Coffee Klatch


elisabeth_icon.gif felix_icon.gif abby_icon.gif quimby_icon.gif

Scene Title Coffee Klatch
Synopsis Some folks hanging around the Nite Owl.
Date November 20, 2008

The Nite Owl

Again, Fel's set up in his favorite booth, like it's his little office away from home. The formica's covered in paperwork, and Fel is patiently writing out notes in the margins, faint frown on his brow. He's in his suit, overcoat sprawled along the bench in the booth opposite him, and the remains of dinner are pushed off to one side to be cleared away. He looks weary, more so than usual, though the buzzing fluorescent lights don't help at all.

Although it's the last thing she wants to do on a night, the school still attempts to keep to a 'normal' schedule — that includes football games and a marching band. So although she doesn't have to be there for the marching band's performances because she won't be teaching them, Liz has been showing up the past couple of weeks to rehearsals. Which puts her in the Nite Owl just about this time of night. As she steps in from the nearly frigid air outside, she glances around. Noting Felix's presence with a raised brow, she heads for the counter to get a cup of coffee and then moves toward his table, tapping on it lightly. "Don't they give you an office for this?"

"You should see the office they give me. And the coffee. I assure you, this is much, much nicer," Fel deadpans, before grinning at her. "What brings you in here at this hour?" He gestures at the bench across from him, yanking the overcoat over and out of the way. "And how's school treating you?" The bruises that Peter gave him on the side of his face are fading, though he's still got a few stitched cuts in evidence.

Elisabeth takes in his face and says quietly, "Shit… you look like you got on someone's bad side." She slides into the spot his jacket was taking up. "Marching band," she answers. "Just checking out their performance. School's doing all right. What about you?"

"A telekinetic terrorist smashed me right into a wall. It was great, let me tell you," Fel says, touching the stitches right by his eyebrow, expression momentarily distant. "He let me live, though, to my infinite surprise."

Elisabeth flinches. "Christ…. given what's been going on in the news lately, I have to admit that I'm surprised. And very glad you're all right." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Felix." She's not sure what else to say about it… it's a hazard of the job, but the job's sure getting a lot more hazardous lately.

Felix rubs at the unscarred part of his forehead. "Thanks," he says, simply. "IT's just crazy out there. I thought it was bad after September 11th…." He shakes his head. "Makes me glad I've got the job I do, though. At least I can feel I'm doing something."

Elisabeth smiles faintly. "It *was* bad after September 11th. It's definitely worse now… in ways I never expected." She sip her coffee and asks mildly, "Did you actually apprehend this terrorist?"

Felix laughs - and it's a rusty wheeze, due to taped ribs. "Oh, god, no. This guy's way, way too powerful. Peter Petrelli, man of many terrible talents. I didn't have a chance - I got caught on the way back from a stakeout on the edge of Midtown."

Elisabeth looks …. puzzled. Stunned, really. "Petrelli? Like… the presidential candidate Petrelli?" Oh, shit…. the political ramifications of THAT are sort of… wow.

"His brother," Felix says, blinking at her. "His younger brother, specifically."

Elisabeth's eyebrows shoot upward still further, if that's even possible. And she breathes out, "Holy shit. That's a friggin' massive can of political worms you just stepped in, innit?" Shaking her head. "I think that's information I really didn't want to know. How the heck are they going to keep THAT a secret? Especially if he's running around with a terrorist group?" Because clearly it's a secret. It would have been MAJOR news given his brother's presidential campaign.

"I don't know how they are. I'm certainly not leaking it," Fel says, quietly. "But yes. I don't know who he's working with. Likely not PARIAH, since I'm still alive."

Elisabeth runs a hand into her hair and just gapes at him. "Well, hell, Felix. Thanks for sharing your stress, man." She's mostly teasing — she likes the Fed well enough to give him an ear when he needs it. But REALLY that's information she didn't want. "I highly suggest you don't tell ANYONE else, though. That information could get you killed or something." She grimaces.

Felix is in his favorite booth, he's something of a regular. He's got paperwork shoved off to one side, and the remains of his dinner waiting to be cleared away on the other end of the table. He's in a suit, his overcoat tucked beside him, and he still looks like twenty miles of bad road - bruised all on one side of his face and throat, with little stitched wounds on brow and cheekbone. Elisabeth's comment has him blushing, a bit. "You're right," he says, simply.

Bell rings, jingle jangle customer. Abby's dropped ben off to fetch his bike and make for his own hidey hole and she's taking the time to have another cup of coffee, try and stay pumped full of energy. her face looking as colorful of Felix's minus the stitches. Juts a swollen nose, and two black eyes. Red haired and young looking. SHe doens't bother looking left or right, jsut unwinding scarf, taking off the black and pink scooter jacket and tossing her helmet onto a counter seat and taking up the adjacent one.

With a quick nod, Liz grins a little. "I know I am." And then Abby settles in, and she too looks beat to hell. Elisabeth pauses a moment to study the girl. "Looks like you're not the only one with a bad day," she observes softly. Shaking her head, she looks at him and asks, "Did you write that up in your report?" She hopes he says no.

"What? Who did it to me? Oh, yes," Felix says, staunchly. Abby's state has him scowling, though not at her in particular. At least, it's not her fault. "God, I hate domestic disputes," he mutters, nodding at the newcomer.

"Natasha. Bikes parked out back, Hows Tom?" Comes that southern accent Elisabeth has heard in here. Just normaly it's assosciated with a blonde, not a red head. Around the counter she slips to get herself a cup of coffee, and to scoop some ice into a rag for her face. "I'll take the rest of my burger too." The other redhead, the one who's been here ages and felix knows just nods her head and goes about filling people's cups with coffee. Abby catches Felix's look though, on her trip back around the counter and suddenly becomes self concious again.

Elisabeth blinks and pauses, the 'redhead's' voice catching her attention. That and her familiarity with the place, helping herself to the coffee? Yeah, that voice Liz recognizes if only because it was only a week or so ago that Abby was waiting on her and Trask. She merely offers the girl a smile. The new hair color is not so strange. She sips her cup and murmurs, "Me too," to Felix. And then she looks at him, her expression guarded. "You realize that putting that information in a report will call attention to you, right? I mean… given who you reported?" She keeps her voice very very low.

"I think it's already known," Felix says, grimly. "I don't think anyone's really surprised. At least, not by the reaction I got." The waitress comes by to clear away his empty plates, and pour him more coffee. Which Felix immediately begins dumping unholy amounts of sugar and cream into. Phillip Marlowe may drink his black, but this particular gumshoe can't be bothered. He's in his usual impeccably tailored suit, sitting in a booth across from Elisabeth. He's got the marks of a hell of a fight all on one side of his face - some little stitched wounds, fading bruises. Abby he's keeping an eye on reflexively, though he's generally not looking at her directly.

Abby's sitting at the counter across from them, not close enough to hear their whispered conversation. Her raccon eye sand swollen nose, obscured by the ice she's holding to it, and waiting for the rest of her food she'd abanadoned earlier to make it's way back out to her. Scooter helmet on the seat beside her with the jacket.

Quimby's footsteps, as she meanders into the diner, come at a brisk clip from the world outside, the door swinging open to admit her on a rush of noise and cooler air from the street. Her thick hair is bound in pigtails, random sprays of hair escaping from its dark band. Something about the bright interest of her expression screams 'tourist,' or possibly 'n00b.' A black pen tucked behind her ear, accentuated by a wisp of hair, and a yellow memo pad tucked under her arm, lend little to her ensemble — dilapidated more than high fashion in her dark purple leather jacket, blue jeans, and pink sweater. "Ooh, hey," she says, looking back out onto the street through the windows and then spinning in a slow circle on her flat-sneakered heel. "What a cute owl."

Well, somehow that doesn't surprise Elisabeth much. He's from a VERY wealthy and influential family. Still, it means Felix's report will likely be burned, and what they'll do to him for potentially outing Peter Petrelli'd be a big fat question mark right now. She sips her coffee, glancing over Quimby when she wanders in too. Cute!

"Been there for seventy years. I'm told it's the original," Felix says, overhearing that particular comment. His voice is raspy, and very tired. He nods at Elisabeth wearily, as if confirming that unspoken thought. And in a rather un-New-Yorkerish fit of concern, he wonders of Abby, "What happened to -you-?"

Thsi happens, all the time. 'cept, abby's no longer working here. Her face turns to the newcomer but then Felix is speaking up. "I kissed the road sir. Was a right pretty kiss" She winks to him, then grimaces as the act of doing so hurts. "No. I didn't walk into a doorknob, or someone's fist, or backtalk a boyfriends or whatever else anyone can think to call it. I tripped, I kissed the road with my face, no more, no less" Seems perhaps Felix isn't the first to ask. "What happened to you? Natasha! New girl" Abby gestures to Quimby.

"Huh?" Quimby finds herself the object of attention with some surprise, looking around the diner at the unfamiliar young woman. Well, unfamiliar everything, really. Reaching with her free hand to scritch fingertips against her scalp in the midst of her hair, she adopts a puzzled, but friendly expression. "You mean me? Hi!" she says. "What'd I do? This place is something else, you know? Old school."

Elisabeth looks a bit relieved by Abby's answer. She rather liked the blonde, so she's glad that it doesn't seem to be domestic. "Did it just happen?" she asks the ex-blonde. "Maybe you should take a trip to the emergency room."

Well, Fel looks dubious. But he's literally heard every excuse for that kind of bruising that can be imagined. "Me? A telekinetic, that's what," he says, quietly to Abby, before grinning at Quimby's obvious enthusiasm. "One of the oldest left in New York, likely in the US," he explains.

'Can't afford a doctor. Someone looked at it though, i'll be fine soon enou… "Oh, Felix shut her up. She just looks at him that much harder and then to Quimby. "That signs been up there forever and it seems like every month it's breaking and Tom needs to get someone to fix it. Coffee's good, and then there's the meatloaf sandwhich, but the chilion a burger's pretty good today" She can't help it. She worked here two years. "What do you want to drink?" Abby's not dressed like a waitress right now, but natasha looks to be off with other customers on the other end so the redhead slides off her seat, impromptu icepack on her spot of the counter and slides behind it.

"Sweet," Quimby dubs the atmosphere altogether, looking around her with one last sweep of her gaze. Trotting a few paces into the diner proper, closer to the counter and to the others, Quimby puffs out her cheeks with the exhalation past her lips and gives Abby a slightly wide-eyed look. "Heck, don't leap into action on my account," she says. "You look like your day sucks pretty hard! Take a load off, I can wait for a cup of coffee, man." She claims a stool, swinging up onto it with a bounce as her bum hits the seat, and balances her feet on the stool's rung, dropping her yellow memo pad on the counter. Her handwriting is a half-legible scrawl across the top of the page, reading 'Today's Observations' in black ink. "Bet you could while away hours in a place like this. Very friendly, not the sort of thing you expect from New Yawk at all." It's clear from her mangling of the Y-word that accents are not Ceejay Quimby's strong suit.

Elisabeth brings a hand up to cover her mouth, trying not to laugh at that mangling. Oh my. "In general, we tend to mind our own business," she says to Quimby calmly. "Chalk our nosiness up to the fact that Felix is a cop — he always wants to know everyone's business." She's mostly teasing Felix, but hey… if the loafer fits….

Boy, does it ever. "Guilty as charged," says Felix serenely. "Also, I am an immigrant to New York, so I have the fervor of a late convert, nor did I absorb the reflex that one never,ever talks to strangers." He even managed not to wince at Quimby's pronunciation. "I've been coming here," He raps knuckles against the tabletop. "For about twenty years."

"It's never boring, that's for sure. I worked here for two years. Sad to now sit on that end of the counter. But Natasha's busy, so. What will it be?" Abby asks in her own deep south accent, regardless of her own facial decorations. Felix. Cop. Great.

"A cop, huh?" Quimby's eyes sparkle, pale grey in color and bright with good humor. "That's cool. What's it like being 'The Man'?" She sketches air quotes round the paired words, catching the curve of her lower lip in the teeth of her smile as she exhales the breath of a voiceless laugh. "I never stayed in the same place long enough to go anywhere for that long," she says. Her nose crinkles at its bridge as she skips her glance back towards Elisabeth. "Anyway, I never mind my own business. Occupational hazard." It takes her a moment to realize that she still has to order, and she folds her elbow against the edge of the counter, going, "Uhm — how about you start me off with just a cup of coffee, and if I decide what to eat I'll order it?"

Elisabeth rolls her eyes about being 'The Man'. Dear God, does ANYONE talk like that? Really?? She sips her coffee while she listens to the girl ramble. And then she finally asks, "What exactly IS your occupation?"

"I'm no longer a cop, technically. I'm with the FBI," Felix confesses, with a rather sphinxish smile. "But I'm still John Law, if that's what you mean. You a journalist?" he wonders, nodding at her notebook. "And I love the job, but it isn't for everyone."

"Coffee. Easy peasy" Abby busies herself at thepot, pouring a cup and then lifting the pot to the other two. "Would either of you need a refill?" She's not getting paid, oh well, least she can do. That and she needs to really stop coming here. But it's been home for the last two years.

"Eff Bee Eye," says Quimby. Ordinarily the letters would be sufficient, but she loans a grand and laughing emphasis to each. Removing her pen from its place of pride tucked behind her ear, Quimby twirls it between her fingers and then rattats its capped head against the bright yellow of her pad's first page. She grins. "Yeah," she says, waggling the pen briefly at Elisabeth, possibly for illustrative emphasis. "I'm a writer. Journalist technically — although I'm free of any newsprint shackles at the mo. Ceejay Quimby," she adds, poking herself in the chest with the pen. What a useful prop! "Thanks for that," she adds, smile slightly crooked as she tips a nod to Abby. "Caffeine junkie, y'know."

Elisabeth smiles faintly and says, "Sure…. Thank you." She slides her cup out to the edge of the table so that it's easy to reach. And then she shakes her head, chuckling at Quimby. "I haven't met a person in this town that's not a caffeine junky," she comments mildly.

"Pretty much," Fel notes to Elisabeth, amused. Quimby gets a broad grin at that. "Yeah. From frying pan to fire," he says, before nodding politely at Abby. "Yes, please. Only, decaf this time?" he requests. "What do you write?" he wonders of Quimby.

Decaf" Duel weilding coffee pots. Abby skirts around the corner, tops her up with the real stuff, precisely half a centimetre from the top. The same for Elisabeth's when she gets there, caffinated. Felix's with the decaf, same precise measurements. Yes, she's been working here or at least a waitress for a long time. backtracking the redhead goes, to put hte coffee away and to beging the process of nursing her own and listening in. FBI… reporter, and whatever Elisabeth might be. Copy maybe, since she's sitting with Felix.

"Blame my home town for that," Quimby tells Elisabeth with another amused crinkle to her nose. "Seattle, right?" She shakes her head as she sets down her pen atop the memo pad, ponytail bouncing lightly against her shoulders with the easy exuberance of her motion. Then she cradles her cup of coffee in both hands for a swallow. She drinks it hot enough to scald the roof of her mouth and black as midnight, by preference. Shivering faintly at the sear of heat down her throat as she sets the cup down again, she clears her throat and says, "I think I'm in the humor section, which just goes to show, you never can tell."

Elisabeth doctors her cup and smirks at Felix. "Lightweight." She winks at him, clearly teasing. "It's funny… I've been watching the kids in the high school, and I swear they drink more coffee than the cops I know. Which is really saying something."

"I think she's right," Fel says to Elisabeth. "People get picky about their coffee now, courtesy of Starbucks and its fellows. I mean, we just drank coffee for the caffeine," He shrugs…and then he blinks back at Quimby. "I just moved back from there. Whole different world, isn't it?"

"Graveyard shifts here have made me a slave to the cofee, and if I might say so, this is coffee far better than what starbucks could put out" Ice back to nose, she's watching the trio. "Are you an officer? Or something to do with the university?" Abby asks of Elisabeth.

"I actually haven't been back to the old rainbucket in quite a few years," Quimby says with a slightly wistful turn to her expression, although nostalgia burns off quickly, smiled away in the flash of another grin. "Been pottering around the world too long. I'm sure it's totally different now than when I was a kid." Her hands frame the cup, leeching warmth from its sides as she thunks her heels in a one-two against the rung of the stool. "I'm no coffee elitist, I'd drink tar if I could get away with it. But this is pretty good." She follows up Abby's question with only a curious glance in Elisabeth's direction, brows arching over her eyes.

"Nah, not anymore," Liz replies to Abby. "Used to be. Now I'm just a teacher at the high school." She smiles as she sips her coffee. "And actually, on that note, I think I'm going to head home. Cuz in spite of no school tomorrow, I've got some things to take care of in the morning." She looks at Felix. "You be careful out there, okay?" She moves to stand up, grabbing her jacket, and looking toward Abby. "And you too, okay? I'd hate to see you smash your face into the ground again."

"Take care," Felix says, gently, before nodding at Quimby. "I was stationed out there for a year. I loved it. So different from here. And the same. I don't have any palate for fancy coffee, just so long as it's strong….." Abby gets a nod.

"I'll avoid anymore pavement kissing, I promsie" Abby coo's to elisabeth. "Good day, god bless"

"See you round, Teach," Quimby says, tipping a companionable wave at Elisabeth, as cheery about farewells as hellos. "I could never teach," she confides in the others with slightly widened eyes, humor quirking her mouth at one corner. She uncaps her pen to scribble a note on her pad, cup briefly abandoned as she says, "Different and the same is this country all over, man."

Elisabeth slants Abby a Look. The one that says 'oh geez, talk about making my teeth ache!' Cuz that sickly sweet response makes her give the girl the eye. She holds up her hand in a casual wave and slips out, though.

Felix just laughs at that. "Nor could I. I don't have the patience to deal with kids of whatever age," Felix says, lazily. He's apparently forgotten his own paperwork, or is just choosing to ignore it.

Abby's highlight, getting that look from elisabeth. Now she just sits in, drinking her cofee, storing up the energy that she can, and watching the other two talk now. "What are you writing about right now? Old diners around New York State?"

"Me too," Quimby says with some fervence, capping her pen again and setting it down. "Meee toooo." She laughs lightly, shaking her head and then resting her chin on her palm, fingertips curling up while her pale eyes still gleam. "I am writing about life. And New York. And, you know, general … things. Actually the real answer to your question is darned if I know. I'm pretty early on in the process, gathering notes. My last book is basically a lot of little funny stories strung together, so."

The Fed is frankly smirking. "Sounds like great work, if you can get it," he opines, before fishing out a worn billfold to take care of tab and tip. And then he reaches for an overcoat. "And I'm off, too. A pleasure to meet you. But be careful," he admonishes Quimby.

"A pleasure to meet you too officer" ABby murmurs into her coffee. "You take care" A motion to his face.

"Absitively posilutely," Quimby says, tipping two fingers up by her temple. Maybe it is a vague approximation of a salute, or maybe it is a wave; it is not immediately clear! "Nice meeting you, Eff Bee Eye Felix. And you be careful too!" From her enthusiasm she seems to have adopted the general theory that admonitions of caution are standard fare goodbyes in New York.

'Never thought an FBI agent would ever come in here" Murmurs abby, looking to Quimby. "Ramona? That's your first name?" She rolls it off her tongue a few times. "Abigail"

"Ceejay," Quimby says after a distracted pause wherein she looks over her own memo pad, fingers curled close over her coffee mug. "Ceejay Quimby." She looks over her shoulder, following Felix's departure with a slight arch of her eyebrows, and then crooks a smile back at the younger woman. "Hi, Abigail. Nice to meet you!"

"Oh heavens, i'm sorry. Ceejay. Well, welcome to the nite owl. open twenty four hours a day, never closes, even christmas. Good food. Friendly staff. Much like them, I should probably be taking off soon. Scooter won't ride itself" From the bag at her feet she produces a thermos and slips around the counter one more time, this time to fill it up.

Laughter warm, Quimby ducks her head in an acknowledging nod. "Don't worry about it," she says. "This place seems pretty keen. I'll probably drop by again, I love a good atmosphere, especially when it's so friendly." She lifts her cup for a long swallow of coffee, and exhales in a happy sigh. "Thanks for the welcome. And take care out there!" Tickled by the rhyme, she grins.

"You too as well. Hope you find inspiration. There's plenty of it out there, i'm sure" Abby screws on the lid. "God bless ms Quimby. Maybe i'll see you around" Scarf, jacket, helmet, thermos stuffed into bag and abby's turning for the door. "Make sure Natasha gets to you to serve you"

"I'm sure she'll find me," Quimby says with another amused crinkle of her nose, and she pulls her pen's cap off with her teeth. Holding it clamped in her mouth, she leans forward against the counter to scrawl a few half-legible lines to herself, excitedly punctuated. "See you round!"

Any additional notes fall to the bottom.

November 20th: A Walk In The Park

Previously in this storyline…

Next in this storyline…

November 21st: Ignition
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