Horrible Company


adam_icon.gif elle_icon.gif

Scene Title Horrible Company
Synopsis Adam and Elle have a little run-in. …Oops.
Date November 7, 2008

Starbucks, Upper West Side

It is a cloudy and dark Friday night, though calm. Not much wind. Post-rush hour. Elle's off right now, and using the interval to enjoy a well-earned, solitary trip into the city - with no assignments in mind. It's a nice change; one of almost complete freedom. She is casual, in a sweater with thick white and brown stripes and jeans, her hair pulled back into a swirl of a ponytail. This particular Starbucks she is inside is busy with a constant trickle of people, and to pass the time as she waits near the front of the line, her slender fingers tap away on the keyboard of a cell phone. Why not?

If it's a Dark, Non-Stormy night, that means the less-ugly creepy crawlies should be slipping out of the cracks. Accordingly, Adam has abandoned his usual evening festivities in favor of a nice cup of coffee. The door to the Starbucks jingles merrily and the blonde man eases his way into the back of the line - right behind a rather attractive redhead, who he stares at for several moments in thought. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before, darling?" The look she gives him in return is… well. Not exactly the kindest. "Buzz off, creep."

It isn't all the time that you overhear a Brit's accent in the middle of this city. And /this/ particular Brit? Unfortunately. Unfortunately, that is one voice Elle's gotten all too familiar with. One thumb sloooowly and thoughtfully descends on the 'send' button, the agent's eyes widening with a suddenly strange expression. She turns around, too, facing Adam's way just beyond the redhead. Her lips open tensely for a moment before closing with her intended word.


Adam is too busy frowning poutily at the redhead (who is still looking at him with Total Disgust) to truly register the fact that he's just been recognized by someone - but the registering? It happens. It happens when the /voice/ hits him. Two baby blues dart up to settle on Elle's face. And then? Then he /beams/. "Dyejob! It's been /too/ long. Let me buy you whatever pansy-girl beverage you intend to drink, mm?"

The look that settles into Elle's innocently wide, light-blue eyes is one of subtle concentration. A subtle smile. Only those who know her well - like Adam - would be able to see the seething intensity that's raging just beneath the expression. It's her turn in line, then, and she tosses her head towards the lady cashier with a brief: "White chocolate mocha - tall." before drumming her fingers on the counter and straightening away from it.

When she does, it's not to join a number of other people beneath the 'Pick Up Order Here' sign. She looms for a moment, biting her lip, before beginning a small but sharp move towards Adam instead.

See? See? That's a pansy-girl drink. Nothing at all like what Adam was going to order. His drink was a manly one: a mint chocolatey chip frappuccino with whipped cream. The man pulls his wallet from his pocket and starts to thumb through the bills inside it, seeking a ten with which to pay the nice people at the counter for Elle's mocha. He sidles out of the line and starts over towards the cash register, intending to drop the bill where the cashier can get it - but suddenly stops and backsteps away from Elle. "Heeeey, there, little princess. Ease up."

Some of the emotion 'leaks' then, and she's more discernibly angry than she had been. Elle is quicker than the backstep - with a simultaneous shove of her cell phone into a pocket, she soon has Adam just below the collar of his shirt, though there's (apparently) still no tension in her body language. She's as loose as it comes, her voice a plainly audible coo over the line of her curved forearm.

"You owe me a little more than coffee, don't you think? Disco boy?"

This isn't really a normal sight. Not in a Starbucks on the Upper West Side, anyway - and, accordingly, people have begun to stare. Adam reaches behind himself with both hands to grapple with the edge of the counter, his fingers curling around it for support as he finds his back up against it. The regenerator glances down at the hand clutching his shirt, and can only think to say: "That's silk, princess. Don't be cruel to the threads."

Whatever fear Adam might currently be feeling, he's not showing it. He's just smiling at Elle as he would smile at a small child throwing a tantrum, and in fact glances around at his fellow patrons. "She's just not normal until she has her coffee," comes his indulgent murmur as he finally sets that bill down on the counter, the thing falling from between his fingers. "Do forgive her."

To most eyes, it does look like Elle is playing the part of vengeful-girlfriend-to-errant-boyfriend. Or something. There's certainly a semi-circle of a space around her where there hadn't been one before. The fingers buried in the fabric of Adam's shirt tighten like little claws, and the other hand - the one that's down by her side - begins to snap, crackle, and pop with the beginning wisps of violent blue.

Never mind that there are /how/ many people around! "Mmm. Wrong answer."

Most people who know Elle, at this point, would be running for the hills. That particular course of action is actually starting to look very attractive to Adam. Still he just smiles at the tiny woman in front of him, his left hand slipping down to pocket his wallet. Then he lifts it and starts to gently pry at Elle's clutching horrible fingers, trying to pull them off of his shirt. "Then what answer would be the right one, sweetie pie?"

That appears to make Elle settle into thoughtfulness, and she cocks her head a little. The buzz of blue melts back into the skin of her palm, as if it had never been there at all, and her eyes widen into light-hearted dolefulness. One side of her mouth twitches down, into a frown.

One index finger comes up close to her face to beckon. "Come here. I'll tell you." After foreseeing a possible pause, she thinks to add: "I won't /do/ anything, pretty boy. Promise."

A game. Adam likes to play those, and Elle probably has a good mind for games. The lack of snap-crackle-pop fortifies his natural boldness, and the man leans his head down towards the woman's. It's almost like old times - not that the old times were awesome - but at least it's something familiar. "I've asked you not to call me that, darling. But if you want, sing away. I'll listen."

Hahaha. Elle has nothing to 'sing'. Or say. As soon as Adam's head is at an accessible level, she moves in a flash to plant a /kiss/ on the taller man's lips before he can flinch away from it. Her free wrist tilts so it's hovering in midair, fingers curled up and inwards, the other arm moving off the deathgrip on his shirt to encircle the back of his neck. Awww. (What a damned spectacle in the store by now. Holy jesus.)

But it doesn't stop there. Of course not. You shoudn't trust Elle as far as - well, you simply shouldn't trust her. Because as soon as her grip as solid, electricity streams through their conjoined /lips/ in an excessively violent connection. In a moment, Adam's body will be resembling a cartoon-style electrocution - waves of the blue stuff jerking over his torso like stripes.

The first part of Elle's not-singing is actually kind of pleasant. Far be it for Adam to refuse a kiss; he even starts to slide a hand around the woman's waist.

But then? Then the electricity kicks in. His body seizes up immediately and his fingers dig in at Elle's back, and with a few short, jerky movements the man manages to get his /other/ hand around with the intent to shove Elle away from himself. As for the other people in the store - there is some screaming.

Damn, man. You thought Elle would seriously be looking for romance after…well, after what's happened? Perish the thought. She winces as there is suddenly a grip embedded in her back, and Adam's shove sends her in a minor totter backwards so she has to lean on the counter for rebalance. But she's not done; as she leans with one elbow, she lifts the other hand to send another KRAAAAK spiraling towards Adam's shirtfront. At point-blank range, she can hardly miss.

Adam, accordingly, goes flying when the second blast of electricity hits him, his shirt sizzling and tattered thanks to the burning flesh underneath it. More screams hit the air and coffee junkies draw back against the walls in terror, most of them staring at Elle like she's some sort of /freak/ - which she /is/. Adam hits a table and goes down, crashing to the floor in an undignified heap. But the mess of seared meat that is his chest is soon healing itself right up, and one hand rises to grip the edge of the table as Adam rises to his feet, stumbles, and then grabs the back of a displaced chair. "Bloody hell, princess, you could have a /little/ bit of tact."

As the wounds close - who's the freak? There's no more pretending from Elle's end, behavior-wise. Her eyes are hard as she moves around the floor's obstacles, pushing an upended chair aside with one foot on the way. Fizzing, irregular blobs of electricity encircle both uplifted palms. "You should know what you owe me, Adam," she calls, a belated answer to what she had previously promised. "You owe me a part of my /life/. And you'll pay for it."

Another ZZZOTTT of voltage, this one aimed at Adam's head.

A simple litany runs through Adam's head, and it's mostly a repetition of variations on 'oh shit oh shit oh shit'. Reflexes honed by wars spanning from the sixteen hundreds give the man the blessed ability to duck the latest shot of painful sparks, crouching down behind the chair he's currently holding on to. "You died, princess! I brought you back. I'd say we're even." And then, suddenly, Adam is on his feet and has hurled the chair at the large window in the front of the coffee shop. It shatters outwards in a rain of small pieces of glass. Ten bucks'll get you where the man plans to go next.

"And then what, pretty boy? Bring me back so you can /humiliate/ me?" Without a break there's one more ZZZZZZZRAK. Elle's seen what Adam is doing, and she's not stupid. But if he has to go out the window, he'll go out the way Elle wants him to - /blasting/ through it like a flailing shotput. If she's lucky, it'll just make him drop where he is and solve any problems then and there.

"I'd love to stay, darling, but I think I really must dash. You're horrible company tonight." The last blast misses as well - because Adam has left dignity far behind in order to scramble on his hands and knees for a few paces before he's free of the electricity's wake. And then he's staggering back to his feet and is off and running, leaping through the scattered remains of the window. It's time to make a Great Escape.

With both hands now empty, Elle releases a soundless curse and promptly turns to head as quickly as she can for the door. The real door. /She/ can't regenerate damage if she's pierced with broken glass, after all. The way there is clear - the other customers make it a point to not be in her way, and she turns to circle around building's perimeter as quickly as she's able. "Adam— damn it." The last bit is under her breath.

As the evening news rolls around, a local channel's normal friendly face appears grim, standing in front of the storefront of a Starbucks local to the Upper West Side.

"This is Steve Mitchell reporting on a horrifying set of events that have taken place earlier tonight in this quiet, quaint neighborhood coffee den. Two unidentified individuals, a man and a woman, confronted each other over a mocha. Their violent altercation ended with a wrecked shop and, as you can see, a destroyed window - it's a miracle that no bystanders were hurt, since eyewitness accounts seem to indicate that both of them were Evolved…"

The picture shifts to a poorly-pieced string of chopped interviews. Most of them seem to be with shellshocked college students who blabber about flying electricity and watching a man heal after being struck by lightning indoors. All in all, it's a very confusing segment.

November 7th: Mio Fratellino Romero
November 7th: After Naivete
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