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{{ Log
| cast = [[CB Alexander|CB-Fuckin'-Alexander!!!]], [[Candice|Candi (/such/ a doll <3)]], [[Count|Count Dracula]], [[Franklyn Garreau|Fraaaaaaanky]] and [[Lala Garreau|Lala-lovely]] with an end-of-scene cameo by [[Cian]]
| summary = Lala goes looking for her cousin and finds a celebrity instead. OMG. And she thought Vermont would be boring.
| gamedate = 2017.08.25
| gamedatename = 25 August 2017
| subtitle = #cbalexander #omg #fuckthepigs #revolution #smilelikeyoumeanit #wokeAF #yeahboy #workit
| location = [[Cat-22 Collective]]
| categories = Changeling, Mortal
| log = 

It's late Friday evening at Cat-22, but the joint's open and hoppin' enough. Having a bar here helps. Someone is playing one of C.B.'s Miles Davis records, Bitches Brew. As for C.B. Alexander himself, who hasn't been seen much in public lately, he's here tonight -- but not working behind the counter, as he'd often be doing. Instead, he's simply huddled away on one of the loveseats, Yossarian the cat curled up next to him as he reads, occasionally sipping from a clear glass of some brown liquid. He's wearing a red and yellow plaid work shirt, faded Levis, construction boots and his silver wire-rimmed glasses, which currently have one cracked lens. There are several fading bruises on his face, and his right leg is in a boot cast.

Oh yeah, and why do the cops keep patrolling outside? One could swear they've driven that squad car up and down this street at least three times since C.B. got here. What's THAT about?


CB joins at The velvet loveseat (#5).


People come. People go. For the most part, it's pretty chill -- excluding the increased police presence outside this joint. But whatever, right? Other than that, things are as they usually are.

And then...

In walks a girl. A woman. A young woman. She's wearing a knit beanie, a t-shirt that has H*CK YEAH in bold letters emblazoned across her chest, a satin jacket that is a bit frayed at the cuffs, leggings, boots, yadda yadda. Without even saying a word, she kind of stands out; she has that IT factor, whatever that means.

Striding across the room, she passes by C.B. without a glance his way because he's just some dude, yannow? A stranger! She approaches the counter instead and leans against it, plunking an elbow down there and cradling her chin in her palm as she levels a wide smile at the kid working there. "Hey!" she says, all ease and friendliness. "Do you know Franky? I don't suppose she's around here, is she?"


The kid working behind the counter is a tall and skinny white dude, with a hooded covered in safety-pinned patches, brown hair, and a pink beard. Many facial piercings. "Oh, uh, Franky? As in Franklyn Garreau? Ask C.B., he might know. But he's a /little touchy lately/," said kid stage whispers, even as he points right C.B.'s way.

Yeah, C.B. looks up at that, and so does Yossarian, who (to Lala's eyes) is a gray and white Cymric cat with yellow eyes. Like the many paintings lining the walls. His glasses slip down his nose as he glowers at the young woman over the top of them. "Mason -- Mason! Just stop." He sighs loudly and flips his book closed, tilting his head and raising his eyebrows. "You're looking for Franky? Why?"


Candice doesn't precisely have an 'It' factor, but she is the sort who garners second looks, with that pale, pale skin and general delicacy. Not to mention those features, pretty enough but somehow subtly-- off. Still, when she floats (metaphorically) in, the combination of her looks and clothes - a pink button-up top with a long, modest orange skirt - will mean she earns glances, though no staring. She pauses in the doorway, readjusting her canvas tote and looking around a moment before she spots CB, and immediately brightens, waving, "CB! There you are. The lovely officer outside told me you hadn't left yet." She says, voice soft and warm and she heads over, "And I'm sorry, I'd forgotten your name." A smile down at the cat, but the glance is at CB. A glance given towards the counter, to wherever it was CB was looking himself.


Franklyn Garreau! When Capt'n Pink Beard says the name, the girl's face lights up and she nods! "Yes! Her! That's the one." Ah-HA! Progress! All this sleuthin' is paying off -- not that she's done a whole lot of sleuthing. Really, all she did was be like 'yo, Mrs. Crumb, where can I find Franky' and Mrs. Crumb was like 'Ask around Cat-22' and lo, here she is. But whatever. In her mind: SLEUTHING. Anyway, she gets the warning about C.B. and she turns to look in the direction the kid was pointing.

She blinks.

She blinks again.

"Oh my god!" With a squeak, she rushes over and crouches down right next to the grumpy Alexander. Whipping out her phone, she holds it out at arm's length and takes a selfie of the two of them together: him looking a) NOT HAPPY, b) SURPRISED, or c) ALL OF THE ABOVE. For her part, she makes a goofy face when she snaps the snap, her smile the widest of the wide and completely open-mouthed. Stepping back, she immediately taps open Instagram; as a result, she's standing right next to Candice now. So she pokes her! With her elbow! And shows her the picture. See? "Do you know who this is? C.B. Alexander!" Tap-tap-tap! "I bought your book," she says brightly, to the man now. Bought. Not read. "Did you really throw a molotov into the police station? Like, oh my god. You are /so/ intense." She laughs and pauses what she is doing in order to hold out her hand. "Lala." Is ... is that her name? "I'm Franky's cousin."

OF COURSE SHE IS.


C.B. greets Candice, of course, though he doesn't smile. He just nods, frowning more as Candice mentions "the lovely officer." "Yossarian," he reminds her, placing a hand atop the head of a feline who looks normal to Lala, but made of paper to Candice. "I --"

Oh, good /Lord/.

The whirlwind that is Lala is suddenly /here/, taking a fucking selfie with him -- something her cousin also did when they first met, by the way. And much like that original photo, he looks red-faced and deeply annoyed in this one. "That's great," he deadpans at the girl. "I wrote more than one book, you know." He pauses to glance at Candice, as if to say: is this chick for real? Then he just /stares/ at Lala's hand, though he eventually /does/ take it to shake it. "Of /course/ you are. I should have fucking known."


Candice is perfectly fine hovering on the outskirts of hurricane Lala, watching with almost indulgent amusement as Lala throws herself into CB's space, snapping photos and texting and throwing out words faster than one can keep up. The elbowing has her hastily leaning away, though it does catch her, a bit, "Y-yes, I've met CB before. He's a lovely man. Um, do be careful, I bruise easily." She hastens to add, smiling awkwardly.

While Lala cozies up to CB and makes friends, she slips over to invite herself to CB's corner, settling her canvas bag on the ground and rubbing her shoulder and meeting CB's glance with a small shrug, though she does pause, a touch, when Franky is brought up.

And scoots juuuuust a touch farther from Lala. "Franky is a very...passionate and enthusiastic person."


Candice joins at The velvet loveseat (#5).


"Oh, you wrote more? I'll have to pick them up then." Lala dazzles a smile and flicks her hand casually: "I am a completionist, after all." She has the amazing ability to be completely unfazed by grumpy annoyance; it just doesn't exist as far as she's concerned. So if C.B. is bothered by the selfie she took without consent? Water off a duck's back, baby.

Candice teetering away from her nudge does earn her a puzzled look but her explanation smoothes the Garreau's expression into comprehension. "Ooooh," she says. "Sorry about that! You should take some iron supplements or something. Eat some steaks!" Following the delicate girl over to the sitting area, she pulls up a chair and sits right beneath the sign that says 'STRICTLY SURVEILLANCE-FREE ZONE'; oblivious to the rule, she ticka-takka-takka-tics away on her phone. "I can't believe you live here," she says, presumably to C.B. "Have you always lived here? My friends back home are /not/ going to believe this! I thought I was going to diiiiiiie of boredom here but BAM!" That was loud! "C.B.-fucking-Alexander! HA!"

Wait a second.

She looks over at Candice, blinking at the strange looking chica. "What's your name again? Did you say? Did I miss it? Sorry, I just drank like, a bazillion cups of coffee and I am practically vibrating out of my skin."


C.B. can't help but blink over at Candice. First the cop was lovely, and now he's a "lovely man"? Only Candice. He also seems to notice her pause when Franky is mentioned, and that gets an interested, curious squint out of him. (Yossarian, by the way, heads for the hills -- or at least for the cat tower in the middle of the room.)

But Lala demands attention, doesn't she? Yes, she certainly seems to try. "Yeah. If you're such a fan, you should've known that." More deadpan. He takes a particularly large sip of the brown liquid.

Despite the sign, C.B. and the staff don't seem terribly bothered by Lala's texting, probably because phones are allowed, there's just no wi-fi and no phone calls allowed. "Yes, I do live here. No, I haven't always lived here. Yes, you may very well die of boredom here, if meeting me is the most exciting thing you've done." Same deadpan, vaguely sarcastic tone. Though C.B. is likely also being a bit hard on himself. "Her name is Candice. Do all of you Garreaus just fucking /grow/ this way at Moontide Vineyard or something? Plucked right off the vine and poured into a glass of -- whatever this is?" He gestures wildly towards Lala with one bony hand.


"You should have some water, and spinach-- or chard or pumpkin seeds. Squash will do, in a pinch." Candice says with a soft smile towards Lala, "It will refresh your potassium and magnesium levels. You don't seem confused or seem to have trouble breathing, so you aren't in danger of convulsions and a caffeine-induced heart attack, but I do recommend you not have anymore if you're feeling jittery. It's rare but not unheard of to die from a bit too much caffeine." She sounds so downright casual as she discusses all that, as if giving recommendations for tasty things on the menu. Which is really all she's doing...

A smile, then, "As CB said, I'm Candice Ellison. I'm not from around here. But thank you for being worried-- it's a childhood condition, so there's not much I can do about it. Garreau? Vineyard?" A wry smile, before she looks over at CB, scrutinizing-- "You look somewhat better. No more pain medication, I hope? Do you feel all right? Any lingering sharp pains? I know you feel battered, but hopefully no shooting pains or sharpness anywhere."


Bloop! Lala looks down at her phone as she gets a text. She laughs at whatever it is and her thumbs dance quickly over a reply. Where were they? Oh yeah! The Garreau woman looks up. "Oh, I didn't say I was a fan," she says in a bright, upbeat manner that belies the sting of her reply. "I mean, not of your writing, anyway. I bought your book a while ago. And then I heard on the news recently that you, like, blew up a police station and escaped prison," -- jail -- "..but it was actually some psycho who kidnapped you? And that you went /back/ to prison," -- jail -- "..but they had to let you go because they, like, totally fucked up or something. I mean, you are /famous/ now!"

Bloop-bloop! Chuckle! Ticka-takka-reply!

Her attention flits over to Candice as she starts to talk about .. chard? What the fuck is chard? Lala looks confused for a moment before just shrugging and laughing a little. "Coffee hasn't killed me yet!" she assures, leaning back in her chair so that the two front legs come up off the floor. Teeter! Totter! But the mention of pain medication causes her to tip forward again -- kerplunk -- and she looks between her two new pals, Candice and CB. "If you have any left over, I can dispose of it for you." SLOW, DRAMATIC WINK.


C.B. snorts a little as Doctor Candice does her advice thing. He even takes it as his cue that he can open his book again and read for about 30 seconds before Candice is speaking to him again. "I'm afraid there's no cure for my kind of sharpness." He opens his mouth and points to his tongue, then smirks.

Back to the Garreau at hand, he rolls his eyes hard when she emphasizes her non-fanness. "I was famous before," he points out. "Now I've just got more cops following me around."

It's true. He nods at the window at the boys in blue, who are parked across the street from Cat-22 now, mulling around outside, patrolling. Then again, C.B. lives just down the street from here, so the pigs are seemingly ALWAYS hanging around the Industrial District these days.

To Lala, as he attempts to read his book and drink again, he throws off, "Sorry, but I already gave most of it to your cousin." Joke? Not joke? It's anyone's guess.


Candice leans forward, squinting, when CB opens his mouth, "I don't know, it's looking a bit fuzzy." She murmurs, shaking her head a bit before she reaches into her bag for a water bottle, then leans back to take some healthy sips. "Oh, coffee can't kill anyone. It's just a drink." Candice says, giggling before she glances towards the window. "The police here are so thorough! And so kind. The police wouldn't put all this effort in in my hometown, especially if it was for someone who tried to firebomb a place when drunk." She looks from Lala to CB, clear eyes wide and perfectly, possibly /painfully/ sincere, "I'd be very comforted if the police went to such lengths to make sure -I- wasn't kidnapped again! And I haven't done much for them."


"Yeah, but you were only book-famous before," Lala counters. "Unless you are, like, J.K. Rowling, it's not like people will know who you are on the street. Now your /face/ is famous. See?" She holds up her phone and shows it to both Candice and CB -- on the screen is the Instagram post of her selfie with the grumpy Alexander. "You already have a few hundred likes and it's only been, what? Five minutes? You are going viiiiiral." The Garreau looks very pleased about this, happy that she has had a hand in CB's meteoric rise on Instagram: #revolution #cat22 #cbalexander #fuckthepigs #onlyinvermont

Clutching her phone to her chest, she leans forward and positively /gushes/ at the man. "You are /so/ adorably grumpy! I love it! It is /SO/ on brand!" Another grin, another chuckle and Lala straightens up once more, checking her phone again. "Fifteen more likes! Look at you go! You are blowing up!" Blue eyes finally tear away from her device and settle on Candice, the chipper girl tipping her head to one side. "I thought you said coffee was dangerous? Sorry! I guess I heard you wrong. You scared me with all that talk about chard and squash and shit. And yeeeeeah..." Slow nod. Slow nod is sloooow. "Cops are sweethearts. Totally." Side-eye to CB. Back to Candice.


The narrator forgot to mention the infoshop, here at Cat-22: currently on display are a LARGE number of books of all sorts about police brutality. What's THAT about? And poor Candice. No appetite for sarcasm and wordplay, that one. C.B. smiles at her, and it's kind of terrifying, because it's clearly supposed to be an imitation of a /real/ smile. "Candice, sweetheart. The cops are protecting the other people here /from/ me, not the other way around." He even reaches over to pat her hand before letting go and letting the "smile" drop as well. More booze, now. Oh look, he already has a glass! Time to drain it.

Then he's busy staring in wide-eyed horror -- horror that he can't seem to repress -- at Lala's Instagram post. "Why would you -- why do you people -- " He's actually flabbergasted. "Look, I don't /have/ a fucking brand, okay? That /is/ my brand." How much you want to bet his agent has told him exactly that? He seems relieved when the conversation shifts again, although Lala is still giving him the side-eye, so...he just sighs and heads up to the bar, muttering something about desperately needing a refill.


Leaning over to catch sight of the instagram post-- Candice then pulls out her own phone, squints, fiddles a bit, and then there is yet another like! One from inkorellis. Soon followed by ellismenace. Whoever those weirdos are. And Lala's gained a new follower! "Coffee is dangerous, but it's not deadly. The idiocy that makes someone drink enough coffee to earn themselves a heart attack is what will kill someone." Candice says while she's scrolling through some other pictures. She's not even being snarky, is the sad thing: she sounds so /casually honest/ about it. "I really don't think you'd be that stupid, but I would still recommend a nice spinach salad with pumpkin seeds."

But then there's CB talking nonsense while taking her hand! "But you're not a danger to others! Honestly, as you are right now I'd be more worried about you falling if you tried to throw something without being properly braced!" Exaggerating his injuries just a wee bit, Candice? Poor CB. She sinks into her seat, thinking deeply, "Though, I suppose I see how they could come to that conclusion that you're somewhat dangerous... but really, at most I'd put you into a substance abuse group which is punishment enough for anyone."


"/Everyone/ has a brand, whether they like it or not. Like her brand," -- she nods at Candice -- " .. is 'Delicate Sweetheart' or maybe 'Quirky Compassion'." Lala moves over to the love seat to sit next to girl who has SO MUCH FAITH IN THE POLICE (never stop believin', gurl) -- CB has gotten up so there is space to do this. Anyhoo! She holds up her phone and does the selfie maneuver with Candice as well, leaning in with a goofy grin and crossed eyes. SNAP! This, as well, gets posted to Instagram: #chard #coffeewillkillyou #noitwont #coffeeislyfe #fuckthepigs #copsaresweethearts #keepthefaith #onlyinvermont

"My brand," Lala says once she's finished her post. "..is 'Awesome with a side of amazing sprinkled with a wee bit of wonderful'." She winks at Candice and then hops up to follow after CB, sliding in next to him at the counter. "Let me get that for you, Limpy." Limpy! Because he has that boot on his leg, he presumably had to limp over to the counter. Turning the charm offensive onto Cap'n Pink Beard, she practically purrs: "Can you make that three, honey? I'll carry it over for us. Thanks! You are /such/ a sweetheart."


C.B. actually /has/ a cell phone now, at least at this moment, but he certainly isn't pulling it out to #hashtaganything. And yeah, before he goes, he takes the time to listen to Candice in a sort of haze of dazed disbelief. It's almost like everyone is so startling to him these days that he's starting to run out of witty comebacks. One should worry. Like, what do you even say to a girl who's /that/ invested in her own brand, in the idea of brands to begin with?

Said girl is now...standing next to him? He scowls at her. "Do you want something? You've already made it clear that you either don't like or haven't read my books and are only hanging around me because it's going to make you Instawhatever famous. So why the fuck are you still here? Franky isn't. I don't know where she is!" He flaps his arms around as he says that, already stalking back to his seat, because Mason has indeed begun to prepare those drinks...hope you guys like cheap bourbon, because that's what he's drinking!


Candice smiles at the selfie, blushing -- CB will notice oddly familiar speckles, Lala just an obvious blush on that pale skin -- "I really don't know why people always say I'm sweet. I'm just being polite, and having a little faith in people." She does mutter to herself when Lala runs off, before she sips more water and watches the CB/Lala interactions with growing amusement, occasionally sending out another text or two. "I don't know if I agree with the idea of brands. Though I suspect you're right about a few things."

Then CB is back! And Candice is smiling OH SO BRIGHTLY at him. Sane in comparison, amirite? "So when's your next doctor's appointment, CB?"


When Mason finishes the drinks, Lala mouthes the words 'call me, love-er', winks at him and then pushes the three glasses together into a triangle. Once she is sure that she's got a handle on them, she picks them up! She turns around! She walks back over to the love seat and chair! "Taadaa!" she crows triumphantly. "Who says I don't have any life skills? Take /that/ mom and dad! I could be a waitress if I needed to be."

Tick, tick, tick.

"Will one or both of you take some of these?"

Once the drinks have been distributed, presumably by Candice and/or CB grabbing their glasses, the chatty Garreau retakes her seat. "Soooooo..." she drawls to the Alexander, sipping on her cheap bourbon. "In your opinion, the only reason people should be hanging around you are if they are fans of your work, huh? Iiiiinteresting." She bites her lip and swirls her booze before upnodding at Candice. "Have /you/ read his books or will you be getting the boot as well? Answer carefully!"

What is happening? What is going on? Just a little Garreau-Alexander feud. #loveyou #meanit


Poor C.B. He was just hanging out here in the Collective -- just reading, not working, for a change, and still looking battered and bruised but more or less vaguely functional, when he got attacked by two chatty girls. One nice, one mean? That's probably oversimplifying it a little. Meanwhile, Yossarian watches the whole scene from his throne in the center of the room. A young white millennial named Mason -- brown hair, pink beard, many facial piercings, and a hoodie covered in safety-pinned patches -- has been working behind the counter. And outside? Cops, cops, and more cops, of course. There was a squad car patrolling for awhile, and now a bunch of the boys in blue are just milling around outside like the Collective decided to start giving out gluten-free vegan donuts.

Is there still room on the velvet loveseat, where he was formerly sitting, and where he left his copy of Crime & Punishment which he's read about a zillion times and is now, apparently, reading in Russian? (Did anyone here know C.B. can read Russian? Does anyone care?) Anyway, wherever he ends up, he reaches right for that glass of bourbon. "Stop twisting my fucking words," he spits at Lala, apparently quickly losing patience for this latest iteration of the Garreau-Alexander feud. By the way, how come no one ever embroils Cian in that feud? Maybe it just sucks to be C.B. "You came here for a reason, that reason isn't here, but you are still hanging around taking fucking /selfies/ with me in it and -- don't you have anything better to do?" More frantic waving of his hands. At least he's not shouting. Yet.

At some point, he adds to Candice -- "I don't know, and I don't care, because I don't plan on going." Which probably means they scheduled him one that he's certainly going to ghost on.


Candice accepts her drink quickly, because Lala-- the dear, she struggles so. She's at one end of the loveseat, and she's slight and skinny enough the fits-two could very easily fit-three, though it might be slightly cramped. She's in her usual modest attire: today it's a soft pink button-up shirt (buttoned all the way up), and a long orange skirt, with a bottle of water and now? Now some cheap bourbon to go with it! She smiles at Lala as she collects the drinks, "I'm in the middle of his best known, and I've read some of his poetry. I can't say every single one is a brilliant classic, but they are mostly well-crafted."

Then she turns to CB, and throws him that winning, charming, brilliant smile of hers, so delighted and effusive. "Oh, that means I get to come visit you more often, doesn't it? I couldn't bear it if Cian's cousin met with some after-effects due to his injuries. I have some lovely jams I'm trying to make. They probably won't kill you."


Front door of Cat-22 opens -- there is no crash of lightning, there is no scent of springtime blooms, there is no creeping dread and there's no chilly blast of forlorn winds either. There is just Franklyn Garreau, gliding on in with a swoosh of tassels from the complicated shawl-cloak-shrug-thing she wears, covered in embroidery and made mostly of white silk, just like the shift dress she wears. Hair? Long and loose. Shoes? Ludicrously expensive for backwater Vermont. Her big black bag swings on the crook of her arm as she gliiiides into the Collective on a mission, like her protest to the cops outside was to look as purposefully oblivious to their existence as possible, heading directly towards the counter and---

"LALA?!" Okay, so Franky gets side tracked -- laughing suddenly as she turns to her cousin. Candice and C.B.? Sorry buddies, give her a minute. Flounce, flounce - Franklyn's going in for air-kisses and then more laughter as she looks over Lala's outfit. Wait, is that a nice look? She's chattering on; "Ohmygod, I did not expect to see you out -- I thought Mrs. Crumb had you on--" Whatever the rest of that'd of been is cut short, as Franky finally notices Candice and C.B.

Cue smile, lower voice. "...Hello beautifuls." A beat. Candice looks happy, C.B. looks... "How's it all goin'?" Soo casual, as Franky swooshes some hair out of her face with a flick of her hand.


'Don't you have anything better to do?'

Lala lounges on her chair, one arm draped over the back of it and the other balancing her drink atop her knee. She's got a mischievous grin that has seemingly gobbled up her entire face, reaching from ear to fuckin' ear as she gazes upon CB with amusement. She soaks in his annoyance, letting it nourish her sooooooul.

'Don't you have anything better to do?'

Candice, darling dear that she is, praises his work and expresses delight at being able to see him more frequently. The Garreau's smile morphs into a smirk and she hides it in a sip of her bourbon. God, this stuff is shiiiiit.

'Don't you have anything better to do?'

A laugh and a shake of her head. "Nah," she says, crinkling up her nose just so. "Not really. What would be more fun than this anyway? Besi-.." And then Franky is here and it's reunion time. LIKE. OH. MY. GOD.

"FRAAAAAAAANKY!!" Up in a flash, she manages to hug and kiss and hop in place without spilling a drop because the girl's got skillz, yo. "Oh my gosh, so, like, I came here looking for you, okay? And do you know who is here? Fucking CB-I-BLEW-UP-A-POLICE-STATION-ALEXANDER! And check it," She whips out her phone and shows Franky a picture. Of her and a very irritated looking CB. On Instagram. "It's up to," *squints* "..1,102 likes. HA! I don't think he likes me too much but he's totally adorable and I am going to win him over because you know that is what I do and OH MY GOD GIRL HOW /ARE/ YOU?! You look wonderful! When did you cut your hair? Come over and join us!" She waves over at Mason! "Can we have another bourbon, sweetie?"


Count has learned his lesson, and he arrives at Cat-22 with a plastic bag from the Chinese food place in Mercy Plaza (Westfield Plaza before two weeks ago), because this place is apparently BYOM (Bring your own meat). Count is, adaptable.

The beast comes in a couple minutes after Franklyn, letting in a cloud of cigarette smoke, the final exhalation of the butt tossed outside, carried in by summer winds, and the scents of... food. He makes no effort to hive his arrival, and in fat, is probably accentuating the sound of his boot steps. Thunk. Thunk. The Chimera is wearing his scuffed motorcycle boots, a pair of torn black jeans and a tee-shirt that declares his belonging to the Noble House of Lannister.

Golden eyes look over the place, every so slightly at the wall of shrieking girls that he's just walked into. Letting the door close in behind him, the beast stalks deeper into the establishment, making his way across the way towards the caterwauling Garreau's, the Former-Fugitive and the Flower.


C.B. leans over with his bourbon, almost as though he's trying to make himself small. Predictably, perhaps, he scowls at Candice's assessment of his work, from the heart though it may be, and exclaims (not particularly loudly), "Can you stop calling me Cian's cousin? I barely know the dude and he just seems like a creep." Someone's in a /mood/ now.

Does Franky's entrance make his mood any better? There's certainly no immediate shift. He glances at her, gets a weird look on his face, grunts, and stares back into his glass. Is he busy trying to make himself smaller again when Lala is prattling on about him? Seems so. Count gets a kind of similarly weird look, though more of a surprised one. He did /not/ expect that dude to set foot in this place ever again. But he doesn't really greet Franky nor Count.


Candice smiles at the sudden Franklyn-Attack and chattering of Garreau's, watching the reunion with a dash of wistfulness-- but then there's Franklyn -noticing- her, and Candice can't help but straighten somewhat, returning the smile with just the lightest hint of...not quite wariness. Preparedness, perhaps. "Hello, Frankie. You may have my glass if you'd like." She says, gesturing to the bourbon glass she has, "I'll only give it to CB if you don't."

Speaking of, she looks at C.B. at his question...unblinking and staring, "No." She decides after a moment. "You are cousins, after all. And he's not a creep. He's very sweet, with a few little troubles. Having him for a cousin is no worse than having you for one." She smiles at C.B., her words neither barbed nor sharp, just her clear, honest opinions.

But then there's such a tasty smell, and Candice looks to the door to see who is bringing her her favorite-- "Count!" She exclaims happily, and the delicate girl stands when Count is close enough, to give him a peck on the cheek. "How are you?"


Question: what has four arms, cheap bourbon, an unusual sense of entitlement, and a shaky concept of the inside voice? Franklyn and Lala, of course. Yeah. Yeah. Look at that greeting. How could the two of them not be related? It's double trouble millennial menace here. There's flouncing over, there's glancing at phones, there's a bit of laughter and and wide, secretive and fond and yet somehow self-satisfied smile to her cousin as she chatters on about life and instagram and C.B. - when it's over, Franklyn just nods. "...We'll talk about your plans later, have a heart-to-heart; I want to know /everything/ you're up to Lala-lovely..." Is that a threat?! Beam! Smile back up to 11, and she glances down at her beetle-green manicure before looking back up. "But you know me; I'm amazing."

'Amazing' must mean a little tired -- because Franklyn, for all the pep in her step, looks a little weary. So hot right now. Heroin chic and all that that. She side-glances to Candice and C.B. - giving the latter a curious head-to-toe, while reaching and accepting Candice's glass of bourbon like it's the perfectly natural thing to do. "Thank you Candi - I'm sure Ceebabes' got his own special reserve..."

"How's freedom treating ya, Mr. Alexander?..." Huh, is that compassion on her face? A glimmer of sympathy under the front of devil-may-care indifference? Who knows - Franklyn might just be judging C.B. for (presumably) mixing painkillers and bourbon, the girl has a lot of expressions and they shift like woah.

Take this: when she clocks in on Count? Huge grin! Fingers wiggle in a wave then point to Lala as she sips her bourbon, then silently mouthes: 'Meet my cousin!' -- although... maybe it looks like she's saying something else? Who knows.


"Hello Hibiscus, what's shaking?" the words for Candice as the flower approaches him, and he opens one arm as she pulls in close, wrapping it around her waist and pulls her in, taking the peck on the cheek, and then turning his head to return the affection to her brow. "Is Cian's cousin treating you alright?" Count has good ears, and he looks entirely innocent when he says it, right up to the point he turns his head and flashes CB a smile "Hey Pyro, you're looking..." he pauses, considering the man "Alive and free, tho I think the cops are having a tailgate party out there."

And then Franklyn pegs him and he gives Candice a hip bump. "You need to hand out with us more dah-link, we got a neighbor I think you'd getr on with." and then he slips away, does a turn and makes towards the person who draged him out of his comfortable lair and made him put on clothes. Frank herself gets a toothsome smile, and then his eyes are looking over to Lala, and then back to frank. "Did you clone yourself a blonde? Who is this pretty piece of ass yer introducing me to? Where's my drink?"


"Right," C.B. mutters to Candice, downing about half his glass in a go. Franky? She gets some kind of look. He doesn't answer her question. Instead, he's watching the interplay between her and Count. At least he's not saying anything about the obvious meat the latter just brought into this place. Not that C.B. cares, per se, being a meat eater himself, but Collective precepts are Collective precepts. "Thanks," he mutters to Count, but he's staring at the ground, reaching for his messenger bag. Standing up, a mite unsteadily on his cast. Gathering up his Russian copy of Crime & Punishment. Moving to drain his drink.


CB is forgotten for a moment -- other than as an object of conversation, as an abstract, as an Instragram-able quantity -- in favor of chattering rapid-fire with Franky. It helps that he's gone quiet, sullen and small, retreating into a small that is all his own; he's managed to escape the blinding glare that is Lala. "I love these long layers," she natters on to her cousin, brushing fingers through her dark locks and pushing them back over her shoulder. "It gives you nice volume and 'swish'. I mean, my hair is just .. oof. I can't deal with the humidity out here. I mean, what? Ugh." Chitter-chatter. Laugh. SNORT-laugh. Goofy-face. Whisper. Point-point. Nod. "I know, /right/?!"

Oh god, /these two/.

But yes! They will catch up more properly /later/. There are people here and socializing is Lala's /jam/. With Franky here and a new person added to the mix, it's like she's slammed a Red Bull -- BAM! Bright eyes! Big smile! Something something something YAY! "Count? Your name is Count? Like Dracula?" she says, pushing some hair out of her face and then throwing an arm around the man's shoulders. Of course, she's not one to talk with a name like 'Lala'. Handing him her drink, she waves over at Mason so he knows that she's empty.

But then CB is getting up! And looking like he's fixing to leave. "Hey," the more annoying of the two Garreaus calls over. "Where you heading off to? Candice! Stop him!"


Franky grins a bit at Lala, tilting hre head to better accommodate the whole 'unasked for touching of hair' situation. "Humidity? Lala-lovely, your hair's just big because it's filled with secrets..." Ah yes. It's all sly smiles and casual pleasantries from Franklyn, until Count goes and calls her cousin a piece of ass.

"Mind your fucking mouth." Yeah, there's a snort of laughter there, but it's sharp. Franky don't need magic to drop her tone from from a metaphorical 72º to ice-fucking-cold in a blink of an eye. "You wanna back up and try again, Count? Because what you just said was lame. Lame as fuck." To accentuate this, Franklyn snorts and rolls her eyes -- Lala might not protest, but Franky... Franky's got a lot of feelings. Still. She eases up a bit. "Candi, does he give you this hard of a time too? The rudeness? The cheek? Here I was, wanting coffee and a catch up, but now... I just like, I just like can't even..."

Arms crossed under her chest, she glances from Lala to Candice as her cousin calls for C.B's unlawful detainment -- again?! -- although she finally settles her attention on the Author, smiling brightly - so BRIGHT, such contrast to her fatigue - and hot-stepping the pace or two over to him, hand outstretched like she was afraid he'd fall over, or she wanted to help gather books. "So, so you've given up on those crutches? That is -shocking-, you are the /last/ person I'd suspect to do that..." Fade out - is she murmuring something? It's brief if she is!


"Hibiscus?" Candice says, sounding faintly amused as she accepts the forehead kiss. "You're sweet, Count." She says, before nodding at his question, "CB's been a gentleman around me." She assures, before rolling her eyes when Count hip-checks and chides her, "I don't want to interrupt you all when you're working, too often. But I'll stop by with lunch one of these days."

And then CB is getting up and Lala is calling for detainment and Candice just...blinks, slowly, looking at CB, "Are you leaving, CB? Already?" Disappointment? Yes, indeed, "Well, I suppose you do need sleep. You don't live far, right? Do you need help getting home? You shouldn't overestimate yourself when you're injured." She fusses, all genuine concern and worry, before there's Franklyn taking her attention. "Hmm? Count? Oh, he and Cian are both impossible, but that's just who they are. He's not really rude to be mean, he's just very forward."

Keep thinking that, flower-child. Keep on thinking that.


Count is simply practicing a form of Non-Violent-Protest against the tyranny of Vegetarian and Veganism. Salt and Pepper Spare Ribs and Crab Rangoon's stand against the oppressors! Felines are obligate Carnivores!

Lala, manages to earn herself a few points by saying 'Like Dracula?' rather than 'Like from Sesame Street?', tho he looks mildly startled when the woman puts an arm around his shoulders, he stiffens for a second and then rallies, going with it, leaning into it and then turning his head to put his face in Lala's hair "Damn girl, you smell good..." there's a leer, and a green, the Beast pretending, for a moment, to be a bit more of a creep than he really is. Perhaps trying to test her reaction.

But then Franklyn is snapping at him and he sighs dramatically, and Faux-Whispers to Lala. "She likes to hen-peck me." before he slips away from the blonde and takes a step back, and then bows, a motion filled with less than subtle sarcasm "Milady..." and he mimes tipping his fedora. "I am indeed Count it is a pleasure to meet you. Hashtag, I am a nice guy."

Then he looks over, giving Franklyn an exaggerated wink, he straighten's, and looks around for a table, but his attention slows to C.B. pursing his lips, looking faintly surprised that the man is still injured, and then nods, subtly, in approval.


C.B. is busy stuffing his book back into his bag. He just shakes his head at Lala -- already getting handsy with some dude she doesn't know who just called her a piece of ass. Did he lose some respect for her? Wait, did he have any for her to begin with? "What the fuck do you care where I go? Guess what, once I leave, the little cop-party outside will break up and everyone will feel a lot better." His frown continues as he watches Franky's moods and favors twist and turn and change like nothing at all. And then she's smiling at him? He doesn't smile back, though he does murmur something in return.

He shakes his head at Candice, waving her away. "I'll be fine. I got here, didn't I? Yossarian looks out for me." What? His cat? Are you getting this, Lala? Why is he scowling at Count when the dude is nodding with him, anyway?


If Franky is a Drama Queen, then Lala is a Shameless Flirt -- we all have roles to play. The blonde in the beanie grins crookedly when Count peels away and laughs when he bows, clutching her heart as if wounded. "Oh no," she gasps! "Not a 'mi'lady'! Don't stoop! Don't ever stoop! You are landed royalty, sir! You are better than that!" Wink, hairflip, more laughter. Her cousin's reprisal of him is met with a fluttered hand and a light scoff. "Aww, it's alright. I knew he didn't mean anything by it." See? Easy going.

Or just plan easy.

You know how people talk.

What people think.

Lookin' at you, Mr. Alexander.

He snaps at her and Lala just smiles, shrugs a bit. "I don't, I guess," -- care where the fuck he goes -- "..other than you are interesting company and I'd like to know you better." Fuck, that actually sounded sincere! But she lifts her hands, palms facing outwards, in the universal sign of 'don't let me stop you'.

The interplay between him and Franky, though, is observed and noted. Oh yeah, that is mentally joted and tucked away to unpack later, gator. "He'll probably be okay, Candice. After all, the cops are right outside. They'll make sure he gets home safely."

She smirks. What a /dick/.


Candice nods, a bit reluctantly, at C.B.'s and Lala's assurances. "All right. I'll visit soon with some green smoothies and jam." She promises (maybe a threat, for CB). After a look around, upon spotting Yossarian, the cat will get a smile, "I know I don't have to ask you to take extra special care of him. You're extremely conscientious." She praises, and looks like she can just barely resist reaching over to pet the cat-- but just sighs, and looks back towards Count and Lala, offering the duo a wan smile at their antics, even as she settles back onto the loveseat, resting/draping herself on the arm as if it was a chaise lounge.


Mutter, mutter, whisper -- Franklyn adds something to C.B. and then leans away; looking... Well she's smiling a whole lot less, but she's taken on a look of cooly distracted nonchalance as she looks back at Candice -- then a vaguely amused look starts to brighten that expressive countenance of hers.

"Ohmygod, /forward/?" Franklyn laughs at Candice's reply - eyebrows raised, hand on her hip as she shakes her head. "Really? Yeah, I guess you could call a tsunami or mudslide or other natural disasters like those two 'forward' as well..."

A beat, then Franky turns and points a beetle green talon on Count's direction. Jokes or not, how does Franky respond?

"I will fucking ruin your day, if you keep using that tone with me." Franklyn fires back at Count, only to uuugh and roll her eyes and click her tongue with firm disapproval. Maybe Franky can't handle sarcasm aimed her way - or maybe she's so fucking exhausted, so at the end of her metaphorical rope, she can't even play games any more.

Funny, that.

Oh god. Is she going to cry about, er, something? NO. Franky's just scowling. Where's that bourbon? She's had a long day! Er, doing what? Don't worry about it! Franky is probably hoping that Lala isn't - damnit, the other Garreau girl is just as meanly observant as she is... Apropos of nothing at all, Franklyn laughs and moves to steal the dregs of someone's booze. "...I need so much more than this bullshit."

Oh the pathos!


"Yeah, well. Dreams are eternal," C.B. leaves Lala with. He's also left Franky with a somewhat searching look, but his eyes aren't on her anymore, purposefully so. He's gone over to the cat tower to hoist Yossarian down and place him gently inside his messenger bag. He tosses a kind of lame wave off that's maybe meant for the whole group? Or for no one at all...though even Mason, still working the counter, waves cheerily at C.B. as he limps towards the door. Out into that lovely sea of red and blue lights.


CB leaves the cafe for the street beyond.


CB departs The velvet loveseat (#5).


Count's head turns and eyes snap towards the finger that's being pointed at him, and follows the arm down to Franklyn's face, and the look he gives her is...complicated. Skepticism is there, a raised eyebrow, and a hint of his tongue dragging across the inside of his mouth. It's like the mask of 'easy going japester flirt' that Count is wearing has gone still, while the beast beneath it considers his next move.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A few seconds pass and the beasts demeanor shifts just a touch, subtle nuances of stance and posture shift ever so slightly. he spreads his hand in a silent 'I surrender.' mime and then turns to head towards the bar/counter/place to order drinks and starts talking tot he guy behind the bar/counter/place. After a few moments, Count has a tray, loaded with shots, and is bringing them, and his food over to a nearby table.

Count /does/ smile at being called a force of nature however, who wouldn't? Otherwise, the beast seems to have lost his voice, if not the gleam in his eyes.



Candice is draped. CB is gone. Franky is drinking dregs. Count has been neutralized. If y'all think Lala isn't taking notes, think again. She might have a goofy, party-girl exterior going on but she is watching everything with an eagle eye's attention to detail. Body language. Minute changes in expression. Subtle glances. Brief whispers.

Observed.
Noted.
Catalogued.

Bloop! She gets a text and pulls out her phone, checking it. "Yaaaaaaaaaaas.." she says lowly, mostly to herself. Bounding over to Franky, she presses a kiss against her cousin's cheek like MWAH! "I gotta go!"

What? Where? She /just/ arrived in Vermont, like, a second ago. She doesn't even know anyone. Where could she possibly need to be? Tossing back her cheap bourbon, she makes a face and doesn't explain. BECAUSE LALAs CANNOT BE EXPLAINED.

"See y'alls later!"

And with that, she is stepping around the entering Cian and is out the door. Lala /out/.

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