches, and her jaw tightens. The menu that she'd been using as an impromptu Amy-attention-shield rips neatly down the middle, and she exhales, long and slow. 
"... Sure." She says, deadpan as ever. Its really hard to tell if she's being sarcastic. "The more the merrier." And from beneath that shadowy hood, dark eyes scan each of the indicated people in turn, finshing with a long, lingering glare at Amy. 
And then she finishes off the fry.
"Neds. That's arctic chavs, yeah?" Pete tells the redhead, with the straightest of 'polite interest in anthropological matters' faces. Really. No, okay, the corner of his mouth twitches. And everyone's talking to him at once, it seems like-- so he reaches to put a hand on back of Karima's shoulder and steer her toward the newly-developed Remy's Mighty Table. "Now's fine if you've got time. That's Remy, and that's Amy, and I don't know who these two are but I'm sure they're lovely except that one's Scottish so she may bite you."
Wisdom gives Remy a wry look. "I ain't invited to the poker games anymore, mate. You take paypal? Be over in a second." Before he goes up to the counter to order horrifying breakfast things, he leans down to tell Amy, half under his breath, "Naming convention breaks a bit with your aunt, don't it? 'Mordy'. Come on." *Then*, yes, counter, many things to order, all involving foodstuffs sizzling in grease.
From the corner of her eye, Lynette spies Amy resting her head. It's oh so tempting. The thought of forcing the goth chick to sleep is just... almost... too much. But then?
"Welcome to The Green Bean! May I take your order?"
Properly distracted, aforementioned leggy redhead holds up a halting hand to Pete and orders a Depth Charge. She pays for the extremely caffeinated beverage with some crumpled up bills. The boisterous voice coming from Gambit couldn't possibly escape her attention, however, and she whirls about to stare at Gambit and the others curiously.
Pete Wisdom. She commits that name to memory.
As for Gambit's invitation to join, Dreamraker seems to actually be considering it. There is hesitation, and then? She smirks, and walks on over, plopping down into an empty seat. "It's called a Glasgow Kiss," she quips, then mocks a headbutt in Karima's direction, before waggling her fingers in a wave to the Indian woman. "Sweet dreams!"
It's difficult to get Amy's attention. She's staring at cultist girl in the hood. Whatever her fascination, she snaps out of it when Pete invokes her aunt.
"She stayed in Gemworld and became the wicked witch. Get their numbers?" Amy says, nodding just at the redhead since she and Karima decided not to stand next to each other. She grins, but only a little because she is still pretending not to be alive.
It's probably nothing. Keith made her feel weird, too. But Keith was a talking cat who admitted that he had been made an avatar of chaos. Amy saunters toward the table, staring right at Raven. She chooses the seat next to her.
"Hey."
Amy narrows her eyes. Staring matches are a form of combat and Amy is a warrior princess.
"If you don't mind," Karima says, the moving of her eyes making it clear she's including everyone in this, while Pete guides her over to Remy's table. "I wouldn't mind joining you. I don't really know anybody around here, so it would be good to meet more people. It's a pleasure meeting you all. I'm Karima."
She too pulls out a chair and sits down in it, then smiles at Dreamraker. "I'll take your word for it, and keep my distance. I'm more in the mood for a cup of coffee than for being headbutted, just now."
She then turns her attention back to Pete and brings up the topic that caused her to come approach him in the first place. "I'm trying to find out more information about Sentinel programs." There it is.
 
	
"Ahh, don' be such a stick in de mud," Remy says, flashing Raven a swarthy, compelling grin. "Allus nice t' meet new people. Dey call me Remy," he says, waving a fry around the table by way of introduction. "An' y'all 'scuse me if ah ain't my exact cheery self. Long night last night," he says, hoisting his spiked coffee by way of toast and sipping it happily. 
He wags the coffee back and forth from Amy to Raven. "You two shoul' either shake hans an' make nice, or jes' kiss an' git it over wit'. Lotta awkward tension 'tween you two," he observes, tailing that observation off with a hearty laugh. He produces a little flask from his jacket pocket and slides it towards Pete. "Here, Pete, have a nip while ah git t' know de ladies. Dey call me Remy LaBeau, Remy to my friens. Allus nice t' share breakfast wit' some pretty gals," he says, winking floridly at Dreamraker. 
At Karima's question, the Cajun archs an eyebrow, and leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. "Now, what a pretty gal like you wanna know 'bout Sentinel?" he asks Karima with a sultry, irresistable tone. "Dangerous tech to be mixin' up wit', y'know," he observes sagaciously.
"... You get cheerier?" Raven asks, that monotone given just enough inflection to imply that she finds the very idea horrifying on a number of levels. Of course, as Amy sits right next to her, and stares right at her, Raven has something else to worry about. There IS a lot of rising tension here. Perhaps she should try to defuse it. 
One gloved hand comes up, and she lets the hood fall backwards to reveal her face, grey skin, purple eyes, odd little red chakra stone. Her expression remains just as dour as ever, but she's happy to break eye contact with Amy. Even if she's definitely not going to shake her hand or kiss her. 
"My name is Raven." She says, nodding her head around. "... I don't know a lot about what's going on around here." That, to Karima, her tone flat and even. "I just got here yesterday. Apparently New York is the place to be if you want to do good." Oddly enough, as she says that, her attention isn't on Amy at all (who may be feeling that she's getting a cold shoulder now, as Raven determinedly doesn't look at the girl right next to her), but is aimed squarely at Lynette.
 
Oddly, Pete has no apparent problem with getting 'talk to the hand'ed. He just smirks, waiting his turn; when Dreamraker's finished ordering and goes over there too, he puts his in-- enough for three of them probably, because he is a walking bottomless stomach. He also picks up a couple of coffees. Once that's done, he meanders back to the table, dropping down in the chair to the other side of Amy.
"Oh, ta," he says to Remy, cheerfully leaning across to take the flask; he swigs some straight-up, then pours about an ounce in the coffee he puts in front of Amethyst. "This," he says, "will also help."
Then: flask gets passed back to Remy and Wisdom's looking sort of uncertainly entertained. (Will this explode. What is even going on here. Oh god. I like this place. This place doesn't need levelled.) He decides to completely ignore all that tension and blithely be the guy with the coffee and the sidearm. "She got nicked by some twatwaffles who were last in line when they was handing out ethics," he supplies, then glances to Karima again; his manner's less abrupt now that he's got a little bourbon in his system. "Don't know much about them myself -- other than, you know, giant mutant-killing purple robots -- but I can probably get my hands on a fair amount of information from a few sources. How is it you know me?"
A pleasant grin is flashed Karima's way. "Don't worry," replies Lynette, "They only happen when they're deserved." She winks, before curling her hands around the cup of espresso-laced coffee. "Cheers," she emotes, lifting the cup in a salute before taking a testing sip.
It's all a bit much for the unassuming sociopath. Amy and Raven engaged in a staring contest. Remy and Pete oogling her (at least in HER mind). It's the flask that ends up getting her attention, and she eyeballs it as if she would do almost anything for a nip.
She stares at it for a moment, and before the flask can be passed back to Remy, she reaches out and snatches it right up. She lifts it to her nose and takes a few sniffs, then, with a shrug, she dumps a fair bit of it into her own cup of coffee. With a somewhat experienced motion of flair, she flips the cap back on and screws it back on by grinding it into the table, round and round, with enough pressure to keep the contents from spilling out. Then, she chucks it back across the table at Remy, never once breaking eye contact with the Cajun.
"I'm Lynette."
That being said, she turns and looks at Raven, lifting her left eyebrow curiously. Her eyes linger upon the strangely colored one for a second or two, before they casually slide back over to Pete Wisdom. "Giant, mutant killing robots?" she asks, then raises a hand and snaps her fingers around at the others. "I get it!" she exclaims, before leaning forward, locks of red hair falling about her face. With a conspiratorial lilt to her Scottish accent, she looks around at the others. "You lot are all mutants. I know it. It's the eyeessss." She reaches a free hand to tap at her own absolutely normal ones, before leaning back and tilting back a bourbon-laced slug of Depth Charge.
"Oy. That's a hell of a lot better!"
"Where did you get here from?" Amy asks, hot in pursuit. Without taking her eyes off Raven, she grabs her coffee and takes a sip. "--ohmygod."
Amy pushes herself away from the table with her feet, holding the coffee out in front of her while she wipes the bit that got on her chin. She delicately sets the cup back onto the table and jabs a steel-shod toe into Pete's ankle. "You are the worst! It's yours, now."
She scoots back forward, crossing her arms and skeptically watching Lynette rehearse for the World Bartending Championship. "Are we talking about mutants? Why are we talking about mutants?"
Nodding her head at what Pete's said, Karima answers Remy. "He has the right of it. I didn't make the choice to get mixed up with the dangerous tech, and I don't have much choice but to stay mixed up in it any more. It's not even revenge that I'm after," she adds, eyes moving around from one person at the table to the next. "I just want to be better prepared for whoever is likely to be coming for me."
The various tensions going around she also does her best not to get involved with, continuing with her own part of the conversation and hoping those tensions resolve themselves. To Lynette what she says is, "I'm not a mutant, I'm one of the robots, cyborgs. Whatever you want to call it. Don't worry, the murderous programming is disabled, which is why I'm worried about people coming after me."
Her dark eyes settle on Pete and she laces her fingers together on the table, trying to look calm and relaxed and non-threatening. "My sensors identified you when I came in, and your name popped up on my heads-up display, along with some of your work history. It seemed like you might be the kind of guy who could get that kind of information. I'm trying to find out who's been snatching people and turning them into hidden sleeper agent killing machines." Evidently she doesn't think hiding the truth is the best way to get people to think that she's not a danger, since it makes it look like she has something to hide.
"Oh, I see," Amy says in a tiny voice.
 
"Oui," Remy assures Raven. "Ah positively radiant when ah ain't hung de hell ovah," he informs the gothling. "Much more fun t' hang 'roun. Mornin', tho, ah jes' feel like havin' a few fries an' a nip from de flask." 
At the toss of the aforementioned flask, Remy no-look snatches it from the air with a celerity that's clearly superhuman, winking once at Lynette and tucking it into a breast pocket of his heavy jacket. 
"Like a gal who kin drink," Remy informs the redhead with a swarthy grin. "Not a lot of women kin handle a good belt of bourbon. Shows character. Or is dat jes' 'cause yer a Highland gal?" he inquires of the dreamwalker. 5r
At Karima and Amy's words, Remy composes his face and leans forward a bit, listening intently to their discussion. "Yoah about de prettiest robot ah ever see," Remy informs Karima, "but dat make me a bit nervous, oui? Robot lookin' for Sentinels, dat can't be good. Why you lookin' for Sentinels again, mon ami?" he inquires of the woman, his tone a bit more serious.
There's a faint shiver from Raven at Remy's 'reassurance', and she, in sharp contrast to Karima, does in fact have something to hide. As a result, her reaction to Amy's question about her origins is a cool one. "Somewhere else." She says, entirely helpfully, though her answer is quiet and her attention is more on Karima, as she explains the far more serious things going on. Almost none of which Raven actually knows a single thing about. 
"I'm not a mutant, either." She clarifies, slipping her hood back up into place as she does. "I'm ... magical." She pauses for a moment, to select another fry, and bite it, unsauced, before she slinks back in her chair. Her expression is finally becoming something other than entirely blank, at least. Now, beneath the hood, her brow is furrowed and her jaw tight, pensive. Trying to work out if - and how - she could even begin to help in something she barely grasps beyond the fact that killer robots are probably bad. At least the intellectual exercise is helping to take her mind off the close emotions of the chatting group.
 
"Ow, fuck!" complains Pete, giving Amy a wounded glare and edging his chair further away from her. "I am /not/ the worst. /You're/ the worst. Bloody abusive--" he starts grumbling, then cuts himself off. Important things. "I'm actually a golem from 5,000 BC three galaxies over. Emigrated because everyone over there votes Tory all the time, and fuck that noise." He waves a hand a little dismissively, shaking his head at Remy. "No, I get where she's going with this: that's why we /help/, instead of just /handing over/ the information," he tells the Cajun. He inclines his head at Karima. "Don't mind help, right? Bloody awful fix to be in. Hate being hunted by unnamed so-and-sos, myself."
For an uncomfortably long few seconds, Lynette just stares at Karima. Then, she slides back, slaps her hand into the table, and then provides a good snap-point toward the darker-skinned lady. "From now on? You're just 'Seven of Nine' to me." Scooting back forward, she reaches again for the cup of spiked coffee, absolutely beaming at Karima with no shortage of disbelief in her eyes. It's echoed plainly by the smirk on her face, and she whips back to Pete, saying, "See? She's even talking about her sensors. Next thing you know it'll be Borg implants, tertiary adjunct to your mom's vag, and shit like that."
Lynette laughs at herself so hard that she snorts. Correction: she snarfs. Coffee laced with bourbon.
The table promptly witnesses a spew of barely intelligible Glasgwegian cursing. "Mother'a'fugg'n... gawwram sallie-piece-a... bloody intae me' eyes fer fuck's sake!"
As if nothing ever happened, Dreamraker rights herself, wipes her nose on the sleeve of her jacket, and looks back at Remy. "Glasgwegian, mate," she quips. "You wanna learn how to drink, slide your fake-French arse o'er there." Once again, there's a glimmer of mirth in her eye. "Just avoid the bawbags. Don't care where you're from, a Scot's head is always thicker."
To Raven she cants her head. "Cheers. I'm 'magical' too." Beat. "Who the fuck calls themselves 'magical'? You could do better. Try... 'mysterious'!"
It's not that Lynette isn't paying attention to the steadily developing conversation surrounding these Sentinel robots. It's just not something that interests her yet. She's having way to much fun picking at these folks, and when she begins to fear that her opportunities to do just that are fading, she leans back into her chair with a slowly growing frown.
The second Raven says she is magical:
"Okay, wow, I am so done."
Amy stands, knocking the chair away from her. It wobbles but remains upright. She puts a hand on Pete's shoulder--glares at Lynette--and says, "Pete, have fun with this stuff, scream really loud if you need rescuing. I--"
The teen reaches out, trying to clamp her black-nailed pincer on Raven's arm. "--am going to deal with this one."
"I hope that there aren't nine like me," Karima says to Lynette with a shake of her head and a flat tone, though she doesn't sound either offended or angry. "Also, unlike most borg, I'd rather make sure that nobody else gets assimiliated." It seems like she takes it rather more seriously, but at least she doesn't seem to be upset (or surprised) by the response.
With a nod she unfolds her hands and turns them palms up, as she turns back to Pete. "I would welcome help, too. What I want most is to understand, since so many of the details are missing now. If you can help me find answers, I would appreciate it."
Turning to Remy she adds, "thank you, for the compliment. As a note, though, I'm not looking for sentinels... just the people behind them, and to see what I can do to prevent other people from finding themselves in my position."
She lifts a hand and waves as Amy gets up to go, but doesn't offer a verbal goodbye.
The smile doesn't leave Remy's face for a second. Not when Lynette makes her haughty prod on behalf of all Scots, and making fun of his beloved French heritage. And not when Lynette nearly chokes herself to death on the bourbon. He is just about to reply to Karima with something helpful about Sentinels when Amy stands up abruptly and goes to assault Raven. 
The affable Creole boozehound holds up a hand, attempting to forestall things with that legendary Cajun charm that works a subtle influence on anyone and everyone (well, except perhaps Karima) that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with making it. 
"Woah, hey, now, no need t' git physical, oui?" Remy states, giving Amy his best, most appealing look. "Let's all jes' relax. My new frien' an' me ain't even finished our fries yet, an' ah likely t' git a bit put out if y'all ruin dis hangover ah got goin'," Remy informs Amy. He grins swarthily at Amy, turning his hand palm up and gesturing back at the woman's seat. "C'mon, sit yoahself down. Ain't no need t' ruin everyone's mornin', 'special fore noon. Sil-vous plait?" he asks Amy, again, nodding at her chair.
Raven just sort of, looks at Lynette. She doesn't have an answer for that. What sort of person calls herself magical? Well... a magical person, surely? She's just about to open her mouth to answer when Amy grasps her arm, and Raven closes her eyes. She really, really doesn't like to be touched. Whatever she had been about to say, her lips press together into a small, thin line. If it hadn't been for Remy speaking up...
... but he /does/ speak up. That smooth Cajun lingo might not technically be magic, but it still does the trick to stop Raven just fleeing. All things considered, the half-demon's response is very, very calm. Back to the deadpan, neutral. Just find your center, Raven, and keep it together. This hasn't escalated too far yet. "I'd really like you to let go of me. Now."
 
"Can't it wait? She's having breakfast, for godsake." Amy's got her hand on Pete's shoulder, but Pete doesn't look like he's taking orders today-- or like he expects Amethyst to people being reasonable when it smells like magic-versus-magic time. He stands up, taking a pen out of his shirt pocket and scribbling on the corner of the paper placemat. This, he rips off and pushes toward Karima, even as he's taking cash out of his pocket with his other hand. "Here. I'll get looking in the meantime." The cash, he puts on the table, half-under Amy's nigh-untouched bourbon-coffee; his hand, it's got hold of Amy's jacket sleeve. Not like he's gonna pull her anywhere, but like he thinks it'll give him a shot at following if she portals out.
The funny thing is? Dreamraker could actually get to liking Karima. She looks at the self-proclaimed robot with an earnest smile, and leans over to poke her in the shoulder. "See? Just like Seven of Nine. That's your new nickname, from now on."
The moment Amy reaches to grab Raven, Lynette's eyes are suddenly alight with glee. She looks between the two, expecting fisticuffs, but Gambit makes a move to spoil all of that. She fires him a look of absolute disbelief, before scooting her chair back abruptly. "Oh, COME ON!" she cries, and marches right around Pete to put herself up into Amy and Raven's personal space. "They got somethin' to work out. Let 'em work it out, awright!?" Her arm shoots out, pointing at the door. "C'mon, Bonny. Y' cannae make a mess of this place. Outside, both of ya!"
She backs off just enough to give them room to head for the door. At least she hopes!
"If you must," Karima says to Dreamraker with a sigh and a shake of the head. She watches the woman get up to go interfere with the brewing tensions, then turns to the placemat corner that Pete offered to her with his number on it. She looks at it, memorizes the number, then sticks it in a pocket as she starts to get up. "Thanks," she says to him, and then lets her gaze shift around again. "To all of you who are willing to help, or just tolerate the interruption. I should get going."
Amy's gaze snaps to Remy as he addresses her. "You're that dude who bailed when Punisher started stabbing people. You know he cooked a guy on your stove?"
Even if he knows Pete, which implies some level of knowing weird stuff, Remy couldn't possibly know what the problem is here. He didn't see the eye with teeth eating corpses, he wasn't stranded in an entire reality built upon something fundamentally opposite of himself, he didn't see the devil smile and an angel kill. Those things got inside her, in that part of her that Doctor Fate, trapped in his bizarre tower, said is definitive of her character.
When Raven talks, Amy looks at her like she wasn't there before. Numbly, she removes her hand, clutching it to her stomach where that ghost disemboweled her last week. "Um, sorry," she mutters.
Amy looks to Pete. I am not okay but that's alright for now, her expression says. It's gone when the redhead gets up in her business. "--chill out, I made a mistake," she says, forcefully.
 
Remy smiles at Amy when she removes her hand from Raven, flashing a wink at the goth girl sidelong. His body language doesn't shift an inch from when they'd all been sitting around just drinking and chatting. Remy slides the plate of fries back towards Raven and looks back at Amy. 
"Yeah, we all got problems, it sound," he says calmly and a bit enigmatically. "Ain't no cause for pickin' fights in a nice cafe." He archs a remonstrative eyebrow at Amy, then gives Pete a limp, two fingered salute. "Pete, next time ah see you, you fin' dat money you owe me, oui? Hate t' have t' come track you down foah it," Remy says with a grin that belies the statement. Mostly. He might mean it. 
Remy takes a long sip of his coffee, polishing it off, then casually picks up the stub of a little overdone fry and with a flick of his fingers, neatly drills Lynette right in the forehead from nearly ten feet away. "Relax, lady," he coos at the woman. "Too early in de day to be fightin', an' ah don' wanna have to go over der an' turn you over my knee." He winks at her- playfully, kind of- and takes a bite of one of the steak fries.
Raven's expression is notoriously difficult to read. Has that come across enough? Lets restate it now. Her attention is back on Amy, when the goth girl's hand clutches at the ghostly wound, there's a faint grimace. She nods her head, and her hand rubs over the part of her arm the other girl had been grabbing so forcefully. 
"I think ... we should talk." She says, "But not now. I've lost my appetite. I'm staying at the Themysciran embassy. They have a phone." She turns back to face Remy, and dips her head down. "Thank you for sharing." She says, "I appreciate that... and be careful." Her eyes settle back on Lynette. "She, is trouble."
All that said, the girl is suddenly sitting on a portal of darkness. It is surprisingly quiet and low-key, but she literally just falls through her seat, and the small window of shadowy energy closes up behind her as she goes. 
~Magic~
 
Meeting Amy's eyes briefly, Pete reads them and gives her the slightest nod, letting go her sleeve. "I'll get our shit to go," he tells her, picking up the twenty again, then giving Karima a lopsided smile. "See you soon, then." He just straight-up grins at Remy as he walks backwards to the counter. "I'm with SHIELD, mate, not hard to track down. But it's not like I carry that much cash on me-- I'll tag Ramsey, he'll get it to you." And man he is staying /out of the way/ of Lynette and Raven both, right now. Yes. The guy who will be trying to get fried everything back to the Sanctum Sanctorum before it congeals. That is totally the only job worth-- and Raven just fell into a portable hole. He stops in his tracks, staring. "My life. Why is this my life."
Ignoring the small piece of fry that bounces off her forehead, Lynette looks right into Amy's eyes with no shortage of fight in her hazels. However, after a beat, she smiles and blows a fake kiss to Amy, before backing down. A look is shot Remy's way. "Dobber," she shoots his way, before making for her seat again.
As she walks away, Raven gets a look. "Damn right I'm trouble," she quips. "Remember that, Bonny." Of course, it's not with a threatening tone, you see. It's more like she's just having fun. Way too much fun. Raven of course just might know better...
That being said, as Karima makes to leave, however, Lynette does the oddest of things. She walks up to the woman, hesitantly, before leaping out and wrapping her arms around Karima in a friendly hug. Bouncing back, she says, "If ya fancy any help with those big, bad robots, gimme a ring. 212-867-5309." About halfway through dropping her phone number, she turns a pointed look at Remy LeBeau.
And then, just like that, her attention is bouncing like a ping-pong back to Pete Wisdom. "Peter Paul Wisdom," she says, going out of her way to approach and look him up and down without shame. "See you 'round, handsome." She flashes him an absolutely adoring look, and makes to turn away, before she smells the telltale odor of cigarette smoke on his clothes. Turning back, she flashes him another adoring look and asks, "Oy. Got a fag, mate?" Seems she's on her way out, but she hasn't forgotten that spiked coffee, and she sure as hell ain't leaving here without getting a smoke from someone.
Amy stands her ground. This ain't her first time at the crazy girl rodeo. Lynette is taller but looks like the coffee she just drank accounts for twenty percent of her current body weight. The redhead backs down and Amy is free to resume being embarrassed.
Or, Raven can namedrop the Amazons and perform the wizard equivalent of dropping the mic. Amy looks over her shoulder at Pete. "C'mon, that should be way low on your weird stuff list." She stops. Redhead talking again.
Remy would sit back in his seat, but is already as relaxed as it is possible for a person to be while conscious. He instead finishes his coffee, rises, and throws a twenty onto the counter to cover the fries, drinks, and discourtesy. "See you roun', Red," he informs Lynette. Winking once at the woman, completely insincerely, he saunters out of the cafe, hands jammed deep into the pockets of his Inverness.
 
He's got a redhead in his face who's -- wait, is she hitting on him? Pete looks very slightly lost, and hands the money to the girl at the cash register, and gives Amy a wide-eyed shrug. And then he's patting down his pockets, and he comes up with a pack of the bullshit cigarettes he smokes; he gives Lynette two. "One for asking, two because Chelsea won against Man U last night and I am feeling kindly toward all living things." And then-- then he's got takeaway, and he lightly elbows Amy as he heads toward the door. "I don't have a list. I try to forget about these things. It makes my life simpler. Oi, so I had a question-- your unicorn-- I thought they only let virgins touch them." There's a pause. Eyes widen. He can see a boot in his near future. "ONLY I MEAN it let me--!"
Amy waits behind Pete, hands on hips and a boot tap-tap-tapping away. Lynette bails with her carcinogenic prize and her tour guide is finally free. She walks alongside, getting the door this time since Pete's hands are full.
"Excuse you, are you trying to ask me something?" The princess is half successful at acting scandalized, the rest is laughing. She grabs Pete's arm as they head down the street. "I never asked. Maybe they don't. Or maybe you just wrapped around the scale or something. I mean, I can't take you anywhere without strange women rubbing up against your legs."
Category:Log