Participants:
| Scene Title | A Strip Of Justice |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | It's just a fun afternoon at Oh So Sweet! Seriously. With an Elvish impersonator, sexual assault, spooning, ice cream, pot and lesbians. Or, well, at least one lesbian. |
| Date | December 02, 2010 |
There's something to be said about working in a dessert bar. But usually, such things aren't said simply because people are too busy cramming their mouths full of delicious sweets in between serving customers. Elaine is doing one such thing, deciding to 'taste test' for 'quality control' in between cleaning up some things behind the bar and helping out some of the other workers serve a few things. Leaning against the bar, Elaine slides a bowl of ice cream over towards Quinn. "We're getting absolutely drunk when I get off work, got it? Totatally and completely." Sometimes even sweets won't quite cheer someone up.
"So, this is free, right?" Quinn inquires with a raised eyebrow as she looks down at the bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough. She certianly hopes so, she has some of this sitting in teh freezer at home! "Well, now that you know about the Black I have, I don't think there's much of a choice, you know? Just make sure I'm not havin' t' carry you int' bed t'night, I'm not strong enough for that shit." She grins, taking her spoon to the ice cream with glee - good as what she has at home may be, nothing beats a nice serving of ice cream from a resturant. From a dessert bar? Even better.
It's difficult for Ingrid to resist the urge to crouch down in front of the glass-faced counter and fog up the glass with her breath, nose pressed to the pane as she reads the labels underneath the refrigerated desserts on display, but she's eighteen, not eight, and she shows a remarkable amount of restraint while trying to decide what to order.
That is to say: she stands rather than crouches, her gloved hands knit at her midsection and lower lip snagged between her teeth, deliberating in an anxious silence that she breaks with a glance toward her employer. A green wool-blend peacoat hugs her tiny frame made taller by a pair of heels paired with tinted stockings and a smart black skirt that complies with the dress code at the local DoEA office. She wears her purse tucked under her arm.
"What do you think you'll have, Miss Pak?"
Amadeus walks up to the counter in his black AC/DC shirt, matching beat up Chucks, and blue jeans, shifty-eyeing at people with his hands in his pockets. He slides against the counter, then slips a little packet of green… stuff, and a can of anchovies over at her. "Put these in a bowl of vanilla bean ice cream, I'll pay double if you don't say a word, sweet cheeks."
It's called a 'working lunch'. Which is why Jane is leaning against the counter, looking over some papers in a folder. "Crap, crap, double crap," she's saying as she flips through them, a frown on her face, "Oh what the hell, seriously. This is the fifth report about a slime monster this week, I am not paid enough for this crap." Well, actually she is, but semantics!
Her intern's question gets her attention, though, and she looks over at the girl, then at the menu. "I never know what to order here," she says, because there are too many yummies, but even with that declaration, she follows quickly with, "Get me the Profiteroles. Jesus fuck, those look good." Why yes, she is a trained professional. She does dress the part, at least, in a pair of black slacks, sensible shoes, a white dress shirt and a black vest that actually has a skull-and-crossbones motif going on. Hey, regulations get tiring and she's not in the military anymore and loving it.
It's a cold night in New York, as befits December, and Calvin isn't long off whatever work allows for lab coats, eyeliner and a gingery mane of hair that looks to be a terrible bastardization of lion, hoatzin and three-toed sloth. Long white coat worn over slacks and a wastecoat and under a somewhat shabby black peacoat, he ssslides in not too terribly far after Ingrid and Jane. Which isn't to say that he is following them so much as it is to suggest it.
Leaving an iota of doubt that is abolished when he circumvents the line to sidestep extra casual and cat-like into the space occupied by Ingrid's aft so that he can hip thrust — hands up open and out over his shoulders — into a single dramatic hump at her ass and say, "Bam," as if he has accomplished something.
"Roomies always eat free," Elaine insists, waving at the bowl of ice cream. Like hell is she going to make Quinn pay! She slides over to take Amadeus' order, allowing one of the other employees to help Ingrid and Jane while she's occupied. Her gaze goes from Amadeus to the can of fish and packet of questionable substance, then back to Amadeus. She reaches over, then slides the can and packet back towards him. "How about I get you a bowl of vanilla ice cream and you can put whatever little toppings you want on it in the corner way over there where I'm less likely to scream sexual harassment from the next little nickname you give me?" She offers a ridiculously sweet smile, then moves to go get the bowl of ice cream. Never mess with a ginger.
"Man, chicks." Amadeus grunts, then slides his anchovies and 'questionable substance' back into his pockets, raising an eyebrow when Calvin thrusts his pelvis. "Hey! I was here first. How do you know I wasn't gonna put the moves on her? I could have had dibs, you didn't even ask."
The Irishwoman's gaze follows Elaine over to her next customer, and timmediately her head hangs a bit. "Don't minf him, Elaine!" Quinn uips, a grin on her face as she looks at Amadeus. The annoucement oh Bam!, besides evoking memories of watching Food Network the other week. And even though she can't really help but laugh at the display. She quickly silences herself, rolling her eues. "You can't have dibs on a person," Quinn remarks as she takes a bit of ice cream, her head tilting. Stocking legs cross as she trusn to face the boys and two women, a hand straightening her long skirt. "Though I have t' admit, it makes for a rather amusin' display, even if you really shouldn't be makin' crude gestures at cute girls like that."
"Well," says Ingrid, and she's having as much trouble choosing her words as she is what to order, "slime monsters aren't very— common, so on the bright side," if there ever really is a bright side, "um, all the reports are probably about just the one." The skin around her nose wrinkles in a whiskerless, rabbit-like twitch. This is the kind of conversation that erodes appetites.
"I—" she starts again, but doesn't get much further than that because, you know, Calvin. Ingrid startles and drops her purse, spilling a cell phone with a purple plastic case onto the floor of the bar, her address book and a dog-eared copy of Atlas Shrugged with a bright yellow USED sticker on its spine that suggests it was picked up second-hand at Columbia's bookstore for one of her classes rather than for the purpose of personal reading. Something that a government intern has little time for.
The look she turns on Calvin, face flushed bright pink, is mortified rather than angry, but upon seeing him she chokes back whatever it was that she was about to say and unceremoniously squats down to collect her things.
Jane blinks a little as first one, then two boys start coming onto her assistant. And then a girl pipes in, too. Blink. She looks at Ingrid, a crooked smile coming to her lips. "You sneak catnip into your pockets this morning?" And then she reaches over to press a finger to Calvin's shoulder to kindly invite him to step back a little.
"A little tip, Champ. Most women aren't into the sexual assault thing. I mean, I'm sure there's a market for it out there, but in the sea of women, you're so much more likely to get arrested than invited in for a romp with this technique. Unless cuffs are your thing… but really, you can just buy a pair. So much easier." And then, she turns back to the counter to the girl serving them, a smile on her face. "I'll have the profiterole with the chocolate ice cream and then whatever she wants," she says with a gesture to the crouching teen. Proving that neither slime monsters or slimeballs can ruin this woman's appetite.
You will now be prompted when your pose comes around.
…Whups. Calvin's shark-white grin seizes into more of a grimace when his great success ends in Ingrid dropping all've her stuff. He's even awkwardly apologetic in the half reach he makes to help her, only. She's pretty much got it covered.
He stoops to collect the book after his initial hesitation anyway, thumb tricked haphazard across the pages in distracted search of a marked place once he's righted himself. Distracted because his eyes tick blue to Amadeus first, and then Jane, for whom he slows his thumb-filtered progress through Atlas Shrugged into more of a flaccid, raggedy flop. flop. flop. of pages twenty and thirty at a time while he stares at her.
"Sorry," he says at length, "I didn't know she was with her mum. Guess I should've realized — she looks just like you when she squints." Flop. Go the last 27 pages, all together.
"We almost got arrested together the other day," said of Amadeus to Ingrid as if the exchange before it didn't take place, he holds the book out for her to take back. "Isn't that nice? I'll have chocolate please. One scoop in a cone."
While the other employee does the work of ringing them up, Elaine moves to grab desserts. She returns with Amadeus' ice cream, sliding it to him with a slightly raised eyebrow, before she hands the profiterole complete with chocolate ice cream over to Jane. She offers Ingrid a smile. "What'll you have?" She's heard Calvin's order… he just has to wait. Ingrid was there first.
"I ain't never seen you in my life." Amadeus offers to Calvin as he slides a few bills over the counter, then takes his bowl and couches down to Ingrid. "Hey, babe, I'm Harvard educated, like, I know science and shit. So if you wanna come back to my table and get laid later, I'll be over there." He nods his head to the back table, which he stands up straight and begins walking to.
Quinn groans audibley at that comment, rolling her eyes. She opens her mouth to make a comment, something that starts "if I wasn't already gay", but thinks better of it for the moment. "The only time he set foot in Harvard was the time he wormed his way int' a kegger, I bet," she grumbles between spoonfulls of ice cream. "Seriously, don't mind him, he's a tool." A grin is offered to Amadeus' form, rather good natured despite the comments. THe chiding Calvin gets only makes her grin people. What, it's funny to see folks get into trouble, isn;t it? Of course, Quinn never considers she might be being as botehrsome as them…
"It's okay," Ingrid assures Jane (and Quinn) in a breathy whisper. "I know him. We're friends. Sort of?" She picks up her phone, first, turning it over in her hand to make sure it hasn't received any serious damage — it hasn't — and then her address book second. Atlas Shrugged gets tucked back into her purse last, and she mumbles a quiet thank you for Calvin when he offers it to her. A pinch of her fingers squeezes the snap shut.
When she looks up at Calvin and her employer, there's a shaky smile plastered to her face. See? Everything's fine. "I'll— I'll have a slice of coconut cream pie and a cup of coffee in a paper cup to go," she tells Elaine. "If that's okay, I mean." One hand braced against the glass, she pushes herself awkwardly back to her feet around the time Amadeus is walking away, a little off balance, almost as though she hasn't quite got the hang of her footwear yet.
It takes her brain a few additional moments to process what he just said. Then what Calvin just said, which has her tilting her chin up at him, bewildered. "I'm sorry. You what?"
"Oh, Miss Raines, this is never okay. But you know," Jane says, switching her attention back to Calvin, "If you'd've been thematic about it… like, instead of 'bam', you could have said… that ass is oh so sweet." She glances over to Quinn there, a crooked smile on her face, "Yeah?" And then, back to Calvin again. "I mean, you've still be a racist, chauvinistic dick, but at least then you'd be funny."
Oh, and then there's Amadeus. Hands go to her hips as she looks over at Ingrid, "Tell me you make them work harder than this." And arrests, too! These boys, such charmers. She turns back to the counter to pay and to pick up her dessert before she moves to claim a seat by Quinn. And why? Because she's making the most sense right now.
"Yeh," says Calvin, a shade more serious in his down-angled regard of Ingrid after the tone of that You what? Not quite cowed, but close enough that there's a hint of stiffness in his spine to match the knit in his brow when he curls his right hand into the fold of a pre-emptive napkin from the counter. "Curfew violation. …No biggie." Attention slid firmly away, then, he's forced to refocus it on Jane when she opens her mouth next.
He opens his too, only to close it again a beat later without anything coming out. Save for a disconcerted, "I've got theirs," once the DoEA pair is off and he's intercepted Jane's cash with a magician-precise turn of his wrist before it can make it into anything register-shaped.
"Well, we're all having quite a day, aren't we?" Elaine chuckles a little, moving to get the pie for Ingrid. She sets it down for her, then moves to get a paper cup to fill with coffee. She leaves the cup under the dispenser to go scoop ice cream into a cone for Calvin, offering it towards him before, at last, returning with the coffee-to-go for Ingrid.
Once Amadeus has his ice cream all mixed up, he walks back over to the others, his ice cream mixed with all sorts of green flakes, and tiny fish sticking up out of it. He has one on a spoon, swinging it around as he speaks. "I've banged all kindsa college chicks, mostly psychology chicks, they're always trying to write a, uh, Reese's about how my old ability affected my psychology. I don't think I'm that different, I mean I play with a ball of yarn occasionally, but it ain't like spendin' so much time inside of cat brains messed me up." And with that, he sticks the spoon with the ice cream covered anchovy into his mouth.
Quinn seems a bit surprised when the older woman takes a seat next to her, stopping mid bite - which just sort of leaves the spoon dangling in her mouth as she loks over. "Oh, hello," she says as if they hadn't jsut been speaking the whole time. Which unfortuantely robs her of the chance to correct Amadeus, something she would take great pleasure in. The spoon is plucked out of her mouth and sent clinking into the half foot bowl, Quinn grinning at the woman. "Sorry, I didn't mean t' get involved you all's conversation or anythin', " she says before offering a nod of her head in Ingrid's direction. She very much wants to ask is that your daughter, but the number of times that assumption's been incorrect and she had to face the concequences are far to great for her to actually follow through.
There is a coconut cream pie and a piping hot cup off coffee waiting on the counter for Ingrid. Unfortunately, she does not seem to notice; she's staring at Amadeus with her jaw unhinged, though she has the grace not to leave it hanging open more than a fraction of an inch, pink-glossed lips faintly parted.
She tightens her grip on her purse with one hand. Reaches out with the other to hook fingers in Calvin's coat without turning her head to look at him. Although she misses the first time, she doesn't let that discourage her, feebly catching hold of him when she tries again.
There are words coming out of Amadeus' mouth and she's not sure she understands them.
As Calvin steps in to pay, Jane lifts an eyebrow and instead drops some folded bills into the tip jar on the counter. I am sorry you gals have to witness this, here is some money.
The eldest of the crowd around the counter looks over at Quinn, though, smirking a little, "Sort of hard not to jump right in, isn't it?" But Amadeus does get her attention again, and while she goes on taking her first bite… she leans over to drop a little more cash into the tip jar. Really, very sorry.
Plastic produced from a wallet that is in turn produced from the interior of his long sweepy peacoat, Calvin pays for himself, Ingrid and Jane with the latter's cash still in hand when he feels a tug at his coat. He glances down at Ingrid's hand before he looks to Ingrid proper, and then Amadeus, who is. Inevitably. The source of the issue.
"Ingrid's a lesbian," he says, helpfully, brows at an earnest (ly apologetic) tilt. Then he holds Jane's original cash transaction out sideways for her to take. Like a punctuation mark. "She's seeing someone else, she thinks you're nice but doesn't feel the same way, she has to study for a big test tomorrow and her parents don't let her date cat-people."
"Lesbians, studying, parents, it's all just words, and I don't understand the meaning of words." Amadeus nods firmly, as if he's made his entire point, beginning to devour his ice cream and anchovies, w/pot.
Elaine's starting to get a headache from the weirdness that is Amadeus Deckard. Ugh. Can't she have a normal day at work? Her eyes flicker over towards Quinn and she smiles, shaking her head a little. Boy, will she enjoy getting home and just pretending the day hadn't existed. It's all well and good, and then there's a tip. Lord. So Elaine just rolls with it. She goes with the first song in the first language that pops into her head. Which happens to be one of the lesser known songs from Lord of the Rings—mostly because Elvish lyrics are hard to memorize. She proceeds to go about singing it, loud and clear, setting about cleaning up behind the counter as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"You'd think by now you'd've learned what lesbian means," Quinn quips, turning her attention away from Jane with a laugh, "You've been shut down with it enough before." She takes a bite of ice cream, before she allows her eyes to drift over to Ingrid. "Assuming that's the case," she adds, in an entirely plain manner. FOr once, she's not meaning to probe, really! She turns back to Jane to offer a comment of some sort, but it's quickly forgotten as Elaine starts singing. And well, it's wonderful, but what the hell is she saying? "English!" Quinn shouts teasingly, hands cupped over her mouth. "This isn't Narnia or whatever the bloody 'ell you're singin'!"
"I do," says Ingrid. "Have a big test. Tomorrow. M-Modern Sociological Theory, it's—" Whatever it is, it's interrupted by the chime of her cell phone inside the confines of her purse, its ringtone a cheerful rendition of an old Dolly Parton number made tinny by the recording. The hand at Calvin's coat drops to the purse's snap, which she has to wrestle with, blonde head bowed and fair brows knit in panicky consternation. "Oh no. Oh, oh, oh." It's quiet enough that it doesn't detract much from Elaine's singing, which earns an appreciative glance from Ingrid (as well as an apologetic one) in between quick, frantic pulls.
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene
I'm beggin' of you please don't take my man
Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene
Please don't take him just because you—
"Hello?" Ingrid gasps into the phone. A beat. "You did? C-Congratuations. That's— No, I know. Can you hold on just a minute?" Cradling the phone against her neck, she picks up her cup of coffee from the counter, then looks plaintively at her slice of pie. She can't carry both. I have to take this, she mouths at Jane, then tips her head in the direction of the door. Can I get a box?
Jane looks up at Elaine as she starts to sing, a smile springing up on her face. "Well, smack my ass and call me Legolas, it's a shegeek," she says, but by her tone, she means that as a compliment. And perhaps her being able to recognize it outs her as one, too. But she can't sing along, which leaves her lower on the nerd ladder. Aww.
For Ingrid, there's a nod and a wave of her hand. "Go on, I'll take care of this," she says with a gesture toward the pie. and she looks to the girl behind the counter who isn't singing to ask quietly for a box for the pie.
Spritely attitude all but smothered in the confines of this crowd, Calvin keeps his eyes on Amadeus while he signs off on his receipt and collects his icecream cone. Meanwhile there is singing and Ingrid's ring tone, which he looks deeply skeptical of on his way to tucking the ~customer copy~ into his coat after his wallet.
Dolly Parton? Really?
"I'll walk you out so y'don't get raped," offered as he steps away to get the door, he tips his icecream in a lazy salute to all other parties present. "'Til next time, Puss in Boots."
Amadeus immediately looks to Jane, raising an eyebrow. "She's singin' Chinese, what's she sayin'?" he asks not-so-sensitively, clearly not one who knows much about not offending. And then she says… well…
He shifts the bowl to one hand, then swings the other right for Jane's ass, and if it lands, he even squeezes pretty damned firmly. "If that's all it takes, sure, Legolas."
While her coworker boxes up Ingrid's pie, Elaine finishes the ballad with vigor. Well, there is that thing about tips. She'll have to just start ignoring that. It's a cheesy way of getting tips anyways. However, she's finished in enough time to catch Amadeus' comment. She offers him a sweet smile, then proceeds to speak in perfect Chinese, "Liu kuoshui de biaozi he houzi de ben erzi." She looks innocent for a moment, then her gaze flicks to Jane as she switches back to English. "Would you like me to call the cops?"
For a moment, Quinn's thoughts echo Calvin's. Dolly Parton? Really? Ah, to each their own. Quinn's own eexperiances with anything resembling country are limited to Neko Case, and she'll keep it that way. She waves to Calvin and Ingrid as they make thier way to the door, waiting until their out to turn back to ice cream, taking a few bites. "Whoever 'Jolene' happens t' be," Quinn remarks, simply ising the name of teh song as an identifier, "She just saved that poor woman's day."
A bit of laughter spared, particularly when Elaine fires back in actual Chinese - but then there's sudden ass grabbing going on with a much older woman on the receiving end, and for whatever reason Quinn's first instinct is to throw her spoom, thankfully devoid of ice cream, at Amadeus. "Dude, what the hell!"
"No," Ingrid mewls unhappily into the phone as Calvin is escorting her to the door, "nobody's being raped. It's just Cal. We're down in SoHo at that dessert bar. The one that— yes, yes, that's the one. Look, I don't get off work until seven, but I'll pick up some Vietnamese from that little place on the corner you like — no balut this time I promise, I'll even ask so we know what we're eating — and the four of us can celebrate."
She pauses at the door, fingertips resting lightly on the handle. Her brow rumples. "Yes, four. Didn't I tell you? Oh God, I forgot to tell you—"
The rest is lost to the sound of traffic and rushing wind as she pushes the door open and slips out into the cold with her companion, coat bundled tightly around her. It claps shut behind them a moment later.
If anyone is paying attention to Jane's face… there's just a brief if looks could kill moment to serve as a warning before she spins around and punches Amadeus right in the face. And that is no girly smack, this is a punch packed with 20 years of military service, son!
"I'm Korean, you asshole. And you are under arrest for sexually assaulting an agent of the Department of Evolved Affairs," oh look, she pulls out a badge and everything, "for possession and for giving me even more paperwork. Dick." And then, she looks back over to Elaine, not quite making it to a friendly expression as she replies, "Yes please." Goddamn paperwork.
Amadeus goes falling back the second the punch slams into his face, blood streaming down his mouth before the spoon smacks into his forehead. He's laying out cold, with the bowl of ice cream held in his left hand, somehow protected. Looks like he's going to lay there for a while.
Did he hear something about arrest? Are there strippers now?