132/Like It Spicy

Like It Spicy
Date of Scene:	25 April 2017
Location:	New York City
Synopsis:	Summary needed.
Cast of Characters:	Loki, 142

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Loki has posed:
Some kind of infernally upbeat pop music rolls around in the background at the Shawarma Palace. A bit of a raw, edged rock beat influences the young woman singing in Arabic, a protest anthem with a take-no-prisoners attitude about what she wants. If one can't understand Arabic, it is just helplessly catchy. Two of the very masculine, very definitely Lebanese or Jordanian chefs are busy dancing with their white aprons on, as they prepare shawarma and rotating slabs of spiced chicken and beef on spindles mounted to the ceiling. Shaving off bits with electric knives takes a backseat to punching their fists in their air, and hoping no one notices through the widely open kitchen area.

However, there are only three patrons in the restaurant. One is a jet-lagged businessman, the other a likely agent for SHIELD reading his tablet. The third absolutely notices. He isn't humming along with the song for no apparent reason, but he does tap out the chorus on the counter top. Loki Odinson, pop culture connoisseur. Who knew?

Adrien Agreste (142) has posed:
Four patrons.

The doorbell chimes to admit a tall, well-built and slim, blond young man. He glances up from his phone, green eyrs taking in the shop, the other patrons, the dancing chefs.

Yelp brought the model here, the Parisian curious about this ethnix melting pot in some ways more diverse than the city of his birth. Phone going to his pocket, Adrien makes his way to the counter, finding the pop tune catchy as he glances at and gives Loki a smile but hesistingly wsrm smile of greeting.

Loki has posed:
Glinting metal reveals another of the chef's slick moves, cut short by a bell. He drops his arm and looks sharply at his conspirator to affirm both of them will never speak of this moment again, at least until Thurayya next comes on their live stream. They return to chopping up lettuce and scowling at people.

The dark-haired man leaning casually against the counter already has his choice, a donar kebab (and no small amusement there, given it's a homonym for Donnar, and nothing like eating grilled ol' dad). The chopsticks and fork used with equal panache stir up the rice and Caesar like dressing, dill and slices of spiced beef to a proper consistency. A few grains rest on the point of a chopstick, licked clean without an ounce of irony. Not even a millilitre, as it happens.

Hesitancy hasn't ever met the man. Now Adrien has. "The chipped beef comes highly recommended. Mixed with a salad, it almost feels healthy."

Adrien Agreste (142) has posed:
Adrien's hesd cants a few degrees at Loki's words, and the smile grows less hesitant.

"I think I could get away with almost healthy today," comments the blond with a gentle french lilt to his words.

"Thank you," he says politely to Loki as he turns to the counter to place his order; the recommended beef and salad. He pays for his meal, the cash handled with a slight bit un familiarity. Meal paid for, Adrien waits, glancing abiut again, almost likr a tourist.... rather more like a seasoned travrler in a new place.

Loki has posed:
Almost healthy or not healthy at all. The menu caters to both, and a variety of vegetarian preferences, as it proudly notes with the aid of leaf icons and olives all along the rows. But the spindles of meat are where it's happening. The chefs cut into them with gusto, and another young man gets up from studying a textbook to take any orders. His casual nonchalance is nothing new, and he seems two parts bored, one part dazzled.

Chopsticks clack while Loki hunts around for another piece of beef dipped already in the sauce. He gets a few grains of rice for the trouble, but he eats quietly and easily, slowly sinking into the takeaway box. One leg braces against the stool, the other pressed to the ground. Other stools and booths fill the cluttered, narrow area. Another song on the radio blares loudly, turned down by some hasty poking at a phone screen. He chuckles under his breath, shaking his head.

"Lost?"

Adrien Agreste (142) has posed:
It seems to take the frenchman a moment to realize he's being spoken to, and then a moment more to parse the single word question.

"Non. I am not lost. I am exploring? Is the best word. I have not been this direction before," Adriend says then, easy smile that smacks of being too cultured to be completely at ease on his face.

Loki has posed:
"Good place to start." Loki nods at the explanation, and then fishes around in the box, tilting it this way and that, as though seeking the proverbial needle in a rice stack. He comes up with his prize a moment later: a pickled vegetable, bright pink to obscure its identity. Mouth crinkled into a crooked smirk, it's the quintessential gotcha! expression. A bite later, he allows the spark of contrast to the spiced flavourings to stand in opposition, before returning to languid amusement with almost everything.

Adrien Agreste (142) has posed:
Order ready, Adrien collects his meal and turns to find a place to sit so he can people watch while eating at this new dish. He does not eat wiyh chopsticks, but the provided plastic fork. No extra sauces, no added salt or pepper. No, tge food is accepted exacrly as given, and eaten in small bites at a time.

Loki has posed:
There's a trick to looking at a person without directly looking at them. It involves the faintest tip of the head, angling a gaze through the corner of the eye, and making a mark without being clear about it. Something about that allows unexpected shapes to resolve themselves into sight, though Loki is admittedly better acquainted with the spirit world around him than others. He casually draws his hand down his sleeve, correcting the way his cufflink falls instead of catching on the jacket. Possibly a good idea to slip out of that. Maybe not.

He rubs his hands together and then long fingers fold against the back of his palms, separated by flexing white knuckles. A bit of small talk fades out, the patter paused. He might seem to be assessing the song or the news of the day, but his attention is fully trained on the invisible manifested.

Adrien Agreste (142) has posed:
Safely hidden in Adrien's pocket, the black cat spirit's whiskers twitch at rhw ripple of magic. Twitch, but nothing more, leaving Adrien unaware of any magic use in the area. So, the model keeps eating, eyes still watching, still studying the world around him with an angle to his frame that smacks of one used to being watched; his every motion must look just so.

Green eyes sweep to the building tops, as if looking for something before he shifts in his chair to grab him phone.

The luck of a black cat. That is to say, the bad lau

Adrien Agreste (142) has posed:
Safely hidden in Adrien's pocket, the black cat spirit's whiskers twitch at rhw ripple of magic. Twitch, but nothing more, leaving Adrien unaware of any magic use in the area. So, the model keeps eating, eyes still watching, still studying the world around him witg an angle to his frame that smacks of one used to being watched; his every motion must look just so.

Green eyes sweep to the building tops, as if looking for something before he shifts in his chair to grab him phone.

The luck of a black cat. That is to say, the bad luck... the motion has his jacket fakking away frim his body just enough for the keen eyed to note the little bukge of maybe a waded up handkerchief.... or snoozing cat spirit

Loki has posed:
Oh hello, pussy cat. Where have you been? Come to New York to visit the King? The hum of that children's rhyme barely vibrates along Loki's mouth. He gives it sufficient force to be audible at the extreme range of human hearing and not much more. There's no magic at play other than the Asgardian's natural attunement to all things magical, a talent of his birthright as he slowly pulls back the veil dimming out some of the impressions. It takes him a moment to blink everything into focus, no more than that,

"<Hello>," he murmurs to the cat. Not something that Adrien is likely to understand given he speaks it in the spirit's own feline-like language, unless they happen to share the same tongue. "That's quite the accessory."

Adrien Agreste (142) has posed:
Again, Plagg's whiskers twitch and as Adrien pulls out his phone, the kwami huffs lightly and shuffles about. As not much more than normal human, Adrien doesnt hear Loki's soft murmurs, nor does he seem perturbed at the shuffling cat spirit ij his jacket, though clearly his motion to lean upon the tablr was to gice the feline more space to shuffle.

In the same sort of feline tongue, Plagg grumblw whispers in his sleep, about not enough sunlight or camrmbert cheese. Adrien grins a bit ruefully at something, eithrr on his ohone or in his pocket.