Log:A Grumbling Alliance

A Grumbling Alliance
Participants C.B., Jack, Plot:Whyte Out	18 April, 2018 Jack goes to confront C.B. about his suspicions - and they end up forming an unlikely alliance.
Location Cat-22 Collective
========-< << Cat-22 Collective - Cafe and Bakery >> >-========= The cafe and bakery are on the lower floor of a two-story Victorian that’s seen better days. The space is bigger than it looks on the outside, with high tin-pressed ceilings painted silver. Entering through the door, you’re forced to step on a huge mat with a picture of the President. Many mismatched tables and chairs are sprinkled throughout the space, giving it a suitably bohemian look. There are a couple of booths with wooden benches, and a number of couches and overstuffed armchairs for reading or writing. Both track lighting overhead and several random table and floor lamps provide adequate light. There are three counters, all near the back of the room: one for the bakery on the left, one for the main cafe in the middle, and then a full bar on the right. A space with a split curtain leads to the kitchen and back room past the cafe. Beyond the bar is a small performance space with an old piano, plus an art gallery that rotates local artists on the regular. A small infoshop offering books on anarchist, socialist, anti-cap and other similar topics nestled an area on the right side of the cafe. Patrons place their orders at the counter and retrieve them themselves once their names are called. There is no table service, and one is also supposed to bus one’s own table. The food is vegetarian-only with many vegan and gluten-free options, and a focus on organic, local and Fair Trade sources. There is always a glass carafe of water, often enhanced with sliced fruit, available for patrons to serve themselves. Decorating the walls (apart from the art gallery) are 22 paintings of a Cymric Cat. Although they’re in different colors and sizes, all of them echo the socialist realist art style associated with the former Soviet Union. Also keeping in line with the cat theme is, in fact, a cat tower, situated in the middle of the room and painted with a celestial landscape. Beams and tubes extending out from this creation show that any cat (or one cat, really) using it can move all over the cafe, minus the food prep areas. Engraved around the top pillar of the cat tower are the words ‘Sub specie aeternitatis.’ There are a number of signs all over the place, including the windows. One reads ‘Differing Opinions Welcome’ above a graphic of two pistols clashing. Another advertises that this is a ‘STRICTLY SURVEILLANCE-FREE ZONE,’ i.e. there is an enforced ‘NO WI-FI, NO CELL PHONE CALLS, CASH ONLY (Bartering Accepted)’ policy. Finally, there is a set of stairs leading up to the second floor on the right side of the cafe, near the infoshop. A door at the top reads 'PRIVATE,' though it is rarely locked. Park ranger car - CB must be tired seeing it by now. It pulls up opposite the Cat-22, and Jack spills out, feet sinking into 2 inches of ice slush as the snow's melting from the thaw. If the weather was bad yesterday, today it's miserable. His boots are of the water proof kind so he trudges across the street, entering the cafe with little fanfare and with purpose; he immediately looks to see where C.B. is. Yep. Mud season is imminent, and what a mud season it shall be. For now, though, it's reasonably warm and dry in here. C.B. appears to be working, such as it is: he's perched at the counter, glasses on, reading Kafka in German while early Dylan plays over the speakers. Fairly bog standard for Cat-22 when he's working, really. Just like the squad car parked outside, separate from Jack's ranger car. C.B. sips from his mug, eyeing Jack over his glasses as the man comes in. He mutters something under his breath, but says nothing. Just watches. Jack stomps his feet off, though he's already watching C.B. Swipes that hat off in that oh so stereotypical fashion and stalks towards the other man. His expression is mostly unreadable. "We should talk." It's said with a quiet calm, one eyebrow quirking up in a hopeful gesture. "Should we?" C.B. squints, lips pursing, as he leans in to Jack a little. He gestures to him with one hand. "Okay, go ahead. Talk." "I think you're the one who's got something to say," Jack notes wryly, corner of his eyes wrinkling a little in sudden humor. This is suddenly amusing to him. "Franklyn told you then?" C.B.'s brows go up. "Maybe." His blue eyes, the color of faded denim, train on the ranger's face, full of suspicion. "What do /you/ have to say about it, huh?" Jack squints. With how they dance around the topic, are they even talking about the same one? Probably. "What's it to you?" Hey he used it on Jack, he's using it right back. "What's it to me?" C.B. leans forward on the counter on his elbows so he's eye to eye with the ranger. The scent of coffee and bourbon is on his breath, and cigarette smoke sticks to his clothing. "You don't even know her. Why the fuck are you going on dangerous fucking adventures with her? You angling for something?" Jack gapes at C.B. - he wasn't sure what he expected, but this wasn't it. "First of all - she asked me for help," Jack says, keeping his cool, voice kept low. "Second, I /do/ know her - she's a Garreau." He seems to think her being one of the Garreau family constitutes as him knowing her. "Third - I'm angling to take care of some seriously fucked up shit, and so is she." He pauses, then it dawns on him. "Heh. You're her old man? You think I'm hitting on your girlfriend? She's nice. But not my type." "Yeah? Well, your ideas are idiotic. You probably couldn't think your way out of a paper bag. /Have/ you even thought about this angle? If you two were /smart/, you would have asked for /my/ help with this." C.B.'s face is a little red, but more from frustration than embarassment. His cheeks are flushed. And then he just snorts, pushing back onto his seat again so he can drink from his cup. "She's not 'nice.' Let's be honest here." "She does talk a lot," Jack murmurs, leaning against the counter, suddenly tired. "Listen, it feels like there's not a lot I could say here. Except - I didn't even know you two were together." He eyes the mug, and asks; "Can I have a coffee, please? I feel like I need one. Or a very stiff drink." For whatever reason, C.B. continues to say nothing at all about the two of them being together. His suspicious, irritated look lingers on Jack, but he eventually gets up to go pour him a cup of VERY strong coffee, which he then places down before him. Hard. Not hard enough to spill it, at least. "Well, I want in. I don't care what you /think/ you know. There are some things I /know/ you don't know that I can help with." Jack takes the coffee carefully, eyeing C.B. as if half wondering if it's safe to drink. But he wants it, so he sips it carefully. "Good," he grunts, as he does like his coffee very strong, even as he makes a grimace at the taste. "I am going to get investigated by internal affairs," he mutters, giving C.B. a mock-glare. "You're in." He raises the mug in a little toast, as if to seal a deal. "Frankie going to tell you everything? I'm not sure she even told me everything. Secretive woman, that." It /is/ good coffee. "I'd be in with or without your permission," C.B. says, and his lips purse again. He glances away and mutters, "She'd better tell me everything." So maybe Frank's not always so good at telling /him/ things, either. Then he suddenly looks back and says, "Wait, she calls me her 'old man'?" He looks like he's not quite sure what he thinks of that. Jack eyes C.B. and just makes a grunting sound around the mug, taking another sip. He's not up for an argument, but just concedes his point. "Yeah, she does. Very cute." He cracks a grin. "Obviously thinks the world of you." Maybe he's doing his best to smooth things over, but he seem to be earnest about it. "So... what is it that you can do? I've got one more person digging into this. We need to get together, all of us. I'm all for a certain amount of paranoia, but if we're going to do this, we got to do it together. Are you up for that?" "Doubt that, somehow." C.B. Alexander, dubious as always. That's what he thinks of the idea of Frank thinking the world of him. He doesn't smile, but at least he's not outright frowning. "Who's the other person? I can do...plenty of things." A quick glance to the squad car beyond them. "Things I'd rather not discuss here. Provided you're not all morons, I'm willing to try a little teamwork." Jack scratches his cheek, considering. "Well, you know her." He takes out his phone. "I'm pretty sure she's fine with me telling, but I'll ask her." He sends a quick text. "Fuck, I've been away from town too long - I don't know who knows who any longer. And everyone grew up. They were all /kids/ when I left." C.B. grunts, drinking from his mug. "I'm an Alexander, you know." But he didn't grow up here, or if he did, it wasn't when Jack was around. "You should've stayed gone. This town is a dump." "I don't hold that against you. Much," Jack says, looking up from his phone briefly and grinning again. The phone chimes, an answer coming in. "It's Avalon Lefevre." He's gotten the go ahead apparently, and he types in a quick answer to her. "It might be a dump, but it's our dump. And those fuckers should leave our dump alone." "/Oh/." C.B.'s eyebrows go up at the reveal of Avalon. "Why her?" Then he snorts again. "Not /my/ dump. I just happen to live here. You can have it." "Several reasons. None of which should be discussed here," Jack notes, glancing around before checking the phone again, another message having come in. "We should set up a meet. Tomorrow?" "Fine." C.B. downs the rest of the contents of his mug, eyeing Jack up. He eyes the phone and says, "I hate those things, but I'll give you mine, if you want." "I liked phones when they weren't smarter than me," Jack agrees wholeheartedly. "Gimme your number, I'll send you a text so you have mine?" Assuming he gets it, he'll send that text. "And obviously, we got to keep this all between ourselves. You got my word on this. Do I have yours?" Jack got another text, and replies absentmindedly while half-looking at C.B. "Don't be an idiot. Who am I gonna tell?" C.B. is painfully slow on his phone, but yes, he texts his over and gets Jack's in return before putting the cursed thing away. "I was involved in all this long before /you/ were." "Just give me your word," Jack says, very adamant on it. Maybe he is considering the Alexander family reputation here. "Fine. You have my word," though C.B. mutters something else under his breath. He does not offer his hand to shake on it. Jack can live with that - he puts his hat on and nods respectfully at the other man instead. "Thanks." He even pays for the coffee, leaving more than needed. "See you tomorrow then, if we can all get together. Glad we had this talk." And he turns to head out. C.B. puts all the extra in the tip jar. He grunts, making a little gesture: thumb and forefinger together around one eye, moved off again. "Be seeing you."