13371/There has to be a joke in here, somewhere

There has to be a joke in here, somewhere
Date of Scene:	25 May 2021
Location:	Cafe - Greenwich Village
Synopsis:	That was just a weird little encounter!
Cast of Characters:	Sinister, Moonstar, Dracula

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Sinister has posed:
It is moderately late in the evening, in Greenwich village, Manhattan island. New York never sleeps though and little coffee shops like this are open twenty four hours a day. What they don't usually have is a mostly deserted shop floor, but the one barista that stuck around is behind the counter looking pale and desperately attempting to not panic. The reason for this is, there is not a gang in here, nor hardened criminals, nor even a small table full of muties. There's just one man, but when he arrived he very quickly emptied the place. People just got up and left, or were picked up without hands and shown the door, and some of the staff fled. It could be that the cops will eventually show up, but they haven't done so yet.

Nathaniel Essex, Aka: Sinister, is sat at the coffee bar, his cloak draped behind him, vulturing over an espresso. It's so much of a absurd sight that it seems rather surreal. "ANother, please. I haven't reached sufficient volume to vibrate yet."

Moonstar has posed:
Dani Moonstar visits this coffee shop from time to time, but isn't what one would call a regular customer. She is coming in as everyone else is vacating, and she blinks at the panic she can feel coming off of them. And so she walks inside semi prepared. Semi, because her precious uru metal sword is not here, but had been left behind. She doesn't even have her bow with her. Nor any other weapons. All she has is herself.

And herself is dressed in everyday, normal colothing. Blue jeans. Cottoncandy pink teeshirt with a white pegasus on the front with a caption of: I know I'm beautiful. Pink and white sneakers. She walks up toward the counter and glances at the customer, then the one barista who is trying not to panic. "What happened in here?" She sounds curious but unafraid.

Dracula has posed:
The evening -- and even more so the late evening -- is more akin to being the morning, at least for some people. Some creatures. Vlad Tepes happens to be a creature of the night. He wanders as he wills, and for this evening, he happens to be here. The man's hair is black, falling past his shoulders, and he has a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache. His eyes are dark brown, nearly black. He wears a black peacoat overtop of a long-sleeved black matte silk shirt which has a crimson pocket square tucked into the pocket. A pair of black slacks and matte black leather shoes complete his outfit, along with a black cane carried in his right hand. He doesn't need it, and the end of it seldom touches the floor. He approaches the cafe, reaching out to open the door easily before stepping inside.

And once within, he paused only briefly as his gaze flicks over the interior. He finds it interesting -- intriguing, perhaps -- that there are only two souls within the place. There is a hint of a smile that touches at the corners of his lips, and he tilts his head a touch to one side. "Nigh empty is not the common state for such a place," comments Dracula, a thoughtful note to his voice.

Sinister has posed:
The barista answers with her eyes, looking from Dani to Sinister, then with a press of already thin lips, gets about tapping out another espresso, only to then look up at the door and swallow visibly and audibly. Poor thing, it's not her night at all. Maybe they'll tip well, who knows? This seems moderately unlikely though, in her estimation. .oO(Just don't fuck up. Don't do anything stupid. Don't die. I don't wanna die. I still haven't visited aunt June in Milwaukee, oh god, oh godohgod...) "Your coffee sir," squeaks out. "What can I get you miss? Uh, sir?" .oO(OhgodohgodohgodIdon'twannadie.IthinkIpeedmyselfabit)

Sinister gifts a short, sharp sigh, looks at the barista like she's now just annoying him, narrows his eyes a little and mutters "Don't you have grounds to take out to the back alley?" which is peculiarly generous of the man, perhaps. Or the complete stranger, as he happens to be right now. He looks at Dani, narrows eyes at her, then lofts an eyebrow, turning slow to peer behind himself. At Dracula he can only stare. He looks at the door, back at Dracula, then at Dani once again. "I'm dreaming. I -have- to be having one of those dreams."

Moonstar has posed:
Dani Moonstar can't hear the barista's thoughts, but she can certainly feel her emotions, oh yes. "Mocha, please. Blended. No whipped cream." Nice and semi easy, more or less, but for the blending part. And at this point in time, she might be forgiving of it coming iced instead of blended, given the panic she can feel from the girl.

She glances at Dracula as he enters, and raises a brow. "Nice cane," she says. Then she turns to Sinister. She walks over to the counter not far from him, but not within his personal bubble either. "It's not a dream." She pauses and then laughs. "Then again, if it was a dream, everyone in that dream would say that, wouldn't they?" She grins. "What makes you think you have to be having one of those dreams?"

Dracula has posed:
There's a moment -- nay, more than a moment -- where Vlad looks over the poor barista. There is the slightest quirk upwards of one of his eyebrows, and a flicker of amusement that shows in his dark eyes. He moves to step forward and approach the bar, and thus to approach the barista. He is, at least, kind enough not to make eye contact with the barista, though perhaps such is because he is entirely aware of the panic within her. He lifts his left hand slightly to gesture towards Dani, for her order to be taken first. He is, after all, honourable to a point.

His dark gaze turns unblinkingly to the fellow already seated, and he tilts his head a touch to one side. "You appear, at least at the moment, to be rather awake," Vlad comments, his voice rick and dark. "Although I suppose it could be a wakeful dream, yet I assure you, I am truly here and present," he adds, slightly inclining his head towards the fellow. "Perhaps the walls should be oozing and dripping with blood, were it a dream, though then it would be more nightmare than simply dream, I fear," he muses, his tone falling a touch darker at that.

His dark gaze slides over to the woman who complimented his cane, and there's a flicker of a smile that touches at the corners of his lips. "Thank you -- it is kind of you to say," he says. Then his attention turns back to the barista, and he inclines his head slightly towards her. "Doppio, if you please," he requests of her.

Sinister has posed:
Sinister's lips part, various shapes forming but not settling on a word. He glances to Dani, assessing, but it turns to the approach of Dracula at the elegance and poise. The aristocrat is in the room. "You would imagine," the englishman replies, but follows it with "...but dreams do have a tendancy toward the surreal." He twirls a finger at the Indy west-coast decor, more fitting for a hipster place in California, than NYC. "In the big apple, in a slice of california, drinking overpriced espresso with a native american and Vlad the Impaler. Very soon, I will turn to the toaster and it will tell me that I dropped it and I should go find it, because it's about to melt. And when I ask what it is, it'll start whistling."

There is a thud behind the bar and a squeak as the barista fumbled the cup she was working to get a grip on, spilling the mocha she had begun preparing and has to start all over again. "SOrry, sorry!" focus comes to her then, exclusively so she doesn't listen to what was just said. Or rather doesn't repeat it over and over in her head.

Moonstar has posed:
Dani Moonstar was asked what she wanted. She simply replied to that question. Chances are, she doesn't really care what order it comes to her in. She might have only come in here because of the mass exodus. Then again, maybe she did come for the coffee. Either way, she inclines her head to Dracula and leans one hip against the counter, entirely comfortable not only there, but in her own skin. She wrinkles her nose at Dracula's imagery. "Ew, much?" She shakes her head. "Though, for some people, that could be considered a dream come true," she points out.

The Native American in the room lifts her right hand, one finger pointed straight up at the ceiling. "Valkyrie," she states in a half singsong voice. She glances to the barista as the girl squeaks and drops a cup. "Don't worry, dear. Nobody in here is going to cause you harm." She fixes a look on Sinster. "Right?" And another on Dracula. "Right?" Though, she knows neither of them, she's not going to let either harm an innocent woman just trying to do her job and make a living.

Dracula has posed:
The nearly black gaze of the Count turns to Sinister, and he tilts his head faintly to one side as he studies the fellow for a long and unblinking moment. "Indeed, they sometimes have that tendency," he comments. His gaze flicks lightly over the decor, then back to Sinister, and he gives a deep chuckle. "Perhaps it simply waits for an apology for being dropped, although I suppose that it might melt, under certain conditions," he offers. His gaze slides away and towards the barista, though a moment later, a shiny black toaster does manifest upon the counter near to Sinister.

His gaze lingers on the barista, and a hint of a smile touches the corners of his lips. "Be calm. I have no intent to harm you, dear girl," he says softly. For now. His attention shifts to Dani, and one of his eyebrows quirks slightly up. "It could just as easily be entrails or centipedes or spiders or any other manner of creepy-crawlie that you may or may not have seen or imagined before. Dreams and nightmares feed upon more than simply reality, after all," comments Dracula. "There are likely those that would, indeed, revel in such a tableau," he agrees, inclining his head slightly towards her. Then there's a flicker of a smile. "Of course. It would be simply poor taste to cause her any harm in here. I assure you, I have no intent of doing so," he says. Ah, he paints a neat little box to be able to step out of when he wishes to do so.