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| Spitshine and Scrambled Eggs | |
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| Participants | Lucille, Scott |
| Synopsis | Two muties catch some breakfast — and deal with a Ruffian! |
| Location | Mike's Diner, SoHo, New York City |
| Time | January, 2016 |
| Posted By | Scott |
It's just about late morning, early afternoon time but people are out and about in the city already. It's the way things work here, right? In the diner there is a steady crowd, but not to the point of it being hectic and crazy. Among the patrons of the place is Lucille, a young woman who has just walked into the diner. Running a fingerless gloved hand through her wavy hair and looking around for a seat. She decides to actually sit on one of the stools facing the kitchen and the like.
Dressed in a pair of tight dark jeans, a long sleeved dark blue top along with a dark brown leather jacket which also has a hood that she put down after she entered the diner. Her black booted feet are crossed as she waits for a waitress to come take her order. It was a long night, especially since she got drunk last night and almost teleported in the Boar's Head. No more alcohol.. and she wants to be a bartender.
Fingerless gloves sure are in fashion, huhn? Not that Scott Summers notices. Nah, right about now, Scott is tucked away in a corner booth — quite enjoying the relative low-key buzz of the diner. He often abhors such public venues. But a man's got to eat. So Scott forgoes the usual misanthrope act, today. And crawling through the ruined streets of New York in that beat-up Chevy Impala, Mike's seemed the perfect dive for some scrambled eggs and bacon. Which is what sits in shambles before Scott, the food largely forgotten after the first half-dozen bites. He's taking in the patronage from behind a pair of dark sunglasses, slow and thorough in his study — while nursing a glass of skim milk, of all things. Hey, it does the body good, right?
Luci hasn't noticed the man in the dark sunglasses yet, but he's sure to recognize her. Especially as she takes the menu and looks at the waitress with a wide grin. "Ah like the French toast, eggs scrambled with cheese, bacon, sausage, I do love sausages. Ya got those sausage patties too? Ok good, ah have one of those too, an omelet, two pancakes and a side of hash browns. Oh and some apple juice, dat sound good dis morning, thanks suga." Winking at the waitress who seems baffled but nevertheless goes to fulfill the order, the young Cajun woman puts her hands behind her head and leans back as the apple juice is placed in front of her and she takes a healthy gulp. Hungry yeah?
Well, 'recognize' is a strong choice of word. He certainly doesn't know this gabby, food tornado with the heavy Cajun flavor from a two-by-four. But it sure draws Scott's attention. Heh. He pushes a dark brow up above the rim of those shades, witnessing the forthright and too-chipper order as it's given. His vantage point is a good one, able to give Lucille a good once-over without drawing any attention. Hard to tell where Scott's focus is, naturally. Blame Hollywood, telling people it's okay to wear sunglasses indoors and outdoors, day and night. Not that Scott cuts the traditional look for an actor. Too scruffy, too broody. Lowering that glass of milk, Scott's eyes dance off Lucille. He'll come back 'round to the Cajun. But for now, there's a dodgy-looking ruffian in a flannel shirt that keeps earning Scott's suspicion. He's been tailing said ruffian over the last twenty-four hours. Just one more reason to stop at Mike's for a bite.
As the waitress brings her plate after plate of food, Lucille gets visibly excited and takes her fork and begins to dig in. Quite strange, can she finish it all? "Auh! Dat's real good." She says and then looks around the place, "Real da hotsauce? Eh? Hellooo?" she finally finds some right next to her and pours it all over her hash browns and eggs and then is taking in more and more food at an alarming rate. She hasn't looked around, not yet. She's too busy stuffing her face, cleaning her face with a napkin. She takes a quick break from eating.. and then starts again, my this woman is strange.
And she's certainly not the only one absorbed in their own little world, no. Scott is fixed in that fly-on-the-wall mentality, playing the unobtrusive angle to its subtlest. And even without a ravenous appetite, Scott is sure to outlast Lucille. He suspects she's in a hurry, with the way she bulldozes into the breakfast — helpings that, really, ought to be drawing attention. Woman like that doesn't stay in shape eating like that. But right now, Scott is preoccupied with ol' Ruffian. Who sits hunched over, cell phone to ear, in murmured conversation. This would be a good time to have super-senses, Scott figures. C'est la vie.
Is she.. finished??
It would seem so as she slides the empty plates away and then proceeds to lay money on the table and she is rubbing her stomach. "Good tummy." She says softly to herself with a light smile. She's feeling pretty energized now and she prepares to stand up, though she doesn't watch her step and she's almost falling into the ruffian's table that Scott's watching. "Excusi moi." She says softly and then proceeds to walk towards the bathroom, which is near to where Scott is sitting. She rubs her forehead and shakes her head. You would think with her training that she'd be more graceful but she has her moments as does everyone, she guesses. She's just about to walk by Scott, hands in pocket.
The Ruffian jerks accordingly, recoiling with a not-too-subtle show of both paranoia and revultion. He then spits on the ground, after Lucille passes. Which makes Scott wonder whether this jerk — whom Scott quite suspects to be involved in an anti-mutant gang up in Queens — is prejudice in many ways, too. Lucille being a darker-skinned Cajun, and all. His fingers slip from that milk glass, drumming the sticky tabletop just once. Antsy, like a gunslinger's trigger fingers. But just as well, Lucille doesn't appear to notice the Ruffian's show of racism. Scott doesn't even look at her as she passes, eyes locked on the other man — just waiting for a spark of trouble. C'mon, give Scott a reason.
Oh.. Lucille noticed alright. But.. bathroom first.
After she exits the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.. she folds her arms and tilts her head. Ok.. so he wants to be an asshole huh? Well, you aren't allowed to bring negativity to Lucille's morning of good eating and get away with it. So she walks with a purpose up to the man and she puts a hand on her hip. "Problem, eh?" she leans in and says softly, "Ah think ya spit on this nice floor after I walked by." An eyebrow is arched and she does not seem like the excited woman that just ate tons of food just a few minutes ago.
But the moment passes, it seems. All the better, really. Scott shouldn't blow his cover so soon. Still got to tail this Ruffian back to Queens. And thankfully, things seem to be wrapping up. The Ruffian's got his check by now and — oh, crap. No, don't intervene, you crazy Cajun. This isn't the time for heroics. Scott grunts from the corner, inwardly cursing his luck. Of course she caught the Ruffian's display. Dammit. For his part, the Ruffian is hardly amused or intimidated by her. There's just a mask of disgust on the man's face. "So what if I did?" This is the Ruffian speaking, of course. Dammit, dammit, dammit. Don't make a scene, don't make a scene!
If Lucille was a mind reader, then she'd heed Scott's warning but.. well she isn't and the man has certainly pissed her off. So with a light smirk and then a shrug she makes as if she's about to walk away before she snaps back around, pretty fast and takes the man, who is bigger than her and drags him out of the booth. Hitting him in the chest and kicking his legs out from underneath him, she makes sure that his face lands right in the spit on the floor.
Pressing her booted foot to his neck, she tilts her head and smiles innocently. "Now, why ya den gon and did that, huh?" she asks, leaning in her eyes narrow. "Don't.. fuck.. with me." Kneeling down briefly she ruffles his hair before standing and preparing to go.
And the worst happens. Though it does give Scott something to think about. Her reflexes and coordination are eye-catching. Almost downright suspicious. He's not sure how they're raised down in the South, but ordinary New Yorkers sure don't have that kick-ass attitude. With a heavy sigh, Scott drops his head into a raised hand, massaging his temples. Decision-making time. To step in or not to step in.. Well, the Ruffian makes the decision all too easy. The scum's shock and fear quickly give way to anger, humiliated by the smaller woman's treatment. And when she turns to go, you can bet the Ruffian begins to get up, wrenching a knife from its sheath. But before the Ruffian can take action, before even Lucille might respond again, Scott's there. Having smoothly vacated his booth, Scott's fist quickly meets the back of the Ruffian's head. It's a win-win scenario. The blow certainly sends the Ruffian sprawling, knocking unconscious on impact. And with any luck, the Ruffian won't even remember who hit him. Good for Scott, if he's going to follow this guy again. But it does mean that Scott needs to get the hell out of Dodge, right away. Leaving a crumpled twenty behind, Scott steps over the fallen Ruffian. "Excusi moi," Scott mutters, echoing Lucille's earlier pardon as he aims for the exit. Oh, and the rest of the restaurant? Consider them in stunned silence.
Lucille watches this in shock and then with a light grin and chuckle she nudges the man with her foot. To Scott she winks and says, "See ya round." Before quickly exiting the diner herself, when she turns the corner she disappears from sight. If Scott were to try and find her. Well, wasn't that a great start to the morning?
