5/21/07 - Sabrina, Storm
---
=NYC= Bad Ass Coffee - East Village - Manhattan
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!
It's late, and Sabrina is dragging a bit, visibly tired as she walks in the door. Still, despite a long and rather harrowing day, she manages to summon a grin for the counter help as she orders her coffee. She's rather looking forward to collapsing into one of the couches and people-watching for an hour or two to unwind.
Of the couches, one is open -- though a corner of it is claimed already by a haggard young man, whose absorption in his computer and books identifies him as a student of some sort. Adjacent to it, in an armchair that makes the short leg of the L finished by the sofa, a familiar figure lounges in a leather jacket and jeans. Scarred hands hold a folded newspaper, deceptively drowsy eyes flickering back and forth across the day's stories. A coffee cup steams on the table at his elbow; his foot, propped on his elbow, keeps lazy time. Chris Rossi is experiencing downtime.
Coffee in hand, Sabrina heads back towards the couches, the smile broadening as she spots an empty spot. She heads straight for it, only realizing she recognizes the man in the armchair next to where she'll be sitting when she's all but on top of him. "Why, Rossi. Fancy meeting you here. This is starting to become a regular occurrence." She says, grinning as she sits down on the couch, letting her head fall back against the back for a moment.
Green eyes rise from the newspaper, smoky color shadowed by the slant of lashes. Rossi's brow furrows at Sabrina before recognition clears his face somewhat. "The vet," he identifies, the Brooklyn accent harsh across the abrupt baritone. "Hey again. How's it going?"
"It's going." Sabrina says, voice laced with a certain amount of exasperated humor. "First time I've been off my feet all day. Seems like every animal in this area picked today to get hurt. Ended up having to shunt some of them to the next nearest clinic because we were up to our eyeballs. Seems to go like that. There'll be weeks, sometimes months, with only one or two emergency cases, then *bam* we get hit with a dozen or so inside of a week."
The cop blinks a little. He shifts in his seat; the jacket, unzipped, drapes into the gap between ribs and chair to bare the NYPD blue of his T-shirt. "Rough life," he says mildly, leaning on one elbow. He flips the newspaper open to rest on his thigh, a hand freeing to lift his coffee cup and check its level. Almost full. He sips at it cautiously. "Someone going after the pet population?"
"Not as rough as some." Sabrina says. "I daresay you could beat me in that department without half trying. And no, it's not usually that someone is going after pets. Just seems to happen in cycles. This time though, yes, there was a cause. I think some of your coworkers, or maybe someone in the ASPCA, busted up a dogfighting ring. Six dogs today, all of them torn to hell and gone. I think they were bait dogs, or whatever the poor things that get tossed in with the pit bulls to train them to fight get called." She sighed. "Two of them didn't make it, they were so bad."
"Happens," Rossi says with cynicism, albeit not without a hint of sympathy. He fists his temple, a spidering of silver and black falling across the back of his hand. "Most of them'll be put down anyway, probably. Even if they get healed up, they probably won't be adoptable. Better off putting them out of their misery."
Sabrina sighed. "Yeah, I know. This isn't the first time I've had to patch up the leftovers from a mess like that. But one of the dogs had a microchip, so that one at least might be salvageable. Depends on his owner though. At least he's one of the ones that made it through the day." And of course, the other half of Sabrina's problem with this is the fact she can *feel* the animals' emotions. It makes days like today that bit harder. "At any rate, enough about my day." She finally picks up her head and takes a careful sip of coffee. "How've you been since we talked last?"
Rossi hitches his shoulders into a shrug, eyebrows leveling down into a swift, passing frown. "Can't say," he says frankly, and allows the barest quirk of a smile to move his mouth. "Probably fine. It's been a good weekend." He shrugs again, reaching across himself to claim his coffee cup and sip at the drink. "A few days off and here's mud in your eye. --Meeting my girlfriend," he volunteers after a moment.
"Sounds like a pretty good weekend to me, especially the seeing the girlfriend bit." Sabrina says. "That tends to be a good thing. Of course, unless you end up having a spat, which is never good, but it doesn't sound like you did." She takes another drink of coffee to shut herself up before she starts sounding like too much of an idiot. Apparently being tired makes her run off at the mouth.
The man says nothing for a second. His eyes heat in a slow, masculine smile that has nothing to do with amusement. "Didn't have a spat," he says over the rim of his mug, his baritone husky with the warmth of nostalgia. He drinks again, the darkness of the coffee reflected in the green. "How about you?" he asks politely. "How've you been?"
Ororo arrives in the coffee shop in a click of heels and a whirl of fabric, white skirt flaring about her knees and blue mandarin-collared blouse shaping itself to her torso. Her hair is a silver-white gleam, the bright waves of its cascade clipped three inches shorter than it was just yesterday.
Sabrina, tired as she might have been, was not slow in catching on to what Rossi was hinting at. Hell, the look on his face alone was enough to clue her in, nevermind the words. "I see." She says with a grin, then takes another sip of coffee. "Things have been very good." She says. "Quiet enough other than today." She glances up as someone else comes into the cafe, eyebrows going up as she takes in the rather classy looking young lady with, oddly enough, white hair. "Now there's something you don't see every day."
Rossi's gaze follows Sabrina's to the door, and the quality of his expression -- borderline mockery -- changes briefly, abruptly softening and brightening before shifting back to a lighter version of its customary cynicism. He rises, shedding the newspaper to drop it into the seat. "Hey," he greets, lifting an arm. To Sabrina he drops a brief explanation, "That's her," before crossing the floor to meet Storm midway.
"That's me," Ororo agrees, her low voice dry with humor and draped with its customary whisper of exoticism in her accent. She greets him with a kiss, chaste and socially acceptable at his cheek. The scent that clings to dark skin is wind and rain and green, growing things. "What's me? What's up?" She glances back the way he's come, to table, newspaper and companion, and arches an eyebrow.
Sabrina's eyebrows, if possible, head even further up her forehead at Rossi's greeting of the woman, and the brief explanation offered. Well well. This was interesting. Sabrina wondered if the woman's ears were burning as she debated about getting up to say hello. What was the proper protocol when the girlfriend of a guy you barely know walks in and sees the two of you chatting? And you just happened to have been discussing *her*, in however vague a way? Ah well, nothing for it but to hope she's not the prickly, suspicious type. Sabrina gets to her feet and heads over. "Hello. Nothing much. Rossi and I kind of keep crossing paths here, and get to talking."
"You cut your hair. Looks nice," Rossi greets, sliding an arm around Ororo's back and an equally chaste kiss on the newly-cropped head before lifting his chin to indicate his erstwhile seat. "Just having coffee," he tells her, disengaging to amble back to the chair. "She's a vet. Sabrina, Ororo Munroe. Cadbury, Sabrina." He gestures with the flick of a hand, taking up a leaned seat against the coffee table.
Ororo acknowledges the compliment with the curve of her smile, the sweep of her eyelashes and the slight dip of her head. If she is suspicious or prickly, she certainly hides it well: her eyes gleam vivid blue with unvoiced laughter, sliding past Rossi to the stranger. She offers her hand for a shake, nimble fingers slim and skin warm. "Hi," she says, voice honey-mellow and mirth-rich. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I teach high school in Westchester."
Sabrina relaxes immediately when it becomes obvious that Ororo isn't going to take exception. "Likewise." She says, shaking hands readily. She blinks at the 'teacher in Westchester' bit, suspicions aroused, but then she shakes it off as entirely TOO coincidental. "What subject do you teach?" She asks. She glances back at the couch, and, seeing the skinny student type has abandoned his spot, motions towards the comfortable seating. "Shall we?"
The cop's gaze smiles on Ororo, amusement slicing across the drag of his voice. "Teacher isn't the word you want," he suggests, taking up the coffee to hook his knee against the arm of the chair. He tips his head towards it, inviting the newest arrival to claim the seat. "How about zookeeper? Want me to grab you something? Coffee?" He glances across at Sabrina, something -- intelligence, suspicion, mockery -- sharpening his regard.
"Zookeeper? I hope you're talking about them being teenagers, or else you might be in trouble." Ororo sniffs, though her smile twitches irrepressibly at the corners of the full mouth. She folds herself neatly into the offered seat, crossing her legs at the ankle and settling back towards him. It seems she will sit where Chris offers before absconding with a sofa. "If they have hot apple cider or chai, please? -- I teach social studies. History, geography, current events. I am told it's one of the useless ones."
Sabrina, after a moment's debate, settles on the far side of the sofa, leaving the spot nearest Ororo for Rossi. "Zookeeper?" She echoes as well, but whatever else she'd been about to say goes unsaid as Ororo reacts. Suspicions raise their heads again, more strongly this time. "Depends on who you're talking to. The aforementioned teenagers probably do think it's useless ... but personally, I believe that if we don't know the past, we're foredoomed to repeat past mistakes. Which, considering some of the blunders in the history of the world, would be very unfortunate."
Sabrina, after a moment's debate, settles on the far side of the sofa, leaving the spot nearest Ororo for Rossi. "Zookeeper?" She echoes as well, but whatever else she'd been about to say goes unsaid as Ororo reacts. Suspicions raise their heads again, more strongly this time. "Depends on who you're talking to. The aforementioned teenagers probably do think it's useless ... but personally, I believe that if we don't know the past, we're foredoomed to repeat past mistakes. Which, considering some of the blunders in the history of the world, would be very unfortunate."
"Chai I know they got. I sucked at geography. History and comparative religions, now--" Rossi drops a hand on Ororo's back, fingers trailing up the line of her spine before he rises to amble towards the counter. There is no line. He leans across the counter on an elbow, fishing his wallet out of his jacket pocket, and engages in quiet conversation with the woman on the other side.
Ororo cants her head, following him with her gaze a moment, and then returns her attention with amused courtesy to Sabrina. "That is what they say, isn't it?" she says mildly. "I have always felt that the study of human nature requires the study of human action. I look to the past to plan for the future, not to prevent it."
"I think it's the same basic idea, really. Knowing what's been done in the past helps us try to work towards a better solution the next time a similar problem occurs. Just different ways of saying what they mean, I think." Sabrina says, taking a sip of coffee to help her mind kick back into gear. Even tired, she enjoys debates.
What Rossi is doing over the bridge of the counter is not a debate. It borders on flirting, if of a safe and inconsequential type, the idle exchange between a habitual patron and a career barista. When he straightens to return to the two women, it is with a steaming cup in hand for Ororo. "Chai," he says, offering her the mug, as though the smell of it alone is not enough to identify it. "Pretty sure they put pot in it. Hippie drink. You start seeing dancing mushrooms, don't blame me." He picks a seat on the arm of the sofa, one leg hooked over it, the other braced against the floor.
"Perhaps," Ororo allows to Sabrina, lowering her lashes over a flicker of sharpening amusement in her eyes. She looks up at Chris as he returns and lifts her hands to take the mug. Warming her hands against its sides, she blows lightly across its surface and then sips. "Pot does not smell like this," she says decisively.
Rossi grins down at Ororo, leaning over and beyond her to snag his coffee from the table on her other side. "You get to know that from being Nature Goddess? Don't tell me. Thinking about those kids of yours experimenting with drugs is enough to give me an aneurysm."
"Dancing mushrooms? Just which pot users have you been talking to, Rossi? Wait, don't answer that. I'd really rather not know." Sabrina says. Her eyebrows go up at Ororo's definitive statement, but she doesn't comment. Rossi's return comment, however, stops Sabrina cold. Nature godess. Westchester. School. The appropriate neurons finally rub together and Sabrina sinks back into the couch, stunned recognition flickering briefly across her face, followed swiftly by amusement. "I'm more tired than I thought."
"I went to /college/," Ororo points out, tart. She gives Sabrina a puzzled look that does not quite resolve into a question.
"Hard-core," Rossi murmurs with a priestly disapproval belied by the etching of laughter lines around his eyes. "All I did in college was drink. A lot. Figured it was part of training for my calling. And my frat house had fantastic parties." His gaze slides to Sabrina as well, one eyebrow lifting quizzically.
"I, on the other hand, was rather tame. Worst I did was develop an addiction to caffeine in the form of coffee." Sabrina lifts the cup in her hand, taking another sip before she satisfies their curiosity. "Sorry about the non-sequitur there. But I *really* should have recognized you when you walked in, Ororo. Especially when one of your colleagues brings her cat to my practice." She's not going to bother mentioning the newsbytes. "Hence the me being more tired than I thought. I usually catch on a bit faster than this."
"My dormitory reeked of it," Ororo says, wrinkling her nose. She takes a longer sip of cooling chai and settles back in her seat with a slight sigh. "Are you Jean's vet? That's funny." She catches her lower lip in her teeth, closing off further words and smiling instead. "Hi."
"Cat," Rossi says a bit blankly. Then, "Oh. That -- thing. Madame Curie, or whatever it's called. Damn thing." Dog person, Rossi is. He leans back on his precarious seat, bracing his back against the wall behind him and finishing off the last few inches of his coffee. "You're famous, Cadbury."
"Yeah, I am. Small world effect." Sabrina grins as she raises her cup in a wordless toast before taking another sip. Then she laughs at Rossi. "She's not all that bad. I deal with a *lot* worse than her. But then, I do tend to attract owners who have problem pets, since I have a deft touch with even the most troublesome critters. Makes life interesting." She cocks her head at him. "I'm almost afraid to ask ... but what's with the Cadbury thing?"
"Renouned," Ororo agrees. She takes another swig of chai and then leans to set the mug down on the table. "I'll be back," she says lightly. "Chris can explain that -- if he can. Excuse me." She slides to her feet and turns away, gliding to the counter to inquire after the ladies' room. She shortly thereafter disappears into it.
Rossi looks after Ororo with a glint of amusement, sliding off the edge of the sofa to sprawl not so elegantly into the abandoned chair. Leather creaks, strained across shoulders. "Term of endearment," he tells Sabrina, long lashes latticing across the bright eyes. "Pet name. I could call her Munroe, but it ain't anywhere near as fun."
"Ah, gotcha." Sabrina says. "So you're a mutant, then?" She asks, her tone idly curious.
"No," Rossi says equably. "I'm a cop." And he falls silent, gaze level, eyebrow rising.
"Really? Talk about feeling like the odd man out when you're over there, then. I think just about everyone who lives or goes to school there is a mutant." Sabrina comments, taking a sip of coffee ... or starting to. But there's no more left. Ah well.
Rossi shrugs; again, the leather creaks, pulled tight across chest and right shoulder by the uneven drape of his seat. "Not everyone," he says, and discovers a paper-thin layer of coffee at the bottom of his mug. He peers at it, measures it, and tips his mug back in a mining expedition before returning to Sabrina. "And I don't. --You been there?"
"Actually no, I haven't. But I've heard bits and pieces about it from Jean, and met a few others from there, some of the kids, one or two of the teachers." Sabrina says. "One of the kids, ironically enough, saved my ass a few weeks back. Happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time with a couple of mutants that happen to be the kind that give all mutants a bad name. Would have ended rather badly if the cavalry hadn't arrived."
The cop is not noticeably impressed by the alleged heroism of the student; if anything, exasperation cuts across his face, a poiniard of irritation that is there and then gone again. "Fantastic," Rossi says, the nap of his voice brushed awry. He drops his feet to the floor and rises out of his chair. "Kids. Math and history in the morning, comic book for lunch, playing hero in the afternoon. Full schedule."
"Someone's got to do it." Sabrina argues. "Much as it probably irks the hell out of you, the police just don't have the ability to wrangle some mutants. I don't much like the idea of it being kids doing the stopping, but the alternative is a hell of a lot worse. And in a lot of cases, I don't think those kids have really *been* kids since they manifested. It's a pretty ugly world for mutants."
Rossi's glance towards Sabrina is faintly incredulous: frankly disbelieving at first, then utterly unreadable behind a professional mask of inquiry. "You think so? You may be right. We'll be late," he adds, pushing his sleeve back to check the broad band of his watch. He sets the coffee mug on the table to join the cooling chai. Across the room, the ladies room door swings open as Ororo returns to the cafe. "Nice seeing you again," he says politely. "Hope you have a nice night."
Oops. Looks like Rossi doesn't quite agree with her. Not that the news surprises Sabrina in the least. "See you around, Rossi." She says. She just hopes she hasn't pissed him off. Sparking debate is fine. Offending someone to the point they don't want to talk anymore is definitely NOT.
The mugs are left behind for the roving busboys to gather up. Rossi heads for Ororo, their paths angling to intersect, then parallel on a path to the door. He says something; she replies, amusement a trembling in the low voice, and the two of them pass outside. The bell over the door tinkles. Cooler air sweeps in and cleans the floor.
[Log ends]
Rossi runs into Sabrina while he's waiting for Storm. Storm runs into Sabrina once he stops waiting. Sabrina falls madly in love with the hot one.
=NYC= Bad Ass Coffee - East Village - Manhattan
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!
It's late, and Sabrina is dragging a bit, visibly tired as she walks in the door. Still, despite a long and rather harrowing day, she manages to summon a grin for the counter help as she orders her coffee. She's rather looking forward to collapsing into one of the couches and people-watching for an hour or two to unwind.
Of the couches, one is open -- though a corner of it is claimed already by a haggard young man, whose absorption in his computer and books identifies him as a student of some sort. Adjacent to it, in an armchair that makes the short leg of the L finished by the sofa, a familiar figure lounges in a leather jacket and jeans. Scarred hands hold a folded newspaper, deceptively drowsy eyes flickering back and forth across the day's stories. A coffee cup steams on the table at his elbow; his foot, propped on his elbow, keeps lazy time. Chris Rossi is experiencing downtime.
Coffee in hand, Sabrina heads back towards the couches, the smile broadening as she spots an empty spot. She heads straight for it, only realizing she recognizes the man in the armchair next to where she'll be sitting when she's all but on top of him. "Why, Rossi. Fancy meeting you here. This is starting to become a regular occurrence." She says, grinning as she sits down on the couch, letting her head fall back against the back for a moment.
Green eyes rise from the newspaper, smoky color shadowed by the slant of lashes. Rossi's brow furrows at Sabrina before recognition clears his face somewhat. "The vet," he identifies, the Brooklyn accent harsh across the abrupt baritone. "Hey again. How's it going?"
"It's going." Sabrina says, voice laced with a certain amount of exasperated humor. "First time I've been off my feet all day. Seems like every animal in this area picked today to get hurt. Ended up having to shunt some of them to the next nearest clinic because we were up to our eyeballs. Seems to go like that. There'll be weeks, sometimes months, with only one or two emergency cases, then *bam* we get hit with a dozen or so inside of a week."
The cop blinks a little. He shifts in his seat; the jacket, unzipped, drapes into the gap between ribs and chair to bare the NYPD blue of his T-shirt. "Rough life," he says mildly, leaning on one elbow. He flips the newspaper open to rest on his thigh, a hand freeing to lift his coffee cup and check its level. Almost full. He sips at it cautiously. "Someone going after the pet population?"
"Not as rough as some." Sabrina says. "I daresay you could beat me in that department without half trying. And no, it's not usually that someone is going after pets. Just seems to happen in cycles. This time though, yes, there was a cause. I think some of your coworkers, or maybe someone in the ASPCA, busted up a dogfighting ring. Six dogs today, all of them torn to hell and gone. I think they were bait dogs, or whatever the poor things that get tossed in with the pit bulls to train them to fight get called." She sighed. "Two of them didn't make it, they were so bad."
"Happens," Rossi says with cynicism, albeit not without a hint of sympathy. He fists his temple, a spidering of silver and black falling across the back of his hand. "Most of them'll be put down anyway, probably. Even if they get healed up, they probably won't be adoptable. Better off putting them out of their misery."
Sabrina sighed. "Yeah, I know. This isn't the first time I've had to patch up the leftovers from a mess like that. But one of the dogs had a microchip, so that one at least might be salvageable. Depends on his owner though. At least he's one of the ones that made it through the day." And of course, the other half of Sabrina's problem with this is the fact she can *feel* the animals' emotions. It makes days like today that bit harder. "At any rate, enough about my day." She finally picks up her head and takes a careful sip of coffee. "How've you been since we talked last?"
Rossi hitches his shoulders into a shrug, eyebrows leveling down into a swift, passing frown. "Can't say," he says frankly, and allows the barest quirk of a smile to move his mouth. "Probably fine. It's been a good weekend." He shrugs again, reaching across himself to claim his coffee cup and sip at the drink. "A few days off and here's mud in your eye. --Meeting my girlfriend," he volunteers after a moment.
"Sounds like a pretty good weekend to me, especially the seeing the girlfriend bit." Sabrina says. "That tends to be a good thing. Of course, unless you end up having a spat, which is never good, but it doesn't sound like you did." She takes another drink of coffee to shut herself up before she starts sounding like too much of an idiot. Apparently being tired makes her run off at the mouth.
The man says nothing for a second. His eyes heat in a slow, masculine smile that has nothing to do with amusement. "Didn't have a spat," he says over the rim of his mug, his baritone husky with the warmth of nostalgia. He drinks again, the darkness of the coffee reflected in the green. "How about you?" he asks politely. "How've you been?"
Ororo arrives in the coffee shop in a click of heels and a whirl of fabric, white skirt flaring about her knees and blue mandarin-collared blouse shaping itself to her torso. Her hair is a silver-white gleam, the bright waves of its cascade clipped three inches shorter than it was just yesterday.
Sabrina, tired as she might have been, was not slow in catching on to what Rossi was hinting at. Hell, the look on his face alone was enough to clue her in, nevermind the words. "I see." She says with a grin, then takes another sip of coffee. "Things have been very good." She says. "Quiet enough other than today." She glances up as someone else comes into the cafe, eyebrows going up as she takes in the rather classy looking young lady with, oddly enough, white hair. "Now there's something you don't see every day."
Rossi's gaze follows Sabrina's to the door, and the quality of his expression -- borderline mockery -- changes briefly, abruptly softening and brightening before shifting back to a lighter version of its customary cynicism. He rises, shedding the newspaper to drop it into the seat. "Hey," he greets, lifting an arm. To Sabrina he drops a brief explanation, "That's her," before crossing the floor to meet Storm midway.
"That's me," Ororo agrees, her low voice dry with humor and draped with its customary whisper of exoticism in her accent. She greets him with a kiss, chaste and socially acceptable at his cheek. The scent that clings to dark skin is wind and rain and green, growing things. "What's me? What's up?" She glances back the way he's come, to table, newspaper and companion, and arches an eyebrow.
Sabrina's eyebrows, if possible, head even further up her forehead at Rossi's greeting of the woman, and the brief explanation offered. Well well. This was interesting. Sabrina wondered if the woman's ears were burning as she debated about getting up to say hello. What was the proper protocol when the girlfriend of a guy you barely know walks in and sees the two of you chatting? And you just happened to have been discussing *her*, in however vague a way? Ah well, nothing for it but to hope she's not the prickly, suspicious type. Sabrina gets to her feet and heads over. "Hello. Nothing much. Rossi and I kind of keep crossing paths here, and get to talking."
"You cut your hair. Looks nice," Rossi greets, sliding an arm around Ororo's back and an equally chaste kiss on the newly-cropped head before lifting his chin to indicate his erstwhile seat. "Just having coffee," he tells her, disengaging to amble back to the chair. "She's a vet. Sabrina, Ororo Munroe. Cadbury, Sabrina." He gestures with the flick of a hand, taking up a leaned seat against the coffee table.
Ororo acknowledges the compliment with the curve of her smile, the sweep of her eyelashes and the slight dip of her head. If she is suspicious or prickly, she certainly hides it well: her eyes gleam vivid blue with unvoiced laughter, sliding past Rossi to the stranger. She offers her hand for a shake, nimble fingers slim and skin warm. "Hi," she says, voice honey-mellow and mirth-rich. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I teach high school in Westchester."
Sabrina relaxes immediately when it becomes obvious that Ororo isn't going to take exception. "Likewise." She says, shaking hands readily. She blinks at the 'teacher in Westchester' bit, suspicions aroused, but then she shakes it off as entirely TOO coincidental. "What subject do you teach?" She asks. She glances back at the couch, and, seeing the skinny student type has abandoned his spot, motions towards the comfortable seating. "Shall we?"
The cop's gaze smiles on Ororo, amusement slicing across the drag of his voice. "Teacher isn't the word you want," he suggests, taking up the coffee to hook his knee against the arm of the chair. He tips his head towards it, inviting the newest arrival to claim the seat. "How about zookeeper? Want me to grab you something? Coffee?" He glances across at Sabrina, something -- intelligence, suspicion, mockery -- sharpening his regard.
"Zookeeper? I hope you're talking about them being teenagers, or else you might be in trouble." Ororo sniffs, though her smile twitches irrepressibly at the corners of the full mouth. She folds herself neatly into the offered seat, crossing her legs at the ankle and settling back towards him. It seems she will sit where Chris offers before absconding with a sofa. "If they have hot apple cider or chai, please? -- I teach social studies. History, geography, current events. I am told it's one of the useless ones."
Sabrina, after a moment's debate, settles on the far side of the sofa, leaving the spot nearest Ororo for Rossi. "Zookeeper?" She echoes as well, but whatever else she'd been about to say goes unsaid as Ororo reacts. Suspicions raise their heads again, more strongly this time. "Depends on who you're talking to. The aforementioned teenagers probably do think it's useless ... but personally, I believe that if we don't know the past, we're foredoomed to repeat past mistakes. Which, considering some of the blunders in the history of the world, would be very unfortunate."
Sabrina, after a moment's debate, settles on the far side of the sofa, leaving the spot nearest Ororo for Rossi. "Zookeeper?" She echoes as well, but whatever else she'd been about to say goes unsaid as Ororo reacts. Suspicions raise their heads again, more strongly this time. "Depends on who you're talking to. The aforementioned teenagers probably do think it's useless ... but personally, I believe that if we don't know the past, we're foredoomed to repeat past mistakes. Which, considering some of the blunders in the history of the world, would be very unfortunate."
"Chai I know they got. I sucked at geography. History and comparative religions, now--" Rossi drops a hand on Ororo's back, fingers trailing up the line of her spine before he rises to amble towards the counter. There is no line. He leans across the counter on an elbow, fishing his wallet out of his jacket pocket, and engages in quiet conversation with the woman on the other side.
Ororo cants her head, following him with her gaze a moment, and then returns her attention with amused courtesy to Sabrina. "That is what they say, isn't it?" she says mildly. "I have always felt that the study of human nature requires the study of human action. I look to the past to plan for the future, not to prevent it."
"I think it's the same basic idea, really. Knowing what's been done in the past helps us try to work towards a better solution the next time a similar problem occurs. Just different ways of saying what they mean, I think." Sabrina says, taking a sip of coffee to help her mind kick back into gear. Even tired, she enjoys debates.
What Rossi is doing over the bridge of the counter is not a debate. It borders on flirting, if of a safe and inconsequential type, the idle exchange between a habitual patron and a career barista. When he straightens to return to the two women, it is with a steaming cup in hand for Ororo. "Chai," he says, offering her the mug, as though the smell of it alone is not enough to identify it. "Pretty sure they put pot in it. Hippie drink. You start seeing dancing mushrooms, don't blame me." He picks a seat on the arm of the sofa, one leg hooked over it, the other braced against the floor.
"Perhaps," Ororo allows to Sabrina, lowering her lashes over a flicker of sharpening amusement in her eyes. She looks up at Chris as he returns and lifts her hands to take the mug. Warming her hands against its sides, she blows lightly across its surface and then sips. "Pot does not smell like this," she says decisively.
Rossi grins down at Ororo, leaning over and beyond her to snag his coffee from the table on her other side. "You get to know that from being Nature Goddess? Don't tell me. Thinking about those kids of yours experimenting with drugs is enough to give me an aneurysm."
"Dancing mushrooms? Just which pot users have you been talking to, Rossi? Wait, don't answer that. I'd really rather not know." Sabrina says. Her eyebrows go up at Ororo's definitive statement, but she doesn't comment. Rossi's return comment, however, stops Sabrina cold. Nature godess. Westchester. School. The appropriate neurons finally rub together and Sabrina sinks back into the couch, stunned recognition flickering briefly across her face, followed swiftly by amusement. "I'm more tired than I thought."
"I went to /college/," Ororo points out, tart. She gives Sabrina a puzzled look that does not quite resolve into a question.
"Hard-core," Rossi murmurs with a priestly disapproval belied by the etching of laughter lines around his eyes. "All I did in college was drink. A lot. Figured it was part of training for my calling. And my frat house had fantastic parties." His gaze slides to Sabrina as well, one eyebrow lifting quizzically.
"I, on the other hand, was rather tame. Worst I did was develop an addiction to caffeine in the form of coffee." Sabrina lifts the cup in her hand, taking another sip before she satisfies their curiosity. "Sorry about the non-sequitur there. But I *really* should have recognized you when you walked in, Ororo. Especially when one of your colleagues brings her cat to my practice." She's not going to bother mentioning the newsbytes. "Hence the me being more tired than I thought. I usually catch on a bit faster than this."
"My dormitory reeked of it," Ororo says, wrinkling her nose. She takes a longer sip of cooling chai and settles back in her seat with a slight sigh. "Are you Jean's vet? That's funny." She catches her lower lip in her teeth, closing off further words and smiling instead. "Hi."
"Cat," Rossi says a bit blankly. Then, "Oh. That -- thing. Madame Curie, or whatever it's called. Damn thing." Dog person, Rossi is. He leans back on his precarious seat, bracing his back against the wall behind him and finishing off the last few inches of his coffee. "You're famous, Cadbury."
"Yeah, I am. Small world effect." Sabrina grins as she raises her cup in a wordless toast before taking another sip. Then she laughs at Rossi. "She's not all that bad. I deal with a *lot* worse than her. But then, I do tend to attract owners who have problem pets, since I have a deft touch with even the most troublesome critters. Makes life interesting." She cocks her head at him. "I'm almost afraid to ask ... but what's with the Cadbury thing?"
"Renouned," Ororo agrees. She takes another swig of chai and then leans to set the mug down on the table. "I'll be back," she says lightly. "Chris can explain that -- if he can. Excuse me." She slides to her feet and turns away, gliding to the counter to inquire after the ladies' room. She shortly thereafter disappears into it.
Rossi looks after Ororo with a glint of amusement, sliding off the edge of the sofa to sprawl not so elegantly into the abandoned chair. Leather creaks, strained across shoulders. "Term of endearment," he tells Sabrina, long lashes latticing across the bright eyes. "Pet name. I could call her Munroe, but it ain't anywhere near as fun."
"Ah, gotcha." Sabrina says. "So you're a mutant, then?" She asks, her tone idly curious.
"No," Rossi says equably. "I'm a cop." And he falls silent, gaze level, eyebrow rising.
"Really? Talk about feeling like the odd man out when you're over there, then. I think just about everyone who lives or goes to school there is a mutant." Sabrina comments, taking a sip of coffee ... or starting to. But there's no more left. Ah well.
Rossi shrugs; again, the leather creaks, pulled tight across chest and right shoulder by the uneven drape of his seat. "Not everyone," he says, and discovers a paper-thin layer of coffee at the bottom of his mug. He peers at it, measures it, and tips his mug back in a mining expedition before returning to Sabrina. "And I don't. --You been there?"
"Actually no, I haven't. But I've heard bits and pieces about it from Jean, and met a few others from there, some of the kids, one or two of the teachers." Sabrina says. "One of the kids, ironically enough, saved my ass a few weeks back. Happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time with a couple of mutants that happen to be the kind that give all mutants a bad name. Would have ended rather badly if the cavalry hadn't arrived."
The cop is not noticeably impressed by the alleged heroism of the student; if anything, exasperation cuts across his face, a poiniard of irritation that is there and then gone again. "Fantastic," Rossi says, the nap of his voice brushed awry. He drops his feet to the floor and rises out of his chair. "Kids. Math and history in the morning, comic book for lunch, playing hero in the afternoon. Full schedule."
"Someone's got to do it." Sabrina argues. "Much as it probably irks the hell out of you, the police just don't have the ability to wrangle some mutants. I don't much like the idea of it being kids doing the stopping, but the alternative is a hell of a lot worse. And in a lot of cases, I don't think those kids have really *been* kids since they manifested. It's a pretty ugly world for mutants."
Rossi's glance towards Sabrina is faintly incredulous: frankly disbelieving at first, then utterly unreadable behind a professional mask of inquiry. "You think so? You may be right. We'll be late," he adds, pushing his sleeve back to check the broad band of his watch. He sets the coffee mug on the table to join the cooling chai. Across the room, the ladies room door swings open as Ororo returns to the cafe. "Nice seeing you again," he says politely. "Hope you have a nice night."
Oops. Looks like Rossi doesn't quite agree with her. Not that the news surprises Sabrina in the least. "See you around, Rossi." She says. She just hopes she hasn't pissed him off. Sparking debate is fine. Offending someone to the point they don't want to talk anymore is definitely NOT.
The mugs are left behind for the roving busboys to gather up. Rossi heads for Ororo, their paths angling to intersect, then parallel on a path to the door. He says something; she replies, amusement a trembling in the low voice, and the two of them pass outside. The bell over the door tinkles. Cooler air sweeps in and cleans the floor.
[Log ends]
Rossi runs into Sabrina while he's waiting for Storm. Storm runs into Sabrina once he stops waiting. Sabrina falls madly in love with the hot one.