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Log Title: Sugar and Cream

Log setting: Cafe du Monde, directly following the log Assult with a Deadly Danish.

Log Cast:
Alisynde
Trace
Goose
Nelson
Batte
NPC Cafe du Monde countergirl(spoofed by Ali)

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You enter the cafe.

Alisynde ambles towards the counter. "Trace...y'gotta come over heah and tell me what kinda danish you want." Ali grins a little, looking at a fine, circular, icing-covered specimen, as she waits for the blue-hair to join her.

Trace is the last to enter the cafe, having held the door for his... well, his friend and these two other guys. Aquaintences, yeah. He starts to follow once everyone's through, but the further he traverses into the thick of the cafe, the less comfortable he looks. Oh, THAT's right. He's scruffy! *That's* why he's never liked this somewhat ritzy, over-rated place. But he's not paying for his danish, so the set of his shoulders relaxes a little as he pads over to Ali and peers into the case. Mmm. A pink tongue flickers out to wet his lips.

Goose spreads his arms wide as he enters. It's a gesture of greeting to the entire cafe, as well as a gesture of proprietorship over his little group. Like a papa duck and his ducklings. Of course, he probably just happened to walk in at the same time they did and may not even know them at all. One arm comes back down around Nelson's shoulders again (he must know at least one of them), the other lands at his side. "Oh sweets. For the sweet."

Nelson smiles wryly as he sidesteps the leaving people. "So this is what it's like to be socially unacceptable." he muses quietly. Then, "I'm going to call work and play hooky again. Do I have a cold today, or a full-blown case of the flu?"

Alisynde pipes up with, "Pulled groin muscle."

Goose offers, "Herpes."

Nelson shakes his head and sets his briefcase down on a table, extracting from it a cellphone. "I had to ask." he mutters as he punches at the buttons.

"No, no!" Trace calls, turning around. "Y'got... I know. There was this kid, right? Holdin' a danish. And he was just standin' there, and y'plowed right into him. Like... with yer car. So y'had to take him to the 'mergency room, right? But he was all bloody an' dyin, with his guts spilled out, and it was really sad." He nods solemnly. Poor mushy Trace. Very tragic. "An' like... Might as well take the whole WEEK off, coz man, you need some therepy."

Nelson clamps his hand over the phone and says "Shh!" Then draws his hand away and musters a sniffle, saying "Hi, yeah - I'm not coming in today. You know that cold I had Wednesday? It got worse."

Goose scratches his neck with crawling fingers as he listens to Trace. Oh my. Now this kid has an imagination. The corner of Goose's mouth twitches upward a bit. The other side joins it over the course of the story. Near the end, Goose is grinning, with teeth. After that last sentence, he laughs and the rich sound reminds one of a coffee commercial or something. He tips his head back and just lets it go. Unfortunately... Nelson is making his call... at just that moment... isn't he?

Alisynde laughs. Oh, wait, we're supposed to be tragic. She shhs herself by cramming a hand into her mouth and making happy choking sounds. Scruffy, disreputable-looking, and stifled giggling. The person working the counter gives her and Trace a look, and snaps, "You gonna buy something, or what?"

Nelson scowls and slithers out from under Goose's arm, curling around his phone protectively. "That's the radio." he says. "Funny morning show, some guy... yeah. I gotta go." Click.

Trace gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes when he hears Nelson default to the pansy-ass 'cold' idea. Shit, if he didn't like the mushy Trace idea, he might as well have gone with herpes. But Goose's laugh picks up the corners of his lips in a little smile again, rescuing him from the grumpy scowl he's been sporting most of the morning. "Where's yer hanky, Nelson?" he wonders, mock-innocent and eyes wide. "Don'tcha need it with yer cold so bad an' all?"

Goose turns his charms on the person behind the counter once Nelson rejects him and his mirth. Leaning on it, he gives her or him, whichever it is, a steamy, sexy look and puckers his lips in a twitchy sort of way. "I'm going to order, sugah. What you got that sweet and creamy?" There goes that eyebrow waggle again, but... ummmm... this time it looks different. Almost menacingly sexual in a slimy sort of way.

Nelson sighs and deposits his cellphone back in his briefcase, snapping it shut. "Look, I skipped work Wednesday to hang out with Holly and Ben. I called in with a cold. It was feasible, all right?" He drags out a chair and drops himself into it, sliding the briefcase off the table and onto the floor. Talk about what-a-day. Not even lunchtime and his suit's already trashed, hair rumpled, and expression weary.

The counterperson, a tired-looking collegate female type, perks noticeably at the attention from Goose, even with the slight slimy edge to it. Coyly, she starts describing everything sweet and creamy, emphazing certain words. An expectant look is given the man at the end, along with her attempt at a sensual smile.

Alisynde twitches her lips once, then returns to contemplation of the danishes. "Any ideas yet, Trace?"

Trace freezes as Nelson says who he hung out with, eyes widening. Kid's not playing this time. He seriously looks spooked. But he tries to shake it off, smiling weakly. "Oh. Well. Guess that... does make some sense then." He turns deliberately and paces over to the case, pointing out to Ali half-heartedly, "I want that one." A danish with red swirls. Could be raspberry, could be strawberry, who knows. But red seems to work for Trace. He steps back and his grin grows more stable as he turns to watch Goose's charms start to work.

And so, Goose does his good deed for the day, keeping the average young woman behind the counter busy so Alisynde and Trace have time to decide without getting bitched at. Of course, he gains no personal pleasure from it at all. And then, there's the added benefit that he's possibly making the Month for this over-sexed counter-girl. "Oh, honey, now that does sound tantalizing. Tell me. What do you recommend. You don't have any allergies to chocolate, do you? I've heard chocolate can make you feel like you're in looooooove." Anyone's skin crawling yet?

Alisynde, very calmly, points out the danish to the oblivious counterperson. After a moment of no response, she mutters something inaudible under her breath.

Nelson rolls his eyes and calls over to the counter, "Hey, Casanova, while you're over there, will get me a coffee? Black.." his voice trails off. He clears his throat abruptly and says "No cream or sugar."

The girl giggles. A simpering, annoying giggle. She leans closer, and licks her lips slightly. "I think anything that's warm and brown is something that should be treasured. Savored slowly, until it melts all over you." A stray finger caresses her clavicle for a moment. Honey, you're making this girl's millenium, apparently. "Although I hear that something that's not quite so dark and rich can be fufilling as well. Care to try something a little paler? Creamier? White chocolate mocha, perhaps..." Although a drink is mentioned, she doesn't seem to be quite referring to that in particular.

Trace gives Nelson another look, this time incredulous. The boy has all sortsa looks he can toss at the chemist today, it seems. But this time, seriously. No cream or sugar? It's like this concept doesn't exist to the bluecap. He says, "My sugar an' cream gets some coffee in it, okay, Ali?" But looking over at her brings his attention back to Goose and the girl. He grins broadly suddenly. Huh. Wow. He probably oughta be taking notes, seriously. Maybe his Valentine's Day wouldn't have sucked so much and he'd be curled up with some pretty little thing and not trudging around and getting on Nelson's nerves at six in the morning.

Alisynde looks rather like she's swallowed a large piece of wood sideways, but manages to nod at Trace. "Coffee-flavahed sugah an' cream. Got it."

Oh. Goose is /all over/ those double entendres. Including Nelson's. He looks back over his shoulder at Nelson. He grins. He just grins. And oh, that grin says so much. It lasts a long moment, then Goose looks back at his young peony target, "You. Are just so temptin', darlin'. I'm going to go cool off before /I/ melt. Tell you what. Give me two coffees, black, sugah. And whatever these two want too." He pauses dramatically, then for her benefit (if the look in his eye is any indication), "It's on me." See what a big spender he is, counter-girl? Don't you wish they sold men like him in WalMart? Oh wait. They probably do.

Nelson watches Goose. One brow creeps up at that grin, and he almost pulls off looking dubious and detached. Almost. Those washed out pale cheeks betray him though, making such a nice backdrop for the blush that surfaces. A fumbling recovery, he rolls his eyes and looks away, studying... his hands! Watching them fidget with the edge of one sleeve.

His order noted by little miss Mocha, Trace has no real excuse to still be standing so he pads on over to the booth and slips in opposite Nelson. He looks up at the man briefly, but tries to drop it again quickly before it might be noticed. He takes out a sugar packet and toys with it idly. For surely, no matter how he phrased his order, he's still going to need to add more to be satisfied. He takes a little creamer too, peeling back the wrapper to expose the milky white in the little plastic cup. The sugar is torn open and he dumps it into the cream, then picks up the cup. "Sugar shot," he grins, with another brief look to Nelson before knocking it back. Gulp.

Double-entendre woman gives Goose a saucy-wink, and an almost-purred, "Anything for you." She takes Ali's order with noticeable impatience, then turns to fill it, wiggling her tightly-garbed behind just a little too much as she works. Al and Trace's order is plonked down on the counter, while she personally hands the first cup of coffee to Goose, the second sitting quite nicely close to herself. "Here you are, honey. Strong and black, just like..." She pauses, and licks her lips again. "...you ordered."

Nelson glances up at Trace as he slips into the booth. He peers at him quizically. So much for small talk. He abandons fidgeting with his sleeve, however, in lieu of fidgeting with one of those little creamer buckets. Those are all sorts of fun.

Alisynde grabs the danish and two coffees, and brings them over to the table. Goose said he was buying, so...Ali's job is done. And now that the barista isn't looking, Ali can make all sorts of gagging faces. In fact, she looks like she's about to throw up a hairball any minute. But as she turns around to retrieve her beignets, her expression is smoothed into something quite neutral and pleasant.

Trace sets the empty cream-cup down and wipes the back of his hand against his wet grin. Nelson's movements are noted, and he looks at the man and then chuckles. A hand tugs a sugar out of the little metal rack holder and he waves it out tauntingly. "Peel it back, go fer it." A flashed grin. "Dare ya. Double dog, even." A laugh as the old childish phrase is ressurected, but he shifts it to just a broad grin and looks up to Ali, scooting over to allow her room beside him.

On the street, A taxi pulls up, dropping off Batte.

Goose definitely does, oh definitely does, make sure the counter-girl notices him noticing her wiggle. He lowers his eyelids a bit, the sleeze, and winks when he catches her eye. With a slow, languid arch of his back, he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He brings out some money. All singles. No big impressive wad here. "How much, honey?" He thinks he's smooth, doesn't he? Or does he? There's a slight taint of too much, just too much, in what Goose is doing to, for, at the counter-girl.

On the street, Batte pays the cabdriver and looks about before strolling to the cafe.

Batte comes in from the street.

Nelson notes crisply "I have nothing to prove to you." And he toys with the creamer bucket, not opening it, just rolling it around in his palm absent-mindedly. Grumpy chemists, who can figure them? He watches Goose and the counter girl through lowered lashes, shaking his head faintly.

Batte gestures a hello to to Nelson and Trace before locking a slow, subtile smile on Ali.

Whether Goose thinks he's smooth or not, the countergirl's buying it hook, line, and sinker. She names a price, giving him a wink. Doing the math would come up with a price just a teensy bit higher than what's actually named, but the oversexed college wonder doesn't care. Instead, she holds out her hand in a manner that is supposed to be sensual, but instead comes off looking cheap and degrading.

Nelson mutters a quiet comment.

At your table, Nelson says "So, think he's going to just jump on her or actually wait til she's got a break?" Meow, fsk fsk.

Alisynde turns back towards the table, bearing beignets and that utterly digusted look again. Her eyes look out, away from the counter, and lock with Batte's. The slow, sutble smile is returned with one of her own, and Ali nudges the seat out next to her, motioning to Batte with a finger.

At your table, Alisynde murmurs, "I'm going to move over a table so we have room, okay?"

Trace peers across the table at Nelson, nose wrinkling a little. "Fine, whatever you say, Bartleby." He pauses, belatedly spying Batte and lifting a hand to give a small wave. Then a glance back to Nelson. Uh.. Heh. Ali just abandonned him. He plucks up a new sugar and empties the packed into his newly arrived coffee without much thought.

Goose tips his head to one side and /smiles/ at his counter-girl. /His/ counter-girl. He counts out the appropriate number of bills and places them in her palm, closing his own hand over them, as if he were shaking her hand. He doesn't shake though. Nope. He draws her hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, keeping his eyes on hers the whole time. Now's a good time to gag, Alisynde. Still close to her hand, he says, "Keep the change, Belle." Of course, the change is probably not much more than 50cents, but then it's the thought that counts, right?

Nelson slouches lower in his booth and settles into a nice sulk. The creamer bucket is fidgeted clean off the table, likely stuck in a pocket thoughtlessly. "You're one of Nadine's friends." he accuses Trace, conversationally.

The countergirl almost visibly shivers as Goose's hand closes over hers, and she drifts over to the register, dropping the money for the order in the drawer and the 45 cent tip in the tip jar. Then she sways off to clean something or other, looking quite satisfied with herself.

Batte would purr if it were not undignified, at the summons. He meanders the direction of the blond one. He pauses long enough to withdraw a wild daisy from his lapel and presents it to Ali with cultured bow. All the while, his eyes never leave hers. So much for polite.

Alisynde favors Batte with a blissful smile, and tucks the daisy behind her ear. Her eyes remain quite firmly locked to Batte's. Polite can be go to hell, for the moment.

Batte pages Alisynde, you and Nelson: Uh, is everyone switching seats, of did she scoot of by herself? Goose's fun has been had for the day. He chuckles to himself and picks up the coffees. There's a boom-chicka swagger to his step as he half-dances over to the table where everyone has circled. One coffee for Nelson. One for him. He slides in next to Nelson, after having set the coffees down, and purposely bumps into the other man as if he just can't stop the slide in time. Slippery shorts, you know.

Batte asks quietly, "How is your life, my Love?"

Nelson scoots in a little at that bumping, curling up in his corner of the booth. He looks Goose over and says dubiously "Are you done, or am I going to have to hose you down?"

"Yeah, I guess," Trace nods with a little, dismissing shrug. Though there's OTHER folks, he now realizes, shared friends or one-time friends you and he share. He's trying not to mention that, though. "She did some piercins' fer me. Cain't see em, though, cept the brow one. All the other's innies. That's what she call a piercin' what ain't fer jest everybody t'see." He smiles a little proud of them.

Alisynde says softly, "As always, it's much better now that you are here.."

Nelson glances to Trace again and smiles faintly. "I saw you get your neck pierced. I imagine you must have been distracted." He slides his coffee closer, hands wrapping around the cup possessively. Ah, the coveted black milk of morning.

Alisynde breaks off a piece of beignet, and offers it out to Batte, a question in her eyes. Pastry for daisy? Goose smiles broadly at Nelson. "What?" Such innocence in a single syllable that is little more than air with a 'tuh' on the end. He looks around. Alisynde and then Batte garner a long study that illicits a gooey-eyed smile. "Looooove." Then it's gone. Just that abruptly and he looks at Trace. "Innies?" Not that's interesting. He peers at Trace over the top of his glasses. "Neck? Ow. Can I see?"

Trace flinches a frown, emptying another sugar into his coffee. "Well, there's POSEta be a screen fer privacy. N'my fault everybody came ta gawk..." He goes and contradicts himself however when Goose inquires about his nape piercing, and smiles and pulls the braids off the back of his neck so that the brightly-garbed man can see the inch and a half-long barbell running under the skin there and peeking out at the ends with the two ball caps. The surrounding skin is still reddened and irritated from the recent mutilation.

Alisynde glances over. "Y'got it done, Trace?" She oohs at the piercing. "Very nice.."

Nelson sips at his coffee and shrugs a little, saying loftily "Well if someone drags me out of my way to be bored, then it's not my fault if I have to find ways to amuse myself. If she doesn't want people watching, she should put up a bigger screen."

Goose smacks his lips as if unsure of how this thing should taste, whatever this thing is. Maybe it's rotten. Maybe that's the normal taste. He frowns a bit, confused. "So, I have just one question for you. Is it, Trace? Your name? No, that's not the question. My name's Goose by the way. My question is: Why?"

From the back, the other table can see Batte's ears and neck turn red as he swiftly leans forward to bite a bit of beignet from Ali's fingers.

On the street, The sun blazes overhead in the clear blue sky.

The braids are allowed to fall back into place. "Trace is the name I use," the blue-haired boy half grins. "S'like I'm sure Goose ain't the name yer ma gived you. But even so, it's more me than anythin' else you could call me." He looks down to his danish and picks at it with his fingers, pulling the spiral apart idly. "So when y'say why... Y'mean like, why'd I git m'neck pierced?" Maybe he's stalling. Or maybe he really just is slow in the mornings.

Nelson glances between Goose and Trace, coke-bottled eyes about all that's visible of his face as he mulls over his morning cuppa. The underlying surliness starts to fade, as caffeine soothes the rabid chemist.

Goose props his chin in his hand and gazes across the table at Trace. "My maman named me Philip. Do I look like a Philip? Non. And oui. Why the barbell?" He turns his face, still attached at the chin to his hand and looks at Nelson. Maybe he knows the answer? He keeps looking at Nelson until Trace speaks again. Nelson eyes Goose over the rim of his cup. One brow lifts, arching free of the wire frames of those hideous spectacles. Sip. Sip. Mull. Grumble. Eventually, he mutters a lulled and sedate, "What."

Alisynde seems perhaps just a touch surprised at Batte's action.

Batte's shoulders shake once or swice from a supressed laugh.

Alisynde finishes her breakfast in short order, then smiles at Batte. "I need to get out to th'square an'get set up. Want to help?"

Batte stands and offers his elbow, "Wild dogs couldn't keep me from it."

Alisynde takes the elbow, and hefts up her case. She waves to the others, then heads out to the square.

Alisynde steps out onto the street.

Batte leaves with the girl and is gone for ten before returning.

"Boogaloo," Goose replies to Nelson, before sliding his dark-brown eyes back to Trace. He makes his head stand up on its own and lifts his coffee for his first sip. He slurps. Audibly.

Trace looks faintly flushed, lips parting once to answer and then pursing again. He reaches a hand back to touch the tender skin. "I... dunno," he says at last, looking down at the table shyly. "I jest, I like them. I like how they look. I like how exciting it is t'go an' get it done. Everythin' bout it." He shakes his head a little, unable to really explain. "Guess it's never been 'bout how cool other people'd think it'd look. Always been kinda a personal thing." A little laugh. "Plus like, I pierce well. Every piercer tells me so. Like f'most people, this nape thing'd totally reject, y'know? Same fer these..." He tugs his shirt down by the neck just a little, enough to expose his his neck and an expanse of pale upper chest. Two more barbells run through the skin above the collar bones. He smiles shyly and says, "Them shoulda rejected too. Jason -- that's my best friend -- Jason said my blood just must love steel 'r somethin'."

Nelson offers Goose a faltering attempt at a leer, then slides his gaze to Trace. He pales a little, eyeing those barbells. However, not a single little judgemental comment is offered forth. He sips at his coffee, practically gulping as it cools enough not to burn his mouth.

Goose squints and leans forward to get a /good/ look at Trace's piercings, as if he were examining a most-fascinating bug. Look at the antennae on that little sucker. "Huh," he comments. "There's no better reason to do anything than cuz it makes you feel good. None at all. Damn, boy. Those are freaky, if you don't mind my saying so." Look who's talking. Goose lifts his eyes to Trace's face and grins, "Good." That's probably a compliment.

Batte wanders in in time to see the barbells. His eyes twinkle.

Ogling of pierced body-parts done, Goose sits back and takes his coffee with him, holding it in both hands. He sip-slurps. Audibly again. Well, his mind is running now. It shows. The gears are turning. He looks over at Nelson, "You have any piercings or tattoos?"

"I don't mind," Trace says, and seems to mean it, too. He's lit up with his grin. The shirt is released, slipping back into place to conceal the steel hidden there. The second question is definitely interesting, though he's fairly sure he already knows the answer. He still looks to the chemist with interest.

Nelson shakes his head and says "None. I don't even have any scars." He sets his coffee cup down, after draining off those last precious grounds-logged dregs in the bottom. "I thought about getting a tattoo once. Does that count?"

Batte walks up, "Might I join you?"

Batte looks the question to Trace, mostly.

Goose nods, and still nodding looks over to Trace for confirmation as he says, "I think that counts, doesn't it?" His face lifts to look up at Batte, but he's the outsider here and so doesn't answer.

Nelson glances up at Batte and says "I don't mind." Then glances to Trace, deferring the question to him.

Huh, seems that Trace is master of the table here! He grins and shrugs, "Go 'head, man. He'd already been scooted over to allow room for Ali, before Batte showed up, so now he just pats her vacant seat.

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