[OPEN ] I showed you kindness, a stool, and a tab

[crawfordsands]

Who: Crawford, Open
What: There's a new coffee shop in town! Stop by for a cup, if you dare ask the surly man behind the counter for a drink.
Where: City Grind Coffee, Manhattan
When: Friday evening
Warnings: Crawford. So a lot of wearing. Maybe a fight or two will break out, you never know.
Notes: Typical "party" style log. Pop in as you wish,

Comments

[policebrand]

Coffee was just another 'ritual' York liked to keep. He didn't mind Bending his coffee every morning. In fact he found it a lot more convenient than gambling with other people who handled his cup. The times when his coffee was too weak, too watery, too old... It made the FBI Agent disappointed just thinking about it

[crawfordsands]

Crawford was exactly where he'd been when he made the post. Feet on the couter, slumped back in his chair with a spiral notebook on his lap. By his feet was a half empty cup of coffee. Hearing the door open, he lifted his head. He didn't recognize the man, but he recognized the attire.

Suits. Why was it always suits? Suits came in the morning, not the evening. So that was weird. Suits usually got plain coffee to go in the largest size. Suits were impatient, picky bastards. Suits were lawyers, detectives, mobsters, stock traders, bankers, politicians, business men. All the people he despised wore suits. So his mood was set. He may have been a little nicer if it had been someone else walking through that door.

"Yeah, what d'you want?" He asked without bothering to get on his feet.

[policebrand]

York could tell that he wasn't welcomed here. The man's body language said everything he needed to know.

"Yes" he said, walking further into the shop. "I'd like some coffee. Regular, please."

[crawfordsands]

He closed the notebook and flopped it down on the counter. It looked like it had seen a lot of use, the edges of the cover bent, the surface covered in scratches. Doodles and notes obscured each other, names jotted down and crossed out. He pulled his feet off the counter, but didn't get up just yet.

"Gonna need a bit more than that, pal. What size?"

[deadly_ned]

The facts were these

[crawfordsands]

After taking care of the man in the suit and his coffee, Crawford and resumed his seat at the counter with his feet propped up. Only now that he'd been in there a while, he'd lit up a cigarette. Strangely, though the thing was lit and there was a thin trail of smoke rising from the end of the stick, there was no smell. If someone were to get rather close to him and his cigarette, they would be able to smell it. But it didn't leave his immediate vicinity

[deadly_ned]

In his line of work, the Piemaker had been presented with a large number of unpleasant, unfriendly people, not least of which were thieves, murderers, and mimes. He had interacted with people who robbed graves, people who had killed for money or for fame, people who had tried to frame him for murder or run him out of business. In short, the Piemaker was no stranger to a host of many a complex and terrifying individual

[crawfordsands]

He pulled his feet off the counter and tossed down the notebook. Closed, of course. The cover was a mess of scrawled notes and very poorly drawn doodles. The notebook was nearing to be a year old, and it showed. But he didn't pay attention to that. He rested both elbows on the counter, arms loosely crossed, one hand held out to accomidate the cigarette. All the while Ned talked, his features stayed in that more or less blank, semi-scowl he seemed to always have.

Oh, Ned. If you hadn't mentioned the swearing, he probably would have played nice. Not known who you were. But that alone was enough to put a name to nameless notes.

"You don't buy coffee here. There ain't any damn money in this city. Just tell me what the hell you want."

[themotherfucker]

Homelessness did not beget Chris very well. He'd stayed at Orihime's hidden home a grand total of one day before eventually deciding that if she knew where he was, then Kick-Ass would know where he was, and he didn't really feel up to dealing with his so-called arch-nemesis at the moment. Not when he wanted to distance himself from everyone and everything around him. He'd contemplated going through the Gate more than once, but eventually decided that being a puppet in a world he couldn't affect sucked more than being a guy no one liked

[crawfordsands]

Crawford had moved from his perch at the counter. He was now behind the big metal box that allowed him to work his magic. He'd just made himself a fresh coffee in a paper cup--you're not killing trees if you used Bending. Plus, using a mug made him feel pretentious. He was just coming back to his seat when he heard the person who walked in speak.

He looked up and immediately tensed, a snarl forming on his face.

"What the fuckin'--"

But his sudden reaction to the teenager's appearance in the shop had an adverse effect on the uncovered paper cup in his hand. And he was now wearing scalding hot coffee.

"YOU LITTLE SHIT!" He bellowed.

Not bothering to clean himself up, he vaulted himself over the counter. One foot planted on the surface and he hit the ground hard, with both feet.

[themotherfucker]

Terror suddenly alighted in Chris' every facial feature. Crawford would never believe in a million years that walking in had been an accident, but no fucking way was he going to stand around and explain himself. Not when Crawford was running like a bull towards the red-cloaked teen. In the fight-or-flight response, flight won out single-handedly, and Chris turned and bolted out the door, heart pounding.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCKFUCKFUCK!" He rasped to himself in between breaths, and raced down the Manhattan streets, too scared out of his mind to be pissed at the guy who'd nearly left him in a coma the last time they'd met.

[crawfordsands]

Lucky for Chris, running wasn't exactly something Crawford was good at. Tanks didn't need speed. Which gave someone like Chris more than enough of an advantage to get away. But that didn't stop the red head from following.

He reached the door, seeing that red cape fleeing down the street.

"IF I SEE YOUR FUCKIN' FACE AGAIN I'LL FUCKIN' KILL YOU!"

He yelled so hard, some might think residents in the South could hear him.