Clothes Make the Man (Complete)
WHO: Lupin, Edna Mode
WHERE: Camille Macchiato's Cafe, 9th Street
WHEN: Wednesday Oct. 28th around 12:30
Lupin closed his eyes as he softly took a sip of his cappuccino. Camille Macchiato's Cafe wasn't the kind of place Lupin would regularly visit, but that was the point. He was trying to lay low. He was wearing his red suit, black shirt, and yellow tie. A brief case in one hand.
Opened two years ago by a pair of art-school dropouts the Cafe's decor was a combination of thrift store furniture and paintings donated by college art students desperate for any kind exposure. Still the place was not without it's charms. Lupin had discovered it was one of the few places he could enjoy a genuine Italian cappuccino, not one of those silly things from chain coffee shops where 3 ounces of perfectly good espresso was mercilessly drowned in a pint of milk, overpowered by flavored syrup, and sold to the unsuspecting masses as a "Venti" despite being as Italian as Chow Mein. This was coffee as Lupin liked it. Simple, intense with a frothy head of foamed skim milk.
Lupin sat at the back of the coffee shop a table underneath of a painting that just screamed "sophmore student desperately dreaming he is Jackson Pollock.) He smiled, the fact his table provided him a nice view of a cute red haired college age Barista whose black T-shirt was too tight for a Hooters waitress and whose green apron always hung way too low. For the moment he could enjoy his coffee and ignore the fact that the mob wanted him dead, the Red Hood wanted him dead, and the heroes wanted to beat the crap out of him as he leered.
He almost choked on his drink as he was heard Edna Mode's distinct accent at the bar. His head tilting as he saw the very peculiar, short woman for the first time. He could already tell this wasn't a woman who suffered fools well.
"So I hear you're looking for a start-up investment in a specialty clothing shop?" he said.
WHERE: Camille Macchiato's Cafe, 9th Street
WHEN: Wednesday Oct. 28th around 12:30
Lupin closed his eyes as he softly took a sip of his cappuccino. Camille Macchiato's Cafe wasn't the kind of place Lupin would regularly visit, but that was the point. He was trying to lay low. He was wearing his red suit, black shirt, and yellow tie. A brief case in one hand.
Opened two years ago by a pair of art-school dropouts the Cafe's decor was a combination of thrift store furniture and paintings donated by college art students desperate for any kind exposure. Still the place was not without it's charms. Lupin had discovered it was one of the few places he could enjoy a genuine Italian cappuccino, not one of those silly things from chain coffee shops where 3 ounces of perfectly good espresso was mercilessly drowned in a pint of milk, overpowered by flavored syrup, and sold to the unsuspecting masses as a "Venti" despite being as Italian as Chow Mein. This was coffee as Lupin liked it. Simple, intense with a frothy head of foamed skim milk.
Lupin sat at the back of the coffee shop a table underneath of a painting that just screamed "sophmore student desperately dreaming he is Jackson Pollock.) He smiled, the fact his table provided him a nice view of a cute red haired college age Barista whose black T-shirt was too tight for a Hooters waitress and whose green apron always hung way too low. For the moment he could enjoy his coffee and ignore the fact that the mob wanted him dead, the Red Hood wanted him dead, and the heroes wanted to beat the crap out of him as he leered.
He almost choked on his drink as he was heard Edna Mode's distinct accent at the bar. His head tilting as he saw the very peculiar, short woman for the first time. He could already tell this wasn't a woman who suffered fools well.
"So I hear you're looking for a start-up investment in a specialty clothing shop?" he said.