View source for Log:New Moon at Cat-22

{{ Log
| cast = [[Uschi]], [[cb_alexander|C.B.]], [[Daniel_Dross|Dross]], & [[Mina_Grey|Mina]].
| summary = Comrade Uschi visits Cat-22 for the first time, only to find out that the menu isn't exactly what she expected. Much miscommunication happens, as the Moon Ogress is introduced to some of Fort Brunsett's finest fae.
| gamedate = 2017.07.01
| gamedatename = 
| subtitle = "Nothing here is made with meat."
| location = Cat-22 Collective
| categories = Changeling
| log =Mmm. Smells like baked goods in here...

...but also, wet dogs and mildewing leather?

Someone got caught out in the day's earlier thunderstorms: that person is Uschi - who is presumably a person - a looming pillar of gloomy shadow who’s lurking off to the side, rucksack by her feet as she stares up at the gallery of Soviet Cat Paintings that hang on the walls. Mouth slightly agape, the Krust Kween Ogress looks like she's making some kind of incredibly important assessment of the Collective's art - her shadowed face screwed up in a look of intense concentration.

Damnit. Who let Uschi know this place existed?


C.B. enters in from the back room, actually, because it's time to work. He comes into the cafe in a cloud of cigarette smoke and Angry Young Man (TM), dumping his messenger bag on the floor and setting a case up on the counter, which turns out to be his portable Underwood typewriter. Fresh paper is put into the trusty machine before he settles himself on a stool and readies himself to take people's orders. Today he's wearing a very fine t-shirt about sabotage!

He glances up at the sight of Uschi. It's not her general crustpunkiness that strikes him, of course -- it's the Wyrd coming off her. New Lost always interest him. So he squints in her general direction, watching her for awhile with a vaguely intrigued expression on his face.


Like how dropping bagel crumbs in an office attracts ants, the Counter-Culture Collective Un-Consciousness has brought the vile vagrant Uschi to C.B.'s door, and now he's going to have to deal with her. Or not. Whatever. Not even the cigarette smoke or clamour of an Underwood getting set up can tear Uschi's attention away from all those paintings of cats. Raggedy nails scratch at the back of her downy neck, and Uschi sniffs in twice.

She's so Wyrd. Okay not the /Wyrdest/, but still. Wyrd. In a new place, a new face, and Uschi's not even trying to hide behind a Mask.

Either she's very confident, or very stupid. 

Nose twitching, Uschi's shoulders hunch as she slowly turns and looks directly over at C.B. -- the Wizened is sized up, and the Ogress takes her sweet time about it. Slow and steady, she turns and starts lumbering towards him: her crippled left arm swinging back-and-forth pendulously as she moves. No smiles, no hello, not even a pause to pick up her rucksack. Seems like Uschi's on a mission.


Speaking of cats...there's one now. To mortal eyes, said cat looks like a gray and white Cymric cat with yellow eyes, but to Lost eyes, his fur appears to be made of very soft gray and white paper. Yossarian winds his way down a tube and ends up perched atop the cat tower in the center of the cafe. He glances in Uschi's direction.

"Welcome to Cat-22 Collective," he intones. His voice is rich and deep and sonorous. Authoritative, yet somehow detached. And this is all he says. Clearly he was the inspiration for the many many paintings of cats.

Meanwhile, C.B. -- who has just come in from the back to work and has set up his portable Underwood on the counter -- is sizing Uschi up in return. He doesn't smile or wave either, just watches her with that faintly amused smirk he often wears. Oh, and he's wearing a cool shirt. About sabotage!


The next person to enter the shop and walk over the doormat of a bloated, tyrannical face--a surprisingly accurate rendition, considering it's made up of bristles meant for wiping the dirt from a person's boot soles--heads directly for the cat. Tall and angular, with a sweep of wild dark hair, Dross still has to put his head back to gaze up at Yossarian on his perch. He looks deeply into the cat's golden eyes for a few moments before nodding and turning to take in the rest of the room. His gaze pauses on C.B. at the counter, then Uschi. He gives the ogress a slow, careful look of consideration, from top to bottom and back again. Whatever he thinks, it doesn't show on his thin face. For now, he says simply, looking at C.B. again, "Good evening."


Uschi doesn't hesitate, so much as change course: C.B. is unresponsive, yet Yossarian has addressed her. The crusty Ogress slows to a stop, an iridescent flicker on her shadowed features suggesting she's looking up and over, back to the paintings. Then the cat. Then the paintings. Then the cat. Finally, she speaks to Yossarian.

There aren't many Mortal's around, right? Uschi's voice is not striking, but its got a loose, gravely quality about it, like walking on shale: rough and unstable. "Which one," Cakes and sweet treats from the bakery are pointed at with her ruddy right hand, then gestures to a painting of a fluffy blue calico Cymric a moment later, "Is that one?"

The Ogress hasn't clocked in on the newcomer Dross - well, not directly. But there's a change in her body language: shoulders rolled, feet squared as she spreads her weight where she stands, all while her bad arm hangs limp and the good moves to reach into her very-well-patched up battle vest.


The figure that breezes in is, perhaps, not what some would expect to be visiting such a place. Red hair is given to waves, left loose to spill down her back in a fall of warmth and foxglove. She's in a dress of sage green - it sits off of her slim shoulders with a ruffle, fitting close to her torso before flaring at the subtle curve of her hips. Brushing to mid-thigh, leaving pale legs bare until the heeled sandals of tan fauxleather encase her feet. A leather messenger bag, over her right shoulder, has a blue sash woven through the strap, holding two pins- One is silver, four wings. The other, red white and blue: A Woman's Place is in the Resistance. 

Okay, so maybe she fits here, better than first glances might expect. 

Mina's smile is a brilliant thing, and there's a chimed greeting of, "Yossarian," to the feline of the house, before anything else.


Yossarian inclines his head, once, to Dross. Then, he looks to the Ogress. "I was the inspiration for all of these paintings," he explains, though that is extremely obvious. He blinks in a catlike fashion.

"Hey," says C.B., nodding in Uschi's directions. "You need something? I can probably help you more than, uh." Yeah. Not a lot of mortals here, but still. His blue-silver eyes also move to Dross, of course, and he nods to him too. "Evening, Dross. You want anything?" One inkstained hand gropes for the pad that he uses to take down orders, a fountain pen retrieved from a pocket.

Of course, he gets completely distracted from "business" by the sight of that vision in sage green who's just come through the door. Whereas before he looked vaguely grumpy, now his face lights up as though someone was groping around for the lightswitch within and -- voila! -- just found it.

"Miss Grey," Yossarian greets Mina. "Excellent as always to see you once more."


"Coffee," says Dross. He watches the movement of C.B.'s hands for a moment, noticing the ink and the nervous way that his fingers move. He doesn't describe how he takes his coffee but C.B. can probably guess. He takes something out of his pocket, about the length of his palm, wrapped in what looks like fine white ricepaper, and places the thing on the highest platform of Yossarian's cat tower that he can reach, which is probably close enough for the cat to inspect without leaving his current perch. When Yossarian and Uschi start speaking to each other, his pale gaze moves back to the ogress. Still waiting for...something. Perhaps it's simply curiosity. It seems to be curiosity that makes him stare a little when Mina comes in and addresses the cat as if she's already quite familiar with him. To say nothing of the collective's founder's reaction!


"Ya must be a pol-ee-gon of your kind." Uschi says to Yossarian, her hand slowly searching through the inner pockets of her jacket. "But I ask again; which one of them," Cakes. They're gestured too with a butt of her head, "Is that?" Cat painting gets a jerky up-nod. She's pointing with her horns. It's a bit of an ordeal.

Just like this conversation. Uschi seems to be misunderstanding the cat. As C.B. speaks, she turns to him and sniffs in, twice. Did she just smell him? "I got told there's scran here to be had. Came in to trade. Got venison pemmican, but yer boss here," Yes, Yossarian is obviously C.B.'s boss, "May like this better."

Out from the inner jacket pocket Uschi pulls... A field mouse. It is, alas, dearly departed. Uschi isn't even looking at it now, though - she's got her eyes on the ceiling, watching reflective patterns in the silvered tin as Mina glides in and chimes, and Dross starts watching her. The Ogress widens her stance a little, body shifting a fraction to the side, incrementally closer to C.B. and his typewriter.


"And it's always good to see you. I hope your day has been a lovely one." Mina's smile is then turned towards C.B., as she makes her way over towards the counter. She doesn't see the moment those inner lights go on, but she does see them now, and it only makes her brighten further. "Ceebee," she greets the man, honeyed tones getting just a smidge sweeter. "A coffee for me, too, while you're up?" Just in case he needed a gentle reminder that he was ''working'' before she came through the door. 

There's an easy to her, perhaps unsurprising by the touch of Spring that follows in her wake. And that ease has her meeting Dross' curious stare, none of her warmth departing. "Evening," she offers, and it's extended towards Uschi. She watches the ogress at the change of stance, and perhaps that's what keeps her from further closing distance. There's a light that dawns, in her pretty little head. "Nothing here is made with meat, ma'am," is offered, quietly. But that voice, drawing as it is, is something that she succuflower really can't help.


"Dark roast, I assume," C.B. says to Dross with a smirk. He pours him a cup in a nice Cat-22 mug, which features one of the red portraits of Yossy and the name of the cafe, and pushes it over.

Yossarian, meanwhile, inclines his head to Dross in a gesture of thanks, but he does not say anything else to Uschi. Merely blinks at her.

"Hey, hey, uh. Whatsyername. Yossarian is not my or anyone else's 'boss,'" C.B is quick to point out to Uschi. "You want a pastry? I'll give you a pastry, don't worry about the trade. I know what it says about bartering, but whatever. Either leave him the mouse or not, but Jesus, put it away." Because, as Mina pointed out, this is a vegetarian cafe!

To Mina, he offers one of his little crooked-toothed grins. "You want dark roast too, babe?" Yes, 'babe.' Make whatever assumptions you'd like there.


When C.B. puts the coffee out on the counter, Dross takes his hand from the cat tower and strides to the front of the cafe. He passes close by Uschi on the way, right on the edge of the circle of defensive space that she seems to have set around herself, but not quite close enough to break through to the inner part of that circle. He doesn't seem to be watching her anymore, so perhaps it's just coincidence. "Thank you," he says to C.B. as he picks up the red mug of coffee. There's a spot of ink on it, which he rubs off between thumb and forefinger with an amused look at the writer. Then, looking directly back at Mina, still with that intense curiosity in his eyes, he says, "Good evening."


'Nothing here is made with meat'. The words have Uschi's brow knot with distinct confusion - mouth agape, it's difficult for an Ogress' with that many teeth to look like she isn't snarling, but honest, she's not: she's just puzzled. There's a pause that's just slightly too long for comfort, then Uschi laughs: it is loud, bordering on filthy. "Now that ain't rightly true, now..." She moves, gesturing to Mina with the dead field mouse, while giving her a broad, good natured smile. "You are, ain't ya?"

For one wide, silent moment Uschi stares at the Fairest, then starts to laugh again: genuine delight, sullied up by, well, everything nasty that Moon has to bring. "Ha, ha, I'm jus' fuckin' wit'cha." Field mouse is tucked away carefully, back in that jacket - as Uschi hawwks in with a sniff and turns her attention to C.B. "Whot's that? Yeah, yeah 'course, whatever you say squirt: gimme whot'cha gotta give."

Then quiet, all hushed like, she whispers to Yossarian, "If they ain't feeding ya right, it's a violation of the Gin-eves Air Ventilation." None of that is correct. Uschi doesn't care, she just absentmindedly starts to scratch at her crippled left arm, leather of her jacket creaking. Dross has captured her attention, and watching commences. Reason? Unknown. "...If the cool cat ain't in charge, who's a girl gotta play nice with ta get some infermation 'round here?"
 
 
"Dark roast would be lovely, yes," Mina offers back to C.B., grinning right back to him. Her gaze, though, is quick to flick back to the others in the cafe - particularly Uschi, for a stretch of long moments. The laughter doesn't seem to bother her too much, but she does eye the dead field mouse with a bit of mild concern. When smiles follow, though, the redhead gives her own, along with a soft chuckle. "I think that's at least mostly true," she muses. "But I'll not comment further on things that certain people," a glance, towards C.B., "Might take horribly dirty ways." There's a flutter of lashes, and then that blue gaze is moving again. 

To Dross, there's a moment spent looking at him in return, and she smiles as she studies him. "Good evening. Dross, was it? I'm Mina." There's even an outstretch of arm, to offer her hand for shaking, as she muses to C.B., "How come ''I'' don't get offered a pastry?"


C.B. gives Dross a smirk and a little salute, for his trouble. Then, his blue-silver eyes fixate on the Ogress once more. "Alright, alright. Stop hararassing the customers," by which he really means, the girl I am going out with, "and take it over here." By which he means, I'll take the brunt of your bullshit. He moves over to the pastries and gestures broadly at her. "Whatcha want? We got regular, gluten-free everything. Not a busy day for the bakery, so there's a good amount leftover. You want a muffin? Croissant? Some vegan strawberry-coconut cake? it's pretty good, actually..."

Yossarian blinks at Uschi once again. "C.B. can provide information to you, I'm certain of that. Though he is not particularly good at 'playing nice.'" That is somewhat true.

Meanwhile, Mina. Some dark roast is poured for her as well. C.B. leans over the counter to hand it with her, clearly trying to cop a kiss as well, should she come close enough. 'Course, he also flushes terribly when she says the things about dirty ways, and clears his throat. "You can get a pastry. You can have anything you want." The words 'wrapped around her little finger' don't even begin to describe.
 
 
"Nothing wrong with the mouse," Dross observes. Nothing that Yossarian would mind, anyway. He seems to be watching Uschi out of the corners of his eyes as he says this, as if to keep her in his peripheral vision. Then the Darkling moves forward to take Mina's hand, which he presses for just a moment, lightly. He holds her blue gaze while their hands touch and there's a slight movement of his thin lips that, for the Darkling, could perhaps even be counted a smile. "Enchanted," he says. After the handshake, he takes a quick sip of the dark coffee and casts an approving look at C.B. It's strong coffee, black as the inside of a chimney, and almost hot enough to take the roof of someone's mouth off. He likes it. "This luminary, take something dirty ways?" Eyebrows raised at Mina.


Hear that: a Moon Ogress and Spring Fairest, sharing a laugh - they're not so different, right? Both ladies presumably follow their desires to the T, and are used to getting -exactly- what they want; even if they most certainly, without a single doubt, use very, very different tactics. Still, Uschi chuckles along with the redhaired succuflower - then oooohs with dawning understanding, giving C.B. a glance when Mina mentions his aversion to dirty ways, speaking in a low sympathetic tone to her newfound comrade; "...He one of them 'not tonight darlin', I haven't cut a hole in the sheets' sort of fellas, then? Don't worry petal, I'll keep it kosher."

So serious. The look Uschi gives C.B. is pitying at first, then confused. Harassing? She looks insulted, shadowy face shadowing over further - but pastry. That helps butter her up. What it doesn't do is keep her from speaking to Mina as C.B. gestures to the cake.

"They don't wan'cha ta get fat, 'course." Uschi croaks helpfully, limp arm swinging as she turns to observe the cakes on offer. "Issa problem with youse types, but ya probably know it better than me, eh? Youse get all prettied up, sure, but once ya get popped back out? BLAMMO." Uschi fist-punches the air. Fuck. That's fast. "Time, it catches up to ya, and all those sweet treats of a frozen moment, they ain't around anymore; so then yer, whadda ya call it... Motor-tabba-legion gets all dis gluttons and starchies, and next thing ya know? Fifteen fuckin' years done gone, and yer a hundred and eighty pounds in a silk meat-sack meant for one-fifteen."

Uschi sighs, and reaches for a pastry with her unwashed hand. A side-glance to Dross. "That's right, right? 'bout them an' father time?"


Mina's hand has the softness of a woman that hasn't done much labor with them. It's a good, friendly grasp, though. And when Dross's lips move in what she is nearly certain is actually a smile, she beams towards him. But then there's coffee being offered towards her, and she turns to lean over the counter as she takes the mug from C.B.. There's a soft kiss given, and when she pulls back she looks oh so pleased. "The strawberry-coconut sounds ''amazing'', if you don't mind. Just a slice. A tiny one." It's hopefully a merciful little finger, that she wields. "I know, it surprised me, too," she says with wide eyes towards Dross. Mina Grey is a terrible liar. Really, she's awful at it. 

There's amusement, from the succuflower towards the ogress, a gleam in her eyes. "It's a tragedy, really, isn't it?" Truly, terrible liar. "And that is the sad truth, usually. I.." She's distracted, by the air punch. Shit. Ahem. She doesn't say anything else, for the moment. Just...blinks.


C.B. just about looks like he's going to murder Dross for a moment. Oh, you know, just a casual murder. Maybe one shot to the back of the head with that Colt 1911 he has strapped to his hip? Blam, blam, done. But no, no, there's no reason to do that, right? He's European. That's how they great the ladies. Riiiiiight.

He frowns as everyone has a good laugh at his expense, too, but this is pretty normal. To be fair. Normal, but not helping the mood that was bad before he came in and got gooder when Mina showed up and is now quickly turning back to bad again. He actually smacks Uschi's hand away so he can take the pastry and put it on a plate, using tongs. It's a nice fat blueberry Danish. Mina gets her tiny slice of strawberry-coconut, next.

And then he sits down again, speechless. C.B. Alexander, struck dumb? No, not quite -- he pulls out his glasses, puts them on, and suddenly starts typing like the devil possessed him. It's so fast and so furiously it's amazing the thing doesn't get set ablaze. And it doesn't, but it IS engulfed in sudden lightning as sparks emerge from his eyes straight down his arms and dance all over the Underwood.


When Uschi asks him about father time, Dross turns to look at the ogress. He seems not to find her size or grotesque arm or the dirt off-putting in the slightest. As much as it's possible to see through the shadows that pass over Uschi, he stares openly at her, gaze fixed for a moment on the teeth and labels on her vest before it moves back up to her shrouded eyes. "'Time is the father of truth',"" he quotes. Then he looks to Yossarian, high on his cat tower. Perhaps bizarrely, Dross defers to the cat on this matter. "But Yossarian is the expert, here." 

Is it so forward to shake a woman's hand? C.B.'s death glare stabs right into the back of Dross's head, like an ice pick. Maybe he's feeling the heat when he raises his hand again and runs it over the close-cropped hair at the base of his scalp. It seems to amuse him when Mina leans over the counter to kiss C.B. before taking her cake and the author falls down in electrocuted shock. Sort of seems like a possible fire hazard. But he holds his tongue for now, taking another drink of the hot black coffee as he watches the others present in the cafe.


Uschi's hand isn't smacked, not directly: she darts it out of the way in time, fingers curling into a fist as her eyes drift up to C.B., a smile spreading across her face slowly, teeth bared. It is not exactly nice - but it is thankfully short. Nothing more comes of that exchange, save a delicious piece of pastry. This is for the best. It's bitten into swiftly, shortcrust flaking from her mouth as she turns and speaks to Mina;

"Tragedy? Nah mang, tragedy's when some boys gotta take his ol' Yeller out back and put a cold one right in its bean-box 'cause some wacky bat's nipped 'em wif the mad dog disease an' shit like that -- yanno, all weepin' an' cryin', snot all gettin' in his mouth while he blubbers 'nah Mama, say it ain't so!', saw'd off shakin' in his underfed arms as he tries not to piss 'imself..." Uschi chuckles and shakes her head, "What's gunna happen to ya - fuck, to all of us - that's just in-ever-a-table--" Uschi stops and blinks slowly, head turning to peer at the on-pause Fairest and the sparking Wizened.

Why the pretty girl so quiet?
Why angry youngish man so extra-furious?

Uschi turns to Dross, who gets a slow nod at the comments on time and Yossarian. Chances are a lot of that flies over her head, but she does turn to the cat to ask: "What the fuck is going on here?"


Mina's coffee is sipped, her eyes closing for a moment as she enjoys it. When she opens her eyes, she catches the end of that look C.B. is giving to Dross, and then the frown that forms shortly after. She takes her piece of the cake, fingers trying to brush his in the process, and there's something on the tip of her tongue when the author sits down and starts to type, in the way that he does. A bite of the cake is taken instead, giving her mouth something else to do for a short span of time, as her brows furrow. There's the sense that she wants to ''do'' or ''say'' something, but there's writing going on. And all of that sparking. 

The Fairest takes in a breath, small, and lets it out quietly. "Yes, that is much more of a tragedy than worrying about gaining twenty pounds because my boyfriend is part of a collective, and there's delicious things here that I'm tempted by, when I come in. Which tends to be frequently, since I like seeing him." She smiles at the end of it, and shakes her head smally. And all but attacks the cake with her fork, before taking another bite of it.


Yossarian turns his yellow eyes first to Dross, and then to Uschi. "'Its mother is our mind,'" he intones, finishing the quote. "'What the fuck is going on here?'" he repeats, though it sounds very funny in his voice. "You are trying to get some answers, are you not? I suggest asking C.B. some direct questions, but use discretion."

C.B. finishes whatever paragraph he was working on and stops typing. He lets out a breath and looks up and over at Mina, the expression on his face softening slightly. He's still pretty quiet, it seems, but now his attention is on the redheaded succuflower. All on her.


The record plays Bob Dylan's nasal voice over the speakers: //I see through your eyes/And I see through your brain/Like I see through the water that runs down my drain...// 

Dross just leans back against the counter and turns the red mug of coffee back and forth a few times in his hands. He watches Yossarian and Uschi speak in his usual attentive silence--perhaps to give Mina and C.B. a little figurative space, in spite of the limited physical space they currently inhabit. And perhaps he notices, also, Uschi's frustration at not understanding what's happening. He gestures to the ogress as if to beckon her closer to the rest of the current denizens of the cafe, and then holds his hand out to her to take or not, as she likes. "What is your name?" he asks. Jokes may have been traded and dead mice offered, but introductions have not yet been made.


One bite, two bite, three bites: gone. Uschi is left holding plate, which is scrutinised and turned over in her hand like she was sizing up if it was eatable as well - or worth taking. Mina's sigh and words get a sympathetic, troubled look - like Uschi was struggling with something. "...Ya words, their aimed at me: but th'sounds ya makein' between yer words, make me feel like they're fer someone else's ears."

Bit said, Uschi turns to look at Dross and Yossarian -- the plate in her hand now used as a makeshift scratching tool, which rubs at the gnarled wrist of her twisted left arm. Some skin flakes off, joining the pastry bits on the floor. It ain't pretty. The cool cat's words aren't reassuring the less-than-brilliant Ogress though; side-eyeing the preoccupied Author before she leans in and not-quite-whispers to Dross, "Lightning-bugger over there's C.B. -- dis cat ain't talking 'bout you, right? I feel like I'm in a fuckin' labyrinth, waiting to fight that hall monitor. Goin' in circles."

Beckoned closer, Uschi joins Dross; hunching her shoulders as she leans in close. Personal space? Someone else's problem. For the first time, she is discreet - whispering to the Autumn, giving C.B. and Mina some privacy.

Uschi whispers, “On the road, they call me Uschi," Ooo-shee, like 'Pushy' or 'Who's She?' said by a very surly Londoner. "Yer alright, doin' good by me an' being all hospitable an' shit. What they call ya?” to Dross.


There's a glance from Mina, and a slight dip of her head, as Uschi speaks. There's even a slight coloring to her cheeks. The Fairest may have a certain angry young man wrapped about her pinky, but there's a tug on her end, too. That much is clear. The ogress and Dross slip out of her own personal existance for a moment, as she looks up to C.B. when he stops typing. Putting now-empty plate and mug aside, on the counter, and leaning over it again. Fingers reaching out, and her hand placed atop his to give it a squeeze.


Space or not, C.B. is still working. He raises one hand in Uschi's direction. "Yep, I'm C.B. Sorry. Yossarian assumes too much. If there's something I can help you with, lemme know. Or ask Dross, he's fuckin' smart." C.B. is still giving Dross a look one could call vaguely...suspicious, but it's not as harsh as before. It's a squinty-eyed, considering look.

But then there's Mina, he squeezes her hand back, smiling at her, and leans over to whisper something near-ish her ear.


"I'm Dross." When Uschi settles in next to Dross, he reaches down to pick up that mangled-looking left hand. Carefully, and surprisingly tenderly, almost as if her hand were a living creature in and of itself; something like a dove, perhaps. Dirt and all. He inspects the hand closely, still holding it in both his own. 

Something about it seems to surprise the Darkling, who looks quickly up at Uschi, searching once again to try and meet the ogress's dark, hidden eyes. Something deeper than just its apparent twisted and befouled state. 

Following this exchange, he casts a quick glance at C.B. and Mina--the two lovebirds of the evening. There's something endearing about that, maybe. "How many times is the word 'red' in this piece?" Dross asks, with what passes with him for a look of amusement. And a pointed lingering of his sharp gaze on Mina's long hair.


"Dross..." Uschi's brow knots - but her confusion free's her up to react nary an iota as her crippled arm is picked up and observed by the Autumn Darkling. Sleeve pushed up, more of that scaled translucent-pink flesh is visible; bones of her wrist jutting out in all the wrong places, her fingers twisted and immobile. Very odd arm, that.

It isn't until Dross is looking up at her with surprise, that Uschi seems to clock in on the fact he's got her hand. Her eyes reflect back some iridescence as her head tilts, a horn butted playfully in his direction. "Ya don't look like no trash to me; but I tell 'em, some folk's trash issa'nother 'uns treasure." It's then that Dross is made privy to a wide Roteater smile.

Sweet Wyrd, is she flirting -- or is this like, intimidation? Banter? Nightmare material?

Lasts only a second, then she's looking over her ursine shoulders, towards C.B. and Mina, then the typewriter. It's given a suspicious look. "...Don't the words only gotta be read once?"


The writer is still working, and there's a certain respect for that given by Mina. She doesn't launch herself over the counter with Spring-like enthusiasm. She just holds her hand over his, and tilts her head to hear whatever it is that C.B. has to say to her. It's clearly something deemed acceptable, for when she pulls back, it's with a murmur and a grin of her own. Back on her side of the counter once more. 

Mina's missed most of the exchange between Dross and Uschi, and so when she looks back, all she sees is the Darkling with the Ogress' arm in hand. And what passes doesn't seem to be nightmare material, at least not in her book. The question of 'red' seems to confuse her. Of course there's a lot of red. Isn't that sort of the Expected Color of These Folks?


C.B. gives Dross a snarky look. Y'know the drill: eyebrows up, eyes lidded, lips smirking away. "More times than I can count. I only got so many fingers." That same look is trained on Uschi, and he suppresses some laughter. He's in a better mood now, apparently.

He squeezes Mina's hand, wetting his lips as he murmurs something else to her. The lightning has fizzled out by now, but maybe that's a good thing: it might get a little intense.


Dross takes in the iridescent color that shines through the shadows on Uschi's face and her big smile without skipping a beat. So far, there's little risk of the attention giving him nightmares. The corners of his narrow mouth actually move slightly upward in an almost invisible smile of his own. He continues cradling the ogress's hand as if just holding it longer may reveal more secrets. "Please," he says. "Make up your own mind." 

He looks at Mina and C.B. again. Based on C.B.'s reaction, his guess that C.B. was writing something about Mina with a possible overuse of the word 'red' was spot on. "Did you have a question for C.B., Uschi?"


"If yer lookin' for some more, I know a guy." Uschi croaks back at C.B., having blanked on that suppressed laughter in favour of giving the Author a sympathetic grunt at the mention of his finger shortage. Now that's a tragedy. Everybody needs more fingers - well, Uschi does, at least. Two of hers on the left hand are quite possibly fused together; but to check, one'd have to get close. Like Dross.

So close, that Uschi has no problem lifting her good right hand, and in a oddly tender gesture, she moves to stroke his hair - thumb along the Darkling's hairline, swooping towards the nape of his neck. When she speaks to reply, her voice is a low rumble.

"This is going to hurt."

Ploink! One swift pinch n' twist, and the Ogress has come away with a small tuft of Dross' hair in her hand. Job done, she immediately pockets it and turns, dragging her deadweight left arm from the Autumn's grasp so she can start to lumber off towards where he rucksack awaits. A complicated process of putting it on begins, while she speaks to the group. "I'm going into the woods to live..." Poetry is not her forte, that's just where her sentence ends. "A little birdy told me that shame reigns in this region. This is my reminder to all y'all: there's only so many hours inna day."

Big grin, then she's thunking off towards the exit via the pastry counter, which is now down two more blueberry danish. "If you y'all can find me, ya get a prize - until next time, keep it sleazy..."


Mina's eyes are dancing, bright. Whatever it is that C.B. whispered to her, it clearly meets with the succuflower's approval. She winks to him, before she's looking to the others again, watching them. Uschi seems a particular breed of interesting, and the Spring watches the Moon for a moment, glancing down to that left arm, then back up to her face. A touch of her own curiosity, though it goes uncommented on - especially with the woman leaving. "Far too few, it would seem, sometimes. Be well," she chirps after the ogress. Watching her leaving, for a moment, before it's just the two gentlemen to keep her attention.


C.B. has to laugh at the finger joke. "Y'know, having more fingers would come in really handy. Think of how many fucking books I could write at once! Especially if they were on multiple arms." Hmmm. Is there a Market trip in your future, C.B.?

His brows lift as Uschi's plucks some of Dross' hair, and he claps a hand over his mouth so he doesn't burst out laughing. He manages to contain himself for long enough to say, with a droll tone of voice, "Shame, shame. It doesn't matter much if you never step foot in the gates. Remember, kids, tyrants will pay." For what? For their coffee, at the very least. He gives Uschi a little salute as she starts to head out. Has he asked for any money or anything else in exchange? Not a whit. And throughout this, he keeps his hand on Mina's, and glances to her every so often with a smile.


Uschi's exit leaves Dross blinking after her in surprised--and pained!--silence, too startled to say any actual goodbyes. But after a few moments, he seems to recover his composure and resettles himself in his place at the counter, taking a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. Carefully, he wipes down his hands. Then--and only then--he allows himself to touch the place on the back of his head Uschi ripped the hair out from with his fingertips. Dross winces slightly at the pressure of his own fingertips. Must be pretty tender. 

Then he laughs, and turns back to C.B. and Mina. There's an odd light in his eyes. "And how many arms do /you/ think C.B. needs, Mina?"


Uschi snorts with amusement at Mina's quip, and shakes her head in the manner of a woman far, far older than she actually appears: like an ol' grandmama's disbelief at some sweet child so green she's not even summer, she's Spring. Too few hours in the day. Absurd - to Moon, at least. She doesn't seem too cut up about that slight, though - or the fact she's straight up stolen a little piece of and possibly scarred Dross on her way out - at C.B.'s words, she raises a pastry-filled fist in solidarity.

"No Gods, no Masters - I ain't anti-anything, I just want to be free." Chant done, Uschi hip-checks the front door open, and lumbers off into the night.

}}