Hahah! Fortune Smiles!
Okay. I haven't been to church in years, but I'm sure God hasn't turned His immortal back on me completely.... And if my grandparents were alive to read that line, they'd lecture me for days. But I digress!
Hah! Hahahah! So the guy I thought I'd ratted the whole Xavier Institute out to, turned out to be a Professor there? Talk about your sweet ironies! And fortunate circumstances! I can breathe a real sigh of relief now. And yes, the lesson has been fully learned: No more drinking in public. In fact, I haven't been to a bar-bar since that incident. This just means I'll have to have you girls over for some long island ice teas sometime. You'll get to make fun indentations on my beanbag couch!
Logan, is okay. Still a bit of a jerk (he called my triple mint fudge mocha icy froth creamy double cappucino latte 'fruity'! Doesn't he know that only a real man drinks a TRIPLE mint fudge mocha?), but conversation-worthy!
Addendum: By the way! Is there any chance I could come speak to someone about getting students over to my dancing/singing/acting studio for extra credit? I've got a few slots in the week that are sitting open, and they might be good for a once-a-week class.
Edited by Sydney.
(NYC) Bad Ass Coffee (NYC)
The decor is one of tropical paradise. There are potted ferns and mini-palms in every nook and cranny, while the walls are painted a cheerful yellow and as much green or wooden decorations as possible have been added. Opposite the door is the counter where you order, a long line of giant cookie jars leading you to the register. Behind the counter are a plethora of tea leaves and coffee grounds, purchaseable brewed by the cup of packaged by the pound! You can get just about any kind of herbal tea, coffee, cinnamon bun, muffin, cookie, cake, pie, soup, chili, or sandwich here. They serve the works, all at really cheap prices. All around the open area are tall wooden tables with wooden barstools set around them, and off in each corner is a green couch and two matching armchairs. Up on a raised dias to the left is the smoking area, sealed off into it's own room with plexiglass windows and filled with similar tables and barstools. This place is the hangout of the altervative crowd -- artists, goths, punks, and the like. The people are friendly and the music is good -- enjoy!
Ah, the coffee house. Refuge for the artistic. Here you will find tea drinkers, vegetarians, health nuts and other people who probably got beat up in high school. Sydney never got beat up in high school, so why he's here is a complete mystery. But there he is, sitting on a couch with a triple mint fudge mocha icy froth creamy double cappucino latte, standing on a coffee table within his reach. His right hand lifts the oversized, teal, ceramic coffee mug to his mouth every once in a while. His left hand holds a magazine with its pages bent so he can hold it with one hand and still read the article. Hmmm. Ballet shoes are being made out of a new synthetic fiber now? He'll have to check that out.
Logan, coming from Jean's apartment, takes the time to stop for a cup of Bad Ass coffee. Fruity though some of their drinks are, their coffee is terribly tasty. He gets his order promptly and is just about to leave with it when a recently familiar scent tickles his nostrils. He turns, looking around until he spots Sydney. A rather evil grin spreads over his face and he slides his way over, coming up behind Sydney. "Enjoying your fruity artist coffee, Spottyboots?" And he flops into the couch beside the metamorph.
Grk! Sydney almost chokes on foam when he hears the nickname of one of his many, many disguises. And he's starting to wish he used one of those diguises, when he looks up and sees just who it is who recognizes him. "What? Fruity artist drink? There's no fruit in this, it's coffee!" Right over his head, that one. He sets down his cup and takes a moment to wipe latte from around his mouth, then uses both hands to hold his magazine. "And my name's not Spottyboots," he mutters. "It's Sydney." What, is this guy following him now?
"It froths," Logan replies. "It's fruity." He lifts his own cup to sip a sizable mouthful. "Yeah, I know," he replies. "Former Xavier's student. Artsy guy. Metamorph. Kinda big mouth for someone entrusted with pretty important secret to a bunch of people, but then, it's hard to vet a teenager properly." And again, he calmly sips at his coffee.
Did he really say that much?? Sydney's starting to mentally kick himself all over again. This, is karma. Karma, for all those pranks he used to pull as a child. He knew it would come back to haunt him one day! Such panicky thoughts run through Syd's head while on the outside, he simply takes a deep breath and turns the page of his magazine. "Omnimorph," he mutters. "And I thought you said you didn't go around talking about it! Can I at least know the name of my stalker, or will that be a lie too?"
Logan chuckles over his cup. "Logan. Professor Logan. Teach gym at your alma mater." Evidently, Logan has decided that it is time relieve some of Sydney's discomfort. "Jean was amused by you getting yourself treed. Do you swindle little old ladies out of their milk, cookies and affection often?"
If Sydney were a goose, he would have laid a golden egg. "Holy...." He lowers his head and his magazine into his lap. "You're serious, aren't you," he asks in a magazine-muffled voice.
Logan grins at Sydney. Blowing his irrelevant cover is not nearly as much of a worry as seeing Sydney's face is a pleasure. "Yeah. I'm not kidding. Relax, kid, your secret's safe with me. Given that it's my secret too."
Yes! He's free to laugh again! Which Sydney does, muffled at first, but the sound does attract a few momentary stares as he lifts his head and continues for a while. "Oh man, you really got me!" He smiles, then his face falls serious. "Waitaminute. There's only one way you'd really be a part of Xavier's. You'd know the answer to this question." He thinks for a moment. "Who's the guy with the stick up his butt who wears shades at all times?"
Logan gestures to the window. "I came here on Scott's bike," he replies, and indeed, the highly custom motorcycle is parked barely in view of the coffeehouse windows. "I think you can imagine how well he and I get on together."
Sydney's smile returns immediately. "Then you do work there! And... how in the world does he sit on a bike with a pole lodged firmly up his rectum? I'm pretty sure it's scraping his doudenum at all times." See? Syd's not completely without wit! He very wittily observed such words in an article of his magazine, and still had the frame of mind to use them. "Well that's a load off my mind, then!" He looks sheepish for a moment. "And I'm really sorry I acted that way. I do have perfect control over my molecules. I just... do stupid things with them sometimes."
Logan grimaces at Sydney's description. "Shit, man, he likes the scraping. Only damn thing that lets him know he's alive." He shakes his head. "Ah, fuck it, kid, I didn't wind up lookin' any sillier'n you musta felt. But next time? Just come down to me."
Sydney smirks. "Well, if Mrs. Bisco ever summons you to rescue me from a tree again, we'll see. And call me Syd!" He chuckles. "I haven't been a kid since I left Xavier's. Come to think of it, haven't even morphed into one since then! I should really practice that sometime. Oh, and for the record, it's not cookies and milk. It's fish and milk." He winks. "And you haven't lived 'til you've tried Mrs. Bisco's tuna and salmon casserole. She's getting on in years but she can really bake." And Syd will never grow out of using animal forms to get free food. It's cheaper (and sometimes healthier) than trying to eat human food!
Logan arches one of his eyebrows. "I call everyone kid. Though I guess you're a little on the old side for it," he is forced to admit. After all, his girlfriend is hardly older. "Alright, Syd. I hope you'll pardon me if I don't just knock down her door to ask for a taste." He pushes himself up to his feet. "Anyway. I just stopped 'cause I recognized you an' I figured we should actually meet when you weren't...in a weird position."
Sydney chuckles. "Oh please. That was not a wierd position. You want to see a really wierd position? Try Yoga Meditation Number forty-five." He points to a corner of the room where a woman is balanced on her chest with her toes touching the top of her head while she reads a magazine someone was kind enough to set on her mat, and sips coffee through a thin straw from a spillproof cup. Yoga Meditation No. 45..... It's captivating.
Logan contemplates the woman in her yoga for a moment. "Okay, you got a point. But I still say fewer people are caught in the position you were in the last two times I met you." He jerks his head toward the door. "I gotta get back to the school. If you see me again, just don't freak out, eh?"
Sydney nods to him. "No freaking out! Though I may throw out the occasional, 'How far up's the stick today?'" He chuckles again and waves. "Tell Bluejeans I said hello! And she's due for some dance lessons!" Hey, he already gave one embarassing dance session to Storm. Might as well give one to everyone he knows!
Logan gives Sydney a sidelong eye. "Dance lessons," he repeats in an even monotone. He gives a long and significant look to Sydney's coffee cup, arches one eyebrow, then turns to go, giving his head a little shake. Once he is turned away, however, there is hint of repressed smile tugging at his mouth.
Rated "T" for Teensy Bit O' Profanity.
Hah! Hahahah! So the guy I thought I'd ratted the whole Xavier Institute out to, turned out to be a Professor there? Talk about your sweet ironies! And fortunate circumstances! I can breathe a real sigh of relief now. And yes, the lesson has been fully learned: No more drinking in public. In fact, I haven't been to a bar-bar since that incident. This just means I'll have to have you girls over for some long island ice teas sometime. You'll get to make fun indentations on my beanbag couch!
Logan, is okay. Still a bit of a jerk (he called my triple mint fudge mocha icy froth creamy double cappucino latte 'fruity'! Doesn't he know that only a real man drinks a TRIPLE mint fudge mocha?), but conversation-worthy!
Addendum: By the way! Is there any chance I could come speak to someone about getting students over to my dancing/singing/acting studio for extra credit? I've got a few slots in the week that are sitting open, and they might be good for a once-a-week class.
Edited by Sydney.
(NYC) Bad Ass Coffee (NYC)
The decor is one of tropical paradise. There are potted ferns and mini-palms in every nook and cranny, while the walls are painted a cheerful yellow and as much green or wooden decorations as possible have been added. Opposite the door is the counter where you order, a long line of giant cookie jars leading you to the register. Behind the counter are a plethora of tea leaves and coffee grounds, purchaseable brewed by the cup of packaged by the pound! You can get just about any kind of herbal tea, coffee, cinnamon bun, muffin, cookie, cake, pie, soup, chili, or sandwich here. They serve the works, all at really cheap prices. All around the open area are tall wooden tables with wooden barstools set around them, and off in each corner is a green couch and two matching armchairs. Up on a raised dias to the left is the smoking area, sealed off into it's own room with plexiglass windows and filled with similar tables and barstools. This place is the hangout of the altervative crowd -- artists, goths, punks, and the like. The people are friendly and the music is good -- enjoy!
Ah, the coffee house. Refuge for the artistic. Here you will find tea drinkers, vegetarians, health nuts and other people who probably got beat up in high school. Sydney never got beat up in high school, so why he's here is a complete mystery. But there he is, sitting on a couch with a triple mint fudge mocha icy froth creamy double cappucino latte, standing on a coffee table within his reach. His right hand lifts the oversized, teal, ceramic coffee mug to his mouth every once in a while. His left hand holds a magazine with its pages bent so he can hold it with one hand and still read the article. Hmmm. Ballet shoes are being made out of a new synthetic fiber now? He'll have to check that out.
Logan, coming from Jean's apartment, takes the time to stop for a cup of Bad Ass coffee. Fruity though some of their drinks are, their coffee is terribly tasty. He gets his order promptly and is just about to leave with it when a recently familiar scent tickles his nostrils. He turns, looking around until he spots Sydney. A rather evil grin spreads over his face and he slides his way over, coming up behind Sydney. "Enjoying your fruity artist coffee, Spottyboots?" And he flops into the couch beside the metamorph.
Grk! Sydney almost chokes on foam when he hears the nickname of one of his many, many disguises. And he's starting to wish he used one of those diguises, when he looks up and sees just who it is who recognizes him. "What? Fruity artist drink? There's no fruit in this, it's coffee!" Right over his head, that one. He sets down his cup and takes a moment to wipe latte from around his mouth, then uses both hands to hold his magazine. "And my name's not Spottyboots," he mutters. "It's Sydney." What, is this guy following him now?
"It froths," Logan replies. "It's fruity." He lifts his own cup to sip a sizable mouthful. "Yeah, I know," he replies. "Former Xavier's student. Artsy guy. Metamorph. Kinda big mouth for someone entrusted with pretty important secret to a bunch of people, but then, it's hard to vet a teenager properly." And again, he calmly sips at his coffee.
Did he really say that much?? Sydney's starting to mentally kick himself all over again. This, is karma. Karma, for all those pranks he used to pull as a child. He knew it would come back to haunt him one day! Such panicky thoughts run through Syd's head while on the outside, he simply takes a deep breath and turns the page of his magazine. "Omnimorph," he mutters. "And I thought you said you didn't go around talking about it! Can I at least know the name of my stalker, or will that be a lie too?"
Logan chuckles over his cup. "Logan. Professor Logan. Teach gym at your alma mater." Evidently, Logan has decided that it is time relieve some of Sydney's discomfort. "Jean was amused by you getting yourself treed. Do you swindle little old ladies out of their milk, cookies and affection often?"
If Sydney were a goose, he would have laid a golden egg. "Holy...." He lowers his head and his magazine into his lap. "You're serious, aren't you," he asks in a magazine-muffled voice.
Logan grins at Sydney. Blowing his irrelevant cover is not nearly as much of a worry as seeing Sydney's face is a pleasure. "Yeah. I'm not kidding. Relax, kid, your secret's safe with me. Given that it's my secret too."
Yes! He's free to laugh again! Which Sydney does, muffled at first, but the sound does attract a few momentary stares as he lifts his head and continues for a while. "Oh man, you really got me!" He smiles, then his face falls serious. "Waitaminute. There's only one way you'd really be a part of Xavier's. You'd know the answer to this question." He thinks for a moment. "Who's the guy with the stick up his butt who wears shades at all times?"
Logan gestures to the window. "I came here on Scott's bike," he replies, and indeed, the highly custom motorcycle is parked barely in view of the coffeehouse windows. "I think you can imagine how well he and I get on together."
Sydney's smile returns immediately. "Then you do work there! And... how in the world does he sit on a bike with a pole lodged firmly up his rectum? I'm pretty sure it's scraping his doudenum at all times." See? Syd's not completely without wit! He very wittily observed such words in an article of his magazine, and still had the frame of mind to use them. "Well that's a load off my mind, then!" He looks sheepish for a moment. "And I'm really sorry I acted that way. I do have perfect control over my molecules. I just... do stupid things with them sometimes."
Logan grimaces at Sydney's description. "Shit, man, he likes the scraping. Only damn thing that lets him know he's alive." He shakes his head. "Ah, fuck it, kid, I didn't wind up lookin' any sillier'n you musta felt. But next time? Just come down to me."
Sydney smirks. "Well, if Mrs. Bisco ever summons you to rescue me from a tree again, we'll see. And call me Syd!" He chuckles. "I haven't been a kid since I left Xavier's. Come to think of it, haven't even morphed into one since then! I should really practice that sometime. Oh, and for the record, it's not cookies and milk. It's fish and milk." He winks. "And you haven't lived 'til you've tried Mrs. Bisco's tuna and salmon casserole. She's getting on in years but she can really bake." And Syd will never grow out of using animal forms to get free food. It's cheaper (and sometimes healthier) than trying to eat human food!
Logan arches one of his eyebrows. "I call everyone kid. Though I guess you're a little on the old side for it," he is forced to admit. After all, his girlfriend is hardly older. "Alright, Syd. I hope you'll pardon me if I don't just knock down her door to ask for a taste." He pushes himself up to his feet. "Anyway. I just stopped 'cause I recognized you an' I figured we should actually meet when you weren't...in a weird position."
Sydney chuckles. "Oh please. That was not a wierd position. You want to see a really wierd position? Try Yoga Meditation Number forty-five." He points to a corner of the room where a woman is balanced on her chest with her toes touching the top of her head while she reads a magazine someone was kind enough to set on her mat, and sips coffee through a thin straw from a spillproof cup. Yoga Meditation No. 45..... It's captivating.
Logan contemplates the woman in her yoga for a moment. "Okay, you got a point. But I still say fewer people are caught in the position you were in the last two times I met you." He jerks his head toward the door. "I gotta get back to the school. If you see me again, just don't freak out, eh?"
Sydney nods to him. "No freaking out! Though I may throw out the occasional, 'How far up's the stick today?'" He chuckles again and waves. "Tell Bluejeans I said hello! And she's due for some dance lessons!" Hey, he already gave one embarassing dance session to Storm. Might as well give one to everyone he knows!
Logan gives Sydney a sidelong eye. "Dance lessons," he repeats in an even monotone. He gives a long and significant look to Sydney's coffee cup, arches one eyebrow, then turns to go, giving his head a little shake. Once he is turned away, however, there is hint of repressed smile tugging at his mouth.
Rated "T" for Teensy Bit O' Profanity.